Rudolph Forderhase Memoir - September 21, 1917 - January 12, 1918
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WE MADE THE WORLD SAFE!! ? ? ? Camp Funston 21st of [September] to 12th of [January] 1918 Book One
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I have before me an old brown post card. In the upper left corner, in large letters, are the words "WAR DEPARTMENT OFFICIAL BUSINESS"; at the top center, "FORM 161B", and in the upper right corner, "PENALTY FOR PRIVATE USE $300". It is addressed to me, the post mark is Fayette, [Missouri], [September] 11, 1 P.M.. In the lower left corner appears "ORDER NO. 29" and, immediately under that, RED INK No. 507. On the reverse side I am informed, in no uncertain terms, that I "have been selected for military service"; that "I will therefore hold myself in readiness to report for military duty at the office of this Local Board at a time to be specified by notice posted at the office of the Board, etc., etc.". My official notice comes a few days later so, on the morning of [September] 20, 1917, I report to the clerk of the local draft board at the South door of the Court House, along with the rest of the men called on that day. The clerk calls the roll, informs us that we are now in the military service, appoints a leader, and gives him a list of our names. We walk the several blocks to the Railroad station and soon board a train. At the station there is a small crowd of relatives, and friends, of some of the men and, of course, the curious. No official well wishers: No County or City Officials, not one ordained minister. A neighbor brought me to the county seat, at my request. I felt that the parting from my parents and my sister would be less painful for all concerned in this way. A mental picture I will retain, as long as I live, is of my father, with bowed head, utterly dejected, seated on the front step of our farm home, as I left with my friend in his car. When we arrived at Moberly, and left the train, we joined other groups of draftees. About 11:30 A.M. we were asked to march behind the band and color bearers already assembled. Our destination was the City Park where a local dignitary, whose name I do not recall, made an address of which I do not recall a word. From the time I had joined the group at the Court House, I had been curious as to how the men were reacting to the situation they were finding themselves in. There were those, like myself, who questioned the wisdom, or necessity, of going the thousands of miles to Europe to engage in war. Those who questioned were not all of German descent by any means. The draftees of WWI were between 21 and 31 years of age. It will be obvious that some were leaving an established business or occupation. As I studied the group, I could not see anyone who appeared to be at all enthusiastic and,
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throughout the journey to Camp Funston, practically all were quiet and somewhat sober. After the speaker had finished his remarks, we were invited to help ourselves to a bountiful meal that was spread for us by the people of the city and surrounding countryside. There was fried chicken, ham, roast beef, a wide selection of vegetables and desserts, as well as a choice of iced tea and coffee. After the meal, all returned to the depot and, about 2 P.M., we boarded a train that already carried draftees from counties to the East. As we proceeded to Kansas City, the train stopped at a number of points to pick up other groups of draftees. We arrived at Kansas City about 5:30 P/M. and had our evening meal - the first at Government expense. We soon boarded another train and found ourselves at Camp Funston at 2 A.M. [September] 21. We were met by officers of the units we were about to be assigned to who questioned us as to occupation, education, military experience, etc. It soon became evident that they were especially interested in the husky, active, and intelligent men for the Machinegun Company, and men who could play band instruments. The farm boys, if able to read, road signs and, hopefully, a map, found themselves assigned to the supply company as mule skinners. The average educational level of men conscripted in WWI was six years of elementary schooling. There were a few illiterates and they were not all from the Ozarks and New Mexico. Most of our group became a part of I company, 356th [Infantry] Regiment, 89th Division. After being assigned to our units, we were led by an officer, or some of the draftees who had preceeded us, to the barracks, then to the shower where we were ordered to strip, were looked over by an officer to see if we might have some kind of skin disease, lice, or whatever. We were then ordered to take a shower. This proved to be a new experience as most, if not all of us, were accustomed to warm water. We had to make out with cold water for weeks. When we got dressed we were led to the second floor of the barracks, were given two blankets and a towel, and shown where to bed down on the floor. I folded one of my blankets to lie on and thus get a bit of padding between me and the cold boards. I took off my shoes, covered myself with the other blanket, and managed to get a little sleep. Page 2
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We were aroused at 6 A.M. to experience the most hectic Sunday that probably any of us had ever experienced. We were told to get shaved and be ready for breakfast at 6:30. As we entered the mess hall, we were issued a messkit and canteen cup and were given a demonstration in their use. The food we were offered did nothing to raise our spirits. This was true of the food we were to receive for some time to come. Few men had acquired any experience as cooks. Good eating places were not readily found, except in the larger towns and cities. We had one man who had some experience as a cook. Our Mess Sergeant was another. Some of the men wanted to be cooks in order to get out of drill and, hopefully, keep out of combat. The Mess Sergeant was one N.C.O. I did not envy. It was his duty to order the food. He was allowed thirty to thirty-three cents per man, per day, to purchase the food we ate. It may surprise the reader that it did not require this much all of the time and the mess fund increased to the point that, when we were in the Army of Occupation, our Mess Sergeant was able to provide us with a few welcome extras. After breakfast, the task of making soldiers out of us began at once. The Articles of War (duties of a soldier and penalties for disobedience, etc.) were read to us. We were instructed in military courtesy, how to recognize the rank of the officers and non-commissioned officers, suggestions on health care and cleanliness. A truck unloads steel cots and we carry these into the barracks. We get vaccinations for smallpox and antithpoid injections. When not engaged in any of the above activities, we are given instructions in the "school of the soldier" (how to properly stand at attention, do an about face, left face and right face). On October 3rd another group of 85 men arrives. A man from Northwest Missouri arrived in camp wearing a tan uniform that had been given him by a veteran of the Spanish-American war, who seemingly wanted to do something to alleviate the publicized shortage of uniforms. Issuing us such parts of the uniform as were on hand, also began on that hectic Sunday. One of the first to get his O.D. shirt, and breeches, was our comrade with the tan canvas uniform. A week later I find I am now outfitted with a shirt, breeches, belt, shoes, hat, and leggin's; also a long overcoat (which I am not Page 3
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permitted to wear in formation). I am issued a blouse (army for coat), on October 17. Also in the meantime we have each acquired a bedsack. Upon being issued this, we were told to take it to the supply dump where we could fill it to our own specifications with wheat straw. Also, on this second Sunday in the Army, I find I have taken a severe cold and sore throat. This is aggravated by the constant daily windstorm and resulting dust and probably also by the sharply cooler temperature. Our food is not improving in appearance, or tastiness - it is often bad. I am thankful that a post exchange has been opened about two blocks away and we can buy a few items of bakery goods and candy bars to supplement the Army fare. It is also fortunate that all are compelled to bathe at least twice weekly. I think there are a few who manage to disregard this regulation, however, the closely cropped hair and daily shave cannot be hidden. The seven hours of drill, every day, gets monotonous as we pretty much do the same thing over and over again. I like the callistenics that are very much a part of our training. These exercises, if done conscientiously, are a great help in acquiring physical fitness. No gambling is supposed to be allowed in quar ters, but this rule is ignored and continues to be ignored. At this time there is no other pastime. The service organizations (Y.M.C.A., Knights of Columbus, Salvation Army) have not yet become active. The picture shows, pool halls, and stores, that appear eventually, are not yet in operation. On October 2nd, those whose smallpox inoculation, did not "take", get another one. In early October, a Y.M.C.A. has opened within walking distance. The typical Kansas wind starts up every morning. It blows clouds of dust through the dry air. Visibility is often less than a block. My cold and sore throat are not improving under these conditions. On October 5th, General Wood gives an inspiring talk to the troops assembled on a hillside. He must be an optimist if he expects much from us. We do not yet appear very soldierly as we do not have complete uniforms. The uniforms do not fit well and are generally of a poor quality material. The food is not improving much, if any at all. A typical meal is a tablespoonful of what is supposed to be potato salad, a big gob of fat pork cubes, Navy beans, and water to drink. For breakfast a spoonful of hash, very strong of onions, a little gravy, bread, a small handful of corn flakes and 1/2 cantaloupe, picked too green. Page 4
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The second vaccination takes effect on many, including myself, causing illness, pain, and fever. We are relieved from duty and are glad to stretch out on our bunks. I am glad to find that now my cold is much better, although my throat is still sore. On October 11th, the Mess Sergeant tells me that, although he has kept all windows and doors closed, so much dust and fine sand has blown into the mess hall between the hours of 1 P.M. to 4 P.M., that the table tops look like concrete. That night, all of the group that came on [September] 21, are awakened at 11:35 P.M., told to dress and march to Regimental H.Q. to be paid the $11 for the eleven days we served in September Thirty-six more men arrive from Nodaway County, Missouri, These, in addition to the 85 men who arrived on October 3rd, increases our company strength to over 200 men. In addition to the 89th Division, there is also the 92nd, an all black Division. The traffic, necessary to maintain the approximately 90,000 men, and the dry weather here, are causing the worst dust storms yet experienced and lead to more eye trouble and sore throats, as well as badly chapped lips and faces. It becomes sheer torture for many of us to shave. A good happening, about this time, was that the Mess Sergeant offered to get a plate and cup of white enamelware, for every man if each of us would contribute 50 [cents]. This offer was eagerly accepted. A drive was being made, at this time, to get every man to buy a $50 Liberty Bond. As a special inducement, every purchase of a Bond may give us a week-end leave to visit our homes, or wherever we prefer. A week-end leave to visit their homes is out of the question for many who live at a great distance. I decided to take advantage of it and get home on the morning of [Saturday], October 27. I enjoy my brief visit, but, by the time I get back to camp, I have about decided the discomforts of the return trip were too high a price to pay for the short leave. The frantic war effort is causing a traffic problem on the railroads. According to the regular schedules of the rail lines, I should have arrived back in the camp before 10 P.M. on Sunday. Instead, I did not arrive until about 7:30 A.M. Monday and had to stand, or sit on the floor, because of the crowded cars. On Saturday, [November] 4, I get a pass to go to Manhattan to get my blouse altered for a better fit. I was fortunate to be issued this part of my uniform on October 17. I get this done promptly, then attended a church supper where I have chicken pie, creamed potatoes, Page 5
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baked beans, cranberry sauce and apple pie; all I could eat for 50 [cents]. I see a movie and get back to camp by 10 P.M. We are being worked pretty hard. Our training has now progressed about as far as it can without weapons. The company mechanics are put to work sawing out the pattern of a rifle from one inch boards. With these we can, in a way, simulate the manual of arms. Some time, about mid-October, we received a number of the obsolete Krag-Jorgensen rifles, the weapon that was used to put down the [Philippine] Insurrection, and by some of our troops in the War with Spain. There were sufficient of them to equip the sentries. After all, the sentries would have looked rather ridiculous walking post with a piece of wood. When I first went into the Army, I gave little thought to any sort of promotion. However, after two hitches on "Kitchen Police" (Army for those who wash the greasy cooking utensils, scrub the messy table tops, and mop the floor), and becoming aware that Corporals and Sergeants, do not perform these menial tasks. I begin to think more highly of the suggestions of the First Sergeant that I attend N.C.O. school. When the Lieutenant, who commands the platoon I belong in, compliments me on my proficiency at drill and makes the same suggestion, I acquire a copy of the Infantry Drill Regulations and study them. I also attend N.C.O. school. The principal instructor at this school is a young Second Lieutenant from another company in our regiment. He is thoroughly versed in his subject, has the right personality, and gives us a great many pointers on the duties and conduct of an N.C.O. Of all the officers I knew while in the service, he was the most outstanding. I was later gratified when I learned that he was among the first to be promoted to First Lieutenant, then to Captain, after we got into action. He was wounded in WWI, in WWII, and in Korea. Won many decorations, and was retired, after more than thirty years service, as Brigadier General Arthur W. Champeney. The reader may be interested to know that this officer served under General Clark to command a problem regiment in Korea. He was wounded in WWI, in WWII, and in Korea. The wound in Korea was by a sniper's bullet which missed his heart by only an inch. Along with a number of others, I was made a First Class Private about October 15. On [November] 3, we get forty new m17 rifles. As Acting Corporal, I get one. These rifles are covered inside and out Page 6
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with a thick coat of sticky grease. It is about a three and one-half hour job to remove all this grease. It takes a supply of rags in order to pick up the grease on the surface. To get it out of the screw slots, and corners, a sharpened stick is suggested. I get a cheap tooth brush which is much more efficient. Doing the manual of arms, with the new weapon, is quite different from going through the same motions with the wooden pattern. The m17 weighs about nine pounds, the wooden pattern a tenth as much. Every day a Squad is designated to do housekeeping chores in the barracks, and outside. This includes, of course, the mess hall and kitchen. On [November] 7 it is my squad's turn to get this duty. As the Acting Corporal, I find that I become a messenger for the First Sergeant, the company clerk, and the company commander, as well as having to supervise the work being done by the other members of my squad, except those in the mess hall and kitchen who are under the Mess Sergeant's control. I am kept busy, but find this an interesting experience. I get to know the Regimental Surgeon, Capt. Bloch, a friendly man with whom I am destined to have more contact in the future. I am still fighting the cold and sore throat that has been troubling me for more than a month. The constant dust storms, lack of heat in the barracks, and no hot water, all may be contributing to this condition. We are all glad when our food gets better. On Sunday, [November] 11, the menu for the noon meal is chicken (from September cold storage] and gravy, mashed potatoes, butter beans and corn, fruit salad and ice cream. What I wrote earlier about the cooks was not complimentary. If now I retracted what I then wrote, I do not think I would be entirely truthful. As time went on, there were changes in the personnel, under the Mess Sergeant. Among a group of raw recruits that make up an infantry company, there are a few who cannot "pick up the cadence". That is - keep step. In all armies, it has ever been deemed essential that all men in a unit respond to commands to drill, march, or maneuver as one, and in perfect cadence. Those few who seemed unable to do so were either transferred, or were made cooks. It is to their credit that they often did well. Early in November, a requisition came for the transfer of twenty-five men to go to another Division. The effort to fill the National Guard and Regular Army Divisions with volunteers was not successful. We eventually learned that men who had been transferred out of our unit were sent into the 35th Division and the 3rd Division. This periodic transfer of men continued until only about forty remained in Page 7
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the Company. When a requisition for transfer of men came, the officers and the First Sergeant went over the roster and selected the men they thought they could best do without. Just before the first men were transferred out of our Company, a picture of the whole unit was taken. I buy one but am disappointed with it - too many people on too small a picture. Some of us get boxes from home containing cake, apples, cookies, etc. These are shared among us and are a real treat. The routine drill, callistenics, and hiking, continue with an occasional hour or two digging trenches and a parade about every two weeks. This Kansas dirt is really hard after the first few inches of topsoil is removed. It becomes a matter of loosening it up with the pick, and then shoveling it out. We are offered the opportunity to buy a $10,000 life insurance policy, and many of us do so - the premium comes out of our monthly pay check. This is no great hardship as there is little available for us to buy so, those of us who do not gamble away our pay, are readily persuaded to buy a Bond. On [November] 14 my sore throat takes a turn for the worse. My vocal cords are severely affected so I can hardly talk above a whisper. The surgeon excuses me from all duty. This condition continues and eventually I cannot talk. The Medical Officer comes by the barracks and gives me some terrible tasting gargle and tells me not to try to talk. While confined to quarters, I am asked to help the Mess Sergeant with his accounts and learn that the beef we eat costs the Commissary Department 16 [cents] per pound. I also help the Company Clerk some. Thus I get an idea of army paper work. About mid-November, our First Sergeant, and our Junior Second Lieutenant (a young man just out of law school), have words, with the result that our First Sergeant is transferred out. The Lieutenant is not popular with either the men or officers. I think him a good man who has not matured and is a bit on the impractical side. It is to be expected that some of the men who hope, or very much desire, a promotion, become obnoxiously obsequious to the officers. It is contrary to my nature to fawn on anyone, male or female, anyone in high public office, or any military officer or N.C.O. I may never get above Private First Class, but so be it. [November] 23 I draw a blank on Christmas passes. However, unknown to me, my father, getting the idea from the farm papers, applies for leave for me to come home on a two week leave to help with the corn harvest. It should be remembered that, at that time, mechanical cornpickers had not Page 8
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yet been heard of - it was strictly ear by ear of corn, hand work, and the many men drafted from farms was sorely felt at corn picking time. So it happened that I had the pleasure of eating Thanksgiving dinner at home. Unfortunately, several days after arriving at home, we had snow almost knee deep, and I did not get to help much in the corn harvest. I arrived back in Camp Funston on [December] 9. My throat is better and my voice is more normal. The streets have been oiled and, hopefully now, the dust storms will not be so severe and the sore throats will get well. All the men in the regiment get a heart and lung examination on [December] 17. It happens that I go on sentry duty at 4 P.M. on the 16th. Of course I do not get off duty until 4 P.M. on the 17th. When we get back to the barracks, we are at once ordered to go the the Regimental Infirmary to get our examination. I am somewhat taken aback when the Medical Officer, after examining me says, "you'll not do", takes my name and tells me to report to him at a certain hour the next day. I do as ordered and, after much listening with this stethoscope, he says "you'll do today, but I want you to report to a heart specialist tomorrow at 9 A.M.". Again I report as ordered and find eight others who have also been ordered to report to the specialist. The specialist appear s at 10 A.M. He announces that he has only thirty minutes to examine us and tells us to trip to our waist. Of the nine, he rejects only one. He hardly touches some of us with his stethoscope. I had evidentally shown definite symptoms three days earlier when I had just completed 24 hours of sentry duty. I recalled that on occasions, when I had to exert myself strenuously for an extended period, I seemed to become unduly exhausted. I was to become more aware of this as time went on. One very good thing came of this heart and lung examination. Two men from our company were found to have active cases of tuberculosis. They were immediately discharged from the service. These men may have transmitted this dreaded disease to others. This was quite possible under the crowded conditions of the barracks at that time. The blame for endangering the health of others falls on the examining doctors at the local draft boards. In our county, the examining physicians were elderly men with years of experience and should have detected the tuberculosis in the man who was from the same county I was from. Their failure not only endangered the health of others, but the men who were discharged were eligible to draw compensation and, doubtless, did so, costing the government many thousands of dollars. They had an "air tight" case for, when they were certified as fit for military, but the Page 9
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local Board, they were legally entitled to care and compensation for being disabled in the Service, regardless. There were thousands of such cases. Many were not given the more thorough physical check-up we were given on [December] 17, 1917, and were sent overseas where these physical defects were discovered. The matter was brought to the attention of General Pershing, who made strong protest to the authorities in Washington. It was about the first week in December when, after strong representations from General Wood, they put oil on all the streets in Camp. I hope this will help those of us who have sore throats and inflamed eyes. Just shortly before this, they have gotten heat in our barracks, and we also have hot water for bathing, shaving and laundry. There is now also a commercial laundry we can send our clothes to. These conveniences have greatly improved the morale of the men. A quarantine, that was put in effect earlier when one man developed a case of the measles, should soon be lifted. There have also been a number of cases of spinal meningitis, which are causing much concern for the Medical Corps. They take cultures from the respiratory tract of all in an effort to locate carriers or incipient cases of the dreaded disease. Christmas packages for many begin to come in about [December] 22. Many of them contain food, which is shared with other comrades. An aunt, in St. Louis, sends me a package of candied dates that were so good I could only bring myself to share them with ten others. Everyone was given a package, by the Red Cross. My package contained three pairs of excellent hand knit all wool socks, donated by a ten-year old boy in Montana. I convey my thanks and appreciation in a letter and save the socks for the next winter (1918-1919). This proves to be a wise decision. The process of making soldiers out of green recruits in three months, or even twice that length of time, requires a great deal of hard work on the part of the officers of the various units and careful planning and supervision by the general officers and regimental Commanders. It should be remembered that the U.S. Army, before War was declared in April of 1917, consisted of about 200,000 men and officers. These troop were stationed in various small garrisons in the continental United States, The Hawaiian Islands, the Canal Zone, the Phillipine Islands, and Guam. The Officers were almost all graduates of West Point. There were National Guard units in the various states, but few, if any, of these, were any where near full of strength or in a state of combat readiness. The officers of these Guard units (companies) were Page 10
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customarily elected by the men of their respective units. This did not always result in a choice of competent officers and proper discipline. Under these circumstances, increasing the Army to more than 4,000,000 was indeed a Herculean task. That it was accomplished in one year, 6 months and 26 days, is almost incredible. The 3,800,000 man increase in the Army was no great problem. It was accomplished through the implementation of the Selective Service legislation enacted by Congress immediately following the Declaration of War on April 15, 1917. The problems were finding the Officers to train and lead these men; to clothe them; to house them; to feed them; and to equip them with weapons. The Officer problem was solved by setting up Officer Training Camps at designated Army Posts. Officer Candidates were put through a rigorous ninety day study and training course. The candidates consisted of volunteers, some of whom had varying degrees of military training, to those who had not had any. Some were regular Army Non-commissioned Officers who won Commissions from Second Lieutenants to Major. There were veterans of the War with Spain (1898), who were in their late forties, some of whom won commissions as Second Lieutenants and some, of course, won higher rank. I was told by one of the officers in my regiment that for some reason, a number of law enforcement officers won commissions. Of those who won commissions, in the Officer Training Camps, I was most impressed by the young college graduates and especially by the graduates of the land grant universities, such as our own University of Missouri. The number of lawyers, who won commissions was surprising. Some of the lawyers were outstanding; one of these was Captain Inghram D. Hook, of Kansas City. The two regular Army N.C.Os. that I knew, who were commissioned, seemed overly careful not to win a Purple Heart. The matter of clothing us was accomplished after a fashion. Much of the material in our uniforms was of an inferior quality. It goes without saying that, without a doubt, there was much profiteering by the suppliers. The housing problem was also solved after a fashion. The barracks we occupied at Camp Funston were not yet completed when we arrived in September, as I have noted earlier, heat in the barracks was not installed until late in November, and hot water became available about the same time. The problem of arming the men was finally accomplished with considerable effort, to put it mildly. Our regular Army's regulation infantry weapon was the Springfield caliber .30-06 rifle firing a rimless cartridge with a 150 grain pointed metal-cased bullet. Page 11
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It was a Mauser type, clip loading, repeating bolt action, rifle and an excellent weapon. It had been made in government Arsenals. However, these Arsenals were not equipped to manufacture these weapons in sufficient numbers to arm the 6000,000 combat troops that were planned to be put into action. Many years later I read that several of the first Divisions that were sent overseas, were armed with the Springfield. This may be true, The ultimate solution was that the War Department contracted with Winchester, Remington, and other arms manufacturers who had been supplying the British with infantry weapons, and were equipped to mass produce the British service arm. A slightly modified copy of the British weapon in caliber .30-06, technically known as the U.S. Rifle Model 1917, was adapted. It had a very strong and safe action, although, compared to the Springfield it was less streamlined and a bit heavier. By the time we entered the war, it had been amply demonstrated that the machine gun was a very necessary weapon. Miram S. Maxim, a United States citizen, invented an excellent machine gun in the 1880s. He demonstrated it to our Army Ordnance people, but the War Department decided we had no need for such a weapon. The inventor next demonstrated his weapon to the British and made a sale. However, the British did not manufacture many of the guns until after it had demonstrated its effectiveness to their troops in France. Maxim demonstrated his gun to the German General Staff and made a quick sale. When the war began, it quickly demonstrated its deadly effectiveness to the German high command, and many thousands of them were made for the German army. The Maxim machine gun was rather heavy as it consisted of three major parts: the barrel and firing mechanism; the tripod, and a water tank. Each of these parts made a load for one man. The remaining five men, of the gun crew, carried ammunitition when the gun went into action. When moving from one part of the front, to another, our machine gunners transported their guns and ammunition in cars drawn by a mule. A few machine gun Battalions used a small crawler tractor (Cletrac) to pull a number of carts. The Germans developed a lighter gun using the same barrel and mechanism, but eliminating the tripod. They used a small light pod, instead. This was attached near the muzzle and could be folded beside the barrel when carried. They cooled the barrel by air, eliminating the water jacket, thus making it really portable by one man. This was the gun that accounted for so many of our casulaties. We are later issued a light French automatic rifle - the Chanchat, a crude appearing air cooled gun firing the rimmed 8mm Label cartridge. Its accuracy was poor. Its only Page 12
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redeeming feature was its lightness. Two of these were issued to a platoon. After the Armistice we turned these in and were issued the new Browning automatic rifle - a superb weapon. The Germans had excellent trench mortars. One fired a 77mm shell and the other a larger one. They were mounted on a base plate, could be leveled and aimed accurately, and carried by two men. We had what was known as the Stokes Mortar, which was aimed purely by guess and found the range by trial and error. What little field artillery the army had was obsolete The artillerymen trained with the old obsolete three inch gun, and the 4.7 inch Howitzer, also obsolete, and wooden mock-ups, while at Camp Funston. Upon arriving in France, they were equipped with the French 75mm field gun and the 155mm Howitzer. They had to be trained with these and did not get into action until some time after the rest of the Division. Although I get a blouse in early October, which completed my uniform, it was several weeks later before all were completely outfitted. In the group of draftees that joined us in October, was a man from St. Louis, who was quite portly. We did not have a pair of breeches to fit him. The best we could do for him wa one of the largest we had and it lacked about four inches, of the top buttonhole, reaching the top button. However, after about five weeks of drilling, hiking, callistenics, and army fare, his breeches were a good fit. About the time we were all fitted with a complete uniform, we were issued blue denim jackets and band top (no bib) overalls of a rather poor quality. These were worn at all times, except when on sentry (guard) duty, parade, or leave. This made it easier to keep the O.D. uniforms in better shape. Soon after the Company was fully armed with the new M.1917 rifle, we fired a full course on the range. The entire Battalion camped in their pup tents. Fortunately the weather was agreeable and, I think, many of the men enjoyed it. I know that I did. Living in the tents was good training and, getting better acquainted with the rifle, as an absolute necessity. Some of the men had never fired a gun of any kind. We fired a 100, 200, 300, and 600 yards. At the shorter ranges we fired both at will and timed rapid fire. At 600 yards, firing was at will - we could take as much time as we wished. Rapid fire consisted of firing ten aimed shots in ten seconds. We were instructed to press the rifle butstock firmly into our shoulder to get better accuracy and also to minimize the effect of the recoil. Many failed to do this, especially in the hurry of getting off ten shots in ten seconds. The result was many Page 13
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bruised shoulders as the recoil of the 30.06 was rather heavy. I was perhaps more fortunate than many of the men as I was not only familiar with a small caliber rifle, but also with a 12-gauge shot gun which had almost the same recoil as the service rifle. I enjoyed firing on the rifle range. After I completed firing the full course, I am assigned to duty in the pits marking targets and recording the scores. This was also good experience for those of us who were later to help train new recruits. It also taught us what the sound of a high velocity bullet is like - a sharp crack, much like the report of a .22 caliber rifle firing a .22 short cartridge. While we are at the rifle range, the company field kitchen is with us, and we get our regular three hot meals every day. One day the Regimental band comes out to serenade us. When all have fired, the First Lieutenant, who now cammands the company, orders me to return to barracks and tell the Captain "that the men are getting ragged and dirty and I think the company should be ordered to return to barracks". He specifically orders me to use his exact words. I am glad to do this as I go and come back by bus and have time to get a bath before I return with the requested order. The reader may wonder why the First Lieutenant did not communicate by telephone. The reason is, there was no telephone in the barracks, and none near the rifle range. Several days later when the scores of all who fired the course are compared, I am informed that I have tied, with two others, for high score. I knew that I had scored 89 points, out of a possible 100, at 600 yards, but had not added my scores at the shorter ranges. On [December] 25, a comrade and I get a pass to go to Manhattan. We plan to go in time to attend a Christmas service at the church of our choice, but the train, asusual now, is late and we miss this. We have the noon meal at the Gillette Motel - turkey and all the trimmings. The day being very pleasant, we walked around in the campus of the Kansas Agricultural College, at the suggestion of my companion, a school teacher in civilian life. We take in a picture show and are back at our barracks at 10 P.M. The weather remains pleasant and, on [December] 27, I join a group that has not yet qualified at the range. Having qualified, I do not fire but mark scores. We march the 7 1/2 miles. The weather begins to turn much colder in the afternoon and we march back. The fifteen miles march, and activities on the range, make a long tiring day. We sign the payroll on Saturday and are ordered to turn in one pair of breeches and a shirt (we had two pair of O.D. breeches for a month or Page 14
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or so, also three shirts. Don't know why, unless some other units are needing them. We get a very thorough inspection (the usual Saturday routine), but unusually thorough this time. It has gotten very cold. I am glad it is Saturday so we do not have to go out to drill or hike. At midnight, on [December] 31 - [January] 1, 1918, the fire whistle sounds and all fall out as we always do. The Captain, and one or two other officers, come in as we are all about ready to evacuate the barracks, and tell us it is just to wake us up to see the new year in. Whistles blow, bands play, and we are informed there will be no Reveille in the morning, and we can sleep as long as we like. However, from force of habit, we get up as early as usual. The second Officers Training Camp has just turned out a newly commissioned group of officers. A number of them are attached to our company to get experience commanding troops. Some of them cannot remember which command to give next. It gets boring and very cold, so, as the officers get even colder than we, they settle for a hike and we get back to the barracks at 1:40 the morning of [January] 2. The new officers stay with us through [January] 5. We hike out to the parade ground, which is a relatively flat area about two miles north from camp. The whole Third Battalion goes. Captain F., and the Adjutant, ride a couple of shaggy-haired, sorry looking horses, at the head of the column. They both appear to be very amateurish horsemen. The new officers command the troops through the parade and cause a lot of foul ups, much to the disgust of the troops. Very cold weather is with us so we do hikes in the morning, and get lectures in the afternoons. On [January] 9, we go on a night problem and get very cold. Although we signed the payroll [December] 29, we have not yet been paid on [January] 12. Page 15
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Camp Funston, [January] 12, 1918 I am perturbed because we have not yet been paid for December. I am down to $2.00 and want my picture taken. I have lent a comrade, from the town nearest our farm home, $8.00. He has won the opportunity to go to O.T.C. and needs money for a new uniform. The whole camp is now in a dither. On Friday evening, [January] 11, at 8:30, the bank was held up. Three employees, who were in the bank, were killed by a man in a Captain's uniform. He covered the men with a gun, had one man tie the hands and feet of two, then he tied the third man and then brained the three with a hatchet, or similar instrument. After which he then took all the money he could find. In some way the robbery and murders were discovered rather promptly and the whole camp had been searched - except the officers. When it was announced that he robber was in a Captain's uniform, the guilty man committed suicide. The money taken was all recovered. One of the amusing things connected with this very shocking occurence was that when our Junior Second Lieutenant heard that the robber wore a Captain's uniform, he was highly incredulous and flatly stated "that no officer could have done such a thing!" It turns very cold in mid January, so we take occasional hikes, but mostly we have lectures, or other indoor instruction - temperature down to -30 [degrees]. Fortunately we now have ample warm clothing. Colonel Nuttman lectures to the N.C.Os. - tells us they are the backbone of the Army. More men are being transferred out to fill other Divisions. Soon only the N.C.Os. will be left. An article in the Kansas City Star, about the 89th Division, in describing the Division's training and personnel, says the N.C.Os. are "well trained and are the pick of the men who originally filled the Division to full strength". I do not fully agree with this statement, but would not comment on it at this time. I had been a private First Class, and acting Corporal, for several months. Because of my sore throat, and loss of my voice, I was in no condition to take the usual test for further promotion. The cold weather continues and I have another flare-up of sore throat. I have been wanting to go to Junction City, or Manhattan, to have a photograph taken and take advantage of the first Saturday Page 1
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afternoon to get it done in Junction City. We have more snow and the cold weather continues. Outdoor training is out of the question, mainly because of our only footwear is the hobnailed field shoe. I do not think we could wear enough socks in them, unless we got shoes two sizes larger than we now have. I am sure neither the shoes, or the socks, are available in quantities to supply all. One feature of our life here has improved very much. South of the barracks, besides the bank that was robbed, there now are picture shows, pool halls, and a few restaurants. The pool halls are a very good place to enjoy a few hours of occasional leisure. They are operated under strict rules - no profanity, no smoking, and no boisterous behavior, is permitted, and the cost of playing is nominal. When I feel well, and have the leisure time, I enjoy it very much. The articles of clothing I had to turn in have now been replacedby others, and of better quality. Besides the places of amusement mentioned above, there is also a large auditorium. One afternoon the entire Regiment (only officers, N.C.Os., cooks, buglers, etc. are left), are assembled in the auditorium to practice songs, along with the regimental band. I go along but cannot join in the singing on account of my sore throat and loss of voice. The approximately 800 voices, and band, are very impressive. A vocal solo, by a Captain Carlson, a native Kansan, is very good. I get my photographs in good time, but can find no envelope to mail them, so I package them securely and send them to my home folks for them to distribute to various friends, relatives, and the very special girl friend. The cold continues and my throat and voice do not improve - cannot talk above a whisper without intense pain. By February 5 the weather has moderated, for a welcome change. I am getting the Mumps. My former acquaintance, Capt. Bloch, sends me to the Base Hospital, at Fort Riley. I am sent to the wrong section of the hospital, but the next day, [February] 6, I am transferred to one of the old three-story Cavalry barracks. I am told there are about 300 Mump cases here. Bathing and toilet facilities are in the basement. The kitchen, and mess hall are on the third floor. I am assigned to a cot on the first floor. There is no room service, except if you need medication, the orderly will bring it, usually, after a considerable delay. A Medical Officer makes the rounds once daily, as a rule. I was told there was a nurse on duty, but I never saw one. This is a poor excuse for a hospital and, obviously, no place for men suffering from the mumps. I can remember climbing the two long flights of stairs, to the mess hall, only once. I remained on my cot as much of the time as possible and wished Page 2
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that I had the mumps when I was eight years old. An Orderly took temperatures twice a day. After being in this so-called hospital, for a week, and beginning to feel very sick, the Medical Officer tells me he is going to send me to the Convalescent Barracks, at Camp. I protest that I am just beginning to feel sick. He tells me, "you've been here long enough". The seats, in the ambulance, were lightly padded. The gravel road was full of chug holes. When I arrived at the Convalescent Barracks, I was very grateful when the Medical Sergeant in charge showed me a cot close by. The Sergeant took my temperature and gave me a hard look. He notes that I do not go to supper, and brings me a cup of broth. The next morning he took my temperature and announced "you're going right back to the Base Hospital". I did, and this time on a stretcher. The Ward I entered, at the Base, was in a newly built, temporary building. There were about twenty, or more, beds, all occupied. A Medical Officer was on call around the clock. A nurse, and Orderly, were on duty 24 hours a day. I was given the best of care. I was very ill. About all I remember of the first three days, is that I was frequently aroused, from what seemed a drugged sleep, to find the nurse applying glycerine to my severely chapped lips, or sponging my face with a wet towel. When I am finally discharged from the hospital, after a long siege with the mumps, I am back in the Convalescent Barracks. A letter, written to my folks on [February] 25, tells them that I went to the Hospital, with the mumps, just three weeks ago, that I am still not entirely well, and have a severe head cold. An article in the Kansas City paper tells of a "clean up" in the Medical Corps. Many doctors have been dismissed from the Service and others have resigned. I hope those responsible for the conditions I found, in the old Cavalry Barracks, have been dealt with so no more harm will come to those who are ill and helpless. Actually, the Doctors in the main, probably did the best they could. The blame lies with the higher authority, in Washington, who continued to draft men throughout the winter when there was no suitable housing for them. Thousands of men were put into tents, in the bitter weather, without heat and adequate attention. Many died, in those tents, from the senseless exposure. We have, for months, been hearing about the new recruits dyin in their tents on the reservation. On [February] 28 I am back in my own company barraks, suffering from a severe earache, as well as an increasing soreness back of my ear. I realize I may be in for trouble when I report sick at the Regimental Page 3
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Infirmary and they find I have a fever. An ambulance picks me up shortly and I soon find myself back in the Base Hospital on March 2. They give me an aspirin, for the pain, and take two blood samples daily. On the third day, the surgeon tells me "it looks like I am going to have to carve on you". I have surgery the morning of March 6. The mumps, especially when there is a relapse, as in my case, causes severe build up of poisons in the body. In my case, the entire left mastoid was removed. I was so weak, from loss of blood, that I was unable to raise my head from my pillow. Healing was a very slow process I was always in considerable pain. I was finally discharged from the hospital, with a hole in my head, a constant noise in my left ear, and severely impaired hearing, on April 13. I spend a few days in the Convalescent Barracks and then back to Company I. I return to my Company April 14, my 23rd birthday anniversary. I am still weak and tire very quickly. An order from the Chief of Surgery at the Base Hospital, states that I am to be excused from duty and am to be given a twnty-one day furlough. While I was in the hospital, I was told by some of the staff, that there was a division of opinion, among the surgeons, as to the advisibility of allowing the mastoidectomy cases to be returned to duty, or to be given a medical discharge. In the light of my experience, I am inclined to think the latter course should have been followed. My hearing improved, to some extent. But, due to the very considerable difference in the acuteness of hearing between my left ear and my right ear, I find it difficult to locate where sounds come from. When there are two sources of sound, or more than one person talking, I can understand very little, if anything, either says - a severe handicap for a soldier - especially in combat, and a handicap the rest of my life, besides the annoyance or the continuous noise in the affected ear, the rest of my life. There are now about 45 men left in each of the Infantry companies in the Division-cooks and N.C.O. cadre. They have been fully equipped and look like real soldiers. These are the men the article, in the Kansas City Star, described as "the pick of the bunch". They will be the men who will do the most to train the 180 recruits we will soon get. I now learn, with pride, that my name was always on this list of "indispensibles", so I was in no danger of being transferred at any time. Page 4
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At the noon mess, the day I return, the menu consists of pork chops, with all the trimmings, and pumpkin pie for dessert. Shortly before I was discharged from the hospital, our First Lieutenant (Mabel) was admitted for eye trouble. He had requested that, when I had the opportunity, I bring his toilet kit and some clean clothes. I do this on the afternoon of the 14th. I have another reason for going there as I think I have some letters there for me. I am not disappointed when I get several from home, and three from the very special girl friend. When I first went to the hospital I was wearing the blue denim fatigues. They put away all my O.D. uniform, underwear, socks, shoes, hat, rifle, bayonet, pistol, belt, and complete pack. So, I look it all over to see that it is all O.K. as I will wear my O.Ds. home. I arrive, at home, on Friday, April 19, and enjoy the fresh air, good food, and rest. I enjoy every minute of it and regain my strength. It is rather difficult to part from the home folks, and the very special girl friend. The journey from Camp Funston home, and return, are comfortable as trains are on time and not crowded, as was the case the other times I made the journey. I arrived back at Company I barracks in time for breakfast on May 9. Spent the day drawing my equipment and readying it - cleaning and oiling my rifle and pistol. The Battalion is in tents at the Rifle Range and they have some new recruits. I will join them tomorrow. There is the usual Kansas wind. It is blowing up an awful sandstorm. Sand is coming thru the cracks in the walls of the barracks, covering floors and bunks like last Fall. I get on the electric car, in the morning, carrying pack, rifle, pistol, and all, to join the rest of the Company. I fire the full course - 250 rounds. When the the scores are tabulated, mine, at 600 yards, has not been equaled by anyone else in the Company. There are other troops here - the 353 Infantry and some from the 92nd Division (black). Our band came from Camp Funston and serenaded us, one evening. We break camp the morning of May 14 and march back to camp, carrying field packs. As we carry no ammunition, our load weighs about forty pounds. It is very warm and we are all tired after the 7 1/2 mile hike. We are to get another group of about 65 men, which will give us a company strength of about 175 men. We are due to get more recruits. They arrive about mid-month - from Camp Grant. After brief instruction, they are required to fire a course at the rifle range. I am ordered to take two of them to the range one morning. One of them speaks no English. I take them on the trolley to avoid the 7 1/2 mile hike. We are Page 5
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not enthused about the men from Camp Grant. They are from Chicago. Many have never been out of the big city. We also get a contingent from New Mexico. Many of them are Indians and speak Spanish. One cannot speak English at all. Our Company is a cross section of the United States, from Chicago to the Rio Grande. By May 18, we are in the midst of stenciling all pack carriers, haversacks and eventually our barracks bags, with the Regiment number, Company letter, and individuals number -mine is 356131. All the old men - the N.C.Os - are kept busy. It is evident we are shortly going overseas. All the Company property - the contents of the Supply Room - clothing, shoes, all ordnance and records, are boxed. The boxes are labeled with Division, Regiment, and Company numbers and letters. The same is true of the typewriter and filing cabinet in the Orderly Room. Also the Field (rolling) Kitchen. On May 22 we seem to be about all packed. We may not tell, or write, when we are to leave, or where we are going, but it is well known anyway. All the old men are kept very busy. There have been frequent inspections to see that every man is properly equipped. Every minute that could be spared from clothing the recruits, and packing, have been devoted to teaching them the basics of drill so they can be marched, and maneuvered, without confusing too many of them. We also get a partial change of officers. Capt. W. B. Finney is replaced by Captain Dale D. Ernsberger; Lieut. Frank E. Strain is promoted to First Lieutenant and replaces First Lieut. Mabe; Second Lieut. Wm. P. Ellison fills in for First Lieut. Strain. Second Lieut. Mattoon is replaced by Second Lieut. Julius C. Moreland; First Lieut. Jerome E. Moore becomes Bn. Adjutant. Eventually there will be other replacements of officers as time passes. As I recount the events, and activities, in this narrative, there are some that were humorous, as well as some that were an incident that occured in October. We had hiked to an area where we often went for drill and maneuvers. The Captain had ordered all the Corporals to take charge of their squads and put them thru squad drill. He was a short, and definitely a portly man, with a rather high-pitched voice. He tried hard to present a military appearance, but nature was against him. Like the rest of us, he had hiked all the way to this area from Camp Funston and was, doubt less, a bit leg weary. He sets a wooden box on end and sits down, ramrod straight, to watch his Corporals do their stuff. He turns from side to side in order to see all he could and, just as I was immediately Page 6
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to his front, the box collapses and the Captain takes a very undignified tumble It was an effort for me to keep a straight face, but gave my squad a "column left" and got away from the immediate vicinity. Others saw the Captain's tumble but, like myself, suppressed their laughter until later. As told earlier, the Captain was not permitted to go overseas with us. The rumor was that he had failed to pass the psychiatric test that all officers were required to take. First Lieut. Mabe, a veteran of the War with Spain, in many ways the most competent officer we had, failed to go overseas. He was well into his forties. His age may have been the reason for his transfer, but the fact that he was an immigrant, from Germany, may have been the deciding factor. 2nd Lieut. Mattoon also was left behind. He, like later General Champeney, attended a number of our Regimental reunions, in Kansas City. He was in the Service, in WWII, as a Judge Advocate Colonel. Company I, along with other companies of the Regiment, boarded a train for our Eastward journey, on the morning of Friday, May 24, 1918. Compared to the transportation we had on the rest of our journey, we traveled in luxury - in Pullman cars. I was so fortunate that I got to share a stateroom with two others. I took the upper bunk, by choice, and truly enjoyed the trip. The Spring weather was especially pleasant. I enjoyed the scenery. I had never traveled much before as I was born and raised on a farm and never had the time, or money for it. Our train halted briefly at the town of Moberly about dusk.We were ordered out of the cars and marched up and down the streets for perhaps a quarter hour. Evidentally our arrival had been announced earlier as there was a considerable crowd at the depot The relatives of a few of our men were there. The crowd applauded vigorously when we changed direction, or formation, at the various commands. Due to the fact that the vast majority of the men were poorly trained, ours was a ragged performance, but the farmers, and the townspeople knew no better. Anyway, it was good to get a bit of exercise. At daylight, on May 25, we were travelling across the Illinois prairie - rich black dirt. The corn was about six inches tall and of a sickly yellow color from too much moisture. This was also coal mining country as was indicated by the huge piles of slag that dotted the landscape. On May 25 we stop at a town in Indiana for exercise where mostly boys came to watch us. I heard them say that we were all from out West and Page 7
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were all cowboys ! Our next stop, the late afternoon of the 26th, was at Shenango, Pennsylvania. Even to the casual observer, it was evident that it was older then our towns and villages in the Midwest. We drew only a minimum of attention, except for two Khaki-Wacky young girls who chose to be kissed by all the men that came along. When we passed thru a large city, we saw the largest locomotive ever built, up to that time. We passed through the part of the state settled by the German immigrants brought over by William Penn, now better known as the Pennsylvania Dutch, also Amish. I marveled at the huge and solid barns on their farms. The farther East we came, the better the railroads and the more paved high-ways. Two boys, on a motorcycle, and people in a Pierce-Arrow touring car, easily kept up with our troop train along a stretch of paved highway that paralleled the tracks. In New Jersey our train slowed its speed as we passed through an attractive town called Tuxedo Park, that impressed me. We arrived at Hoboken, New Jersey, transferred to a ferry, and then boarded a Long Island train for Camp Mills, where we arrive late in the afternoon of May 27. The trip, across the Bay, was a novel experience for about everyone. The ferry that navigated forward, or backward, with equal facility, was about as interesting as the Statue of Liberty, the Woolworth Building, Battery Park, and the bridges from Manhattan to Long Island. We were quartered in squad tents - again had to make do with cold water for showers and shaving. We were subjected to a number of inspections, down to extra shoe strings. It was only a minor annoyance to the rank and file, but the Officers, apparently, became annoyed. It seemed that if only one man was found short of a pair of socks, or had lost a knife, fork, or spoon from his mess gear, the entire company had to undergo another inspection. In a conversation with the First Sergeant, he stated that the Captain was getting disgusted. I asked why did the Captain not put the responsibility on the N.C.Os. for such inspection. He told me the Captain did not think the N.C.Os. were competent. My reply was that if I were Captain, and had a Corporal, or other N.C.O., who was that incompetent, I would demote him to Private at once. He told the Captain what I had said and, the next day, orders were issued to the effect that Corporals were to inspect their squads. I had put my foot in my mouth! That was the last inspection we stood at Camp Mills. We had to wait until June 4 to board ship. We did little here as there was seemingly, no room to drill more than a squad any where. Our quarters Page 8
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adjoined an airfield. There were planes in the air all day, weather permitting. We had frequent showers, but the rainfall quickly disappeared into the coarse sand. I think about everyone got tired of the lack of activity. One of the recruits, in my squad, challenged me to play Blackjack (21). I had little interest in gambling, but the boredom of inaction impelled me to accept the challenge. We started out at a dime a game. I won, rather consistently, and he reacted by wanting to play for a quarter a game. My luck continued until he gave up in disgust, after I had won about five dollars. I wrote a number of letters as I knew it would be weeks before I could mail any more. I received some that were read, and reread often, before I would get any more. On the morning of June 14, we are ordered to roll our packs. Immediately after which we pick up all our gear and board a train that takes us to the vicinity of the Cunard Steamship Line docks, in New York City, where we board the Cunard Liner Coronia. This ship was, at that time, already some twenty years old. She had a coat of alternate black and white paint in a most irregular pattern. They called it camouflage. I question that it camouflaged the vessel with those two tall smokestacks showing up like lighthouses. We were shown to our quarters by the sailors, in a comparatively short time - there were about 6,000 of us. I say quarters. I think I should describe them. There were tables built like the picnic tables we are all familiar with. A table with benches attached to both sides. They accommodate 22 men. As we filed into the compartment, a sailor counted off 22 men to a table. Rolled hammocks were attached to numbered hooks in the ceiling. At night these hammocks were unrolled and the free end attached to another hook, stretching the hammock out long enough to accomodate a man. We were so crowded when all were in their hammocks, that an occupant's head could touch the man's foot, behind him and, his feet could touch the man in the hammock ahead. He could touch the men on either side by moving his elbows outward. The air, when all were in their hammocks, was unbelievably foul. Two days before we sailed, one or more, German submarines had sunk a number of small vessels within forty miles of new York Harbor. No one, except the necessary crew members, were allowed on deck as we steamed out to sea. A Blimp was flying over the convoy, as were also several planes. A number of destroyers were racing around the convoy, also on the lookout for submarines. Fortunately for us, our quarters were about, at least, eight feet above the water line so we could see a little of what was going on. Of course, our convoy left us when darkness Page 9
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set in, except for a British cruiser that stayed all the way. We were each equipped with a life jacket. They were made of canvas, filled with cork. The canvas had originally been yellow, but the color was now undiscernable. The salt air made everything one touched feel greasy, or was it the salt air? Nothing seemed to be too clean. We are fed twice daily. The morning meal consisted of coarse brown bread, orange marmalade, and tea. At about 4 P.M. we were offered either boiled beef, or boiled mutton, potatoes (unpeeled), and, of course, the inevitable tea. When the men, at my table, were counted off, the sailor saw the chevron on my sleeve and said that I was to see that all got their fair share. I tried to perform this duty the best I could, except at one meal - the rabbit stew. About noon, as I was coming down the ladder, I noticed the elevator had brought up some rabbits from the cold storage hold. They looked just like the old cotton-tails we used to kill, for the market, when I had time off from farm work and needed a little money. They were skinned and drawn (gutted). The head and feet were left on, and sometimes we did not get all the hair off the tail. Not infrequently an inch, or so, of the colon were left with a few pellets of manure in it. I stopped to watch the two sailors who were readying the rabbits for the stewpot. One sailor had a meat fork, about three feet long, with which he would spear a rabbit, then pitch it on to the butcher's block where another sailor, with a cleaver, chopped off the head and the legs, raked those into a tub, and then proceeded to chop up the rabbit into three or four pieces. I immediately developed a queasy feeling with regard to the afternoon meal. When the food was brought to my table I took the large spoon, that was in the container, and lowered it to the bottom, then slowly raised it and drained part of the contents back into the container. I found that the spoonful I brought up contained a quite liberal portion of rabbit hair, and rabbit dung. I replaced the spoon in the stew, shoved it to the nearest man, and told all to help themselves. I went back upon the deck. Fortunately we had a canteen on board where we could buy candy bars, and a few other items, to supplement the unappetizing, and sometimes revolting fare. I was now very thankful that the recruit had challenged me to the Blackjack games. I was down to about two dollars at the time. With the additional five I won, I had sufficient money to get the food items that helped make life barely bearable. Our convoy's course was far to the NOrth of the usual shipping lanes between New York and the British Isles. In fact, we were, for a few days, Page 10
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so far North that we had less then four hours of daylight. Submarines, of that day, were only a faint hint of the silent and unbelievably deadly atomic-powered underseas dreadnaughts that have been developed in the late 1970s. The Germans had comparatively few of them, but they had exacted a heavy toll, in ships sunk. Our convoy's course was so far North that submarines could not operate in the cold waters of those northern latitudes for the simple reason that there was no practical way to heat the crew's quarters so the men could function. We experienced a lot of rough water. When we left New York Harbor, the sea was relatively calm. In fact, the light wind caused only a ripple. We could open portholes and look out. However, this favorable condition did not obtain for long, and all porthjoles had to be kept closed. One evening we were encountering especially rough water on our starboard bow. Some of us were in our hammocks. I was among them when, suddenly, there was a deafening crash. It was followed, momentarily, by wild panic as many assumed we had been torpedoed. It so happened that, as I lay in my hammock, my attention had been called to a group that was in line with the cause of the commotion - one of the portholes had not been properly fastened so that, when a heavy sea crashed against it, the fastening gave way and a barrel, or more, of sea water, suddenly crashed down on a table top. There happened to be a few cool heads nearby who immediately saw what caused the crash and were able to stop the panic. This gave us a good idea what would occur in case we would be torpedoed. Really, in such an instance, there would be few, if any, survivors, as there were nowhere near enough lifeboas, and rafts, to accommodate passengers and crew, and no chance for survival in the cold water. In any case, the convoy would not stop to pick up the people from a torpedoed boat because of the danger of more torpedoes from the sub. As General Wood was relieved as Commander of the Division shortly before we sailed, Brigadier General Frank L. Winn was now in command. I recall that on several occasions we were ordered to the upper decks as practice for a possible abandon ship order, and also to afford us a little much needed exercise. There was no recreation available, so we were very glad when the ships entered into the Irish Sea, from the North, On June 16. After twelve long days at sea, during which we always wore the bulky life jackets (except for the several times we got a shower bath by dousing one another with buckets of sea water) the prospect of soon discarding them was pleasant to contemplate. As we came down the North Channel, the sight of the coasts of Northern Ireland, Scotland, and the lush green of the Isle of Man, were a welcome sight. However, Page 11
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sobering reminders that there was a war going on, were the masts of sunken ships we encountered. Those were shockingly numerous as we neared the port city of Liverpool, where we disembarked. Our ship was heavily loaded with an assortment of freight, as well as the 5,000 troops, and crew, The ship was slowly eased into the dockside, accompanied by the rendering of the British national anthem, and also our own, by our bands. Once along side, no time was lost in disembarking as all of us, after discarding the greasy life jackets, had gotten into our gear and picked up our rifles, ready to go. We formed into a column of Squads (four men abreast), and marched through the streets of Liverpool to what was called Knotty Ash Camp. The narrow streets were paved with brick, or stone, and our hobnail field shoes announced our approach to all and sundry. My place, in the formation, was behind our Platoon Sergeant. At his left was Capt. E. I was in the first rank of soldiers and, or course, was all eyes to see all I could of the first European city I was ever in. We had not gone far when the stall boys would run alongside the column with the usual request, "hey, Yank, have ya got any cents?" To this the usual reply was, "No, if I had, I wouldn't be in the Army". One feature that struck us rather forcefully, was all the small brick cottages built side by side at the edge of the street (no sidewalk). All these cottages were very neat, with lace curtains at every small window. We saw only the very young, and the old; no young or middle-aged men or women on the streets, and all had bad teeth. We had not proceeded more than perhaps a quarter mile when I saw a toothless, but spry, old lady rush up to Capt. E. and, throwing her arms around his neck, enthusiastically planted a kiss on his cheek, to the evident embarassment of the Captain. KNOTTY ASH CAMP The afternoon was warm and sunny so we had worked up a sweat, carrying our 90 pound load, by the time we arrived at our destination. We were a bit disconcerted when we noted the very tall, tight, and unclimable barbed wire enclosure surrounding the mess tent, kitchen, and rows of Squad tents. Upon being assigned to a tent, we lost no time getting rid of pack and weapon. The next thing we sought was a drink of water, then a little rest. About 4 P.M. mess call sounded. We had worked up an appetite since the usual shipboard morning meal of coarse bread, marmalade, and tea. Our evening ration of more of the dark, coarse bread, cheese, marmalade, and the inevitable tea, lacked, noticeably, of satisfying our hunger. We are getting the same ration as the British. These people all look lean and, several times in brief conversations with some Page 12
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elderly men, we are told what a fine looking lot of men we are. Then, "We are sorry for you, but you'll never get back. Ye cawn't lick them Germans". It was very evident the common people, of England, were "licked." As we passed through England, France, and later into Germany, this became even more evident, especially of France. After supper we noted, in a small area between the mess tent and the nearest troop tent on the outside of the formidable fence, were some young children, mostly at a distance, and several youngish appearing women, who did not hesitate to proposition us, naming a very modest price "if you can get out of there". Thus was revealed to us, the reason for the unclimable fence - to keep these women out, and us in. Nevertheless, one of our regular Army Sergeants, managed to get out. He was missed, and for his brief fling at liberty and lust, he was reduced to Private. TO SOUTHHAMPTON The next morning after the usual breakfast of coarse bread, marmalade and tea, we marched to the railroad station and boarded a train. It was a bright, sunny day for the most part and I enjoyed the scenery. The English countryside can be described as clean, and generally well cared for. Even the smallest water courses, on the steepest hillsides, had been lined with concrete or rock, to prevent erosion. The land that was subject to erosion, due to its topography, was in grass. The several grand estates I saw, with the manor, or castle, set back in a well manicured park, looked the perfect picture of rural elegance. The rolling stock, of the English railroads, is smaller than ours is in the United States, but their rate of speed is quite fast and all out of proportion to the high pitched little whistle of the locomotive. We passed close by a city Coventry, I think it was, but made no stop until we arrived at Southampton in late afternoon. Almost all the houses, in the villages, appeared small and all were of masonry- a contrast to ours, mostly of wood. The thing I noticed, and which struck me as unique, was the lack of fences. There were some areas enclosed by stone walls, but livestock was either herded by a man, and his trained dog, or it was tethered. CROSSING CHANNEL TO LeHAVRE FROM SOUTHAMPTON There was considerable delay before we boarded the small channel steamer Prince George. When we did get aboard, I, for one, was on deck to see all I could as we steamed slowly down the estuary. I was particularly fascinated by a castle on the Isle of Wight. Our progress was timed so we began to get into the choppy water of the Channel at dark. Page 13
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A comrade, and I, began to wander around looking for a comfortable place to rest. There appeared to be none on the deck from where we had done our sight seeing. As we walked along a narrow passage, between cabin and the rail, a cabin door opened slightly and a crew man spoke softly and asked us in. He knew we would be hungry and that we would doubtless we willing to pay for food, and a comfortable place to sleep. When he offered us all the bread, roast beef, and tea, we wanted, plus a comfortable bunk, for a dollar, we accepted with alacrity. The roast beef was excellent and the bunk was well padded. When I awoke it was broad daylight and we were entereing the harbor at LeHavre. Our hosts had cautioned us that they were not really supposed to have guests so, after getting into our gear, we picked up our rifles, opened a crack in the door to see if the passage was clear. When it was, we stepped out quickly and joined our comrades on the forward deck. We did not get to thank our hosts as they were gone - at duty, I suppose. As the Prince George was being moored, our new First Sergeant, on seeing me, asked, "Where have you been?" "I've been looking for you". I told him simply that I had found a good place to sleep. The ramp was being lowered and I was ordered ashore. Upon my taking position, the order was given for I company to "fall in", to my left. This was the easiest way to disembark the troops from the small steamer in an orderly manner. The other units followed in the same manner after our Company moved out. when all had assembled, the column marched up a rather steep hill. The street was paved. A substantial retaining wall bordered it on the Harbor side. On the other side was a row of what evidentally were residences, all with a good view of the harbor. We stop at a so-called Camp. Our quarters look more like an old warehouse. We sleep on a board floor - the boards, simply placed side by side on the ground, are furnished with the coarsest wool blankets I ever saw. Facilities here are very poor. We eat from our emergency rations for breakfast, June 18, and live on them for almost a week. We leave this place, with no regrets, on the 19th, when we board a train for our training area in Northeastern France. We arrive at the railroad station nearest the village of Liffol le Grande, in the early hours of June 23. This journey, from LeHavre to Liffol le Grande, was the most trying we had so far undertaken. We were sandwiched into the third class cars with our weapons, and equipment, so tightly that if one man wished to move a foot, or a leg or two, others had to do the same. The distance traveled was about 500 kilometers, or approximately 300 miles. Due to the poor conditions of the French railway systems, it Page 14
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took us from the morning of the 19th, to the early morning hours of June 23, to travel this distance. Fortunately the French railways system was double track, evidentally, about 100%, at that time. Had it not been so, the rail system would have caused total disaster early in the war. Our troop train stopped many times, in the country side, evidentally to either make repairs, or to get up a sufficient head of steam, or both. The first French villages we saw were a novelty, with their small stone houses clustered together, and the inevitable church, with its tall spire. LIFFOL LE GRANDE AND VILLOUXELL It was still dark when the train stopped for us to get off in the midst of fields of farmland. It can be understood that all the troops were glad to get out and walk around a bit. I think our Company Officers understood this. I had a high regard for our Colonel, but when I heard him say, to our Captain, "your men seem to be quite restless", I was disappointed in him. The officers rode in first class cars and were not cramped for room, as were we. It took quite a while to unload such of our equipment as the field kitchens. For some reason, the guide who was to show us to our various destinations, did not put in his appearance for hours. I Company, together with the rest of the Third Battalion, occupied four temporary wooden barracks in the tiny hamlet of Villouxwell. The rest of the Regiment was quartered in Liffol le Grand. We, of the Third Battalion, were very fortunate here, although I doubt that very many of us were really aware of our good fortune at the time. The hamlet consists of not more than five houses, all of which were small and one, of which, according to its occupant, was four hundred years old. I have no doubt that was true as the door sill was of a very durable type of stone. It was worn down so far, in the place where most hobnailed shoe soles had come in contact with it, that a full grown cat could easily enter, although the door be shut. The hamlet was located at the foot of a forested area where a very considerable spring of cool clear water gushed out of a rock formation, was caught in a good sized concrete tank where we could always fill our canteens with cool water. This water was so pure, it was not necessary to chlorinate it - an unusual circumstance indeed. It was a quiet place. There was no public "cafe" dispensing alcoholic beverages. Those who sought such, had to walk over two kilometers to the village so, if they became inebriated, they could walk at least some of it off, coming back. Villouxell was in a typical rural area - farmland, although not the best in France. We could look to the South and see the village of Page 15
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Liffol le Grand and also see the trains, often transporting military hardware North, and sometimes wrecked airplanes, and other equipment, South. The small city of Neufchateau, was in the Eastern part of our training area, and was the location of our Base Hospital. Some 35 kilometers North, and slightly East, of Neufchateau, was the town of Domremy where Joan of Arc was born. However, there was no time for us to visit the scenic, or the historic, attraction. TRAINING (HARD WORK) Our location, it would seem, had been chosen so that we could hear the occasional rumble of the heavy artillery. That was, I am sure, a reminder to all and sundry, that we had best not take the rigorous training we were getting, too lightly. It soon became apparent that the recruits we had received from the big cities, were less prone to questions, or to dally when told what to do. One of the first sizeable jobs undertaken by the Battalion carpenters and mechanics, was construction of a rifle range. My promotion from Private First Class to Corporal, so long delayed by my 68 day hospital confinement, and 21 day furlough, came on June 25. All N.C.Os. were really kept busy. The recruits that had joined us only a few weeks before we left Camp Funston, had learned barely enough close order drill so they could march in formation. This had to be remedied. They also had to be trained in extended combat order quickly and without getting confused. The first several Divisions that were hastily sent overseas, suffered severe casualties because they advanced in an attack with only about a yard interval. We were trained to advance with squads in single file until we came under fire, when we were told to form, rapidly, a line abreast, with intervals of twenty feet wetween men. This was followed by a similar line twenty to thirty yards to the rear. This formation resulted in fewer casualties from artillery fire and also, far fewer from machine guns. All this, and much more, had to be drilled into the consciousness of every man. Such wide deployment of the men, necessarily made it much more difficult for a Captain to control his Company, and for a platoon Commander (Lieutenant, Sergeant, Corporal and even, sometimes, a Private), to control his Platoon. It also put much more responsibility on the N.C.Os. As soon as the rifle range was finished, every man had to fire a full course (11, 200, 300 yards) on the range. Although I briefly fired the French Chanchat automatic rifle, with which two men in my squad were equipped, I spent the time coaching on the firing line, thanks to my having twice qualified at the Fort Riley range and having twice made Page 16
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better than average scores. In general I found that the men really wanted to become proficient with the rifle. My work demanded that only I march to and from the range with the rest of the Company. I did not need to be on my feet more than half the time while coaching. My worst reaction was that it made my ears ring, beingso close to the report, whereas only my left ear had a constant ringing ordinarily. It was late in June, on a Sunday, or early July, that the wild strawberries were ripe. There were some in the wooded area, on the hills, above the barracks. A Comrade and I, both starved for fresh fruit, decided to gather some. It took several hours to pick about two teacups full, they were so small. Some men from another company also picked some, but got chased up a tree by a wild boar and were kept there over an hour. These creatures roam all over Europe where there is woodland and no fence. While we were working hard, we enjoyed a climate that was quite a contrast to the wind, heat, and dust of Kansas. It got really warm, in the daytime, but the nights were so cool, that a blanket was needed for comfortable sleeping. To me, the most trying thing about our training, was the regular Friday hike. I never did learn just how many kilometers we covered, but we left the barracks at 7 A.M., carrying a full pack and all our weapons, 150 rounds of ammunition for our rifle, and 25 more for my pistol. We rested, supposedly, ten minutes out of every hour, took a half hour for the noon meal, and some times we did not get back to our quarters until after 4 P.M. It was the duty of every N.C.O. to see that all started out with a full canteen of water. The water cart did not accompany us. In early July, it got quite warm, and canteens generally were empty long before we could get to fill them at our good spring at Villouxell. I will ever remember one very warm Friday afternoon, as we were marching through a village where some of our men were quartered, a man came and walked beside me. He asked if I would like to trade an empty canteen for a full one. Of course my reply was, yes. I unsnapped mine hastily and gave it to him, while he handed me his. It was full and cool. I took four or five swallows and passed it to my comrades as their canteens were as empty as mine had been. I am disgusted with Army paymaster's dilatory paper work. I have a letter stating that they owe me over $90. It seems that my service record accompanied us to the Base Hospital at Fort Riley and has not, as yet (July 7) caught up with me. Page 17
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1918 INFLUENZA I am in the Base Hospital at Neufchateau on Saturday, July 6. I feel ill and turn in early as I am sore all over, I get up, the next morning, feeling better. Later I do not feel at all well, but do not go on sick report. However, as the day wears on, I realize that I have a fever and, about mid afternoon, I tell the First Sergeant that I am going to the Infirmary. As I step in the door I see Captain Bloch at his deak. He looks up, turns to the Medical Sergeant and says, "Sergeant, get this man a chair and then take his temperature." In a few minutes I am on my way to the Base Hospital at Neufchateau. I am thoroughly disgusted. It looks as if I cannot stay out of the hospital for very long. It probably would have been better if I had come to the hospital sooner. This place is staffed by U.S. doctors and nurses. However, the patients are a very cosmopolitan lot. Most are French soldiers who have been gassed. One is a French Sergeant, a real old timer. He does about as he pleases - pays no attention to instructions from the nurses, or the doctors. His aversion to bathing made him very unpopular with the nurses. He refuses to stay in bed - gets up every morning and dons his uniform, with the insignia of his rank, and campaign and service ribbbons. There are blacks from the French African possessions, black Americans, and white Americans. There is an American in the bed just across the aisle from me who has brought his violin with him. He is able to sit up in bed and plays very well. I enjoy his rendition of Humoresque, the Barocole, and Trauperie, as well as others he plays from memory. I get excellent care here and, although I am quite ill when I arrived the late afternoon of July 7, I am allowed to get up and put on my uniform the latter part of that week. Instead of being served my meals in bed, I go to the nearby mess hall. On Bastille Day, July 14, I eat the noon meal at the same table a black from Africa. Needless to say, we cannot carry on a conversation as neither of us can understand the other, and anyway, there are only the two of us - he at one end of the table and I at the other. There are only five of us in the mens hall. There are not many who are able to be up and many are going to stay bedridden as long as possible. The French, and their Colonials, are both war weary. That afternoon there is quite a celebration in the town of Neufchateau. I ask the nurse if I may go to see it. She tells me that I may go, but ''do not stay until you get tired.'' I realize that I am disgustingly weak by the time I walk the few blocks to the scene of the activities. They have made a platform for the dignitaries to sit, or stand, on, as color Page 18
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bearers, and a band, followed by about two platoons of U.S. troops, and a small contingent of French, pass in review. Immediately following this, a middle-aged Frenchman, in a Prince Albert coat and pin-striped trousers, gets up and starts speaking. I begin to feel tired and, as I cannot understand enough French to follow his, I go back to the hospital and the comfort of my bed. By July 18, I am in a convalescent facility only about two kilometers from the Company. A lot of convalescents are quartered in a large tent where we have comfortable bunks and are fed five times a day. Among those who are here are quite a number of rather young boys from the first divisions to get into action here. Many of them are still in their teens and some are volunteers from the regular Army and National Guard units. They tell some tall tales, I am inclined to think some of them have a very vivid imagination. This is certainly a good place to recuperate. Not only is the food good and plentiful, the quarters comfortable and even the climate is very agreeable. They have an occasional picture show. One I saw was "The Social Secretary" starring Norma Talmadge. I had not seen a picture show since last May. The doctors here give thorough check-ups to everyone daily. I wonder what interesting sounds they hear in my chest, They seem to find something of interest, but will not tell me anything. Today, July 24, they ask me a number of questions, which I answer to the best of my ability, and then tell me I can go back to duty tomorrow, Thursday, July 25. It took eighteen days to get over my attack of influenza. I am disgusted with my hospital record. I have been in the Service 279 days and spent 107 days in hospitals or convalescent facilities. My comrades tell me they have been doing the same routine as before I became ill, and it continues so. One training exercise we could well have dispensed with was bayonet practice. Dummies, made by filling tow sacks with tightly packed twigs, were suspended from a convenient tree limb. We were to take a run at the dummy and plunge the bayonet into it as far as we could. This was not easy to do. It was very strenuous - the bayonets were not sharp - and, if a man did not act with a mean look on his face, and display a lot of rigor, he was made to do it over. I could not see much point to it as I carried over 150 rounds of ammunition for my rifle, and at least 25 rounds for my pistol. I figured it would be much easier to dispose of an enemy by shooting than with the dull bayonet. From statistics gathered by the Medical Corps, in WWI, the wounds inflicted by the bayonet were close to nil. When we left Camp Funston, each had a blue denim bag about 30" deep Page 19
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and about 16" in diameter, with a white patch on it, and the owner's name, serial number, Company, Regiment, stenciled on it. The bag fastened with a draw cord. It contained extra shoes, extra articles of clothing, and possibly personal items. These bags were tied and shipped out when we left and eventually caught up with us at Villousell. At Camp Funston we wore the traditional campaign hat. They were of poor quality and were blocked to fit the average head. I happened to have a long oval head. The result was the issue hat assumed an unmilitary shape. I tried to reblock it, but did not help it any, so I bought a $5 Stetson - a big price for a hat at that time, but I thought I could wear it when I got back to the farm. We were issued the overseas cap, and also discarded the cloth leggings for sorry wool wrap ones. Shortly before leaving for the front, I put several personal things in my barracks bag, including my Stetson hat. Late in July, these bags were picked up and taken by truck to a rear echelon storage facility. I never sew any of my things again, except a few odds and ends of little value. The men in charge of the storage, where the bags were kept, stole everything of any value in them. TO THE FRONT IN TRUCKS On August 4, we marched to the Liffol le Grand shortly after noon and found a long line of new trucks waiting for us. We were the first American troops to be transported to the front of our own transport. These new trucks were of good size and sturdy. We were crowded into them as tightly packed as sardines in a can, but took our packs off, thus relieving ourselves of a considerable load. The trucks were equipped with solid tires but, at that, it sure beat hiking. Our departure was carefully scheduled so we would not arrive where we could readily be observed until well after dark so, the last part of our journey was without lights and at a slow speed, with many stops to let the various units of the regiment, out at the proper locations. As we neared the front, the sound of occasional artillery fire continued to become louder. The fact that we were very crowded in the truck, probably was the reason for a good deal of grousing, at first. Naturally , the trucks did not offer any comfort, unless one could call it a comfot that we were riding instead of hiking with a 90 pound load. The Major, who commanded our Battalion, and his adjutant, besides another, rode on a board seat that had been improvised right behind the driver's seat. There was a good deal of profanity from some of the men, until all were quietly reminded of the Major's presence. It was well known that he was an ordained Page 20
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minister in the Episcopal church. It may be that had some effect as they seemed to quiet down some. So long as there was daylight, most of us got more or less interested in the scenery. After it got dark, and especially when the occasional cannon fire was heard, there was quiet. The convoy did not stop for the evening meal, and it seemed everyone had forgotten all about the food. We were finally ordered to get out of the trucks at a typical French village where a guide showed us to bunks where we were able to get a few hours sleep. BOUCQ, arrive August 5 - DEPART AUGUST 9. We awoke to daylight and a pleasant day. Naturally, we were hungry, and, as it had been dark, on our arrival, we were somewhat scrambled. After breakfast the various squads, and platoons, were assigned to contiguous quarters as was practicable. We learned that we were now in the village of Boucq, and about 15 klm. (aprox. 8 miles) , from the German front line. We could see Mont Sec, in the distance. This commanding eminence had been held by the Germans since the first year of the war. From its heights a wide area could be observed. It was easily visible from the village where we now were. The view, from our position, was across low ground with a considerable forested area, beginning about 2 1/2 kilometers to the North. There was an indentation in the line of the forest where our ammunition trucks had started an ammunition dump. It was laid out in squares with roads East and West and North and South. The artillery shells were set on their bases in straight rows in the squares and, every night, more squares were filled with shells. The place could not be readily seen from the German lines because of the trees. However, one of their observation planes had photographed it, or in some other way, they had located it and the last day we were in the village, a lone German gun began to search for it. Evidentally they had an observer somewhere who was able to see where each round struck. The gun was firing very deliberately and, after about seven rounds, a shell found the target. It was quite a sight. Of course, not all the shells in the dump exploded, but it did make a shambles of the carefully laid out squares. ARRIVE CORNIEVILLE AUGUST 9 - DEPART AUGUST 16 We remained at Boucq only four days, hiking to Cornieville on August 9. This was another typical French village. It consisted of a row of houses on either side of a road. We had quarters in a hayloft. We did no drill, in fact, we mostly kept a low profile. This was a Page 21
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reserve position about 9klm from the German lines. When in a reserve position, we some times sent out work parties, at night, to string new wire, or some similar job, Behind (to the North) the village was a rather steep hill similar, but not near so high, as Mont Sec. The weather was ideal and almost every day, planes were flying. Several of us got binoculars and scanned the countryside between us and to, and beyond, the German lines from this hill, the Cote de Reugnon. Our bonus was when two or more planes got into a 'dogfight' over the valley right in front of us. The planes, of that day, were relatively small, frail, and with a top speed, at best, less than 100 mph. In this fight, it was a constant effort for one or more to get above and behind an adversary in order to fire the fatal machinegun burst. There were climbs, dives, sideslips, upside down flying, rolls and every kind of evasive, and offensive, effort until finally the action broke off, probably due to near exhaustion of the fuel supply. Besides the planes firing at one another, a French 75mm anti-aircraft battery, was firing at the German planes. They were using shells that emitted a puff of white smoke on bursting to aid the gunners in correcting their aim. We never saw a plane brought down by these guns. So far as we could tell, no damage was done, but it was an exciting show for us. Page 22
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WE MADE THE WORLD SAFE !!! ? ? ? Book 3 August 16 to [September] 30, 1918
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The German planes headed back to their respective bases seemingly little concerned by the several shots fired in their general direction by the French anti-aircraft artillery. RAULECOURT On August 16, we hike the six kilometers to Raulecourt, as always, at night. Here the squad is assigned to a temporary wooden barracks, similar to those we had occupied at Villouxell, only they were filthy. We clean them up the best we can. We now find cooties in our clothes, and we will not be rid of them until after the Armistice. This is a somewhat larger village, and it is so much nearer the enemy lines, that is seems practically all the inhabitants have left. As usually is a problem, the water is polluted, but the engineers have drilled a well and put a gas engine driven pump on it. There was considerable aerial activity here. One morning I was awakened by the sound of a machine gun fire. I jumped up and looked out the window to see an American was pulling out of his dive and the German was enveloped in a cloud of fire and smoke. I joined several comrades going to the scene. The distance was not more than a half mile. The fire had burned itself out by the time we arrived. For some reason, the fabric that covered the wings, was intact. The pilot and observer were still strapped in their seats and were still wearing their caps and goggles. Their clothing had not been ignted. Whether they had been killed by machine gun bullets, or the flames, was not apparent. The huge six-cylinder engine of the biplane, was half buried in the ground. We later learned that the American pilot was a Lieutenant Putnam, from Massachussets, and that he was also shot down later. TO REMONVILLE On August 23, shortly after nightfall, we hike to Remonville, another tyicak French village of the area where the troops manned the front line trench system. However, my squad is marched about two kilometers farther East, near the hamlet of Rambucourt, where we occupy a small trench system, which overlooks a large expanse of open ground in the general direction of the German lines, and Mont Sec. The kitchen, of L Company, is located in this hamlet and we are attached to it for our meals This is fortunate for us as their cooks do a very creditable job. The trench system we occupied was old. it had duckboards to keep us out of the mud. In one of the so-called dugouts, was a collection of rubber boots. Fortunately for us, we did not get any rain the week we were there and, in Page 1
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fact, the entire trench system was dry when we occupied it. All the while we were there, no officer checked on us. The men of my squad were no problem. All the while we were occupying this position, we never saw, or heard, any sign of an enemy. The Germans on Mont Sec could, with eight power binoculars, keep us under observation at all times. At the end of our seven day hitch, we were reminded that none of us had yet been on a night patrol. THE NIGHT PATROL We were ordered to report at Battalion Headquarters late that afternoon with arms and ammunition ready for inspection. I checked the weapons and ammunition of the men and, just a little before sunset, we hiked by twos to our designated point of assembly. Here a young Lieutenant, from another company, led us and about fifteen others, off toward the German lines. However, I am a bit ahead of my story. He first re-inspected all, then he asked if any of us had a cough. One man answered in the affirmative. He was promptly excused. Then he asked if anyone 'had their wind up'. This expression originated with the British and, if answered in the affirmative, it meant the man was just plain scared. Again, if he answered in the affirmative, he would have been excused, only no one was about to admit to being scared. Those formalities being over, the Lieutenant, and a Sergeant, led the way along the foot of the big hill and well in the edge of the woods. We had been cautioned to be noiseless and proceeded slowly to make it as nearly so as possible. We skirted the enemy wire for what seemed half a mile and then turned left and started up the hill. We did not proceed far until a whispered order told us to get on our bellies and keep advancing side by side. We were advancing in this fashion when, suddenly, there was a loud report ahead of us and parachute flare shot up, making all as bright as day around us. It had been drummed into us to keep down and perfectly still and not show our face, if this happened. We had found the enemy alert, but he had evidently not seen any of us. After the flare burned out, an order came to retire and we did so with all caution. We had seen that we were very close to where the flare had risen from. We got near to where we had assembled earlier when someone got a foot tangled in some coiled wire. This wire must have extended well up the hill as it drew a burst of machine gun fire which, however, lacked much of hitting any of us. On arriving at the original point of assembly, we were dismissed. My group marched back to our trenches where we arrived at the first hint of sunrise.Page 2
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All eight of us assembled and marched to the L Company kitchen for breakfast - an unusual breakfast. The Mess Sergeant was well aware that we had set out on the patrol without the evening meal, so he knew we were hungry, as well as tired. The meal consisted of a generous helping of hot stew containing chunks of both beef and pork, onions, potatoes, tomatoes, beans, and the kind of seasoning to make it good, bread and coffee - a meal I shall never forget. After breakfast all sought a place to sleep. I found a grassy spot near the helmet. It was not far from a junction of two roads which the enemy was favoring with a round from a field gun, the report, of which, we could hear about every ten minutes. The incoming shells were aimed at the road junction. I had confidence in the accuracy of the German gunners, so I lost no sleep. I did not awaken until 4 o'clock that afternoon. Later that afternoon we were ordered to foll our packs and be ready to march. After dark we joined the rest of the Company at Remonville and then marched back to Boucq, the night of August 31. On September 2 we hiked back to the village of Bouvron. This had been a rest area, for American troops, recently, and for French troops earlier. In fact, there were some here now. BOUVRON We were beyond range of the enemy artillery here, but still we avoided all assembling in any but small groups of five or six. There was always the possibility of German planes flying over the area and, finding massed troops, they could inflict needless casualties. Officers, and N.C.Os, practiced marching by compass while we had moonless nights. Some of these courses were through thick stands of timber, detours around part of a lake, and made quite difficult problems. I Company was lodged in a good-sized French farm house. There were about fifty of us in the hayloft, where we slept on the standard black, steel cots. Every bit of space was utilized. The troops, on the ground floor, shared that space with our field kitchen, and a flock of big, grey geese. One of the fellows from my home county had a cot right by the goose pen. A French artillery battery had its field kitchen set up in front of the farm house. The Second Division was here, and also the 42nd. A friend, and I, were looking the place over and had the novel experience of observing General LeJeune, and General McArthur, strolling along the other side of the sreet. There was a nice, clear little water course flowing by the village. This gave us the opportunity to get our laundry done. The weather was ideal and we had the opportunity to get well rested. Page 3
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TO FLIREY On the afternoon of September 10, our Company was assembled, with full equipment, about 4 P.M., and marched in a northerly direction on a well paved road, destination not announced. It proved to be a long march. We were each carrying a load of approximately ninety pounds, I was glad for the ten minute rest at the end of every hour. It was some time, after dark, when we turned to the left into a lane that led to one of those little French villages. we began to file into the open door from which a feeble light shone. Here a Red Cross team, consisting of two middle-aged men and a woman, was dispensing hot cocoa. On tasting this supposed treat, we found that it had been made with water and very little sugar. There was enough cocoa in it to just barely give it the flavor. Everyone was mad enough to swear, and most did so. I can truthfully say that I never before, or since, drank such a poor excuse for cocoa and I heard the men say they never walked so far for so little to drink. I am sure all would rather have continued the march and gotten another half hour's sleep instead. We hiked about an hour when it began to rain. Fortunately, it did not rain hard. Flirey was a village, in the front line, that had been pretty well worked over by German shells, bombs, and bullets. We reached it about midnight and set up our pup tents and were thankful it was not raining harder. We got our blankets, weapon, and gear inside and promptly went to sleep. We awoke to a lot of commands and imprecations, in French. On emerging from our tent, we find an elderly French artillery Sergeant, and his crew, in the process of setting up what appeared to be one of the oldest pieces of artillery, in the French Army, right close to our tent. THE ST. MIHIEL OFFENSIVE The rain had stopped some time during the night. We found ourselves at the foot of a steep slope amidst much activity. We were ordered to make up combat packs (we rolled up our blankets, extra pair of shoes, tent pole and stakes, in our shelter half). Each man was issued two extra bandoleers of ammunition. We hated these for the way they tortured us. The cloth they were made of was very thin. As I recall it, they held fifty cartridges in clips of five rounds per clip. A bandoleer was slung over each shoulder and this made the flimsy cloth of the bandoleers, when fully loaded, to bring so much pressure on both sides of the neck, that it was torture. We were checked and rechecked for not only ammunition, but grenades, intrenching tools, first aid kit, and rations. At sundown we entered a large dugout that was supplied with very crude cots, made of Page 4
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poles and woven hogwire. We were advised to get as much sleep as possible - that we were to get out at midnight and would likely have a hard day. I felt it was very important to get all the sleep I could as I had the strong feeling we were to go into a really big thing, although none of the officers had said anything to that effect. I was aroused by the Platoon Sergeant, at midnight, and shouldered my pack, buckled my belt, and picked up my rifle, while checking with each man in the squad to make sure all were at hand and ready to go. It was pitch dark, in the dugout, and equally dark outside. A light rain was falling. It was so dark, and the rain had made the footing so treacherous, that every man held on to the man ahead of him in order to avoid falling, or straggling. We soon entered a communicating trench where the footing was no better. Suddenly our artillery began to shell the German positions we were about to attack. The concentration of artillery was the heaviest ever before employed. A million artillery shells were fired in the four hours, from 1 A.M. to 5 A.M., in support of the attack by the Infantry of the 1st, 2nd, 42nd, 89th, and 90th Divisions. It is hard to describe the awesome din of the guns, the muzzle flashes, the roar of the shells passing overhead, the crashing report when they exploded on enemy positions. When, at 5 A.M., the artillery barrage lifted, it was followed by a machine gun barrage on the enemy trenches designed to keep the enemy down until our infantry was upon him. Many of our troops had never heard the whip-like crack of these bullets as they passed overhead, but all responded very well when they were assured they came from our own guns. One man, husky and intelligent though he was, became so unnerved, that he collapsed before we arrived at the jump-off trench. The order to advance came at full daylight. The rain had made the clay muddy and slick. The shorter men had some difficulty climbing out of the trench that was about four feet deep, but the willing hands of taller men were helpful. We formed squads, in single file, to start across no-mans-land. The enemy could not see us at first. When he did, we were greeted by both machine gun and rifle fire. We dived into a large shell crater. I was unable to locate the gun. Almost instantly it stopped firing at us. I ordered the men to form, on either side of me, at intervals of 20 feet and we continued the advance. Evidentally our advancing troops had overrun the gun that had fired on us. By the time we reached the main German trench, their resistance had ceased. I looked all the members of my squad over and found that one man appeared to have been shot through the left leg, just Page 5
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below the knee, Ironically he was killed by one of the few German shells that were fired at us while he was trying to get to a dressing station. just after being fired at, by the machine gun, and while advancing towards the German trenches, I heard a plane close by, and to my right. I turned my head to see it struck by one of our own shells and completely disintegrate. Several men, in our Company, were slightly wounded and one man was fatally wounded besides the man from my squad. Major Mobson was wounded, but continued in action for several hours. His Adjutant, formerly of I Company, Lieutenant Moore, was killed when he advanced into our own barrage. The contrast in appearance, between our troops and the enemy, were marked that morning. When the German troops came out of their dugouts, they were clean and dry, we were muddy from head to foot from our long hike in the muddy trenches and across no-man's-land. There was much confusion as the day's action continued. Troops of the Divisions, on our flanks, intermingled with us. Several factors contributed to this. One was that we were to attack from trenches that were at a 45 [degree] angle to the main assault. Another was that only Company Commanders seemed to have any kind of map - a serious mistake - this in our first major combat operation. We continued our advance and encountered no further resistance. We were not supposed to reach our objective until late afternoon the next day. We could easily have reached it at 10 A.M. The enemy had not expected us to attack at least a day later. We had, therefor, chosen to move his artillery the day we attacked. This saved many lives for us. Also, the new tatic of dispersing our troops in wide interval and depth, saved many lives. Also, we made no effort to take Mont Sec. by frontal assault. When I looked back, about mid-morning, from a slight rise of ground, I was amazed that as far as I could see were men in O.D. all over the landscape. Our troops simply passed around Mont Sec, cutting off all supplies and communication. We continued to advance as we met no resistance. A halt was ordered as we reached the deep vale near Thiacourt. While halted here, a German reconnaisance plane flew along our front at an altitude of less than fifty feet. We drew the fire from a thousand rifles, turned toward his own lines, and disappeared over a hill in the distance. Some of the many bullets fired at the plane must have hit it somewhere. It passed within less than a hundred yards of where I stood. Both pilot and observer were looking us over and showed no sign of distress. It was poor marksmanship on the part of our troops but, of course, we had not been given any practice at moving targets - while some of us, including myself, had shot Page 6
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ducks and quail, with a shotgun, the great majority of our troops had not had that experience. We soon resumed the advance in the same direction we had been going. It appeared that the Major, in spite of his wound, and with the help of his very faithful runners (messengers), had retrieved those of his troops that had strayed. Due to the weak resistance of the enemy, caused partly by his lack of artillery, and probably mainly by our great preponderance of manpower, we reached the second days objective before 4 P.M. of the first day. We started to dig in. We also began to realize that we had not eaten since the afternoon of the previous day, and began to break out our emergency rations. It took only a few bites of these to do us. We got little digging done when we were ordered to form in marching order. After a relatively short cross-country hike, we came to a former German support position consisting of some buildings that included what were evidentally some officers' quarters, and a huge dugout with cots for hundreds of men strategically located on an excellent reverse slope, and well camouflaged by trees, in the edge of a forested area. It was evident that the former occupants had left rather hurriedly. They had left some wine, and brandy, a lotof blankets, and some fancy looking cigarettes that did not smell very good. They also left a comrade, with a broken leg, on a cot in the dugout. A man from my company had explored the place and found the crippled German soldier. I entered the dugout close behind one of our late draftees, from Chicago, who was about to bayonet the defenseless man. I could not let this happen. We could find no stretcher, so he was put on a blanket and carried out by four men who were told to take him to the nearby road, where he would be picked up by an ambulance. It is doubtful the men carried him very far. They were very tired, as we all were. About ten days later, a Major came from some rear echelon unit, asking about the German soldier with a broken leg. I told him what I knew and asked no questions - a Corporal does not question a Major. He thanked me and dismissed me. After I had helped the German soldier get out of the dugout, I was ordered to post a guard. This done, I took a couple of the captured blankets and laid down to get a little rest. I had hardly closed my eyes when we were again ordered to form in marching order. It was now as dark as it could get, and cloudy. We hike across country until we eventually came to a paved road. We march down the paved road until we can dimly see the outline of a village, when we halt. We are told that we may sit down where we are. Page 7
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An Officer, and an N.C.O., go to reconnoiter the village. They are not gone very long. When they get back, it is hard to get the men on their feet. They have gone sound asleep sitting on the road. The Lieutenant tells us to be very quiet, and orders will be given in a whisper. We stop at the first farm house. There is a ladder just to the left of the door that lets us climb to the loft. In a whisper they tell us to climb up to the loft and lie down on the hay, to get some sleep "and don't let go of your rifle". It was dawn when we were aroused. We formed in marching order and started down the street. There was not a soul in sight. We turned left at the first street. An unimproved road led to a forested area about a kilometer distant. Hoofprints, and wheel tracks, appeared to have been made recently. A glance at a map disclosed that we had slept in the village of Xammes, and were now going towards the Bois de Xammes. Our orders were to penetrate to the far edge of the woods, but not to show ourselves in the open area beyond. We advanced to the far edge of the woods without incident and waited for further orders. I went to the edge of the forest where, concealed by shrubbery, I could see across the open ground another forest. The meadow tapered to a width of about a hundred meters, to the left, but was perhaps a kilometer in width that far to my right. I scanned the area thoroughly, but saw no sign of life of any kind. I concluded that the enemy was concealed in the forested area to the north. I was about to turn away when I heard planes approaching from the west. Three bi-planes appeared under a light cloud overcast. Suddenly, as they came to my front, two monoplanes dived through the overcast at two of the bi-planes. One burst into flames. As it did so, the pilot leaped out. Another bi-plane began to lose altitude and crashed in the distance. The three bi-planes wore the red, white, and blue circles under their wings, identifying them as French, British, or American. The monoplanes had their fronts painted red, the mark of what was left of the Richthofen Circus, and a plain black + sign under the wings. The third bi-plane increased its speed and disappeared in a convenient cloud. About mid-morning we were ordred to move to the eastern and of the woods (on the map, the Bois de Beney). The men were hungry and began to break out their rations. Some of them began to gather what dry twigs they could find in order to heat a cup of coffee. I forbade my group to build a fire as I was sure the resulting smoke, from it, would draw the fire of the German artillery. As soon as the smoke, of these small fires, was visible above the treetops, the shelling began. The enemy gunmen not only knew the terrain, but were experienced and had the use Page 8
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of excellent maps of the area. The trees, in this forest, as in most French forests, were seldom much more then eight or nine inches in diameter, and were planted rather close together. The shelling continued for perhaps, twenty minutes. When it ceased, 95 [percent] of the trees, in an area of about an acre, were uprooted, shredded, or reduced to snags. When the first round came, I led my squad out of the area. An officer, and I, went back to the area, after the shelling ceased, to observe the effects. The destruction of the trees had to be seen to be believed. We also found a few pieces of equipment, and a helmet, with about half a teacup of human brains in it. Too big a price to pay for a cup of hot coffee. We remained in the area of the Bois de Beney until September 24, keeping a low profile, and had no more action from the enemy. One cloudy day, with low visibility, in mid-afternoon, French transport (a number of high-wheeled carts, each drawn by two iron grey Percheron horses hitched in tandem), unloaded a quantity of 75mm artillery ammunition near the area we occupied. The shells were quickly unloaded, and the drivers and carts as quickly left. At dusk, a battery of 75s came in. They unlimbered the guns by the shells and got the horses away quickly. The guns were manned by American artillery men. at 11 P.M. these guns began firing rapidly, and continued for at least forty-five minutes, after which the horses, and drivers, reappeared and quickly hauled the guns away. They had fired a "box" barrage to protect a raiding party. We never learned whether, or not, the raid was successful. The night of September 24, we marched about 5 1/2 kilometers, to the rear, where we picked up our camping equipment, set up our tents, and enjoyed six days of rest, and hot meals from our kitchen. We camped on a rather steep reverse slope where we were not likely to be disturbed by the enemy, and enjoyed good weather. A comrade, and I, explored an extensive mine field, located on an open field that lay between two forests. Its principles feature was that it consisted of thousands of huge naval artillery shells set on their bases and covered by camouflage netting. There did not appear to be any justification for such lavish expenditure, of labor and material, in a place so unlikely to be visited by an enemy. To the East, of where we were camped, they had dug a trench system and deep dugouts, that had been wired for electricity. They did not appear to ever having been used. On the 29th of September, I become ill with a severe attack of dysentery. The Company marches back to the Bois de Beney the night of the 29th, but I am too weak. I stay in a small dugout, with the artillery, that night, and then start Page 9
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for the Bois de Beney the morning of the 30th. I am joined by Lieutenant Strain before I get very far. I suspect he may have the same malady I have. He is very quiet and does not walk very fast. When we turn to our right, on the unimproved road to the Bois de Beney, we see what looks like a bundle of O.B. rags. As we get closer, we see it is the body of a soldier who has been hit by a close-up burst of artillery shell. It appears that every bone in his body is shattered. When we reach the I Company area, I unbuckle my belt and take my pack off. I put my rifle on my pack, and collapse on the grass. The Lieutenant tells me he thinks I had best go to the First Aid Station, at Beney, and they will call an ambulance and get me to the Field Hospital. I again pick up my pack, shoulder my rifle, and make my way back to Beney and the First Aid Station. It is not long until an ambulance comes by and I board it. The following are accounts of events, or occurences, that I cannot recall the exact dates of, but consider them worthy of note. MAJOR-GENERAL LEONARD WOOD, THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER Some time, after the middle of November, and early December 1917, General Wood went to France to get a first-hand look at the War. Supposedly, General Winn, and others, decided to give General Wood a suitable farewell by ordering out the entire Division and lining up the troops along both sides of the highway from near the General's residence, to the eastern gate. We were not all outfitted in full uniforms at the time, but we all gave him a farewell salute. The General insisted on getting a close look, and not just in a quiet sector. The result was that he was struck by a shell fragment when a shell burst near him. The General was an able organizer, a stern disciplinarian, fair and just to both men and officers. NOT TO BE DENIED When the Division was getting ready to go overseas, all leaves and furloughs were cancelled. A soldier, who had gotten married while on leave, at Christmas, was very much wanting to get a leave to see his bride before going overseas. Asking his Captain for a leave, he was very firmly told that he could not do so. He then asked the Captain to give him permission to talk to the General. The Captain finally agreed to give the man a written permission to speak to the General. The soldier presented the written request to the sentry at the door of the General's residence. On reading the soldier's request, the General told the sentry to show the man in. The soldier made his plea to the General and was granted his request much to the surprise of his company commander. Page 10
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WE MADE THE WORLD SAFE !! ? ? [September] 30 to [November] 3, 1918 Book 4 Eisenberg's poetry page 9
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[September] 30, 1918, The medics took my temperature and soon, thereafter, an ambulance picked me up and took me to our regimental (field) hospital. It was in large tents, pitched in an open field. On the roofs, of the tents, large red crosses had been painted. This was beyond the range of the German field artillery, and their aircraft respected the red crosses. I was very weak when I arrived; just barely able to carry my equipment from the ambulance to the cot that was assigned to me. I stowed my weapons, and other equipment, under my cot. I had no more than stretched out on the cot, than a nurse arrived with medication. Naturally, the only toilet facilities were the standard 20-gallon G.I. cans. There was only one bunk between mine and the latrine, at the end of the tent. The odor was tempered, somewhat, by heavy application of chemicals. Nevertheless, the comfort of the cot was so much better than the frequently wet ground, that I could now sleep in comfort, in spite of odors. Our kitchen was in a small, temporary wooden building, which also had a table for about twenty people. After several days I had my meals here, for which I was very grateful. Proper medication, good food, and plenty of rest, made it possible for me to rejoin my Company on the afternoon of October 9. The ambulance stopped in the village of Lagny. When the driver announced that the men of I Company, 356th Infantry, should join their unit here, I picked up my equipment and got out. I found that I was in a typical small French village, but I could see few American soldiers. I asked one I knew where I Company headquarters were. He appeared dazed or as if in a stupor, replied "There ain't no I Company any more." I now saw Corporal Schappler, the company clerk, coming up. He informed me that he was the only N.C.O. present and that the small group was all that was left of Company I. he proceeded to tell me that the Division had been spread out in order to take over the front of another Division that had been moved to another sector of the font; that I Company had occupied positions near the village of Jaulny, on the night of [October] 4. The following night the enemy began shelling these positions severely at 9 P.M., and continued to do so at intervals throughout the night. The incoming projectiles were high explosives and "mustard" gas, the latter predominating - a very bad combination. The first two shells killed two men and wounded First Lieutenant Strain. Others were later wounded, and practically all were affected by the gas. Captain Ernsberger, the remaining officers, and most of the N.C.Os, were more severely affected by the gas because of their efforts to lead the men out of the area. It should be understood, by the reader, that at Page 1
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the first indication of poison gas in an area, all personnel are required to put on their gas mask. With mask on it is nearly impossible to see under the best of circumstances, at night.It is not possible to talk with the mask in place so the Officers, and N.C.Os, had to remove the mouthpiece to communicate with the men and lead them out of the area. To accomplish this, without breathing some of the gas fumes, is very difficult. For this reason all of the Officers, and almost all of the N.C.Os, inhaled so much of the fumes that they did not live long, or were disabled for the rest of their lives. A later tabulation, by the Company Clerk, disclosed that in these few hours the company had suffered casualties numbering 154 men and Officers. On realizing what had happened to so many of my comrades in my absence, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of shock and despair. Shortly after I arrived, we were joined by a few others who had been hospitalized, or on detached service. Later in the afternoon we were informed that we were to be transferred to another part of the front by truck. when the trucks arrived, at dusk, we were ordered to climb aboard. We found that the sixteen men, who now comprised I Company, just filled the truck. The convoy consisted of trucks made by the White Motor Company ofthe United States. These vehicles were about the size of three-quarter ton trucks of 1979-80. They were manned by a driver, and a relief driver, who were natives of French Indo-China - the Vietnamese of today. They were commanded by a French Officer riding in the sidecar of a motorcycle driven by a French N.C.O. Of course we were not told where we were going, but the Company Clerk, and I, had both heard of the heavy fighting that had been going on all along the front, and our guess was that we were headed for the Argonne Forest area. ANOTHER UNPLEASANT TRIP The sixteen of us, and our equipment, were so tightly packed into the little truck that it was almost impossible to move an arm or a leg. We sat on the floor with our backs to the wall, eight on each side, our weapons, and other equipment, placed wherever room could be found. The Company Clerk's file case took up extra room. The gravel roads, leading to the front, were not in the best condition, and the one we traveled was no exception. The trucks were fitted with solid tires and we ran without lights. No doubt our posteriors bore imprints of the floor boards for several days. Shortly, after sunrise, the convoy halted and we were ordered to get out. We were minus a night's sleep, our supper, and any prospect for a substantial breakfast. It was a relief to get Page 2
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on our feet once more. We soon learned we were at the village of Recicourt, to the rear of what was known as the Epinonville sector. About seven kilometers, to the East, was Montfauchon - an often contested landmark now mostly reduced to rubble. Slightly to the West, and about eleven kilometers North, was a German strong point centered in the arc of Landres et St. Georges, about which we were soon to learn more. When all the troops in the convoy had gotten out of the trucks, we formed in marching order and proceeded on a road that took us to a good camping spot on top of the hill behind the village of Recicourt. Along the way we saw a small part of what it took to keep a Division of near twenty-five thousand, or more men, supplied in action. Along the side of the road were many shells for the artillery, cases of hand grenades, and boxes of ammunition for rifles and machine guns, food for men and for horses and mules, hospital equipment, and other things I could not identify. An unusual item was a pile of bread - a large truck full at least eight feet high and more than twice that in diameter. The loaves were round; about 12 inches across and about five inches thick, in the center. The crust appeared brown. We were agreeably surprised when a day, or two, later, they became a part of our rations. We found this bread far tastier than the usual hardtack, or tasteless hard crackers. After proceeding a short distance, the road led to our right and there, on a railroad track, was a flat car. Under a camouflage net was a huge Naval gun on the flat car. The gun was pointed in the general direction of Metz. After setting up our pup tents we enjoyed several days of rest while waiting for other elements of the Division to join us, and for all to be resupplied with provisions and ammunition. We were also favored with good weather, and with music from our regimental band. A lot of letters from home also helped to restore our morale. Some of the letters had been a month, or longer, getting to us. Another morale builder was that we were getting our food from our own company kitchen. On [October] 15, we struck tents and began a cross-country hike that took us to the vicinity of Eclisfoutaine, where we were again within range of the German artillery. It was ever important to avoid roads when marching a body of troops across country as they were closely observed by the enemy, and also were used, to some extent, by our vehicles if traveling singly. Almost all of the area, through which we hiked, had been forested. However, now few trees remained intact. Most trees had been totally destroyed. some were only snags, devoid of leaves or limbs. In fact, the entire area we traversed, from Recicourt to Eclisfontaine, presented the most Page 3
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awesome spectacle of destruction, and desolation, anyone could imagine. The ground had been churned up by artillery fire, explosions of land mines, and criss-crossed by old trench systems. The whole was strewn with tangles of rusted barbed wire, broken rifles, discarded helmets, and other parts of uniforms of both German and French origin. The numerous small villages had been reduced to rubble. On this march I Company consisted of three Corporals, five Privates, and the cooks. Some of the men who had been with us had become ill from the effects of the gas they had inhaled. We were joined, a few days later, by a small detail that had been with the engineers. On arrival at Eclisfontaine, the remnant of I Company was temporarily attached to the Regimental Machine Gun Company. Our duty was to help carry ammunition. it should be pointed out that the ammunition was in addition to our other equipment. It seemed these boxes weighed forty pounds each. One thing we appreciated while with the Machine Gunners, was that we always had hot meals. The Infantry had to use wood for their rolling kitchens. The Machine Gunners were furnished charcoal which burned without emitting smoke so they could use their kitchen close to the front line. Wood smoke, from any source, invariably drew fire from the German artillery. The first thing the Machine Gun Company Captain wanted to know was how the Infantry went about attacking enemy machine guns. It was well known that the enemy guns were usually so well concealed that we were usually fired on before we located them. The Machine Gun Company's kitchen was located under some scraggly trees by a small watercourse, at the foot of a hill. It was a partly protected from rain by a small canvas that covered little more than the kitchen. The cooks worked in the rain, for the most part. That afternoon , just before sunset, we ate a substantial meal. Immediately after which, we took advantage of the last few minutes of daylight to make a bed, of sorts, to get a good nights sleep. Three of us pooled our three shelter halves and three blankets. We laid two shelter halves on the ground and spread a blamket on that. Then used the two remaining blankets, and the one remaining shelter half, to keep the dew off us. We had been very fortunate in that there had been no rain for several days and the ground was dry. By dark we had everything set for a good night's sleep. i have no idea how long we had slept when an incoming enemy shell hit the ground and exploded near us. It showered us with Page 4
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dirt and gravel. This shell was followed by many others. Fortunately, many of the shells failed to explode. The Officer, commanding the group, procured a stretcherwhich made a good base for his bed, which he had placed about twenty feet down the hill from us. A shell hit the ground near his feet and, fortunately, failed to explode. To make matters worse, it now began to rain, lightly, but within a short time it became a downpour. At the first few drops of rain, we got up and rolled up our blankets and shelter halves. When dry, these were heavy enough. When wet, they were unbearable. Seemingly the German gun crews had no shelter and the shelling stopped. The rain became a downpour that lasted the rest of the night, and most of the next day. There was no shelter from the rain. No buildings in the village afforded much shelter as artillery shells had gone through the roofs. The raincoats we had would shed little more than a heavy dew. When daylight came there were thousands of troops milling around in the rain. All were soaked to the skin. Although the raindrops fell into our mess kits and coffee, the hot breakfast the cooks had prepared, helped to ease our discomfort somewhat. The infantryman had no hot coffee and only the cold field rations. There is a tendency for men to move about, under such conditions, it seems, and soon the mud was shoetop deep. It was an unforgetable [October] 16. However, the rain eventually stopped. Our sodden clothes eventually dried after the sun again came out. It seemed that both sides were inactive for several days, but, of course, there was more to come. One incident I recall was that when we were in this area, some of our artillery was being brought in by the new tractors. These were the Holt tractors, made in California. The firm was later bought by the Caterpillar Tractor Company, of Illinois. They were a novel machine. Steering was by a wheel in front and operated by the driver who sat behind the engine that powered its tracks. These tractors had no difficulty hauling the long-barreled French G.P.F. guns. Our 89th Division was to relieve the 32nd Division, on the 19th of October. The Commander of the 32nd was Major General Hahn. If my memory serves me right, this was an eastern National Guard Divsion. The Commander, of the 32nd, had indicated that all resistance of the enemy had been overcome. Reconnaissance, by two platoons from our Division, disclosed that the northern edge of the Bois de Bantheville was strongly held by German troops and dislodging them was eventually accomplished by three Battalions of Infantry, supported by machine guns. Page 5
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This was done only with severe losses. The machine gun platoon, to which we were attached, was twice ordered into the forested area beyond the village of Romagne in support of the attacking troops before-mentioned. Late in the afternoon of [October] 21, the machine gun platoon, to which we were attached, was ordered into the area in support of the other troops attacking the enemy in the Bois de Bantheville. Our approach was through the village of Romagne which was being shelled by the enemy. As we passed by the village church, it was struck by a German shell, which cauesd us to be showered by fragments of rock and mortar. Just beyond the village, we turned left into a meadow. A light rain now began to fall. We came upon three American dead lying on the grass close to the path which we now took into the forest, known as the Bois de Romagne. As we proceeded on this path, we noted frequent drops of blood. We met several stretcher bearers bringing out wounded and had to get out of the way for them. We also noted a number of dead lying by the side of the path. It became clear that when stretcher bearers, on finding their burden had become lifeless, would deposit the body by the side of the path and go back for another casualty. This path ran in a generally northerly direction, through the Bois de Romagne, for about a kilometer, then across an open field and into the Bois de Bantheville, where the Germans were holding in the edge of the world. We had not gone far when we came under artillery and mortar fire, which we had been hearing, as well as rifle and machine gun fire. Some of the artillery and mortar fire as coming from a forward area that was to our right flank. We could easily distinguish between the incoming projectiles. The mortar shells described a high arc and made a whooshing sound, which gave us a warning to take cover, if it was available. The artillery fire could be heard and, very shortly, the rushing sound of the projectile. If not behind a sizeable tree, we flattened ourselves elsewhere we could, on the ground. A short time before nightfall, the shelling having died down to an occasional round, and having penetrated well into the forest, our Commanding Officer called a halt. We were all glad to get a rest - especially we of the infantry with our extra boxes of ammunition. Having had wet feet, for several days, I decided to change socks. Sitting at the foot of a good-sized tree, I made haste as best I could. While thus occupied, a young Officer came down the path. Our Lieutenant questioned him in an effort to learn what the situation was at the front. The conversation occured near me and I was able to hear Page 6
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what was said. The Officer was unable to give a coherent reply to our Lieutenant's questions. This was characteristic of those who suffered from shock and exhaustion. I had almost finished changing my socks when the Lieutenant ordered us to our feet. He apparently had orders to retire to our bivouac area at a certain time if our assistance was not needed at the front. It was now very dark as we went back down the path. As we met stretcher bearers coming for wounded, and turned aside for them, we not infrequently stumbled over dead bodies. Fortunately for us, the shelling had stopped. Although barely warm enough to keep from shivering, we slept until daylight. I was glad I had put on clean, dry socks. They helped me, at least, to keep my feet warm. On [October] 22, after the usual substantial breakfast with the machine gunners, we were soon again ordered into the scene of the action. This time we went farther West and took up positions in the edge of a part of the Bois de Bantheville. This area had been shelled and the gunners set up their guns at the edge of the shell holes. We, of the infantry, stayed a few steps back in the woods. So far we had not been subjected to any artillery fire as there was a dense fog. When soon the fog lifted, the German artillery began to work over the open ground to our front. The enemy attack we expected did not materialize. A good deal of small arms fire was heard to our left. This ceased shortly after the artillery fire stopped. When we first arrived, we saw a field dressing station set up in the corner of the forest, we watched the walking wounded get their wounds dressed. These troops were, doubtless, the wounded from the small arms fire we had heard earlier. The medics had their supplies in a small tent, but their activities were outside. Many of the wounded had used their first aid packets. These bloody, used bandages, were removed and replaced by clean, and more effective ones. The bloody ones soon increased to a sizeable pile. The waiting in line must have been very trying for some. One, an officer, had evidentally taken a shell fragment in his upper back. There was a ragged hole in his raincoat from which a large blood stain was spreading. He waited in line as patiently as any of the others to be attended by the medics. As the expected counter-attack did not come, the machine gunners eventually dismounted their guns and we were soon again on our way to the rear. It later became apparent that the enemy's stubborn resistance in the edge of the Bois de Bantheville, was a cover for the regrouping of their forces in preparation for later withdrawal from the area. Before reaching Romagne, we saw, across a small valley, a Page 7
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column of our Infantry near the Bois de Romagne across an open area. We heard a single cannon shot from our left rear, then heard the shell pass across our front and hit the round and explode near the column of our infantry. A fragment struck a man, who fell, and whose cries of anguish we heard for some time. The column continued without paying any attention to their fallen comrade and made their way into the cover of the nearby forest. On the surface, this seemed cruel and inhuman. While this may have been a single shell fired at random, there was always the possibility that the enemy had the range and was prepared to saturate the area with fire from an entire battery. Anyway, the column of troops got out of sight quickly and I have no doubt the single casualty was shortly found and attended to by the Medics. This was the regulation practice and made good sense. Our group continued on through the village and joined the rest of the machine gun company at thir bivouac area south of Romagne. We had been very fortunate. Twice we had been ordered into the forested area dominated by the Germans. We had been under artillery and mortar fire the first time, and very close to it the second time, and had suffered no casualties. It may be of interest to some who read these lines that hear the village of Romagne, a large cemetery was located for internment of the tens of thousands of the American dead of both World Wars. I have been told, by those who have visited this cemetery that it is being very well kept. I am not familiar with where the battles were fought, in World War II, in this vicinity. But I do know that, in order to drive the Germans outof the strong positions they had occupied for four years in the forested Argonne area, Division after Division of our American Army, fought to virtual exhaustion. Many of the Infantry Companies lost all their officres, and some lost all but a few of their men. On [October] 25, the men of I Company were recalled from the Machine Gun Company and I Company was reorganized. A squad from each of the several more fortunate companies, in the Regiment, was transferred to it. Also, some of the men who had recovered from a less severe and less serious effect of the gas.Another bit of good fortune was the return of our most capable N.C.O. from 3rd Corps Tactical Schools at Clamecy, in south central France. We assembled near the village of Gesnes. This area had been recently wrested from the enemy with terrible losses on both sides. There were still many of the dead unburied. The chillling rain that had been falling much of the time, now gave way to sunny and warmer days. The Company now consisted of about twenty-five men. As Page 8
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night came on, we began to look for some place to sleep where there was a roof over us. We found a building, or what more accurately could be termed a one-room shack, with a shed on one side. It had been put together by the Germans for a temporaryshelter and storage for munitions, and shelter for a few troops. One end of the shed was open. The floor was covered with a linoleum, of sorts, and we were able to clean it up after a fashion. We elected this would be our bed chamber. The room had several boxes of grenades on the floor, as well as other material we preferred not to move. The floor of the shed was dry. The ground outside was not. Evidentally a sizeable enemy unit had come under fire from our artillery and machine guns as there were many German dead in the area. The men were warned not to make a light and to bed down fully clothed, with weapons and equipment at hand before it got dark.Here now occurred an incident I well remember. There was a man, among us, who was one of those who had joined us shortly before we left Camp Funston. I think he had come from Chicago and was quite well educated. He began to recite poetry from memory, and had quite a store of it - not bawdy - the story of Kipling's "Gunja Din" and "The Soldier from Bingen on the Rhine". He recited the latter with much feeling. It was remarkable. No one else uttered a word while he recited, and all were quiet, for some time after. The next morning we moved to a cutover ridge a short distance north of Gesnes, and set up our pup tents. We did very well for a day or two. The area was pockmarked with shell holes. Some were large and deep - made by high explosive shells of at least five inches, or larger. Only a sketchy effort had been made to bury the dead. Most had been thrown into shell holes and barely covered with dirt. The decaying bodies now created such a stanch that we were compelled to leave the area. We still had no Officer so I was glad, indeed, that our Nodaway County Sergeant was with us. His four years, in the Navy, had gotten him a promotion to Sergeant early. All the men had known him always as Sergeant K. The morning of [October] 30, we struck tents and hiked about a half kilometer in a northerly direction, and selected a place to make camp in the south edge of the Bois de Gesnes. We ordered all to dig fox holes deep enough so no parts of our bodies would be exposed. We had all had numerous demonstrations of the alertness and effectiveness of the enemy artillery. We ate a bit of corned beef and hardtack and turned in at dark. We had hoped the Germans had no knowledge of our location as no planes had been seen. About 10 o'clock they dropped ten 77mm high explosive shells in our area with the result that four were killed outright, one mortally wounded, and several others less severely wounded. Five of the fox holes had received Page 9
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direct hits. Unless scouts had penetrated the Bois de Gesnes, and located our position, I am at a total loss as to how they could have located us. It was up to Sergeant K., and myself, to get one identification tag from each body. One of the men had his head blown off. It was a very gory mess to find his tags. Another man had both legs blown off above the knees by a direct hit. We put him on a stretcher and placed him in the ambulance, but he did not survive. The next morning, October 31, we were ordered to hike about five kilometers into the northern part of the Bois de Bantheville. This had been a rear echelon of the German occupation for over four years. Here they had storage buildings for everything they needed - feed and shelter for their horses, repairs for wagons and weapons, and even attractive little cottages for men and Officers. All under a grove of trees that hid them very well, at least in summer. We arrived late in the afternoon. The enemy had no observation balloons up and we had neither seen, nor any planes. From our previous experiences, we were in no mood to take unneccesary chances. The cottage my group was assigned to, had a nice round hole, just the size of a 37mm shell, through two walls. We proceeded to stuff these with paper, cloth, or any suitable material to be sure no light could pass through. We hung blankets and shelter halves in all windows, being very careful no light could escape. Two days earlier I had gone to our company kitchen and obtained part of a side of bacon, which one of the cooks wrapped in heavy brown butchers paper for me. I also obtained a number of cans of solidified alcohol, or better known as canned heat. I planned to carry the bacon in my pack, as well as four or five cans of canned heat. I gave about the same amount of canned heat to others in my group. With canned heat I proceeded to fry some bacon while others heated corned beef and cooked some coffee for a fairly satisfactory meal, eaten by candle light. Before we turned in, we were ordered to make combat packs and replenish what rations and ammunitions we needed, and were told to be ready to move out by 5 o'clock. This meant action. Our high command had failed to provide saps for any but company commanders, or Majors, at St. Mihiel, an oversight that caused much confusions and had been the subject of much criticism by junior officers and N.C.Os. For this operation, all N.C.Os, from Corporal up, as well as all junior officers, had a map if able to read it or not. I do know that mine was of invaluable help to me. There were nine crude bunks in our cottage, one for every can in our group. It would be many miserable nights before we would again have such good sleeping quarters. Page 10
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We were awakened by a messenger at 5 A.M., to the 5 round of artillery fire and bursting shells nearby. The acrid smell of exploded TNT assailed our nostrils when we stepped outdoors. The artillery preparation had began at 3:30 A.M. We had slept soundly through all of it. We ate a breakfast of sorts, and then watched the first of the prisoners our comrades of the 177th Brigade, had taken as they were being marched to the rear. After they had passed, we started up the road in the direction from which the prisoners had come. Our battalion was, at this time, a part of the Division Reserve. Although possibly still within range of the German artillery, we were not likely to come within range of their rifle or machine gun fire. Their artillery was not active, at present, as they were very busy moving it back to avoid its capture by our troops. We hiked through open fields towards Remonville, our first objective. As it got dark, we approached a road when we came near the village. It was so crowded with all manner of military traffic that we could only walk along the side and, at times, had to get out of the way of a horse and rider. About the tie we got to the road, a steady drizzle set in. Fortunately we were near the village and we had instructions to remain there and wait for orders. The rain continued as we searched for a place to sleep. Someone found a stairway. We groped around and found the same kind of crude bunks we had slept on the previous night. There was a large hole in the roof that let in the rain, but we were able to dispose ourselves so no one was getting wet. The bunks were of the same material, and type of construction, as those we had slept on the previous night, so it was evident the Germans had quartered troops in the village in the past. Early in the war, the French Armies had made some efforts to drive the Germans out of the Argonne, an area of forests and meadows. They had made little progress and had generally suffered severe casualties. We saw many small villages, and a few towns of good size, that were located on, or close, to these trench systems that had been reduced to rubble by the artillery of either, or both, sides. Now, with the fresh American troops attacking all along the Argonne front, the war weary Germans were using every means to slow down the advancing Americans and get as much of their supplies and equipment out, as possible. To slow down the advancing Americans, they were makign excellent use of their machine guns. They took advantage of the forest cover and favorable terrain and, after being driven out of the trench system, they were able to delay us by strategically placed machine guns and, occcasionally, a single field gun. Page 11
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we enjoyed a good night's sleep in Remonville, comparatively speaking. At least we did not have to lie on the wet ground. On awakening, we found there was a fog, so dense we could hardly see across the street. We sat down, with our backs to the wall of the house where we had slept, and ate a breakfast of sorts. I brewed a cup of coffee which helped me to swallow a few bites of cold corned beef, and the tasteless crackers. As daylight came, we were amazed at the labor the Germans had expended to throw barricades across the streets to impede the progress of our vehicles. The materials used consisted of almost everything movable such as wagons, carts, furniture, bedding, and some things I was at a loss to identify. Our contemplation, of the barricades, was rudely interrupted by an incoming enemy artillery round, followed by many others. Considering the dense fog, the accuracy of the enemy gunners could not have been better had it been a clear morning and with the aid of their experienced spotters. All the shells seemed to hit the cobblestoned streets with the result that the jagged fragments flew everywhere. A Corporal, sitting some eight or ten feet from me, took one in the neck that killed him instantly, and another man was struck in his thigh. There were other casualties that I could not see, for the fog, and the distance. The firing did not last long because our Infantry had, doubtless,begun the advance and the gun had to move farther to the rear to avoid being captured. I got on my feet as quickly as I could to check on the Corporal, but it was too late to do anything for him. In a short time, prisoners and wounded, began to come in. Two German prisoners brought in a severely wounded Officer who was treated by our Medics, who were treating both American and German casualties. (In the "History of the 89th Division, I appear standing immediately behind the photographer as signal corps pictures Nos. 31477 and 31485 were taken). It was not long until we were assembled and resumed our advance. Turning left, at the first intersection, we encountered a number of German dead. One of the bodies lay across the road, in the way of traffic, and our trucks had run over it. On leaving the village, we turned off the road to the right, again preferring to hike through the fields and forests. As I looked down this road, I was amazed at its condition. Evidently the Germans had routed their artillery over it and its weight had broken through the crused stone surface in places. One of our supply trucks was having difficulty. A motorcycle, and sidecar, were also in difficulty. Our advance had been slowed down for this same reason. Our Division artillery had taken a wrong road, which was in especially Page 12
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bad shape and we got little artillery support until four or five days had passed . After leaving Remonville, on the morning of [November] 2, we followed the action at the front close enough to be available if needed. The usual tactics employed was to always keep one battalion in contact with the enemy, another in reserve, and the third in support. Ahead of the assaulting troops, on the morning of [November] 2, was an area of high ground known as the Heights of Barricourt. The Germans were driven from this position early in the morning of November 2. It was said that when Marshal Foch was told the 89th Division troops had occupied the Heights of Barricourt, he said, "good, the war is over". We reached it shortly before sunset. At that time a biplane, with American Air Force insignia on it, landed on the open ground behind us. The pilot was the sole occupant. When he got out of his plane it was evident he wore an American uniform. He left his engine running. He came about half-way to where we were inspecting the muddy fox holes troops ahead of us had used. He kept asking what unit we were from, but got no information from us. We had been cautioned not to give any information to anyone unde r such circumstances. He made no effort to get in touch with any of our Officers, got back into his plane and left. The fox holes were muddy and we found the grass, and weeds, more attractive to lie on, even though they were damp, so we resigned ourselves to spending another miserable night. An hour, or so, after dark, a messenger arrived to tell our Company Commander that there were hot rations at a point on the Remonville-Barricourt road, which had been intended for troops farther advanced and who could not be contacted. The messenger informed the Captain that, if we would send four men to pick them up, we could have them, but the containers should be returned. I was ordered to take four men and try to find the rations. My instructions were not very explicit. Nevertheless I had studied the map rather thoroughly during the daylight hours and was fairly confident I could find the ration truck. I told the four men to follow me single file. We had to penetrate a forested area with more underbrush than usual. I knew that the road was not too far from our bivouac area and we soon emerged on the road. As I looked down the road, to my right, I could barely make out an object that could be a large truck, or possibly a house. It was a very dark night. We were walking towards where our forward troops were and it was also possible, although not probable, that we could meet with an enemy patrol. I remembered, in studying my map, that it showed some kind of building near the road about here. I could see, dimly, some kind of building in the near distance. Page 13
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We found a truck parked here and, after explaining our mission to the two men who were with it, they indicated two of the canisters out of a field kitchen. One canister, about half full of coffee, and the other containing hamburger sandwiches. They even had two poles in which we hung a canister each, and which was the best way to transport the food. With a man on each end of a pole, we were soon off to return to a lot of hungry comrades. The coffee container was the heavier, so I took turns helping carry it. Needless to say, when we arrived with the coffee and sandwiches, they were a rare treat to all. The canisters were not so heavy when we returned them. We had hiked a considerable distance through the Bois de Barricourt's southern edge to the road and back, twice. One time with the heavy and unwieldy canisters. I was grateful for the food, but I was also very tired. I lay down on the cold, wet ground with my combat pack for a pillow. I awoke as it was beginning to get light from the chatter of machine guns and sporadic rifle fire. The moisture had penetrated my clothing I was chilled to the bone. My joints were so stiff, and sore, I had difficulty getting to my feet. On the morning of November 3, we formed in marching order as we were not yet in danger of coming under enemy fire. A few steps took us to the highest part of the area. The descent was rather steep. In puddles of water, that had accumulated from the rain on the night of November 1, we noted the water was yellow - a sure sign of mustard gas. Just a few steps beyond these yellow puddles was a small stream which we must cross. Scanning the area we could see no bridge. There was nothing to do but wade it, which we did after dispersing to our left. Had we found a bridge to cross on, we would most certainly have drawn artillery fire as we were on open ground. Also, we wanted to get out of the area of the mustard gas which would surely rise as the temperature would warm a few degrees. The water was just a bit short of knee deep, and chilly. Our advance now was across open ground towards the village of Tailly, on our left, and the villages of Beauclair and Beaufort, on our right. There were sure to be enemy artillery spotters in one, or more, of the village church steeples in our front. All these were on higher ground. It was not long until the entire third Battalion was deployed on this beautiful open meadow, comprising some forty acres, or more. We now heard the approach of planes. There were fifty of them - I counted them - they began to circle us and each, in turn, dived and fired at us. We had all flattened ourselves on the ground. They continued until they had apparently used up the bulk of their ammunition, or fuel, or both, then flew back north. I was told that one man suffered a wound in his hand. Our men were so deployed that few Page 14
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were as close as twenty feet to one another. The planes were hardly out of sight when we got to our feet and we took a few steps when the enemy artillery began to cover the entire area with artillery fire. Our men, still in open order, again hit the ground. The shells, that fell in the area I could see, appeared to be from heavy field guns. There may have been some from the 77mms, but anyway, the firing continued until the green meadow was dotted with many, and deep shell holes. Again it seemed incredible that I saw no casualties, and learned of none. One of the early projectiles struck the ground some twenty paces from where I lay. A jagged fragment, of the shell, buried itself within ten or twelve inches of my left side. The firing probably lasted no longer than twenty minutes. There were, probably, at least a thousand craters four or five feet deep for the poor French peasants to fill some time in the future. The events, of that morning, made many of us wonder if we were leading a charmed life. We continued the advance as soon as the German guns became quiet. The 177th Brigade had borne all the hard fighting, so far. It now became time for the 178th to take over. Our Company remained a part of the Regimental and Battalion Reserve. Our advance was slow because of almost total absence of artillery support. Our advance was almost all over open ground. As we passed near the village of Nouart, we saw what remained of one of our ammunition trucks that had been hit by a German artillery shell. A little farther on we saw the bodies of a number of our dead. A very unusual and almost unbelieveable sight here was an American infantryman's body rigid, in a kneeling position. About a hundred yards farther on, were a number of German dead. The indications were that the Americans had come to the top of the rise, or more probably had come upon and surprised the German group in the morning's fog, just before they were about to enter the forest - the forest we were now about to enter, the Forest de Dieulet. The ensuing night of November 3 was one of innumerable advances and halts. Page 15
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WE MADE THE WORLD SAFE !! ? ? [November] 3, 1918 - May 3, 1918 Book 5
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It seemed to me we changed directions a number of times. Evidently, whoever was leading us, was using a compass and was endeavoring to remain on high ground, and was also trying to keep in touch with other units. We could get no rest. The ground was sodden from the frequent rains and to sit, or lie down, was only to add to our discomfort. There had been no opportunity to even get out our field rations. As a matter of fact, I doubt that many of us had given any thought to food. The next day, November 4, was mainly a repetition of the day before, except that our advance was now through the northern part of Forest de Dieulet and there was a lawyer from the deep South. Shortly before night-fall, he had us build him a lean-to shelter from several pieces of elephant iron that the Germans had left. (elephant iron: heavy, deeply corrugated roofing). We did get some sleep that night after hiking some distance through the forest. It remained cloudy and we followed other units. We changed direction towards the north-east and entered the Forest de Jaulny. We were subjected to occasional artillery fire. A consolation was that our own artillery had again gotten into action after getting mired down on the wrong road. Our third Battalion took over the assault, the night of the 5th. It had not rained for several days, which was always a relief. We were now getting near the Meuse River. We marched over narrow, unimproved roads in the forest and finally took a footpath, where we had to march in single file. In the darkness of night, we passed near what appeared to be some buildings, but what we later learned was a sawmill. Marching in single file we were going down a hill when we suddenly came upon an improved road. Here we turned to our right. We had gone some two hundred yards when the word was belatedly passed, up the line, that contact with the rest of the column had been lost. I hurried up to the front of our Company and informed the First Sergeant. He ordered me to go back and bring them up. I was not at all happy with my assignment. It was a very dark night. I had only a faint notion of where to find the path that had brought us to the road, and I had no idea where the enemy might be. I knew, from the map I had, that we were somewhere west of the village of Pouilly, which was on the farther bank of the river. It was a relief when I found the path and, standing in front of me, was our regular army Sergeant, at present, an ex-Sergeant. I made my displeasure known and ordered him, and the rest of the Company, to follow me back to where they were waiting for us. We then proceeded to where a path led up the steep hill. I had been aware that a railroad track ran parallel to Page 1
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the road and that the river was just beyond. The railroad station was just across the road from the path that led up the hill. We proceeded up the steep path to near the top of the hill. Somewhere along the way, we had lost Captain Ray King Puffer and now our commanding officer was a First Lieutenant James Murphy, who had been with Division Headquarters. He had requested he be given the experience of front line service. He was a brave officer, and wise enough to let our capable First Sergeant administer the ordinary affairs of the Company. Thus Lieutenant Murphy was the only commissioned officer with us when we followed the rest of the Battalion up the steep path, in the early hours of November 5. We found the rest of the Battalion assembled near the summit of the hill. Division Headquarters had been dissatisfied with the slow progress made after the Heights of Barricourt had been taken. They seemed unable to visualize the effectiveness of the enemy's rear guard tactics, and the handicap of not having any assistance from our artillery until November 4. The enemy had been able to get almost all their weapons and supplies across the river. They had gathered up all boats, and all materials, from which rafts could be constructed. Captain Arthur Y. Wear was now in command of the Battalion. He had orders to get men across the river. He now called for men to volunteer to swim across the river and attempt to get information as to the strength, and disposition, of the German troops. The stream was near bankfull, due to the fact that the enemy had placed obstructions on the upstream side of bridges, which hindered the normal flow of the stream. The water was cold and deep. Only about half of those who volunteered were selected. Of these, only a few succeeded in getting across. About half were killed by the enemy, or drowned in the cold water. Only about half of those who got back, were able to give information of any value. The Battalion moved to the top of the hill to wait for daylight to see what the position offered as a bivouac area. When the surviving swimmers returned and informed Captain Wear of what had been accomplished, he walked a short distance into the dark and somber woods and shot himself in the head with his service pistol. The Captain had been ill and had gotten out of the hospital only a few days earlier. One would be inclined to think that his judgment was not as good as it would normally have been. He was a very conscientious man and, doubtless felt guilty about sending these men on such an unpromising mission. His suicide demonstrated dramatically the very severe strain field officers come under when the higher command, a mile or more to the rear, and probably never having had Page 2
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actual combat experience, gives orders that are not reasonably possible of execution. Except for Captain Bloch, our Battalion Surgeon, Captain Wear was the only officer not of Company I that I had come to know well. I happened to be only about fifty yards away when I heard the shot. The Captain did not designate anyone else to take charge of the Battalion, and did not transmit his orders. The news of his suicide, and the fate of the swimmers, was promptly transmitted to Division Headquarters, and there were no more efforts to swim the river. When full daylight came, we were greeted by machine gun fire from the enemy across the river. No one was hurt, but we had stayed too close to the top of the hill. We simply moved a bit down the reverse slope where we could not be seen by the German gunners. They might have hit some of us, but they aimed too high and succeeded only in clipping a few leaves and twigs. The pangs of hunger made us aware that we had not eaten for over twelve hours. My group opened cans of corned beef and corned beef hash. I fried a batch of my bacon. Coffee was cooked, and we found that the bacon, combined with heated corned beef, made friends with First Lieutenant Murphy, who admitted our cooking smelled appetizing. The next day I was ordered to lead a detail of six men to pick up some rations that were waiting for us at roadside, behind the forest to our rear. I cautioned the men to keep intervals of fifteen or twenty steps as I feared the enemy might throw a few shells into, or about, the woods. We had not gone far when two men, who were on my left, came into open meadow in an indenture in the forest, and were promptly fired on by a 77mm artillery piece. I immediately called them to come into the woods where they could not be observed. I was afraid they might shell the forest, but all remained quiet after the one shell fired at the two men in the open. We found the rations and were dealt our quota. When we got back to our area, and divided the rations, we made the discovery that each squad had a can of blackberry jam - a rare treat. The bridge, across the river at Pouilly, had been rendered practically useless by cutting, or dynamiting, at the approach on our end. It was still possible for an active person to get across as the upper guard rails were still above water. The other end was still in place. In fact, a small patrol managed to get across on the night of the sixth, or seventh. Conforming with good military practice, the Battalion Commander ordered an outpost of four squads, under the command of a Sergeant, to guard the approach of the bridge at night. It became my duty to take charge of the outpost on the night of the 8th. The men chosen for that duty were assembled shortly after sunset. I checked every man to be Page 3
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sure he was armed and had no cough or cold, and that he understood the necessity of being quiet as possible, avoiding smoking, and, under no circumstances to fire any weapon unless ordered to do so. The position offered no cover except the muddy foxholes the previous occupants had dug, and a screen of shrubbery along the north side of the road. We had a good reason to think the Germans also had an outpost near their end of the bridge. I wanted to make sure there would be no stragglers, so I designated a Corporal I trusted, to bring up the rear. I led the group down the steep path to the road, across the road, and the long unused railroad and onto the two-meter wide wooden footbridge that crossed the low swampy ground, and the path that took us to the road that paralleled the river and the positions we were to occupy. I posted a Corporal with an automatic rifle where he could cover the approach of anyone who might cross the bridge. This bridge not only crossed the Meuse River, but also an old canal that ran parallel to the river along here and had not been used for years. It had been getting colder every night. Ice was forming, on the puddles of water, by midnight. Everyone was cold. We had not had a bath, or a change of clothing, for over two weeks and were either wet, or damp, from the frequent rain or drizzle. A well concealed German machine gun, positioned somewhere to our left front, was firing a burst at intervals of a few minutes. The bullets were striking the masonry of the approach to the bridge. We hoped the gunner would not raise the elevation of his weapon as he might then hit some of us. Also, a 77mm field gun, positioned probably a kilometer to our front, was sending a shell every few minutes to a target quite some distance to our rear. The report of the 77mm, the shriek of the shell passing overhead, and the frequent chatter of the machine gun, kept reminding us there were some of the Kaiser's men across the river. So far they had not hurt any of us, but they could have taken a good deal of satisfaction out of our miserable condition. I was probably less miserable than most as I was not in, or sitting on, the edge of a wet foxhole, but managed to keep my circulation up a bit by quietly walking along the line to see that all were in place and giving what encouragement I could. By midnight an increasingly dense fog had formed. About this time I was standing by the side of the Corporal who had the automatic rifle at the bridge approach. I heard a sound I could not, at first, identify. The Corporal could also hear it. As the sound came nearer, it sounded more like people wading in the shallow water of the canal. At times it would stop, but then start again. The Corporal, and I, alerted the men to our left, and to our right. Whatever was making the sound was Page 4
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getting very close, but the fog was so dense we could see little more than six or seven steps ahead of us. Alert and ready, we next heard several low grunts and a low squeal. This announced to all the presence of a drove of the wild hogs so common in the forested areas of Europe. The excitement, caused by the approaching wild hogs, had made us more or less oblivious to the cold, but on learning the source of the sound, we again felt as miserable as before. Some of the men were getting rather impatient to get back to the Battalion area. I could not blame them as I knew they were even more miserable than I was. I reminded them that we all knew that we were not to leave the outpost until 2 P.M. and that I would give the order to pull out as soon as I thought it proper. About 1:45 A.M. I cautioned all to be as quiet as possible; reminding them that we were in easy range of the enemy's rifles and machine guns. I felt greatly relieved when the last man stepped off the wooden footbridge. Climbing the long, steep hill to our positions on the reverse slope of the hill restored our circulation. I am inclined to think that the veteran German troops, in Pouilly, knew the exact position of the outpost, the approximate hour when it was manned, and when withdrawn. I can only surmise that they tolerated our outpost, knowing we posed no threat so long as they did not provoke us. On the 10th of November all were checked for ammunition and rations. That night, after dark we assembled and marched down the steep path to the road. We turned left and marched westward. Before we had covered half the distance to where the pontoon was located that was to ferry us across the river, our own machine guns laid a barrage on all known enemy positions across the river. Our engineers had finally located some pontoons and had concealed them in the small creek that emptied into the river where it made a bend, and had concealed them there the previous night. They had rigged a rope at either end, had paddled them into the locations where each Battalion was to effect a crossing. Our crossing was without incident, but another Battalion that crossed in the same manner, a short distance to the north of where we crossed, was observed by the enemy and suffered severe losses in men and officers by enemy artillery and machine gun fire. As soon as our Battalion got all men across they were formed in extended combat order and marched on a course that took us across the low ground along the river and pointed us toward the high ground to the north of the village of Pouilly. It was becoming Page 5
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light enough to see when we came to a shallow lake of a size that we could not detour around without bunching, so there was nothing to do but wade it, in spite of just under a quarter of an inch of ice that had formed on it during the night. A dense fog had formed, during the night, and persisted until mid-morning, so Captain Ernsberger did not see the two young Germans, with their light machine gun, until he was close upon them. They were standing in the shallow pit they had dug with their hands held high in surrender. I could not see the incident, but the Captain called me to come. I was quite surprised to see them. The Captain knew I could speak a bit of German and told me to ask them why they had not fired on us. They informed me that all fighting was to end at eleven o'clock that morning and they saw no reason to sacrifice their lives, or ours, needlessly. Neither the Captain, nor I, knew whether to believe them or not. I was ordered to take charge of the prisoners until we could arrange to send them to the rear. We continued the advance to the high ground beyond Pouilly. As we neared the crest of the ridge we came under machine gun and rifle fire. Visibility was still a hundred feet, or less, but the enemy was quite near. We had come up to a terrace wall of stone. We had come upon a small group of Germans armed with two machine guns, and an Officer armed with a rifle. I took a few steps to my left and came upon the scene just as one of our Corporals fired at, and killed, the young German officer. He had killed two of our riflemen before he himself fell. The machine gunners abandoned their guns, and so did the crew of the 77mm field piece. I could not see them, due to the fog, but I could hear them running and could hear their equipment jingle. I now turned my attention to the two prisoners. It seemed that the troops had temporarily come to a halt. Our Company Commander, Lieutenant Murphy, had been wounded, but not seriously. One of our runners (a messenger), had been severely wounded. He had been hit by one of the first shots fired by the enemy. He was carrying his rifle slung from his right shoulder. A machine gun Bullet had hit his abdomen below his belt and had passed through close to the edge of his liver. He was bleeding profusely so I took it upon myself to call for a stretcher which, fortunately, was quickly forthcoming. We put him on it and I ordered the two prisoners to carry him to the rear. To guard the prisoners, I designated an Irish boy, from Chicago, who got too close to the edge of the quarry, near the village, fell into it and suffered a broken leg. I was concerned about the man we had put on the stretcher, but some years later, Page 6
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at one of the annual regimental reunions, at the Pickwick Hotel in Kansas City, was Henry C. Harper who I had feared had bled to death. It was good to see him well and apparently reasonably prosperous. He appeared glad to see me and told me that he was so weak from the loss of blood, that he could barely speak, when he got to the hospital. He said his recovery was very slow. The bullet that passed through his body struck the action of his rifle and shattered it but fortunately missed the cartridges. Another memory of that morning, that is still with me, is how very quickly my two prisoners hit the ground when the firing started. When this action was over, we continued the advance. I Company now consisted of fewer than sixty men and again Sergeant Kelley was in command of the Company. Our objective was the Autreville-Stenay road, which was reached in less than a half-hour. On our way we were again under fire from the enemy on our left front and within fifty feet of the road. It was from a machine gun and was too low so resulted in no casualties. We were not able to locate the gun which must have been at a considerable distance. We now proceeded along the road to a point above the hamlet of Inor, in the edge of Bois de Sairy. The road ran parallel to the river out was generally at a level of about half way up the hill. A sniper, located somewhere above us in the forest, was firing on our troops in the village below us. Apparently he could not see us and we could not see him. We were somewhat concerned about this when suddenly the sniper's firing ceased - everything became perfectly quiet. I then remembered what the two German prisoners had said earlier that morning. I took a look at the cheap wrist watch that I had been wearing. It had stopped at eleven o'clock and I never did get it to run again. It was past 11:30 A.M. when we got orders to cease firing. Our Company now hiked back to where we had routed the enemy group that morning. In a nearby small grove of trees, we found where the Germans had dug a place about 10' x 12' x 2 1/2' deep and set up a tent over it. The tent was of the usual field gray color. They had an ample layer of wheat straw, on the floor, as well as a supply of blankets neatly rolled up. We decided this would be a good place for us to sleep that night. We also began to feel the pangs of hunger. We still had some field rations, but we saw where someone had harvested some potatoes, and some cabbage, nearby. They had not picked up the small potatoes. Likewise, they had not picked up the second growth heads (small) of cabbage. At this point it was suggested we go back to the scene of the morning fight before others collect all the souvenirs. Someone had been Page 7
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ahead of us to get the dead officer's Luger pistol, and had gone so far as to pick his pockets. This was looting and was, I am sure, forbidden. The taking of enemy weapons, be they from the dead or the living, was not banned. I did get the officer's heavy leather pistol belt, and his dirk with its black and silver cord and tassel. The latter designated his rank as a field officer. I was now ready to examine the guns. There were three light and two heavy machine guns and a 77mm field gun. The mechanism, that unlocked and locked the breech, was missing. I searched the area where I had seen a glimpse of the routed gun crews disappear in the fog and found it. I took it back and put it on the gun. I was sure this was the gun that was firing over us the night we manned the outpost In the meantime, someone had opened the officer's leather backpack and found a generous sized piece of fresh meat. The finders were not sure of the origin of the meat, being raised city boys. Another farm-raised soldier, and I, pronounced it pork of very good quality and unquestioned freshness. On returning to the tent we managed to prepare a satisfactory meal by combining what we had foraged, with some of our field rations. This used up the last of my canned heat. That night the small group of us enjoyed the most restful night's sleep since the night of October 31, when we slept in the little cottage in the Bois de Bantheville eleven days ago. Our kitchen had come in, somehow, and we had a satisfying breakfast the next morning, except that the greasy, rubbery bacon they had prepared, was not as tasty, and by no means as crisp, as that I had prepared in my mess kit. Breakfast over, we were ordered to assist the engineers in building a bridge across the Meuse River near the hamlet of Inor. We found the pontoons in place and held by cables at both ends. Heavy timbers had been laid across the pontoons on which to lay the floor. It was now our task to lay the floor, of heavy planks, three inches thick, about a foot wide and fourteen feet long. They were about all that two men could carry. I found myself on one end of a plank and Colonel Allen on the other end. It did not take long to lay the floor. It seemed a pleasure to work, rather than to be shot at, or to shoot at the enemy. Later, that day, we marched back to Pouilly. Our kitchen and cooks had preceeded us. We felt it a big improvement to get three meals a day once more. The Third Battalion remained in the village for several days. We repaired roads, cleared some of the rubble from the streets, and had time to explore the village a bit. We found the village church unusually Page 8
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attractive, in the interior, for so small a village and impoverished appearing as it was. A contingent of Marines, from the Second Division, was here when we first arrived. I was very favorably impressed by these men. They appeared, on the average, to be more soldierly and had, doubtless, been more carefully selected than the draftees. They had fought on our left flank from November 1 to the 11th, and had seen more combat than had we, but were more interested in learning what part of U.S. we were from, than in bragging about their combat record. Now that the hostilities have ceased, it seems as though we are in a different world. I am unable to find stationery so I can write letters. Since we got out of the trucks at Recicourt, we have been in an area that has been held by the German Army since August 1914. In all the villages, only the old people have remained. All others fled before the advancing German troops. As a matter of fact, these fleeing civilians were a serious hindrance to the rapid movement of the French troops. It appeared as though the occupation forces had tolerated these older people as being harmless, or helpless. They appeared to be in reasonably good condition. Evidently these were poor who had no means of transport. The people of means did have some to get out ahead of the enemy, with most of their valuables. One of the characteristics I noted was the almost total absence of livestock. There was evidence of vegetable gardens, but I do not recall seeing any poultry. If there was any, it was closely confined. When we arrived in the Argonne, the enemy had been driven out of his trench system, and most strong points, like Montfauchon. Adjoining the left front, of our sector, was an area of high ground, strongly held at Landres et St. Georges. On the morning of the first of November, this was the objective of the troops on our left. There was no question that the French forces were in a bad way. Earlier in this narrative, I told of the hopelessness of the British as we marched from the Liverpool docks to Knotty Ash Camp. There is no question that the Germans, both troops and civilians, were war weary when we arrived on the scene. The effort to reassemble the 89th Division took a little time. Our Battalion departed from Pouilly after five days. We arrived in Ealles, a right good-sized village, on November 17. I recall looking back at the column as we marched, and was shocked to see how dirty, and bedraggled, most of us were. I well remember that from head to foot I was needing a new outfit. I had been issued a new pair of shoes six weeks before. They were now badly worn. As a matter of fact, our appearance reflected the Page 9
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fact that we have, for upwards of a month and seventeen days, been without a bath, a haircut, or a change of clothes, and that, for most of that time, we have slept on the wet ground, often cold, wet to the skin, and twice waded water almost knee-deep - the last time with ice almost a quarter inch thick on it. In all that time I had my shoes off only once and that was to change my socks. I recall that one man developed foot trouble while we were bivouaced on the hill overlooking Pouilly. The company medic, on examining him, referred him to the Battalion Surgeon, who had him ordered to the Base Hospital. It was the last we saw of him. MALLES We arrived in Malles after a march of some twelve kilometeres. This was a village of some size, with at least one wide street with houses of size and attractiveness, and an appealing small park. In the park was an operating bath house with hot and cold water. I am inclined to believe it was of German origin as it was not constructed like those we had, and it appeared to have been on the location for some time. Anyway, we made good use of it. Our supply troops had brought in new uniforms, underwear, towels, soap, shoes, and sox. The company barber was put to work and we soon looked like a part of the American Expeditionary Forces once more. I had been promoted to Sergeant, some six or seven weeks earlier, and was sewing new chevrons on my blouse, shirt, and overcoat. (the latter garment had caught up with me). As I was thus employed, I was informed that I had been designated to attend Third Corps Tactical School at Clamecy, France. I had not the faintest idea where this place was located. As our present First Sergeant had only just returned from Clamecy, he was able to give me a briefing as to its location. While waiting for travel orders, I was busy helping clean up the streets. Whoever the last troops to be quartered here were, they left more filth than any we had encountered. Our men with broom, shovel, and bucket, were busy an entire day removing human excrement from the streets. The village had suffered no visible damage from artillery, or other weapons fire. There were very few people here. In fact, the place appeared virtually deserted. We were miles from the nearest rail head at Grand Pre. An N.C.O., or an Officer, or, in some instances both, from every infantry company, had been designated to go to this school. We had been late getting the word, due to the fact that we had been among the farthest advanced of any in the Third Corps. An Army truck picked up fifteen of us on the morning Page 10
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of November 21 and deposited us at the railroad station at Grand Pre later that day. Eventually a locomotive, and some cars, came in and our trip to Clamecy began. The French Railroads, and their rolling stock, were in a pitiful condition. Our Government had supplied them with both locomotives, and box cars, as well as American operating personnel. Fortunately we drew an American-made box car. It was loaded with a variety of freight, including baled straw, cartons of Cream of Wheat, condensed milk, and various other freight I do not remember. We made slow progress, but arrived at a rail junction the following day, November 22, where all but one of the officers left us to go by way of Paris. The rail junction (?) St. Dizier, was not very far from this famous city. It was fortunate for us that the officer remained with us, although he was not feeling well, as he was able to speak a little French. It may seem to the reader, that we were really roughing it in this box car, but really, we were far more comfortable riding in this box car than we could, in the best of circumstances, have been riding in a third class passenger car. We lost no time in covering the vacant floor space, in the car, with a layer of straw. We sat on bales of it, cleared a place for the small (really tiny) wood-burning stove, and were quite comfortable. After the officers left us (six or seven of them), the eight of us remaining had ample room and suffered no discomfort. The Lieutenant had been suffering with an upset stomach, which is soon relieved with a diet of Cream of Wheat and milk. Fortunately the weather is not disagreeable, although cool. We keep comfortable in our overcoats and new uniforms. The journey is very tedious. Our train never gets up much speed and it seems that more than half of the time we are standing still, often in the open country with not more than a farmstead in sight. It is a good thing that all the rail lines are double tracked or it would be utter chaos. When we finally arrive at our destination, the authorities, at the school, cannot understand why we are two days late. We let the Lieutenant do the talking. He informs these rear echelon people, in unmistakeable terms, why we are late. We had envisioned ourselves occupying comfortable quarters at this school, but we are sorely disappointed. The quarters for the N.C.Os. are the usual 60' x 20' hastily constructed buildings. These were without floor, with a pot-bellied stove in the middle, with never any fuel for it, and the floor always muddy. There was a row of bare, two-tiered wooden bunks along each wall, and about 40 inch wide passage way down the middle. Our food was the worst we had ever been offered, with the exception of the British rations Page 11
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from New York to Liverpool, and just a shade better than the worst combat fare. I became acquainted with a Sergeant from Nebraska, who knew an officer who was there from his own company. On telling his officer friend how we were housed, and fed, he invited us to the officers' mess as soon as the officers had eaten. I was astonished when I saw the abundance of good food left on the table after the officers had eaten. The Officer had to be somewhat clandestine about it, but had instructed the Mess Steward to see that we had all the food we wanted from clean plates, cups, and flatwear. This was plain evidence that, whoever was in charge of the N.C.O. mess, was feeding us below the cost of the food, and was pocketing the difference or it could have been someone higher up the line. We were yet to see more of this before we get back to our own 89th Division. With one exception, the weapons we study are as well-known to us as to our instructors. The exception is the new Browning Automatic Rifle, which is just now being made available to the Army, and which is destined to play an important role in our Armed Forces for the next five decades, or more. We learn all its components, its proper care, and get to fire it. This is all we get out of attending Third Corps Schools. December 20th is the last day of classes and the next day, about mid-afternoon, we board a train. It does not get underway until dark. When we left our unit to go to this school, we go fully equipped with a full pack - shelter half, two blankets, extra socks, underwear, mess kit, emergency rations, rifle, and pistol, along with ammunition for both. As we leave Clamecy, we carry the same pack and weapons. As the train begins to move, some of the men begin to show their joy at leaving by opening windows and firing a shot, or two, with their pistols. I am disgusted with their behavior as it is dangerous and entirely uncalled for. Anyone with the rank of Sergeant should know better. I was surprised that the train was not halted and the passengers, at least, given a severe lecture. However, nothing happened. I suppose both the Army Officers, and the French civilians, are glad to be rid of us. The school authorities well know that we, of the N.C.O. group, are not favorably impressed with our quarters, our food, or the greater part of the curriculum. Of course we have no idea as to our destination. Like all the French railroads, I had previously traveled, this one was slow, often stopped and made slow headway as we slept. It was raining when we awoke, and some time on December 22, about mid-morning, we stopped at a small station. The land, to our left, was wet and muddyy. Near the track, stalled in a Page 12
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big puddle, was a military bi-plane. From appearances, it had been there for some time and it appeared that it might remain there longer. There was a village, in the distance, which we were told was St. Aignon. As we waited, another train came in and did some switching of cars onto a side track. Across two tracks from the one our train was on, this switching train jarred open the spigot of a wooden wine tank car and a lot of red wine gushed out. Some of our comrades rushed out, with their canteens, and quickly filled them with the red fluid. There were very few who took advantage of the free wine. It was the red vintage that appeared to be the standard wine ration of the French soldier. The great majority of us had no craving for the sour red vintage. Eventually we were ordered to get out of the cars and marched towards the buildings we had observed on the other side of the tracks. We were halted before a building that had a sign above the door, reading "The Mill". We were ordered to enter this in single file and, passing along a counter, gave our name, rank, serial number, and the unit to which we belonged. We were also relieved of our pistols and ammunition; were given clean underwear and sox, after which we were ordered into the bath where we got a hot shower, while our uniforms were steamed in case they might be populated. Emerging clean, deloused (not needed in our case), and somewhat mystified, we learn that we are now at the St. Aignon Relocation Center. Next we were guided to a tented area where we were assigned to squad tents. These, fortunately, for us, were located on higher ground than most of the other buildings. As the name implies, the tents were furnished with eight steel cots and a Sibley stove. The stove was "window dressing" as there was no fuel for it. The cots were bare. Again our two blankets were our only bedding. At any rate, the steel cots had springs whereas the wooden bunks, at Clamecy, afforded no such comfort. Also, these tents were pitched on grass covered ground and, for the time being, we had dry feet. At a distance was a long low brick structure which, we were informed, was the kitchen. We found that actually there were four kitchens. At meal times there were four doors and, from habit, of course, we formed into a column of fours, with a line going through each door to get food in our mess kit, and our cup of coffee. Beyond the kitchens a rough board counter served as a outdoor table where we could eat standing. If, as often occurred, it happened to be raining at meal time, our food and coffee were somewhat diluted. One of the most demoralizing features here was that when we received a substantial rainfall, the street leading to this kitchen that was said now to be feeding twenty-four thousand men twice daily, was Page 13
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flooded so we were compelled to wade water that was often half knee deep. It should be remembered that this was in late December and early January. Naturally there were men who contracted colds, influenza, pneumonia, and other diseases. It was told, by some of the men who had been here earlier, that there had been several who had died in this mess line. From what I witnessed while I was there, I could not argue to the contrary. As at Third Corps Schools, no one appeared to know who was in command here. Both places seemed to be run by Second Lieutenants, and N.C.Os. I have a very strong suspicion that whoever was in command, at either place, was either in Paris or in the Riviera, living it up. I must report that while the Officers attending Third Corps Schools had excellent food, and dry places to sleep, the Officers waiting at the St. Aignan Relocation Center for transportation to their units, were in a large type of circus tent and had to wear rubber boots to wade thorough as much as ten inches of water to get to their bunks. A comrade ran on to an Officer from his unit at one of the Service Organizations, and this Officer told us about the condition mentioned above and asked us to accompany him to see it. Eventually this place must have bred so much disease, from the hardships the men endured, that it should have been attracting the attention of higher authority. Fortunately there was a large Red Cross building here, well staffed, and selling coffee and sandwiches at a modest cost. There was also a Salvation Army unit and a Y.M.C.A. unit, here. All these were heated and had sandwiches, coffee, or cocoa, at some time of day, as well as a place to rest, stationery, and a place to write. After so long, this man trap collects enough men that belong to the various Divisions in the Army of Occupation, that we have a train load and are started towards our various units. After 72 hours on a slow train, we finally arrive at Metz where we immediately board a German train that whisks us to Coblenz in nine hours. No one seems to know where our respective units are located. Someone, in the railroad station at Coblenz, suggests that we board the next train going to Trier and get off at the depot near the village of Sweich an der Mosel and that there we will find the 2nd and 3rd Battalions. This sizeable village is some twelve kilometers northeast of Trier. It should be remembered that there are no dining cars on these trains. On the long, slow journey from the Relocation Center to Page 14
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Metz we stopped frequently and, at some of the stops, we could get sandwiches and coffee. I do not recall that we stopped anywhere after we got on the much faster German train, except when we got to Coblenz. We were not long getting on a train that would let us off at the correct destination. It is a relief to again be with my comrades of I Company, of the 356th Infantry, when I report for duty on January 28, 1919. I had been absent from my company since November 21 - sixty-one days. All I have learned is how to take down, reassemble, and properly maintain the new Browning Automatic rifle. This is a quiet town, perhaps because it has lost about 350 of its men in the four, and a fraction, years of war. Its population is, at present, something over 3,000 people. The place is clean and the people are surprisingly friendly considering that we are enemy troops quartered in their homes. Absent are the manure piles that were in front of the French farmers' homes. Here the fragrant refuse is stored in pits behind the farmers' houses, or occasionally by the side of the house, or barn. They are constructed of masonry and covered by a grill of one inch iron rods. Our sanitation officer has required them to cover these pits with cedar boughs, or straw. Another Sergeant, and I, are quartered in a small upstairs room of a widow's home where there are two grown daughters, and a sixteen-year old son, when I first arrive. It is a very small cubicle and I am soon transferred to a nice place that is the home of a middle-aged, childless couple. There are three of us there. Captain Ernsberger, our regular Commanding Officer, has been invalided and will not be back. The effects of the gas are his problem and will shorten his life. When our substitute Captain decides that he likes his place for his orderly room, I am again relocated. This time I have an upstairs bedroom, to myself, in the home of the middle-aged couple who have two school age daughters and a young son. They also keep the two retired school teacher sisters of the farmer. I like this place. It is quiet. The bed is comfortable and the window, of my room, faces the street. As are practically all European bedrooms, it is not heated. The house is evidently old but has been well kept. I never saw a mouse in any of the homes where I was quartered. Herr Wagner, and his family, were very correct in their attitude towards me. The two elderly sisters were usually in the fairly good-sized family room where there was a small heater that burned coke briquettes. At the time I came to the place, I was told to be free to come to this room at any time. Even the children were quiet. I am treated with courtesy and respect. In the German Army, Page 15
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a Sergeant is treated thus. The fact that I could speak their language, although haltingly, soon causes me to be well-known among the civilians in the neighborhood. I find the two retired teachers well informed and intelligent. I also improve my knowledge of the language in conversing with them. I learn, to my surprise, that the Kaiser's Germany had a pension system for the aged. At that time we, of the United States, had not yet come to that. My Christmas package, from home, arrives on January 17. It is necessarily a small one, but I appreciate it a great deal. We have gotten a number of replacements so we now have a company strength of 160 men. These replacements are put through drill and training exercises and do very well. A cook, and two Sergeants, come to us from a Pacific Coast National Guard Division that has been broken up to furnish replacements. The cook is no longer a young man, but is good at his job, although I suspect him to be an alcoholic. One of the Sergeants is undersized and the other is of less than average height. None of this Division has seen any combat. All other N.C.Os. in the Company have. They are tolerated by the veterans. They try to make up for their lack of combat experience, and size, by acting tough. We fire a course on the rifle range during a favorable break in the weather. A Corporal, from my home town, and I, make the highest scores. The replacements do not do so well. Neither of the replacement Sergeants come near making Marksman. The range is across the river where a high bluff is the backstop. We hike the five miles to the range daily. The rolling kitchen brings us a good hot noon meal. The late afternoon hike back to quarters helps to induce a night's sleep. I have a disappointment that irks me no end. The rifle I have been firing is very accurate and is sighted-in correctly. This becomes known, as do my scores. We stack arms when we go to eat the noon meal. When I come back to pick up my rifle, on the third day, I find it has been replaced by another. I have the serial number of my rifle recorded in my note book, as is required. Twice I get the First Sergeant to have every rifle, in the Company, checked, to no avail. It appears that someone, from another Company, has exchanged his rifle for mine. Rather than carry the search on to other Companies of the Battalion, I give it up. About this time I draw four months of back pay, the first since June. Twice they have lost my Service record. On February 9, 1919, we have four inches of snow. It stays with us for some time. I get a three day pass to Coblenz. This is an old city with any number of interesting attractions. Our service organizations Page 16
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have leased several restaurants that are very nice. On presenting our pass, we can get real good meals at nominal cost. Several excellent German musicians' groups play for us at two different halls. However, they have small audiences due to the many other interesting attractions. At an art store I see many beautiful paintings. Among these is a beautiful mural "Die Walkurenritt" (The Ride of the Walkures) a subject of ancient Teutonic mythology, priced at 3500 marks. In a music store I see displayed, in a glass covered case genuine Stradivarius violin at 5000 marks. This instrument, today, would doubtless sell for a half million of our inflated dollars. We go to see a little of the ancient fortress of Ehrenbreitstein across the river from the city. To see all of it would take too long. This fortress dates from the 14th century. Nearby is the confluence of the Rhine and the Moselle rivers. A landmark is the large, and palatial home, of the widow of the Kaiser Wilhelm 1st. We had access to it but would have had to take off our hobnailed shoes, so as not to mar the floors. Anyway, there was too much else to see. Near the center of the city is a wide street, really a boulevard, with flower beds in the middle of some flowers in bloom. This extended for blocks. As I reminisce about this visit to the then beautiful city, I cannot recall seeing more than two or three policemen. Of course our Military Police kept our troops in line. Another thing that was so different from other large cities, in Europe, as that we were not accosted by prostitutes. Rumors about our going home are heard daily, and the date varies. We drill daily and also do calisthenics. Every Friday we go on a hike with full pack. There are, of course, those who think that the life of a soldier in peace time is very easy. You can be assured that if these young men were not kept busy at something that uses up the energy stored in their young bodies, they would give much trouble. We had plenty of trouble with a few, anyway. In the latter part of February, I am placed in charge of a small group of young men who, I think, were unemployed and we took them to repair the roads. These roads were gravel, or crushed stone surfaced and developed small depressions that needed to be refilled and then firmly tamped. I was not enthusiastic about my duty - although I got along very well with them. The trouble was that these young people were not experienced and, furthermore, the near starvation rations they were eating were mostly coarse bread and potatoes which were not, by most standards, idea for young men doing hard labor. I do not know how much their government was paying them. I Page 17
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merely tried to keep them trying to do what they could. I know the tamper was heavy for I demonstrated to them how to use it. The weather in January and February was not too disagreeable. One that left a memorable impression on my mind was that after a snowfall they, like us, did not have, at that time, the machinery to clear the roads of snow and it soon got packed down hard. The temperature stayed very much the same day and night for a number of days. On one of these hikes we found the roads hard packed. This did not cause us any inconvenience as our hobnailed shoes rendered us quite sure-footed. We took a route that lay partly through a forest of tall evergreens that still had much snow on their branches as there had been no wind. The snow on the ground and on the limbs of the tall evergreen trees made one think of Christmas post cards. At this time Company I is required to furnish a detachment of troops for duty on the border of Luxembourg. This reduces our Company strength considerably and a consequence was that I drew guard duty rather frequently. Since we have been in the Army of Occupation we have what the Army calls formal guard mount. It means that we are supposed to be sufficiently well trained that a Sergeant should know enough to serve as Commander of the guard. It takes forty men, including three Corporals, to form the guard. Our First Lieutenant is Officer of the Day. As Commander of the guard, I do not have to walk a post, but I may not leave the guard house except in answer to a call from a Corporal who has a problem he cannot handle, or some other emergency. I do not carry a rifle, but I do carry my pistol at all times. I put my pistol on a regular pistol belt which also takes my two extra magazines. What makes this duty somewhat onerous is that our take over is at 4 P.M. and we serve for 24 hours. The Commander of the guard may call on the officer of the Day if he has a problem. I may take a nap, but it is not likely. All goes well the first day until taps (10 P.M.). A call comes from a post near a Gast Haus (beer joing). The third relief is being posted and the sentry here is a bit flustered. A Sergeant is in the Gast Haus and is arguing with the bar maid. She is a middle-aged woman, wants to close shop. The Sergeant, a bit tipsy, does not want to leave. I simply tell the Sergeant that it is past 10 P.M. and he should be in his quarters; that he can go out the door and go straight to his quarters or he can go to the guardhouse with me. He is not too tipsy to understand that and goes out the door. I watch him and note he does not look back. There is a long standing rule that no soldier may carry, or possess, Page 18
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any pistol, or other hand gun, except the regulation Col Cal .45 automatic pistol. We have had several inspections in order to meet this requirement and, if anyone is caught with such a weapon, it may necessitate another inspection. The next day a call for the Corporal of the Guard comes from the bridge over the Moselle river. A sentry is posted at the near approach to the bridge at all times and no unauthorized person may cross without showing a valid pass.The bridge, over the Moselle, is about a kilometer from our guard house. There is only one Corporal here, so I tell him to stay and what to do in certain circumstances and I will go to the bridge. The walk will be a distraction and good exercise. When I approach the bridge I see the sentry holding his rifle over a smallish soldier who, at first glance, does not impress me favorably. As I draw near I see he has a small automatic in his hand. The sentry tells me the man tried to bluff him with the pistol when he was not allowed to cross the bridge. I tell the man to place the pistol on the stone bridge pillar and he does as I request. I then tell him to take three steps forward, stop and stand at attention. I then search him to see if he might have some thing else illegal. I do not find anything so I pick up the small Mauser pistol and remove the cartridges in it, which I put in my pocket. I then march him to the guard house, get his name and what company he belongs to, after which I lock him up and write my report. It is getting close to 4 P.M. I decide I have time enough to go to the orderly room of the Company my prisoner belongs to. It is next to the guard house and i find the Captain is there. I introduce myself and tell the Captain I have locked up one of his men. He is a small, wiry man, no longer young. I later learn that he is a former Regular Army First Sergeant who won his commission in the R.O.T.C. He is very courteous and thanks me for letting him know, which is not required of me, but I thought as it was only a few steps I should do so. The Officer of the Day does not want to bring up the finding of this pistol as it may cause another inspection of all the personnel, so he suppresses the evidence. Another time, when I had guard duty in March, a Corporal brought in a very drunk soldier who had tried to shoot a sentry. The only reason he failed was because he was too drunk, or too ignorant, to release the safety on the Luger pistol. Again, the Officer of the Day suppresses the evidence. I am beginning to wonder how many illegal pistols there are in this Army. About this time another incident occurred that miraculously avoided being fatal. This involved one of the regular army Sergeants that had been transferred to our Company shortly after the Company was formed. Page 19
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Mike was a tall and husky man and about as unprincipled, and unreliable, as they come. One illustration will acquaint the reader with this man. Alcoholic beverages were very hard, if not impossible, to obtain at Camp Funston. Mike would, not so infrequently, drink enough Listerine to pass out. In spite of the generally held opinion that the Germans were "Verbotens", alcoholic beverages and drugs were generally readily available. At that time the use of drugs was not as prevalent as at present. For reasons unknown to me, apparently Mike, and others, may have not been aware that cocaine was available at the local "Apotheke" (drug store) for some time. When they did begin to buy and use it, the fact was soon brought to the attention of the highter Officers who forbade the German druggist to sell anything of the kind to our troops. An order from our High Command was all it took to dry up the source of cocaine for Mike. For some reason Mike got the idea that the First Sergeant of A Company was the cause of his discomfiture. He gets sufficiently loaded with schnapps, gets a Colt .45 and goes to the A Company orderly room where he finds the Sergeant, and fires at him. Miraculously the bullet hits a package of cigarette papers in the left breast pocket of the Sergeant, and is deflected without harm. The Sergeant is an athletic man, quick and fearless. Mike is probably too drunk to get in a quick second shot; is quickly disarmed by the Sergeant and is given the beating of his life. A few days later, another N.C.O. and I were ordered to take Mike to the Judge Advocate at Trier and that was the last we saw of Mike, for which we were duly grateful. The rumors of our impending departure are becoming more believeable. It is now said it will be in May. There was a great rush to get us over here. Our own ships, the interned German liners, and British ships, brought us over here. Now only our own ships, and the German liners, are used to bring us back. In early April we are offered a free trip to Paris to see the 89th Division team and the 37th Division football teams play for the A.E.F. championship. An entire train load is to go from the Army of Occupation. I apply for a pass and get it. Fortunately we will go on a german train which gets us there without the frequent stops we experienced on the French railroads, but the game has already started when we get to the playing field in the Parc des Princes although they have a fleet of trucks at hand to get us there. These teams are made up of the best college and university players of the past few years and it is a good game. I had read of the athletic exploits of the famous Jim Thorpe. He was one of the backfield players on the 89th Division Page 20
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team and he was an outstanding performer. In fact, a number of famous players from a number of universities were on it. The 89th Division team won the A.E.F. championship. As soon as the game was over, the spectators from the Army of Occupation were marched back to the trucks and taken to our train in the rail yards. We were ordered to board it and were soon on our way back to our various units. We saw a little of the beauty of Paris, but the sight that I remember most vividly was that of two apparently teen-age girls, one of them so drunk she was very hard to keep on her feet by her companion. That was my first sight of an intoxicated human female. It was good to get to see the game and to get a small glimpse of a part of Paris. However, riding the hard wooden seats of the third class cars from 4:30 P.M., on Friday, unil arriving in Paris at 3:30 P.M. on Saturday; the return trip to Trier on Sunday at 9:30 P.M. and all that time without food until we were served with sandwiches and coffee at Trier, I had no more desire to travel until we were to go back to the U.S.A. Before this trip to Paris, the two or three highest scorers from each Company, were again firing a course to select the men who would represent the Division for the A.E.F. champion rifle team. I had hoped that I would not be included in this final competition as I feared I would not have a chance without the very accurate M17 that I had done so well with in the first 2 1/2 days in the January practice. I did not do so well with the rifle that had replaced the one I first used in January. Anyway, it was now apparent that soon we would be leaving the Army of Occupation for home and civilian life and I had no desire to be stuck at some rifle range here or in France while the 89th Division was on its way back to the good old U.S.A. It is now official, the 89th is to be reviewed by General Pershing on April 23 at the large airfield at Trier. The Division artillery had been coming through Schweich on the street where I am quartered. The G.P.P. 166s are at that time still rolling on iron-tired wheels and they set up such vibrations on the cobblestoned streets I wonder the windows are not all shattered. We get cleaned up to look our best and at 2 P.M. on the 22nd of April, we march to a village on the outskirts of Trier, where we spend the night. The next morning we march to where the entire Division is assembled. Although all battle casualties have not been replaced there are now about 25,000 men assembled here. The General has an excellent sorrel saddle horse which is trucked to all these functions. It would be too exhausting for the no-longer-young General to inspect Page 21
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these men afoot. He rides the sorrel like the old cavalryman he is. After he looks the entire Division over from horseback, he appears afoot at the center front of the four Infantry Regiments to bestow the decorations on the men and Officers who have won special honors and are assembled there for the occasion. Among these honorees are two men from my own Company who received the Distinguished Service Cross for bravery under enemy fire. Among the dignitaries who are assembled, with those receiving these honors, are the Crown Prince of Belgium and several Officers of other allied armies. When this ceremony is over whose who have been decorated return to their regular units and the entire Division, which has been facing south, now executes a maneuver that has us all facing east. The Colonels are way out front, next are the Majors, and the Captains march in front of their Companies. The latter are formed in platoon columns. Company I's First lieutenant is at my right and I march just ahead of the First Squad of the Company. I am the Division guide in this instance as I must march straight to the front as the other units, of the Division, must align their direction on me. I do not know how they came to pick on me for this chore, but it has been mine for months. The Infantry has by far the most men in a Division. It is always the first to close with the enemy so it is given the first place in a parade. The Machine Gunners come next with their guns on the carts drawn by mules. The Engineers, artillery, and Supply, bring up the rear. I keep my eyes on a certain object straight to the front until we get to the extreme east end of the field when we are halted. All take off our packs, stack arms, and gather in the huge Zepplin hangar to hear an address by General Pershing. I am one of the few who remain to see that our equipment is not molested. Returning, all report that the General made an excellent address. In a letter, dated April 27, I write to my parents that this will probably be the last letter they will have from me before we get to the U.S. Our departure was first set for May 9. At the time the above mentioned letter was written, it had been moved up to May 3. However, I think it may have been several days later. We were all as glad to get started back that we could not be bothered about putting the date of departure in the little black note book. I can vividly recall two incidents that happened the morning we left. I had made up as tight a pack as possible and came down the stairs to bed the Wagner family good-bye. The last to bed me farewell was Herr Wagner who approached me from the kitchen with a generous portion of schnapps. I had never sampled any of this rather potent brandy, so I sipped it slowly while I expressed my Page 22
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gratitude for their hospitality. As I finished the brandy the trucks came. The schnapps gave me a feeling of warmth. I marveled that the old man had known how much of the brandy I could take without feeling adverse effects. The Captain rode on the seat with the driver. As it was, he had also had a farewell drink. He was a bit unsteady in getting up to the seat and then got just as far over to the right as possible. In fact, he leaned over to the right so far I feared he would fall off. He rode that way all the way to Trier and got off the truck without difficulty when we arrived at the railroad station. We rode in American-made box cars which were larger than the French cars, although the latter bore the legend Chevaux 8 Hommes 40. There were 32 of us in the car with our weapons and equipment. We had ample straw on the floor and were far more comfortable than if we had been traveling in French third class passenger cars. The worst feature was that there were no windows. The left door was left open for ventilation. I was in charge of the men in my car. The only trouble I had was that one of the men succeeded in opening a three inch crack in the right hand door before I stopped him. All the French rail lines, of any consequence, were double tracked. West bound traffic, for safety sake, had to keep the right door closed. This door should have been fastened but for some reason it was not. There was no hand hold on the inside to close it so I cautioned all to keep hands off the door. The men were feeling cooped up and it was a bit warm in midday, but we certainly did not want anyone to fall out on that side and get hurt, or killed. It was a long, slow trip to Brest. We were on our way for three days. I have a vivid memory of seeing a small part of the devastation as we passed the vicinity of Verdun. It was a relief when we left the box cars at Brest.
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WE MADE THE WORLD SAFE ! ! ? ? April 1919 - June 10, 1919 Book 6
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We spent a night in squad tents here at Brest. The city did not impress us. Its appearance was that of an old city and, the part we saw, was neither affluent nor attractive. As a matter of fact, there was much evidence of poverty. We marched to the harbor, the next day, where we got aboard a barge which was pushed out into the harbor by a towboat. Lines were tied to the barge and a ramp was let down and we soon were aboard the U.S.S. Huntington. This is the former battleship West Virginia which was retired years ago but was recommissioned when we got into the war. After the hostilities ceased, her guns were removed from her turrets and she was used to bring troops home from France and Germany. Some readers will get an idea of this vessel's age when we tell you that she was driven by coal-burning reciprocating steam engines instead of the then modern steam turbines. The ship was far cleaner than the British liner Coronia was and our food was much, much better. The harbor, at Brest, is not deep enough to accommodate large ships near shore so they are anchored in deeper water and are loaded from barges or lighters. Practically all the American troops were evacuated from Brest, and all by American ships and the two large German liners that were interned in American ports when the war began in 1914. Our homeward bound voyage was, for the most part, pleasant and uneventful except that when we were about in mid-ocean a severe storm came up which made it necessary for the ship to be headed into the wind, which caused about a two day delay in the voyage. Our Officers were all quartered in the area near the stern of the ship. This rose and fell frequently in the storm period and many of them were quite seasick. We did not see any of them until after the storm when the sea became as calm as a farm pond. My bunk was amidships in an empty gun turret and I was not seassick. The days when it was calm I spent mostly on the forecastle which, on this old warship, was quite roomy and, on pleasant days, there were always some of us resting our arms on the chest high coming, watching the occasional creature of the sea, or the more rare sight of another ship. When nearing the end of our voyage a large four-masted Swedish sailing vessel appeared off our port bow. There was a light and favorable breeze and she was carrying all the sail she had. I would like to have had a picture of this ship When we entered New York Harbor we were glad to see the statue of Liberty again and were met by the "Welcome" boat, and by fire boats throwing water high in the air from their hoses. Our ship docked on the Jersey side about 11 A.M. We were fed before leaving the Huntington. The menu was sauerkraut and wieners, bread and Page 1
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coffee. We were transported to Brooklyn by ferry and then by railroad to Camp Upton. I cannot recall whether it was at the Jersey side, or at Brooklyn, but we were given another meal somewhere before we arrived at Camp Upton. The menu, again, was wieners and kraut. Some of the men's comments were not complimentary. I was not at all pleased by their comments as the ladies, serving the meal, had no way of knowing what we ate at our last meal on the Huntington. The first chance I had at Hoboken I sent a wire to the special girl friend; also one to my parents, that I was again in the U.S.A. Camp Upton was located on sand and we never got our shoes wet all the while we were there. Every morning there was a heavy fog which did not dissipate until near noon. We had to wait about a week before transportation was available to take us back to Camp Funston. Except for the heat at midday, we were quite comfortable here. The frequent showers were little inconvenience as the sand soaked it all up. The Mess Sergeant used up the last of the surplus mess fund we had so we had good food and plenty of it. When we first got to this place it took a few hours for the cooks to get things going. A comrade, and I, remembered that for a whole year we had no eaten a piece of apple pie. We had to walk about two blocks to a place where we could buy one. We bought a whole pie and had no difficulty consuming it. Our last military ceremony occurred one day while here. One, or possibly two, of our Officers had belatedly been awarded a decoration. The Battalion was marched a short distance from our barracks; formed into a line of Platoons and do the required salute as we passed the group of Officers. When we eventually boarded a train that was to take us back to Camp Funston it was late on a day in early June. "The powers that were" knowingly or otherwise, did us a nice favor when they routed us up the East side of the Hudson River. I enjoyed the scenery along the river. The variety of water craft, large and small on the river, was a revelation to most of us. Some time after dark our train changed direction going westward across the state of New York. For me, the treat of treats was that morning when our train stopped for an hour, or more, while we got off to get a good look at Niagara Falls, one of the world's greatest natural wonders. I am sure that most were asleep when some time during the second night we crossed from Canada back into the United States at Detroit. At that time this was accomplished by ferrying the railroad Page 2
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cars across on barges. It was done so quietly and efficiently that few were aware of it. I came awake when the train stopped. It was light enough to tell when our coach was eased onto the barge. as we progressed westward the scenery became more familiar. I recall, with pleasure, our stop at Moverly, Missouri as we again marched to the park for a bountiful meal provided by the citizens of the area. News of the arrival of our train had been anounced far enough in advance that a few of my neighbors were there to meet others from the area, as well as myself. From force of habit we formed as always. As I had been the ranking duty Sergeant for about six months, I walked at the First Lieutenant's left and, just as we stepped off, the First Sergeant put a large U.S. flag in my hands which made me feel very conspicuous. Needless to say we enjoyed this bountiful meal even more than the one we had here on September 20, 1917 as we had been eating mostly snacks we bought rather than the emergency rations in our packs. After arriving at Camp Funston it took several days for all to get their physical examination , discharge papers, severance pay, etc., taken care of. The thousands who had been wounded, gassed, or ill, had, by the time we returned, filled to over crowding all military hospitals. In addition, many wounded and gassed had to be put into private hospitals or such facilities as were available. When the men of my Battalion were examined there were three M.D.s on the job. Our Battalion Medics were not involved. When my turn came the examiner was a man who was about in the prime of life. He had the build of a football player. He was very thorough and seemed much interested in my chest. After much thumping and listening, he told me to go to an adjoining small room and wait. I was soon joined by two others. When the entire Batallion had been examined, they began on me again. The big M.D. asked both other doctors to examine me. They discussed my case freely. All agreed that I could not pass the physical examination if I should wish to re-enlist. It will doubtless be news to most readers that it was about two years before a rating system, for disabilities, was set up by Congress and Veterans Hospital construction was begun. In my case I was examined and reexamined locally, at Moberly, Sedalia, and at St. Louis. Some of the examining physicians were definitely not sympathetic with veterans who had not lost one or more of their extremeties. In any event, it behooved the disabled to prove their case. We had been told on entering the service that our service record would provide a full and complete record of our activities, injuries, and ailments. In any case, the findings of Page 3
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the three medical officers who examined me at the time of my discharge from the Service were not recorded anwhere. It was not until in the 1940s that any attention was paid to my hospital record of over 90 days at the Base Hospital at Fort Riley. I seriously doubt that records were any better in WWI then in the war with Spain, or even possibly in the Civil War. I was very glad that the Company Clerk had documented the five months back pay that was due me. The back pay, plus the $60 severance pay all drew, was to become very helpful as about all prices had gone up while I was away. On June 10, 1919 we were given our honorable discharge plus travel pay to our homes. I do not know how all my comrades felt, but the transition from Army life back to civilian life was not without a mixed feeling of freedom and a consciousness of the loss of many friendships I had formed with those I had gone through the rigor of training with and with whom I had shared the hardships, the horrors, and the dangers of combat. IN RETROSPECT Remembering the beginning of the war in August of 1914, the news in the metropolitan press was generally neutral with the exception of the German drive through Belgium. However, after the failure of he vaunted Kitchener's Million, and it began to dawn on all that the price of victory would not be cheap, the flood of propaganda from Britain and France soon caused our newspapers to generate a degree of hatred for the German cause that drove some people to hysteria. After the war a group of Americans of German descent, made up a purse of $30,000.00 to be given to anyone who could offer proof of the terrible atrocities the British and French propaganda had accused the German troops of, which was never claimed. The large banks in the eastern part of our country had lent huge sums of money to the French, British, and Russians. When it became apparent that this would not be repaid in the event Germany and Austria would not be defeated, a new dimension was added to the rain of anti-German propaganda. Another factor was the toll that the submarines were taking of the shipping. At the beginning of the war, the submarine was not regarded seriously. It had not been a factor in other wars and, when it began to sink British ships, it was branded as an evil thing that could sink huge ships but could not pick up surviving passengers or crew. Anti-German sentiment increased when many Page 4
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American, and other lives, were lost when a German submarine torpedoed the Lusitania. Those who would know the truth about this unfortunate and unbelievable act of vilany should read Colin Simpson's book, "The Lusitania". This British author tells, in vivid detail, how the sinking of this vessel was deliberately and carefully arranged to be sunk by a German U-boat on May 7, 1915 by Winston Churchill and Lord Fisher of the British Admiralty. The book is available at most libraries. Our President Wilson had made the statement that we would go to war if American citizens were to lose their lives in a sinking of a ship that was not carrying war material. The Lusitania was carrying much war material, but it was not so stated on its manifest. This had been going on for some time with the Lusitania, and other ships as well. When Woodrow Wilson was elected President of the United States, he chose William Jennings Bryan as his Secretary of State. Mr. Bryan's opposition to our entry into a European War was very strong. When Assistant Secretary Robert Lansing continued to press President Wilson with his strong pro-British views, Secretary Bryan quietly resigned. Many other prominent men in Government shared Mr. Bryan's view. Included were William Joel Stone and James A. Reed, of Missouri and William Barahof California, among others. President Wilson was an idealist, as is not unusual among the heads of institutions of higher learning. Me, and the British Churchill, and David Lloyd-George, drew up a set of fourteen points for ending the war which were, to any reasonable minded person, fair and just. Sad to say, the British, French, and others on their side over rode President Wilson and imposed peace terms that impoverished Germany and Austria. It broke our President's heart when our Congress refused to sign the Treaty of Versailles and eventually broke down his health so he virtually could not perform the duties of his office. The First World War impoverished Europe, brought on the Second World War, the downfall of the British Empire, and the rise of Communist Russia, and imposed Communist regimes on much of the rest of the world. The absolute monarchies have been replaced by dictatorships. Some call themselves Democracies although they are dictatorships by individuals or committees. We like to think we are a Democracy when actually it is a Constitutional Republic which means we should be a government of laws and not of individual men. Page 5
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(d) 314th French Mortar Battery (177) (armed with 6" Stokes French Mortars) 4. 340th Machine Gun Battalion, Motorized (395) (controlled by G-3 usually through Division M.G. officer) 1 Headquarters (30) with medical and ordnance detachments 2 Machine Gun Companies, A and B (each 178) 5. 314th Engineers (1749) Controlled by G-1 through Division Engineer with medical and ordnance detachments. 6 Companies, A to F, inclusive, in two Battalions (each Co. 256) 6. 314th Field Signal Battalion (488) controlled by G-3 through Division Signal Officer) Companies A to C inclusive 1 Headquarters (15) with medical detachment and supply section. 1 Radio Company (A) (78) 1 Wire Company (B) (78) 1 Outpost Company (C) (285) 7. 314 Train Headquarters (68) (Controlled by G-1 through C.O. trains and M.P.) operations of Military Police, the Supply train and (to a greater or less degree according to the tactical situation) directs or coordinates actions of other trains. With medical and ordnance detachments, 3 veterinary field units and mobile veterinary section. 8. 89th Military Police Company (205) (Controlled by G-1 through through C.O. Trains and M.P.) (Previously called 314th Military Police and consisting of troops "A" and "B") 9. 314th Motor Supply Train (501) (Controlled by G-1, usually through C.O. Trains and M.P.) 1 Headquarters (16) with medical detachment 6 Truck Companies, A to F, inclusive (each 79) 10. 314th Engineer Train (84) (Controlled by G-1, usually through Division Engineer) One Company 11. 314th Ammunition Train (1341) (Controlled by G-1, different sections usually under the Artillery Commander, Munitions Officer, C.O. Trains, M.O.R.S. under Division Ordnance Officer, etc., according to the tactical situation). 1 Headquarters (32) with medical and ordnance detachments 1 Motor Battalion (629) 1 Battalion Headquarter (33) 4 Truck Companies, A to D, inclusive (each 149) 1 Horse Battalion (568) 1 Battalion Headquarters (24) Companies, E to G, inclusive Page 2
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2 Caisson Companies (each 194) 1 Wagon Company (166) 314th Mobile Ordnance Repair Shop (attached) (56) 12. 314th Sanitary Train (951) Controlled by g-1 through Division Surgeon) 1 Headquarters (18) 1 Ambulance Section (546) 1 Section Headquarters (7) 3 Ambulance Companies, motorized, Nos. 353 to 356, inclusive (each 127) 1 Ambulance Company, No. 356 animal drawn (158) 1 Field Hospital Section (362) 1 Section Headquarters (7) 3 Field Hospital Companies, Nos. 353 to 355, inclusive motorized (each 89) 1 Field Hospital Company, No. 356, animal drawn (88) 8 Camp Infirmaries (16) 1 Division Medical Supply Unit (9)
Details
| Title | Rudolph Forderhase Memoir - September 21, 1917 - January 12, 1918 |
| Creator | Forderhase, Rudolph |
| Source | Forderhase, Rudolph. Rudolph Forderhase Memoir. 21 September 1918 - 10 June 1919. Private collection. J. Forderhase, Fayette, Missouri. |
| Description | <p>In "We Made the World Safe," Howard County, Missouri native Rudolph Forderhase recalls his experiences serving with the 89th Division during World War I. Spanning September 21, 1918 through June 10, 1919, Forderhase describes in vivid detail being drafted, basic training, service in the 89th Division, and occupation in Europe after the armistice.</p> |
| Subject LCSH | Camp Funston (Kan.); Draft; United States. Army--Recruiting, enlistment, etc.-- World War, 1914-1918; United States. Army. Infantry regiment, 356th; United States. Army. Division, 89th; Vaccination; World War, 1914-1918--Equipment and supplies; World War |
| Subject Local | WWI; World War I; Selective Service Act of 1917; S.S. Caronia; Dugouts; Army of Occupation; U.S.S. Huntington; Fourteen Points; Richthofen Circus |
| Contributing Institution | John Forderhase - Private Collector |
| Copy Request | Transmission or reproduction of items on these pages beyond that allowed by fair use requires the written permission of the Forderhase family. |
| Rights | The text and images contained in this collection are intended for research and educational use only. Duplication of any of these images for commercial use without express written consent is expressly prohibited. |
| Date Original | September 21, 1917 - January 12, 1918 |
| Language | English |