Father Duffy's story

by Francis Patrick Duffy

BOIS DE MONTFAUCON

October 10th.

On September 27th, we relieved the 84th Brigade in the line, taking over the positions of the Iowas in subsector Marimbois, Major Anderson’s battalion being in the forward position. It was the usual business of patrolling until September 30th, when our Division was relieved in the Sector by the 89th, and withdrew to the Bois de la Belle Ozière, a little south of where we were before. Next morning, October 1st, we marched about 10 kilometers to our embussing point, where we found a tremendously large fleet of camions driven by the little Chinks whom our fellows now call the undertakers, because they associate them with deaths and burials.

Here I met an old friend, George Boothby of the New York World, who had finally succeeded in getting over to the war by entering the publicity department of the Y. M. C. A. The uniform with the red triangle somehow caused a smile when seen on George, but he was the first to grin.

We got started at four o’clock in the afternoon and spent the whole of a freezing night on the journey, most of it lying along the Voie Sacrée or Sacred Way, over which the supplies and reinforcements had been sent which saved Verdun. Our destination was Mondrecourt where we remained until October 4th, when we marched by daylight to Jubécourt. On October 5th we moved north again, an interminable march, with all the infantry in the Division going up on one mean road, to the woods of Montfaucon.

I had it easy myself because Colonel Mitchell with his usual fine way of doing a courtesy, asked me as a favor to get the automobile and some personal baggage through, as he was going mounted. So Brown and Dayton and myself got there by better roads ahead of the rest and found ourselves at the headquarters of the 32nd Division, where Colonel Callan and Father Dunnigan gave me a hospitable welcome. When I heard “32nd Division,” my first thought was “Now I can see McCoy again,” as he had been made General of the 63rd Brigade, but it was two days before I descried his familiar figure crowned with the French casque, a parting gift from the Comte de Chambrun when he left Chaumont. It was a memorable meeting, but all too short, for he had his brigade in line to look after.

The woods of Montfaucon, which lie in the area of the great battles for Verdun, fills exactly a civilian’s idea of what No Man’s Land should look like. In its day it was a fine forest of thick-girthed trees, but they had been battered by long cannonading until not one of them was as nature had fashioned it. Big branches had been torn off and heavy trees knocked to the ground. The shell holes lay close together like pock marks on a badly pitted face. It was almost impossible to find a level spot to pitch a small pup tent. Owing to recent rains and the long occupation of the woods by troops, both our own and the enemy’s, the place was in a bad state of sanitation. The roads, too, were bad and difficult for all kinds of traffic, particularly motor traffic. There were very few dugouts, all of them small and most of them dirty and wet. Division headquarters established itself in trucks as being better than any existing accommodations. General Lenihan kindly took me in and gave me a share in the dugout occupied by himself and Lieutenant Grose. Together we made a happy week of it in spite of bad conditions.

While here we received word that the Germans had asked for an armistice. The older and wiser heads amongst us felt quite certain that they would not get what they had asked for until they were reduced to a more humble spirit; but we were worried about the effect it might have on the morale of the troops, because it would be particularly hard for soldiers to face another big battle if they had made up their minds that the fighting was over. So Colonels Mitchell and Donovan asked me to go amongst the men, sound them out, and set them right if necessary. It was an easy commission. One of the first men I spoke to was Vincent Mulholland, one of my parish recruits and now 1st Sergeant of Company B. In answer to my first question he replied “Of course I would like to see the war over, but not while the old regiment is back here in army corps reserve. I want to see this war end with the 69th right out in the front line, going strong.” Not everybody was as emphatic as that, but I was able to make a very assured report that the old timers at least would go into a battle with the same spirit they had at Champagne or the Ourcq or St. Mihiel.

Jack Mangan has left us to take charge of the organization of the Headquarters Battalion of the new Second Army at Toul. Colonel Haskell, who is assistant Chief of Staff in the 2nd Army, visited us during our journey from Baccarat to Chalons and got a great reception from the old-timers. Even then, he had his eye on Mangan and wanted him to come with him. There is nothing that so much impresses me as a proof of the absolute sense of duty and loyalty of our old officers to this regiment as the attitude which they invariably take concerning invitations to improve their rank and fortunes by going elsewhere. The younger officers have no choice in the matter. We have been sending home as instructors a few of them each month, and have lost a large number of very efficient lieutenants. But those who are free to exercise any choice invariably view the opportunity as a question of conscience and put the matter up to me. Major McKenna (then Captain) did this in the Lunéville area when he had a chance for the office of Judge Advocate. In the same spirit Mangan said he would not quit to join Haskell unless I decided that the Regiment could spare him. My decision was that he could not go until Kinney was made a Captain, as I knew that the latter could fill admirably the extremely important post of R. S. O.

The hardest battle of all has been to keep Donovan with the Regiment, but he has made that fight himself, as there is no place else in the world that would tempt him for a minute. He has dodged orders to send him to Staff College (which would inevitably mean a transfer after he was finished), orders to go on special duties, invitations or suggestions to receive promotion by transfer. General Menoher and Colonel MacArthur have been always alert to take up the battle to retain him with us. He and I tramped the muddy road tonight while he disburdened himself of a new worry. The Provost Marshal General wants an assistant who is at once a good lawyer and a keen soldier, with a knowledge of French, and he has demanded that Donovan be sent to him. Colonel Hughes, our new Chief of Staff, has done his best to block it; but he has been informed by General Headquarters that the authorities of the 42nd Division have managed to evade the wishes of military authority in Colonel Donovan’s case six times already and that this order is peremptory. All that General Menoher has been able to do is to hold him until the next battle is over. Donovan is disgusted and sore for the first time in my knowledge of him.

Every now and then there is some desultory shelling in the woods, but the only sight of warfare that we get is in the sky. Our balloons must be well placed, because the German flyers have been very persistent in their attempts to bring them down, and their efforts are too often successful. Today, we saw a German aviator perform a feat which was one of the most daring things that any of us has seen during the war. The rapid and sustained discharge of anti-aircraft guns (which have their own unmistakable note) brought everybody to the edge of the woods. Guided by puffs of white or black smoke which dotted the sky above us, we were able to detect a single German plane headed unswervingly towards us, and not flying very high either. Our own planes were swooping towards him, but he came right on, without any change of altitude or direction. He passed over our line of balloons, and then turned abruptly and dived towards the one nearest us, throwing his dart and passing on. The flames did not show at once, and evidently noticing this, he checked his flight and started back to finish the job. Just then the flames burst up, and he wheeled in air to make his escape. Soldiers in combat divisions are the best sports in the world. There must have been twenty thousand of them watching this daring exploit of an enemy, and I feel certain there was not a man amongst them who did not murmur “I hope to God the beggar gets away.” There were a dozen of our planes after him by this time and before he reached his own lines they forced him to earth, landing in safety.

As I make my rounds amongst the men scattered through the woods, I find many whose names I do not know. In the original regiment I knew practically everyone by his name; but through a variety of causes half of those men are no longer with us and their places have been taken by others, with whom, on account of our constant motion, it has been impossible to get acquainted.

The wearing down of a regiment, even outside of battle, is constant. Brigade and Division Headquarters select those that they want for their own work, bright sergeants are sent off to Army Candidate’s School to be trained for officers, and are invariably sent to other divisions. There is a constant trickle of sick men to hospitals, from which many never return to us; and most of all, there are the tremendous losses that a regiment, particularly an infantry regiment, has to pay in battle. Our total losses in action of killed, wounded and missing up to the present are about 2,600 men. Taking all causes into consideration nearly 3,000 of our original men have been dropped, at least temporarily, from our rolls since we came to France. If none of them had returned there would be now only 600 of them left, but as a matter of fact, nearly all of our wounded who have graduated into the “Fit for Service” class have insisted on their right to come back. So about half of our present total of 2,983 men are of the original outfit. It is easy to pick them out by glancing down a company roster, because our serial numbers are all under 100,000 while the new men have numbers running into the millions.

I do not find that the spirit of the regiment as a whole has changed on account of these fresh accessions. A regiment is largely what its officers and non-coms make it. Practically all of our present officers have been through all the fights with us and have gained their present ranks in battle, and the non-coms are naturally men of the original regiment who have earned their stripes by good soldiering in camp and in the field. These men are the custodians of regimental pride and regimental tradition, and their spirit is communicated to or imposed upon the newcomers.

Most of these newcomers moreover, have proved themselves excellent material. The first few that were sent us in Lunéville were poor foreigners from the coal mining districts who could scarcely speak English, but in Baccarat we got three hundred men from Camp Devens who were a fine lot of fellows, and, now that they have gone through the big fights with us, are not to be distinguished in any way from the original volunteers. We received a lot of first class men also from the Kentucky-Tennessee and the Texas-Oklahoma National Guard organizations, among the latter being a number of Indians. All of these replacements who have gone through battles with us are now absolutely part and parcel of the 165th Infantry and have created bonds of battle friendship with our Irish and New York lads which are closer than any family tie can be.

In any extended campaign it is a very rare soldier who does not get the experience of being in a hospital at least once; although we could not possibly spend as much time in them as rumors that they get at home make our people think we do. I myself have been killed or wounded at least a dozen times. The other day Lester Sullivan, who comes from my parish, looked up from a letter he was reading and said to me “Father Duffy if you had ten thousand dollars insurance for every time you were killed you’d never need to work for the rest of your life.”

After battles of course they are being sent back by hundreds and thousands. Jim Healey was telling me a yarn which hits off a type of humor that is characteristic of the American. A hospital train pulled into a French station with its doors and windows and platforms crowded with “walking cases” and stopped on a track alongside a similar train with the same kind of a crowd looking out. “Where are youse guys from?” shouted one of the soldiers. “Fohty-second Division. Whey you all from?” “De rest of de Forty-second Division” came the reply—everybody shouting with laughter at this bit of delicate and tender humor.

Hospitals thus become, like London coffee houses in the 18th century, the clearing houses of news and the creators of public opinion. They are the only place where soldiers meet men who do not belong to their own Division; in fact, soldiers seldom meet anybody outside their own regiment and many a man’s friendships do not extend beyond his company. But in hospitals, and more particularly in convalescent and casual camps, where they are able to move around, they come into touch with the whole American Expeditionary Force. Battles are discussed, organizations criticized, reputations of officers made or unmade.

It is in these places also that the sentiment for one’s own Division grows strong. Regiments may fight with each other within the Division, but as opposed to other Divisions they present a united front. The regulars and marines in the famous 2nd Division have their own little differences, but they do not show when they come up against men from the 1st, 26th, or 42nd. Our own New Yorks and Alabamas started off with a small family row at Camp Mills which has been utterly forgotten, partly because they have always been fighting side by side on every battle front and have grown to admire each other, but even more, I suspect, because they have formed ties of blood brotherhood back in convalescent camps by getting together to wallop the marines.

Every soldier in a combat division thinks that his own division is doing all the work and getting none of the credit. But then I never met a soldier yet who does not say “It’s a funny thing that my platoon always happens to get the dirty details.” This much is true—that there is a number of divisions which can be counted on the fingers of one’s two hands that have been kept right up against the buzz-saw ever since last June. Of course we are not proper judges of the policies or exigencies of the high command, but everybody who is in touch with men knows that they would be better fitted for their work in the line if they could be taken out for a few weeks rest. The discomforts and anxieties of life at the front are cumulative, and men gradually get fretful and grouchy as well as run down physically. It is surprising to see how quickly they recuperate in a rest area. We ought to be taken out of these woods to some more civilized place where the men can go on leave or hang around billets, writing letters, reading, cleaning equipment and forgetting all about battle and bloodshed, and getting freshened up mentally and physically. As one fellow said to me “I’d like to get somewhere where I could hear a hen cackle and see a kid run across the road. I’d like to be where I could get a change from corn-willie by going off some evening with a few of the fellows and getting some old French lady to cook us up some oofs (oeufs) and pommes frites, with a bottle of red ink to wash it down.”

We knew that there had been going on for three weeks now a battle for the possession of all this Argonne District, in which many American Divisions were taking part, and amongst them our sturdy fellow citizens from New York, the 77th Division, who had succeeded us at Baccarat and in the Château Thierry Sector. We expected that we would be called upon to relieve the 32nd Division which was fighting just in front of us. But today, October 10th, came orders to proceed to the west along the river Aire for the relief of the 1st Division.

CHAPTER IX
THE ARGONNE OFFENSIVE

In the general operation which was shared in by all the Allied armies in France to turn the German retreat into a rout, the most difficult and most important task was assigned to the Americans. The Belgians, British and French could only exercise a frontal pressure on the enemy except for a few local salients which might be created here and there. But if the American army could smash their resistance on the southeast end of the German lines, and particularly if it could break through so as to capture the military trunk line which ran through Sedan to their depot at Metz, large bodies of Germans farther to the west would be brought close to the point of surrender. Naturally, the German Commanders knew this as well as Marshal Foch or General Pershing and they massed their defenses at the point of greatest danger. To the civilian mind, when troops are advancing ten or fifteen kilometers a day and capturing prisoners and guns, they are heroes of tremendous battles. But soldiers know that in the tremendous battles an advance of two or three kilometers is a big gain, to be paid for at a great cost of human life. We had an example of the first kind at Saint Mihiel, which loomed large in the imagination of the folks at home, but which to the soldiers was a walkover. The Argonne was no walkover during the first five weeks.

The nature of the country made it easy to defend, hard to capture. It is a hilly country—and that always means plenty of woods. The hills, moreover, connect themselves up in a general east and west direction and the advance had to be made by conquering a series of heights. When we went into the fight the line-up of Divisions nearest to us were the 77th, on the extreme left, going up through the forest, the 82nd on the other side of the Aire, the 1st, which we relieved, and on our right, the 32nd. Further east were other divisions extending up to the Meuse, while yet other bodies of Americans were working to cross that river and fight their way up its eastern bank.

In the sector on the east side of the Aire, which we now took over, the 35th Division had been first to go in. At great sacrifice it had captured successive villages and ridges, but had finally been repulsed on the last hill before reaching Exermont and had been forced to fall back. Then the old reliables of the 1st Division, who had been our first troops to arrive in France and the first to engage with the enemy at Cantigny, were called upon to do their share. They did it, and more than their share. They captured the ridges up to Exermont and Fleville and Sommerance, swept the Germans off the Cote de Maldah and there established their lines at the price of half the infantry in the Division.

Now it was our turn. If the others had a hard task, ours was certainly no easier, because it was given to us to break the final and long prepared line of German defenses, called the Kriemhilde Stellung.

We marched to our new positions on October 11th, our strength at the time being 53 officers and a little less than 3,000 men. Regimental headquarters were set up at Exermont, the Supply Company being down the road at Apremont. The first day the support and reserve battalions were in a wide gully to the east, called Chaudron Farm. The 3rd battalion effected the relief on the front line, Major Reilley commanding, Lieutenant Heller, Adjutant, Company I under Captain Michael J. Walsh, who had insisted on giving up the Headquarters Company and taking a line Company so that he could take part himself in the fighting; Company K under Lieutenant Guignon; Company L, Captain Given, Company M, Captain Rowley. In support was the 1st Battalion now commanded by Major Kelly, Lieutenant O’Connor, Adjutant, Lieutenant Connelly being Intelligence Officer. The commanders of A, B, C, and D, being Lieutenant W. Hutchinson, Lieutenant Clifford, Captain Bootz and Captain Buck. Second Battalion under Major Anderson, Lieutenant Fechheimer, Adjutant, with E, F, G and H under Captain Conners, Captain Marsh, Captain Stout and Lieutenant Ogle.

As the companies marched up to take their place in line I stood on a rising ground in the bleak and open plain to perform my own duties in their regard, which for many of them would be the last time. The frequently recurring rows of rude crosses which marked the last resting places of many brave lads of the 1st Division were an eloquent sermon on death; so that no words of warning from me were needed and I was able to do my holy business in a matter of fact way which soldiers like better than being preached at. General Lenihan is fond of quoting Private Terence Mulvaney’s remark: “What I like about the old church is that she’s so remarkable regimental in her fittin’s.”

In former days men massed together for battle; today they scatter. It is interesting to watch the deliberate disintegration of a Division as it approaches the front line. It breaks into brigades and into regiments for convenience in using the roads. Then the regiments are broken into battalions, usually, according to the stock phrase “echeloned in depth” that is, one on the line, one in support and one in reserve. The battalion breaks up into companies as it gets nearer the front; and the companies, when they reach the point where they are likely to be under shell fire, separate into platoons with considerable distance between them. In action men advance with generous intervals between.

When they get close to the enemy the advance is made by frequent rushes, about a fourth of the men in a platoon running forward, taking advantage of the ground, while their comrades keep the enemy’s heads down by their fire, until all of them can get close. In its last stages the warfare of these small groups is more like the Indian fighting in which the first General of our Republic learned the profession of arms, than anything which the imagination of civilians pictures it. To take machine gun nests—I am not speaking of regularly wired and entrenched positions which it is the business of artillery to reduce before the infantry essays them—it is often a matter of individual courage and strategy. Sometimes the fire of a platoon can reduce the number of the gunners or make the less hardy of them keep their heads down so that the pieces cannot be properly handled; but often the resistance is overcome by a single sharp-shooter firing from the elbow of a tree, or by some daring fellow who works his way across hollows which are barely deep enough to protect him from fire, or up a gully or watercourse, until he is near enough to throw hand grenades. Then it is all over.

Our supply company and band were stationed at the Ferme de l’Esperance on the Aire River. Going north along the river road as far as Fleville one finds a road going to the right through a deep defile which leads to the village of Exermont about a mile and a half away. On the north and on the south the view is bounded by steep hills which have been captured by the 1st Division. To the north a muddy trail winds around the base of hill 247 leading to a wide, rough, partly wooded plain. This was covered with the bodies of the brave soldiers of the 1st Division, more thickly than I have seen anywhere else with the exception of the hill where lay our 3rd Battalion north of the Ourcq. There were many German wooden shelters at the base of the hill to the right, with bodies of dead Germans, many of them killed in hand to hand conflict.

Our 3rd Battalion took over the front line on the Cote de Maldah, a maze of woods and ravines. Companies M and I were on the twin knolls of the Cote, K and L in the woods behind. To their left were the Ohios at Sommerance, while the Alabamas and Iowas held positions similar to our own on hills 263 and 269. Our 2nd Battalion was in a shrubby woods to the rear, and the 1st Battalion was originally held under protection of the hill just outside of Exermont, in which town were the headquarters of the 165th and 166th and the Regimental Dressing Stations of the 165th and 167th. Our artillery, which had been in support of the 32nd Division, rejoined us on October 13th, making a hard, forced march with animals that had been reduced in strength and numbers by our continuous warfare. Colonel Henry Reilly, a West Point graduate, and a man of great intelligence and force of character, was appointed to direct the operations of the artillery brigade, leaving Lieutenant Colonel Redden to take charge of his own regiment, the 149th Field Artillery. The artillery of the 1st division also remained to assist in the sector.

The German main line of defense—the Kriemhilde Stellung, was about three kilometers in front of our brigade but less than two in front of the 84th Brigade. It was a well prepared and strongly wired position consisting of three lines of wires and trenches. The first rows of wire were breast high and as much as twenty feet wide, all bound together in small squares by iron supports so that it was almost impossible for artillery to destroy it unless the whole ground were beaten flat. Back of this were good trenches about four feet deep with machine gun shelters carefully prepared. Behind this front line at thirty yards intervals they had two other lines with lower wire and shallower trenches. Starting from our left these trenches ran from west to east on our side of two small villages called St. Georges and Landres et St. Georges. From in front of the latter village the wire turned in a southeasterly direction towards us, following the lowest slope of the Cote de Chatillon and embracing LaMusarde Ferme, thence swinging east again to take in the Tuilerie Ferme. The Cote de Chatillon was a high wooded knoll which commanded the terrain to west and south.

The task of the 84th Brigade was to work their way through the Bois de Romagne and capture the two farms and the Cote de Chatillon. Our brigade front was of a different character, and with its own particular kind of difficulty. The terrain was the most nearly level section we had seen in this country, and was mostly open, though with irregular patches of woods. From the Cote de Maldah it sloped off towards the north to a small brook that ran in a general east to west direction through ground that was a bit swampier than the rest; and from there, rising gradually, up to the German wire. A good road with a bridge over the brook ran northeast and southwest between Sommerance and Landres et St. Georges. At the beginning it lay entirely in the Ohio sector but our advance to the north would bring us astride of it.

Our attack had to be made over open ground with the purpose of carrying by direct assault wired entrenchments. It was the warfare of 1916 and 1917 over again, and everybody knows from the numerous British and French accounts of such action that it can be accomplished only by tremendous artillery preparation, and that even then gains must be made at a great loss of Infantry. But a glance at the maps, in which blue dotted lines represented the enemy wire, showed us that we had greater danger to fear than the resistance which would come from our direct front. The blue dots ran straight across the right of the Ohio front and all of ours, and then swung in a southerly direction for a kilometer or more. They prophesied eloquently to anyone who had the slightest knowledge of war that our main danger was to come from our right flank unless that hill could be taken first. Donovan’s desire was to advance until we would be on a level with the wire to our right, hold that line with a sufficient number of troops to guard against counter attack, and throw in our main strength on the left of the 84th Brigade, they striking from the south and we from the west until the Cote de Chatillon should be taken. Continuing the advance from there, we could take Landres et St. Georges from the east. The orders however were to attack, head on, with four regiments abreast. The 84th Brigade was given three hours start to fight their way through the southernmost German defences. It was calculated that they could get far enough forward during this time so that both brigades could keep advancing in even line.

Preparations for the assault were made difficult by weather conditions. The sun never shone and a large part of the time it rained steadily. It was difficult to observe the enemy lines or their troop movements from balloons, and the advantage of aeroplanes was theirs—not ours. The abominable condition of the roads made it impossible to get sufficient ammunition forward and our artillery was working under a great handicap. Facilities for communication with the front line were poor throughout the whole action. The wire, strung along the wet ground, was all the time getting out of order; horses were few and runners had to make their way back through seas of mud, which also caused untold difficulty in getting forward food and ammunition.

However, everything was planned as well as possible under the conditions. It was arranged to have tanks to help our men get through the wire. The gas and flame Engineers were also to render assistance, and Colonel Johnson sent detachments of his Engineers (for whom I have supplied a motto from an old song: “Aisy wid the Shovel and Handy with the Gun”) to go with the Infantry as wire-cutters, and to follow up to repair roads.

During the two days in which these plans were being made the battle activity on both sides was conducted mainly by the artillery. Company G had barely occupied its position in the woods on the evening of October 11th, when it was subjected to a heavy shelling, with the loss of M. Black killed and Sergeant Edward McNamara, Corporal Framan, Kessler, Dan McSherry and William McManus wounded. Young Jim Gordon of Company E was running for a litter to carry off the wounded when a fragment from a gas shell struck him in the chest and killed him instantly. Arthur Brown of Company I was killed on the Cote de Maldah. Early on the morning of the 12th the men of Company C who were lying along the southern bases of the hill not far from a battery of artillery which the enemy were trying to get, had some shells dropped amongst them and H. Harbison, L. Jones and Frank Foley were killed and Gorman and others wounded.

Lieutenant Colonel Donovan was assigned by Colonel Mitchell to have general charge of the situation at the front while he with Captain Merle-Smith as operations officer and Captain Meaney as Adjutant, handled it from the P. C. in Exermont. Lieutenant Lawrence Irving, in charge of the Intelligence Section, was at the observation post.

Our artillery preparations for the assault were begun at 3:30 on the morning of October 14th. Our brigade, in touch with the 82nd Division on our left, jumped off at 8:30 in the same morning. In our regiment Companies I and M were in advance, with K and L in immediate support, a company of the Wisconsin Machine Gunners being with them and our 2nd Battalion supplying details for carrying ammunition, etc. The front wave had not gotten well started before it was evident that the enemy were expecting an attack, and from the beginning our men went forward through steady shell fire which increased as their purpose became more clearly manifested. Two enemy aeroplanes flew along the lines of our Division discharging machine guns and no doubt keeping their own artillery posted on the results of their fire. But, in spite of losses, our men kept going forward, stimulated by the encouragement of Major Reilley and his Company Commanders Walsh, Guignon, Given and Rowley. They had about two miles to go before reaching the enemy’s wire.

Captain Rowley with Company M was to the left alongside of the Ohios and Captain Michael Walsh to the right, and at the beginning in touch with the Alabamas, a touch which was soon lost, as the latter regiment came to close grips with the enemy at a point further south than our point of attack, and our companies pushing northward found it difficult to maintain liaison with them. The amount of time assigned to the 84th Brigade to capture Hill 288, the Tuilerie Farm, and the defenses at the base of the Cote de Chatillon was not sufficient for the magnitude of the task that was given them to accomplish. By noon their line had passed Hill 288 and was close to the enemy outposts, but at that time our Brigade was already at their Second Objective. From the outset the most destructive fire we had to undergo came from machine guns firing from this Cote to our right and enfilading our whole line; and the further forward we got the more destructive it became. By 1 o’clock half of the third battalion had been killed or wounded. Colonel Donovan, with Lieutenants Wheatley and Betty, and Major Reilley with Lieutenant Heller and Sergeant Courtney, were all over the field sustaining the spirits of the men.

There is no tougher experience than that of advancing over a considerable distance under fire. The trouble is that the men are being shot down by an enemy whom they cannot see. They reply with their rifles and machine guns, but have only the vaguest hope that they are accomplishing anything more than disconcerting their opponents. When a soldier gets where he can see the foe he develops a sort of hunter’s exhilaration. His blood warms up and he actually forgets that the other fellow is shooting at him. Advancing in the open against trenches he has only the sensations of the hunted. Heavy fire begins to rain around them, men are hit, the line drops, each man in whatever shelter he can find. Then the order is given to rise and go forward again; spurts of dust are kicked up, the first three or four men to advance walk into the line of bullets and go down before they have gone ten feet. And the others who have seen them fall must go straight ahead and take that same deadly chance, never knowing when they themselves will stop a German missile. It takes undaunted leadership and tremendous courage to keep going forward under such conditions.

That leadership the men possessed in their battalion commander and those under him. Captain Rowley, a quiet, determined man, kept M Company moving forward until he was knocked senseless by a tree which was blown down upon him through the explosion of a shell. His place was taken by Lieutenant Collier, who was shortly afterwards also wounded, and Lieutenant Don Elliott found himself in command. Company I was led by Captain Mike Walsh until he received a long tearing wound through the arm. He left his Company under command of Lieutenant Roderick Hutchinson, who led the company until he too was wounded, and started back alone to the Dressing-Station under the slope of the hill, to have his wound bandaged up. On his way back to the line he was hit once more and instantly killed. Nobody knew that he was killed until his body was discovered by Edward Healy, who buried him; and was shortly afterwards killed himself. It was well for his Company that they did not know the misfortune they had sustained because no loss in our whole campaign was more deeply felt than that of this rugged, whole-souled soldier and leader of men. Companies L and K, under Captain Given and Lieutenant Guignon, were also having their troubles, especially Company K under the daring leadership of its youthful commander. In all of the companies there was great loss amongst our old time non-coms as they moved around looking after the men instead of taking shelter with them.

But the outstanding figure in the mind of every officer and man was Lieutenant Colonel William J. Donovan. Donovan is one of the few men I know who really enjoys a battle. He goes into it in exactly the frame of mind that he had as a college man when he marched out on the gridiron before a football game, and his one thought throughout is to push his way through. “Cool” is the word the men use of him and “Cool” is their highest epithet of praise for a man of daring, resolution and indifference to danger. He moved out from the Cote de Maldah at the beginning of the attack with his headquarters group, just behind the supporting companies—his proper place, though he had no intention of remaining there if he could do more efficient work further forward. He had prepared himself for the task he had determined on in a characteristic way. Instead of taking off all signs of rank, as officers are supposed to do to avoid being made a mark for sharp-shooters, he had donned a Sam Brown belt with double shoulder straps, so that none of his men could miss knowing who he was; that the enemy also would pick him out was to him a matter of serene indifference. As soon as the advance began to slow up under the heavy losses, he passed to the front line of the leading elements. The motto of the Donovan clan must be “Come on.” It was “Come on, fellows, it’s better ahead than it is here,” or “Come on, we’ll have them on the run before long,” or with his arm across the shoulder of some poor chap who looked worried, “Come on, old sport, nobody in this Regiment was ever afraid.” He would stand out in front of the men lying in shell holes into which he had ordered them, and read his map unconcernedly with the Machine-gun bullets kicking up spurts of dust around his feet; and would turn smilingly, “Come on now, men, they can’t hit me and they won’t hit you.” It was more like a Civil War picture than anything we have seen in this fighting to watch the line of troops rushing forward led by their Commander.

But their task was more than any battalion could perform. The conditions on the right made it impossible to reach the wire in front with strength enough to break through it. The 84th Brigade was doing heroic work, but it was to take two days more of tremendously hard fighting for them before the Cote de Chatillon could be reduced. The nature of the fighting turned their front obliquely in a northeast direction, while our Brigade was advancing due north. Major Norris of the Alabamas filled in the gap between our right and their left during the afternoon, thus insuring against an attack from the Germans which might break through our line. Their brigade captured Hill 288 that day but was held up in front of the Tuilerie Farm. It was not until the evening of the 16th and by continuous and desperate fighting that our gallant brothers of the 84th Brigade pounded their way to the crest of the Cote de Chatillon.

In the afternoon, after six hours of battle, Donovan reported that the 3rd Battalion, which had gotten up to the slopes under the German wire, was too badly shot up to be able to push through. He requested an artillery barrage of an hour and a half to keep the Germans distracted while he withdrew the 3rd Battalion carrying their wounded, through the 1st Battalion under Major Kelly, who would take their place. At dusk Kelly made his advance by infiltration, Company C on the left, Company D on the right. The men stole forward, losing heavily but taking advantage of every inequality in the surface of the ground. Towards the right of our position a rough wagon road run up through a draw between two gradual slopes and just before it reached the main road between Sommerance and Landres it passed through a deep cut, in some places eight feet deep, part of which was included in the enemy’s wire defenses.

The battalion fought its way right up to the enemy’s wire, only to find it an impassable barrier. Our artillery fire had not made a break in it anywhere, as for lack of aeroplanes to register the effects of their work they had been shooting entirely by the map. Groups of our lads dashed up to the wire only to be shot down to the last man. Some ran through a passage made for the roadway, the only possible method of getting through, but this of course was absolutely covered by the German guns, and every man that went through it was shot and, if not killed outright, taken prisoner. Soldiers of ours and of the Engineers with wire-cutting tools lay on their faces working madly to cut through the strands, while riflemen and grenadiers alongside of them tried to beat down the resistance. But they were in a perfect hail of bullets from front and flank, and every last man was killed or wounded. Further back was a concentration of artillery fire, of bursting shells and groans and death, that made the advance of the support platoons a veritable hell.

The attackers finally fell back a short distance to the deep cut in the road. Our second attempt to break through had failed. Major Kelly with Lieutenant Connelly and parts of companies A and C held this place as a vantage point to make a third attempt in the morning. Bootz was in charge on the left of the main road. About one hundred and fifty yards south of the wire the ground sloped, and on this reverse slope Colonel Donovan established his P. C., with Lieutenant Betty as his adjutant, Wheatley having been wounded. With him also were detachments from the Headquarters and Machine Gun Companies under Lieutenant Devine and Sergeants Sheahan, Heins, Leo Mullin, Doherty and Gillespie. During the night, accompanied by Sergeant Major Bernard White, the Colonel himself scouted up to the enemy wire to examine the conditions for the next days’ attack. Tanks were promised to roll through the wire, shoot up the machine gun nests and make a passage for the infantry. Morning came but no tanks in sight. Lieutenant Grose and Boberg and Brosnan of Brigade Headquarters were scouring the roads in search of them. It took two hours to get a message back, as the telephone was out. The artillery barrage ran its appointed course and still no tanks. Kelly once more made his attack, under conditions that he soon discovered to be impossible for success. Every man that reached the wire was hit, and losses were heavy in his elements further back.

About half an hour after the advance began a rifle bullet struck Colonel Donovan in the leg, going through the bone and rendering him helpless. He would have ordered anybody else to be evacuated, but he refused to allow himself to be removed. In answer to the protests of his Adjutant he swore he would stay there and see the thing through. So he lay in his shell-hole and continued to direct the battle. It was bound to be a one-sided one until the tanks should come up. Our men in the sunken road were being shelled by trench mortars which dropped their shells into the narrow cutting, spreading disaster. Our elements in the more open ground to the rear were under continuous shell fire as the enemy artillery had the exact ranges.

One of the creepiest feelings in war is that of being boxed in by artillery fire. A shell lands to the right of a group of men; no harm in that—all safe. Then one lands to the left, to front, or rear, and the next is closer in between them. Then everybody knows what is happening. That square is in for a shelling until nothing living inside it will escape except by miracle. This was the experience of many a group that morning, and Colonel Donovan and his headquarters men had to undergo it to the utmost. There always has to be a good deal of motion around a Post of Command, so this slope was made a special target. Shells fell all over it, and men were blown out of their holes by direct hits. Thus perished Patrick Connors of Company H and Color Sergeant William Sheahan, one of the finest and bravest of men. Donovan (and Major Anderson, who had come up and was lying in the same hole with him) escaped without further injury. Messages which had to be carried the short distance between his shell-hole and where Kelly was were sent with difficulty, many runners being killed or wounded. They had no direct connection with the rear. It was a lone fight, but both Donovan and Kelly were of the same mind, not to desist from the attack so long as any chance remained of putting it through.

Finally the tanks appeared coming up the road from Sommerance. Everybody was elated. At last there was a chance to get through that wire and mop up those infernal machine gun nests. But the tanks were under artillery fire, some of which was evidently doing damage to them, and with disappointment and disgust the Infantry saw them pause, turn about and rumble down the road to the rear. About 10:30 Captain Buck, who had been wounded and was on his way to the Dressing Station, brought word to Donovan that a counter-attack was evidently in preparation. Donovan’s party urged him to let them carry him back, but he swore at them, and ordered them to bring up more machine guns and the Stokes Mortars, under Lieutenant O’Donohue and Sergeant Fitzsimmons. These were disposed in an advantageous position, which means a dangerous one, and the counter-attack was smothered in its inception.

By 11:00 o’clock Donovan had decided that the 1st Battalion had too many losses to make it possible for them to get through. He told Anderson, who was with him, to return and bring forward his battalion so that Kelly’s men and their wounded could pass through.

Kelly, whose fighting blood was up, at first refused to retire, demanding written orders from his chief before he would give up his claim on the post of danger and glory. Donovan gave the orders and then permitted himself to be carried in, leaving the situation in the very capable hands of Major Anderson.

This relief was begun about noon with the aid of a heavy barrage from our artillery, of which nobody in the line knew the exact reason. The reason was that Brigade had ordered another attack which was originally scheduled for 11:15. Merle-Smith had protested that we had only one battalion left and that it was unwise to use up our last effectives. The only result was that the barrage was extended until noon, on Colonel Mitchell’s report that it would be impossible to get the orders forward to the front by 11:15. He sent the order in three different directions, but none of his messages arrived until the barrage which was to cover the attack had passed over and the relief of the 1st battalion had already begun.

The situation was a stalemate. We had made an advance of three kilometers under desperate conditions, but in spite of our losses and sacrifices we had failed to take our final objective. Well, success is not always the reward of courage. There is no military organization, no matter how famous, that has not its record of failures. In this war every regiment and division in the older armies has known times when it was impossible for them to do all that it was hoped they might be able to accomplish, and most especially when they were called upon to capture well defended trench positions.

Indeed, since 1915, no commanders in the older armies would dream of opposing to strongly wired and entrenched positions the naked breasts of their infantry. They take care that the wire, or part of it at least, is knocked down by artillery or laid flat by tanks before they ask unprotected riflemen to try conclusions with its defenders. When the wire is deep, and still intact, and strongly defended, the infantry can do little but hang their heroic bodies on it.

But we shall not dwell on this. The most glorious day in the history of our regiment in the Civil War was Fredericksburg, where the Old 69th in the Irish Brigade failed to capture the impregnable position on Marye’s Heights, though their dead with the green sprigs in their caps lay in rows before it. Landres et St. Georges is our Fredericksburg and the Kriemhilde Stellung our Marye’s Heights.

Whatever the mature judgment of history may decide about it, the opinion of our Corps Commander, General Summerall, was the one that counted most. He had been in command of the 1st Division when it made its attack in this same area, and was promoted after the battle to the duty of commanding the corps into which we moved. On the evening of the 15th he came to our brigade and made a visit to our P. C. in Exermont to demand why our final objective had not been taken. He was not well handled, Colonel Mitchell is a good soldier, and one of the finest men in the world, but he is entirely too modest to say a strong word in his own defense. Everybody is familiar with the kind of man who, in spite of the merits of his case, makes a poor figure on the witness stand. Donovan, who is an able lawyer and likes the give and take of battle, verbal or otherwise, would have sized up the Corps Commander’s mood and would have been planning a new attack with him after the first ten minutes. Captain Merle-Smith stated the facts of the case—the enfilading fire from the Cote de Chatillon, the unbroken wire in our front, the inadequacy of artillery against it on account of lack of air service to register their fire, the failure of the tanks and the extent of our losses. General Summerall was in no mood for argument. He wanted results, no matter how many men were killed, and he went away more dissatisfied than he had come.

As a result, by his orders the Division Commander relieved General Lenihan, Colonel Mitchell and also Captain Merle-Smith and Lieutenant Betty. As a matter of fact, a few days later when the ill humor had cooled down, Merle-Smith was sent back to us in command of a battalion and Betty also returned. When General Lenihan submitted his statement of the actions of his brigade (supplemented by messages and maps) to the Army commander, General Liggett, the latter assured him that he would name him to fill the first vacancy in a combat Brigade on the fighting line. This happened to be in the 77th Division, and two weeks later I met him at St. Juvin, still in line and going strong.

I do not wish to adopt too critical a tone with regard to the action of the Corps Commander. He is the military superior, and his judgment must be accepted even if it is wrong. Moreover, the loss of rank or position by officers weighs nothing with me in comparison with the two big factors: the proper handling of the men under them; and victory. In the heat of action every commanding general has to make rapid decisions. General Summerall came to one of these decisions in our regard, and we must abide by it.

But speaking as an historian, I think that his decision was wrong. It was a question of whether our Colonel was a man to get out of his regiment all that it was capable of. No person who knows him could ever accuse Harry D. Mitchell of losing his nerve in a battle. He liked a fight. He would have been happier out on the line as Lieutenant Colonel than back in his P. C., but he knew that there was nobody who could handle an attack and put courage and dash into it better than Colonel Donovan, and that any body of troops, even less experienced and willing than our own, would fight to the last under such leadership. Colonel Mitchell’s spirit was equally resolute and his orders crisp and strong. The whole regiment was devoted to him, and anxious to do their very best under his command. Indeed, amongst the older men, there was never any doubt about our ultimate success. It had taken five days to reduce the German resistance at the Ourcq, but we did it. With more help from artillery and tanks, they said, we can make it yet. The worst blow to our morale that we ever received was inflicted by the order relieving our Colonel.

The days following were anxious and gloomy ones for us, and our spirits were kept up by the unchanged dry humor of the man we were sorry to lose. When he was going, I said, to relieve the tension: “Now you are leaving us just when I had you running fine and I’ll have the job of breaking in another new Commanding Officer.” “Father,” he said, “this continuous change of Commanders would break up any other regiment I ever knew, but this old regiment can keep itself going on, no matter who commands it. It would get along on spirit and unity if it never had a Commanding Officer.”

Our new commander was Lieutenant Colonel Charles H. Dravo, who had been Division Machine Gun Officer. A number of us have known him for a considerable time and like him already, all the more because his first action was a report on conditions in the regiment which was aimed at the restoration of Colonel Mitchell to his command.

We had 53 officers going in at the Argonne and of those five were killed and fifteen wounded. Of those killed, after Captain Michael Walsh, the greatest sense of loss was felt at the death of Lieutenant Andrew Ellett of Company E, a soldier of unlimited courage. We did not know until long afterwards that Lieutenant Henry Davis, an officer of the same type, who had been wounded by shell fire on October 12th, died in Hospital. Two young officers who were comparatively newcomers in the Regiment, but who had made many friends, Lieutenants William O’Connor and John P. Orr, were killed on the field.

Headquarters Company lost, beside Color Sergeant Sheahan, Sergeant Edward J. Hussey, with Gustave Cosgrove and Charles Schulmerick and James Gaunthier, died of wounds.

Company A lost Sergeants James P. Duff and Fred. Stenson; Corporals Sidney H. Clark, Bernard McOwen, John Nallin, and Peter Barbee, David Bignell, William Cook, Jeremiah Dineen, Silas Donegan, Raymond Fitzpatrick, Charles Freeman, Frank Gilday, Lester Hess, Oscar Iverson, Edward Kelly, Lafayette Sharp, A. B. Harrell, William Smith, William Bress, Leo Tully, Charles Hallberg and Earl Wilder.

Company B lost Sergeants James Donnelly and John J. Mahoney; Corporal Thomas F. Winters; and Philip Benoit, Joseph Cole, Thomas J. Cronin, David Dempsey, Thomas Doyle, Dewey Houck, Jesse Johnson, Benjamin Robert, Ed Zeiss, Robert Wallack.

Company C lost Sergeant Edward Kearin; Corporals James Farnan, Arthur Potter, Daniel J. Slattery; and Avery Bridges, James Cody, Lloyd Harris, Clinton Hart, Martin Haugse, W. P. Hensel, Harold J. Hogan, Samuel Key, Daniel Medler, James Murnane, J. P. Myers, Charles Nabors, George O’Neill, Anthony Palumbo, William Fountain, J. H. Reneker, Edward Sheridan, Francis Conway and Thomas D. Vegeau.

Company D lost Corporals John J. Haggerty, Harry Adkins, William Boetger, Walter Crisp, Lacy Castor, J. W. McPherson, S. Scardino, W. Schmelick; and C. R. Kerl, William Cundiff, Frank Fall, George Saladucha, R. Robbins, Lawrence P. Mahoney, Peter J. Wollner, James W. Hasting, Fred Smith, John McNamara, Gordon Wynne, Charles Evers, James Butler, Edward Clement, Frank F. De Muth and Richard Fincke.

Company E lost Corporals William Dougherty, William Bechtold, Matthew Colgan, and George Failing; and Joseph Carroll, Frederick Gluck, Kennedy Hardy, Fred Conway and John Naughton.

Company F lost Arthur Armes, William M. Binkley, Charles Park, Fred Riddles, Joseph Woodlief, Joseph Elzear, Charles Ash.

Company G lost Daniel McSherry, Clarence Leonard, Charles Jacobs, Marvin Black, John Hemmer, Archie Lilles, William McManus.

Company H lost Corporal Clifford Wiltshire, Arthur N. Frank, Roger Folson, Clinton Bushey, J. Moscolo, Patrick Connors and heroic Sergeant John J. Walker.

Company I lost Sergeants Patrick Collins and William Harrison; Corporals Allen Crowe and Charles Stone; and A. G. Brown, Robert Cousens, Harry Gill, Edward F. Healy, Earnest Keith, Albert Mortenson, James Nealon, Gilbert Neely, George A. Peterson, Warren Regan, Thomas Stokey, Earl Thayer, Elcanor Yow, James Brown, Kenneth Trickett.

Company K lost Sergeants John J. Gavaghan and John J. Butler; Corporals Henry D. Hawxhurst and Thomas Madden; and N. Farhout, John P. Quinlan, James C. Wright, Joseph Barzare, John L. Sullivan, Francis Gioio, Daniel Buckley, Leonard Giarusso, Andrew Goeres, Claude Best, George Pennington.

Company L lost Corporal Edward Bloom and Joseph Metcalf, Fred Parr, Homer C. Coin, John H. Jumper, E. Epperly, John P. Ryan.

Company M lost Sergeant Peter Cooney; Corporals Charles T. Elson, Charles J. Brennan and William H. Crunden; and John T. Byrnes, Emmett Davidson, Frank Manning, H. F. Brumley, Patrick J. O’Neill, Charles Blagg, Joseph McAndrews.

Machine Gun Company lost Harry A. Dearing, Fred Martin, John A. Claire, Thomas McCabe, Thomas Norton, Leonard Hansen and John McKay.

Supply Company lost Giuseppe Mastromarino.

Nobody wants to talk very much about the recent battle. It was a nightmare that one does not care to recall. Individual acts do not stand out in actions of this kind. It is a case of everybody going ahead and taking the punishment. Everybody who stood up under it and kept carrying on deserves the laurel crown. Some men, however, stand out in more striking way than their companions, either through natural coolness and willingness to take added risks or by their acceptance of a position of command that the chances of battle offered them. Prominent amongst these is Sergeant Michael Fitzpatrick of Company L, whose brother Cornelius was killed at the Ourcq, and who took charge of a platoon and kept it going with great spirit after First Sergeant Wittlinger was wounded. The veteran First Sergeant of Company K, Tim Sullivan, was also wounded in this fight, and another of the Sullivans, John L., was killed. Company K also lost a fine character in Sergeant Gavaghan, a stalwart, heroic, innocent-minded young Irishman.

When Colonel Donovan called for the Stokes Mortars to repel the threatened counter-attack on the morning of the 15th, the pieces were set up under the slight protection of the sloping ground, but from this point the gunners could not observe the accuracy of their own fire. So Sergeant Fitzsimmons ran forward to the top of the slope, making himself an easy cockshot for the German gunners while he signalled to his own men his corrections on their aim. He escaped himself by a miracle and had the satisfaction of seeing the shells dropping right amongst the Germans who were gathering for the attack, and doing dreadful execution.

The battalion runners received great praise from everybody, as they had to take untold risks in moving from place to place without shelter. Ammunition carriers also had a dangerous task, those from Company H suffering severe losses. Amongst those killed were Corporal Clifford Wiltshire, a nice quiet boy who was married to Sergeant Winthrop’s sister; and Clinton Bushey, who once before was reported dead when out on the digging detail during the bombardment of July 15th. The sergeants we lost were all good men. Hussey was a clean-cut young athlete; Duff and Stenson of Company A were both very dependable men, as were also Sidney Clark, who did great work at the Ourcq, and Bernard McOwen, who had the Croix de Guerre. Donnelly and Mahoney of B had worked their way up from being privates by character and merit; and Tom Winters was also a good man. Eddie Kearin of C was one of the best liked youths in the regiment and James Farnan, a solid Irishman; Dougherty, Colgan, Bechtold and John Naughton of E have figured before and in these annals; also Fred Gluck, heroic litter-bearer. Company I was hard hit in the loss of Patrick Collins and William Harrison. Charlie Stone’s mother was the last person I shook hands with before our train left Camp Mills for the transport. Robert Cousens was killed while looking after his brother who had been wounded. Sergeant Peter Cooney of M Company was out with the regiment in ’98 and the three corporals, Elson, Brennan, and Crunden, were fine types of soldiers. Harry Dearing, John Claire, John McKay and the others from the Machine Gun Company will be sorely missed by their fellows.

With Colonel Donovan on the slope on October 15th were Sergeants of Headquarters Company and the Machine Gun Company. The Colonel told me later that the shell which blew Sergeant Sheahan heavenward took the legs off another Irish soldier who was with him. This I knew was Patrick Connors. Another Irishman jumped from a neighboring shell-hole, picked up the wounded man and kissed him, saying: “Me poor fellow, me poor fellow.” He put tourniquets on the stumps and then, unaided, started down the dangerous slope carrying him to the rear. Gillespie and Doherty tell me that this deed was performed by Corporal John Patrick Furey of Company H, who was in charge of the ammunition carriers for the machine guns. Furey had been wounded already himself, and the sergeants wanted him to go to the rear, but he refused, as so much depended on keeping our machine guns fed. When he was carrying Connors back they shouted to him to get in an ambulance when he got there; but later in the morning Furey reappeared alongside them after his two-mile journey in each direction; and this in spite of the fact that the strain of carrying his burden had reopened another wound that he got at the Ourcq. It was an exhibition of tender-heartedness and sheer courage that honors humanity.

Liaison men have to take untold risks in action of this kind. Of Major Kelly’s group in the sunken road nearly all were killed or wounded. Young Eddie Kelly (killed), Cody (killed), White (a hero in every battle), Liebowitz (wounded), and Matty Rice (often mentioned in these annals) worked their way from Kelly to Bootz or from Kelly to Donovan. When they were gone Corporal Thomas O’Kelly offered to deliver messages, but the Major wished to keep him by his side as a valuable man in combat. “Send me, Major,” insisted Tom, “I’ll carry it through, and if I don’t come back, you’ll know I’m dead.” He got it through alright, though wounded. He wanted to go back with a message, but Colonel Donovan ordered him to go back to the Dressing-Station. Every last man amongst these men deserves a citation for bravery.

In this battle one of the tasks which required the greatest courage was that of getting back the wounded when the retirement from the wire of the first battalion was ordered. Their rescuers had to abandon their pits and advance in full view of the enemy in their work of succor. The men who stood out in accomplishing this dangerous duty were in Company A: First Sergeant Thomas Sweeney and Sergeant John H. Dennelly; In Company C, First Sergeant Thomas P. O’Hagan, Sergeant Joseph Burns and Corporal Archie Reilly. Also Mike Donaldson, of Company I, who volunteered for this service and carried in man after man under heavy fire. Two of the liaison men from A Company, Matthew J. Kane and Martin Gill, as also John Hammond and Fred Craven of Company C, are also highly recommended for the cheerful and efficient manner in which they performed their perilous job.

Company M is very proud of its youngest corporal, little Jimmy Winestock, the mildest looking and most unassuming youth in the regiment. When troops advance under fire, there are always some who get strayed from their command, especially when their platoon leaders have been hit. Jimmy picked up all these stragglers from their companies, formed them into a detachment, issued his commands as if he were a major at least, and led them forward into the thick of action.

Major Lawrence very early in the battle had established his regimental dressing station as near to the front line as an ambulance could possibly go. There was absolutely no protection where he was, and his group which included Chaplain Holmes and the “Y” Athletic Director, Mr. Jewett, were exposed to danger from shells at all times. Father Hanley stuck as usual to his beloved Third Battalion and was out further living in a hole in the side of a hill, with Doctors Kilcourse, Martin, Mitchell, Cowett and our dental officers Bamford and Landrigan, who always rendered good work in battle.

When they were carrying Donovan in I met him at Lawrence’s station. He looked up from the stretcher and said to me smilingly, “Father, you’re a disappointed man. You expected to have the pleasure of burying me over here.” “I certainly did, Bill, and you are a lucky dog to get off with nothing more than you’ve got.” He was in great pain after his five hours lying with that leg in the shell-hole, but it had not affected his high spirits and good humor. He was still of opinion that the regiment could get through the wire, with proper artillery preparation and co-ordination of infantry forces.

On October 12th I was in Jim Mangan’s little dugout at Exermont with his Lieutenants Joe McNamara, McCarthy and Flynn when in walked Dennis O’Shea, formerly our color sergeant, and now a Lieutenant in the 1st Division. Accompanying him was Father Terence King, a Jesuit Chaplain. They had been detailed for the task of burying their regimental dead. It was a joyous meeting, but they had one thing to tell that made me sad. Father Colman O’Flaherty had been killed by shell fire while attending to the wounded. I had never met him, but when we were alongside of the 1st after Saint Mihiel I met a large number of officers and men, all of whom spoke of him with affectionate admiration. An Irishman, well read, brilliant and witty in conversation, independent in the expression of his opinions; sometimes irritating at first encounter by reason of his sallies, but always sure in the long run to be admired for his robust and attractive personality.

I got this story with no names mentioned and was too discreet to ask for them. A patrol was out for the purpose of getting in touch with the enemy. As they were ascending the reverse slope of the hill a young officer who was with two or three men in advance came running back, stooping low and calling breathlessly to the Lieutenant in command, “The Germans! The Germans! The Germans are there.” Nobody thought him afraid but his tone of excitement was certainly bad for morale. There was a sudden halt and a bad moment, but the situation was saved when a New York voice in a gruff whisper was heard, “Well, what the hell does that guy think we are out here looking for?—Voilets?” If eloquence is the power to say things that will produce the desired effect on one’s hearers, neither Demosthenes nor Dan O’Connell himself ever made a better speech.

We were very short of officers during the Argonne fight and, since advancing under shell fire necessitates a deliberate scattering of men, a great deal depends upon the efficiency of our non-coms, especially the sergeants. The result of their activity was that an extraordinary number of them were wounded. I came on Sergeants Tom O’Malley and Jim O’Brien of Company D, both wounded severely and bound for the rear. “Tom,” I said, “what did you want to get yourself hit for? We’re short of officers as it is, and it’s only men like you that can put this thing through.” “Well, Father,” says Tom, smilingly apologetic, “you see it’s like this: a sergeant stands an awful fine chance of gettin’ hit as things are goin’ now. We got a lot of new min that he’s got to take care of to see that they don’t get kilt; and whin the line moves forward, there’s some of thim nades a bit of coaxin’.”

I have gathered from my record a list not only of officers, but also of non-coms wounded in this battle, because they deserve to be commemorated as men who have fought throughout the war, men who, if they have not been in every one of our battles, have a wound stripe to show the reason for their absence, and who have gained their stripes of office by good soldiering in camp and in the field.

Colonel William J. Donovan; Captains, Oscar L. Buck, Edmond J. Connelly, John J. Clifford, John F. Rowley; First Lieutenants, James Collier, Paul D. Surber, Roderick J. Hutchinson; Second Lieutenants, Joseph P. Katsch, Charles D. Huesler, Clarence Johnson, Samuel S. Swift, Lester M. Greff, Henry W. Davis (Deceased), Arthur N. Hallquist, John J. Williams.

Company A, Sergeants Purtell, Armstrong, Sweeney; Corporals Gladd, Roberts, Newton, Thynne, Rice, Wylie.

Company B, Sergeants Thornton, Mulholland, Meniccoci, Graham, Gilbert, Whalen, Coyne; Corporals Quigley, Brady, Geraghty, Van deWerken, Longo, Lofare, Hayes, Healey, Lehman, Neary.

Company C, Sergeants James Burns, Hillig, Hennessey, Knight, McNiff; Corporals, James Kelly, Hannigan, Lynott, Minogue, Munz, O’Kelly, Osberg, Quinn, Stratico, Blythe, Boyle.

Company D, Sergeants Crotty, O’Malley, Moran, Sheahan, McDonough, Tracey, Morton; Corporals Dale, Plant, Dalton Smith, Murray, O’Dowd, Lynch, O’Brien, DeVoe, Terry O’Connor, Bambrick, McAuliffe, Edward B. Smith, Reilly, Harkins, Tuers, Brady, Thompson, O’Connell.

Company E, Corporals Corbett, Maloney, Geary.

Company F, Corporal Patrick Frawley.

Company G, Sergeants McNamara, William Farrell, James Murray; Corporals, Framan, Allen, Christy.

Company H, Sergeant Walker; Corporals, McGorry, Ryan, McGlynn, Doran.

Company I, Sergeants Shanahan, Lyons, Dynan, Mullin, Joseph O’Brien; Corporals, Cousens, Dexter, Gaul, Horgan, Kennedy, Smiser, Welsh, Zarella, Beyer, Lenihan, New, Regan, Conway, Hettrick, Neary.

Company K, Sergeants Timothy Sullivan, Gleason, Hellrigel; Corporals Van Yorx, McKessy, Clinton, Ryan, Ostermeyer, Casey, Gallagher, LeGall, McMahon, Caraher, Wakely, Hoey.

Company L, Sergeants, Southworth, Kiernan, Wittlinger, Fitzpatrick, Mullins, Blood; Corporals Kennedy, Martin, O’Brien, Oakes, McCallum, George McCue, Murphy, John J. Murphy, Hearn.

Company M, Sergeants Major, Clark, May; Corporals Igo, Feely, Begley, Shear, Scott, Donovan, McGovern, Cook, Bailey, Kiernan, Berger, Harry Murray, Knowles.

Headquarters Co., Corporals Dick, Brochon, Albrecht.

Machine Gun Co., Sergeants Stevens, Spillane, Gillespie, Doherty; Corporals Erard, Cohen.