Father Duffy's story

by Francis Patrick Duffy

FOOTNOTES:

[2] These distinctions were won by men of the 2nd Battalion in a coup de main led by Lieutenants Ogle and Becker (also decorated) in the Baccarat Sector.

[3] The three O’Neills and Bernard Finnerty as also Sergeant Spillane of Machine Gun Company came from the town of Bantry. “Rebel Cork” added new leaves to its laurel wreath of valor in this battle on the plains of Champagne.

CHAPTER VI
THE BATTLE OF THE OURCQ

Croix Rouge Farm was the last stand of the Germans south of the Ourcq but it was expected that they would make some sort of resistance on the slopes and in the woods north of this river.

To get to the battlefield from the south one can go on a broad highway running straight north for five miles through the thickly wooded Foret de Fere. Near the northern point of the woods is an old square French Ferme—the Ferme de l’Esperance, and a more pretentious modern dwelling, the Château de Foret. A little further north one comes to the contiguous villages of La Folie and Villers sur Fere. On the map they look like a thin curved caterpillar, with the church and the buildings around its square representing the head. Beyond the square a short curved street known to us as “Dead Man’s Curve” or “Hell’s Corner” leads to the cemetery on the left, with an orchard on the right. From the wall of the orchard or cemetery one can see the whole battlefield of our Division on the Ourcq. A mile and a half to the left across the narrow river is Fere en Tardenois blazing, smoking and crackling all the week under the fire of artillery, first of the French, then of the Germans. About the same distance to the right and also north of the river, lies the village of Sergy where the Iowas were to have their battle. To get the Ourcq straight across the line of vision one faces to the northeast. The eye traverses a downward slope with a few clumps of trees for about eight hundred yards. The river, which would be called a creek in our country, has a small bridge to the left and another a little to the right as we are looking, near the Green Mill or Moulin Vert. Straight ahead beyond the river is a valley, and up the valley a thousand yards north of the river is a house and outbuildings with connecting walls all of stone, forming a large interior court yard. It is Meurcy Farm. A brook three or four feet wide runs down the valley towards us. Its marshy ground is thickly wooded near the Ourcq with patches of underbrush. And about two hundred yards west of the Farm is a thick square patch of wood, the Bois Colas. North of the Farm is a smaller woods, the Bois Brulé.

The whole terrain naturally slopes towards the Ourcq. But tactically the slopes that were of most importance in our battle were those that bound the brook and its valley. Facing the Farm from the bottom of the valley one sees to the left a gradual hill rising northwestwards till it reaches the village of Seringes et Nesles, which lies like an inbent fish-hook, curving around Bois Colas and Meurcy Farm half a mile away. To the east of the brook the rise goes up from the angle of the brook valley and the river valley in two distinct slopes, the first, fairly sharp, the second gradual. Six hundred yards or so north of these crests is a thick, green wall across the northern view. It is the Forest of Nesles. The difficulty of attacking up this little valley towards the Farm lay in the fact that it made a sort of trough, both sides of which could be easily defended by machine guns with a fine field of direct fire, and also by flanking fire from the opposite slope as well as from Meurcy Farm and Bois Colas which lay in the northern angle of the valley. And when the attackers got to the top of the eastern crest there were five hundred yards of level ground to traverse in face of whatever defences might be on the edge of the Forest.

With plenty of artillery to crack the hardest nuts, and with regiments moving forward fairly well in line so that the advance of each would protect the flanks of its neighbors, the problem would not have been a terrific one.

But nobody knew for certain whether the enemy would make more than a rear guard action at the Ourcq. His general line still constituted a salient and his ultimate line was sure to be the Vesle or the Aisne. It takes time to get Artillery up and in place. And the Germans might slip away scot free on account of our too great caution in following him. Miles to right and left allied troops, mainly French, were hammering at both sides of the salient. It was the duty of those who followed the retreating enemy to see that his retirement with guns and other property should not be too easy a task.

In our progress to the slopes above the Ourcq there was little resistance in the path of our brigade. The night of the 27th, General Lenihan established brigade headquarters at the Château de Foret. The Ohios were in the forest in brigade support, as the first plan was to send in one regiment. Our second battalion was in regimental reserve and was held by Anderson in the woods to the left of the road, his principal officers being Lieutenant Keveny, Adjutant, and in command of the four companies, E, F, G, H, Captains Baker, Kelly, Prout and Finn. Colonel McCoy had established his post of command near the church at the northern end of Villers sur Fere. With him was the Headquarters Company under Captain Michael Walsh, and nearest to him was the third battalion under Major McKenna, with Lieutenant Cassidy, Adjutant, and Companies I, K, L, M, commanded by Captains Ryan, Hurley, Merle-Smith and Meaney.

Major Donovan with the first battalion, Lieutenant Ames, Adjutant, and the Companies A, B, C, D, commanded by Lieutenant Baldwin, Captain Reilly, Captain Bootz and Lieutenant Connelly with our Machine Gun Company under Captain Seibert, had gone forward on the night of the 26th and relieved the French west of Beuvardes. On the afternoon of the 27th they had passed east through the Foret de Fere and had come out on the crest over the river between Villers and Sergy, the lines being widely extended to keep in touch with the Iowas on the right. Here we witnessed the first operation of cavalry in our battles. A small squadron of French cavalry came out of the woods and proceeded down the road south of the river in the direction of Sergy with the intention of drawing the enemy fire. It was a beautiful sight to see the animated group of horses and men tearing down the road, but a spectacle that did not last long, as very shortly they drew a powerful enemy fire and after some losses cantered back to the woods with their main object accomplished. Our Infantry was thus drawn into the battle but with little opportunity to accomplish much as the enemy were relying principally on heavy shell fire. Of ours, Company C suffered the greatest losses, as Corporal Morschhauser, William V. Murtha and John F. Ingram were killed and Sergeant John F. Vermaelen with Frank Dunn, William Ryan and Harry Fix mortally wounded. Major Donovan drew his battalion back behind the reverse slope of a hill where it was protected from observation by trees, and there ordered them to dig in for the night.

He had detached Company D, under Lieutenant Connelly, to find and maintain liaison with the French on the left. The Lieutenant got in touch with our own 3rd Battalion which was already coming up on that side. Lieutenant Burke of D Company, with Eugene Brady, kept on to find the French to the westward, but just as he started out he received a dangerous and painful wound in the leg. He stopped only long enough to have it tied up and then, in spite of protest, he insisted on carrying out his task. He tramped over fields and through woods for four hours that night before his work was complete and there was no danger of the derangement of plans, and then permitted them to carry him back to the hospital. His wound was so severe that it took months and months to heal, but Burke is the kind of soldier who will carry out any task he is given to do, if he has to finish it crawling.

In the early hours of Sunday, July 28th, the disposition of the regiment was as follows. Colonel McCoy with his Headquarters Company, Major McKenna’s Battalion with Company D of the 1st Battalion, and a Company of the Wisconsin Machine Gunners were in the town of Villers sur Fere and in the orchards east of it. Major Donovan with Companies A, B and C, and our Machine Gun Company were further east in the direction of Sergy. Our 2nd Battalion was two miles behind and to the west, the Ohios being still further west on the same line. A battalion of the Alabamas had come up behind Major Donovan to take the ground he had occupied between Villers sur Fere and Sergy. In front of Sergy the Iowas were already set. West of Villers sur Fere the ground was held by the French, their main effort being concentrated on the capture of Fere en Tardenois. It was reported through the night that they already had that town, but they did not cross the river until well on into the next morning.

Under normal battle conditions Colonel McCoy would not have been justified in having his Post of Command right up with the advance elements of his regiment as they went into battle. But he was a bold as well as a careful commander, and he felt that he could best handle the situation by being where he could see just what was going on.

For two days the situation had been changing from hour to hour. First it was planned to have Major Donovan relieve the forward elements of the French Infantry on Friday night. Then on Friday morning came a corps order for the 42nd Division to attack on Saturday morning. It was then arranged between General Menoher and the French Division Commander to have two battalions of ours, Donovan’s and McKenna’s, relieve the French that night. As we have seen, the order to attack was recalled and the relieving battalions were sent back. But the two division commanders decided that the relief should be effected and that these two battalions should take the front line with Anderson in support and the 166th in reserve. On Saturday came word that the enemy had withdrawn with the French Division to our left in pursuit. The 166th were to relieve them when the situation settled.

On Saturday morning came General Order 51. “Pursuant to orders from the Sixth (French) Army, 42nd Division will attack at H. hour, under cover of darkness, night of July 27-28.” The four infantry regiments were to attack abreast, a battalion of each being in line. “The attack will be in the nature of a surprise, and consequently troops in the attack will not fire during the assault, but will confine themselves to the use of the bayonet.”

At 1:00 P. M. Saturday, July 27th, the order was given to execute the relief and await further instructions. Our advance elements were already on the way and the 1st Battalion of the Ohios came up in the rear of the 10th French Chasseurs to make reconnaissance with the purpose of relieving them.

An hour after midnight General Lenihan received a message from Colonel MacArthur containing an order from our 1st Army Corps, that the attack be made before daylight and without artillery preparation, reliance being placed chiefly on the bayonet to drive the enemy from his position. Cavalry were to be in reserve to follow up. General Lenihan ordered all of our three Battalions to take part in the attack.

Colonel McCoy was sent for and the order was given him. Major McKenna expressed his opinion of the order in a manly, soldierly way. Captain Hurley of Company K had felt out the enemy resistance during the night and had found machine gun nests just across the river, the enemy artillery also being very active. The assumption of a retreating enemy against whom infantry bayonets and charging cavalry could be effective was not justified by what the front line could detect. It was a case for artillery preparation and careful advance. Colonel McCoy was already of the same opinion, which he expressed with proper vigor. They were three good soldiers, Lenihan, McCoy and McKenna, and they all felt the same way about it. But it was a Corps Order, an Army order, in fact, commanding a general advance. Whatever might be the cost, it could not be that this regiment should not do its share to keep the advancing line in even contact with the enemy. So when the hour arrived the Colonel gave the order to advance, which order was communicated by Major McKenna, to Hurley, Ryan and Merle-Smith, Meaney being in reserve. Orders were also sent to Colonel Donovan on the right to move his battalion to the west, taking advantage of the woods, and then to cross the river. Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell brought orders in person to Anderson to bring his battalion forward and cross the Ourcq on the left of McKenna, which would bring him to the slope on the west of the little brook leading towards Bois Colas.

Meanwhile General Lenihan at 3:20 A. M. had received word from General Brown of the 84th Brigade that he could not be sure of having his regiments in line in time for the assault. As a matter of fact, the Iowas, under Colonel Tinley, were already abreast of Donovan; and the assault battalion of the Alabamas, under Lieutenant Colonel Baer, was rapidly coming up behind. About 5:00 A. M. General Lenihan received word that the French were not in Fere en Tardenois. He decided that it was too hazardous to push the attack and word was sent at 5:15 o’clock to Colonel McCoy to suspend his advance temporarily pending the advance of neighboring organizations.

But the old regiment had a motto to live up to, “Never disobeyed an order, never lost a flag.” McKenna had given his orders to his Captains who all knew just what it meant—and the men under them knew it. Many of them, most of them, as it turned out, would be dead or wounded up that pleasant little valley and along its eastern slopes before the sun rode at mid-heavens. But no man was daunted by the thought.

The first wave was to be Company K, already so cruelly tried by the gas attack at Lunéville. Their leader was Captain John Patrick Hurley, whose slender form and handsome ascetic face seemed to mark the poet or the student rather than the soldier. But he was a keen soldier, one whose blood pumped full and even when death was flying round. Company K was willing to die for him or with him anywhere. At his command they moved forward in advance formation with intervals all perfect at a walk, a trot, a run, down to the Ourcq. It was a sight to remember while life would last, as perfect as a peace manœuvre but with death all around. In that short advance Sergeant Frank Doughney and Corporal Raymond Staber, the heroic son of Mount Loretto, found their way to heaven; and a number of good men were wounded. But they swept on over the Green Mill bridge and across its dam and through the waters of the river with Captain Hurley and Lieutenant Pat Dowling in the lead, and did not stop till they had gained a footing under the bank of the road beyond the river.

Right on their heels came Company I under the Boer War Veteran, Captain Richard J. Ryan, in the same perfect formation. They, too, swept across the Ourcq (Eddie Joyce being the one man killed), and took up their place with Company K under the bank. The two Captains reformed their men and were looking over the situation. Their objective was Meurcy Farm. But that lay in the valley and was impossible to take until at least one of the slopes was cleared to its summit; as a direct advance would expose them to fierce enfilading fire. Even where they were, one group of enemy machine guns could fire direct on their flank; so Captain Ryan sent one of his best men, Sergeant E. Shanahan, with Hugh McFadden, Pat McKeon, Hettrick, Hartnett and others to put it out of action. A forlorn hope, he felt, but they did it without losses, as Shanahan was a born leader.

The line was scarcely straightened out when the men were given the word to advance. The left of Company K moved out on the lower slopes along the little valley towards Meurcy Farm; the right of K and all of I at an angle straight up the bare, smooth slope towards the machine gun nests that were spitting fire from that direction. That kind of action suited Pat Dowling. He jumped to his feet and called to his platoon to follow, when a machine gun bullet gave him a mortal wound. Sergeant Embree and John J. Conefry fell by his side. A heart-broken soldier lifted the Lieutenant. “Did they get that machine gun on the right?” “Yes, sir.” Then, “Thank God!” and a dauntless leader of men was no more.

The line swept on. The slope to the right ran through a wheat field and then with a gentle rise to the summit. In the lower portion there was a group of machine guns manned by good men. But they had to deal with better men. The line swung around the guns in a semi-circle, the men crawling on their bellies like Indians now. The rifles were crackling all around, their sharp bursts of fire drowning at times the incessant pop, pop, pop of the machine guns. Many of the German gunners were killed and the others found it nigh impossible to lift their heads from their holes to work the pieces. Not one of them offered to surrender. Most of them died at their posts. A few sought safety in flight and some of these managed to slip back up the hill to safety. We met some of these men long afterwards. They spoke of the sweep of the Battalion across the Ourcq and said they thought Americans were crazy.

Meanwhile big gallant Merle-Smith with Company L had crossed the river and had fallen into line on the hill to the right of Company I. Major McKenna, anxious to extend his flanks as far as possible, had thrown in Company D, half of it on the right of L, well into territory that belonged to the neighboring regiment, and half to the left rear of K, up the valley towards the farm.

The men who had the farm for their objective fared the best. At that moment it was not very strongly held and the shoulder of the hill protected them from fire from its summit. Sergeants Meade and Crotty, with a platoon of Company K, followed by Lieutenant Cook, with two platoons of D, worked their way up the valley. There was a sharp fight under the stone walls of the old building and gallant Bob Foster there found the death that was sure to be his in battle. Carl Nyquist of L was also killed. Finally, rifles were thrust through the windows and the last of the Germans retreated across the courtyard and out the other side. While searching for food (soldiers always go into battle after a long fast), Corporal John Gribbon found one lone German hiding in the cellar and sent him to the rear. Other soldiers ran into the orchard like school boys and picked green apples to satisfy their hunger. Sergeant Crotty was sent to establish a line of sharp-shooters to keep down the fire from the edge of Bois Colas, and Sergeant Dick O’Neill held the Farm with his platoon of Company D, until the Germans, learning from their own fugitives that it had been evacuated by their men, shelled the defenders out into the open.

The main attack had harder going. Near the crest of the hill was a new line of German guns much stronger than the first and with a magnificent field of fire that swept almost every part of the slope. Now that their own men at the base were out of the way, the German Artillery, too, had more freedom to act, and shells began to drop along the slope, carrying destruction. The whine of bullets was incessant and the quick spurts of dust spoke of imminent death. But still the line kept crawling forward, each man keeping his resolution to the sticking point with no exhilaration of a headlong charge nor even a friendly touch of shoulder. In attacks such as this each man must crawl forward in isolation, keeping his interval from his neighbors lest destruction should reach too many at one time. It is the finest test of courage.

The machine guns were the worst—and not alone those in front. The main attack was up the slope on the east of the brook valley. Across the narrow valley along the edge of the Bois Colas until Anderson’s men cleaned them out; and outside Seringes, the Germans had other guns which kept up a galling flanking fire on our third battalion. And from their right on their unprotected flank more guns were at work. Before the hill was half won many were wounded or killed. Company K, on the left, exposed to the fire across the valley, was the first to suffer heavily. Lieutenant Gerald Stott was badly hit—mortally, as the event proved.

Father Hanley, whose disposition did not permit him to remain at the dressing station, had gone over the river with Captain Hurley and he rushed forward to save the wounded Lieutenant, followed by Sergeant Peter Crotty with Ted Van Yorx and George Meyer. The dust began spurting around them and Father Hanley went down with a bullet in the knee. Despite his command to the men that they should not risk themselves, the three brave lads carried him in, and also Lieutenant Stott.

Lieutenant Arnold made a desperate attempt to get in behind the machine guns on the crest by following a drain on the lower slope. He had gotten well forward when he was mortally hit. Sergeant John Ross went ahead to get him, but was struck dead by the side of his Lieutenant, as were James Daley of K, and John Hession of L.

Of the five Kellys of Company K, two, John and Francis, both daring youths, were killed. Howard was badly wounded in the leg, Herbert was not yet back from the gassing at Lunéville. Young Jimmy, a lad of seventeen, alone remained, and battled as if he felt he had to do the fighting for the whole clan. Of the five Sullivans, Jim was the only one hit and he refused to quit the field. The same is true of Sergeant D’Acosta and Victor Van Yorx and Mike Bannon and also Herbert McKenna of the Mount Loretto boys of Company K. The other lads of his school showed their training that day. Besides Raymond Staber, George Duffy, Joe Gully and Tom Fleming paid the big price for their patriotism. So too, did another much beloved lad in the Company, James Scott; and Cox, Grey, Patrick Ristraino, Patrick Caulfield, Hugh Quinn, Will Ring, and Patrick Cunningham (the last three in front of Meurcy Farm), with Lewis Shockler, James Daly, Sylvia and Dale, Sharp and Ramsey, who received their death wounds on the slopes of the hill. This was a heart-breaking day for Captain Hurley, who loved his boys, but he kept on cheerful to outward view with his two remaining Lieutenants, Metcalf and Williams, and non-coms like Meade, Farrell, Crotty, Bernard McElroy, John Gibbons and others already named. But soon Lieutenant Metcalf was sent back wounded and Williams was the only Lieutenant left.

At the extreme right of our line was Company L with the remnants of two platoons of Company D under Lieutenants Connelly and Daly. Captain Merle-Smith was hit early in the day, a bullet piercing his arm as he raised it to signal his men forward. He had a first aid bandage wrapped round it and then forgot about it, as there was too much to do. Lieutenant Wellborne also was hit and refused to quit the field. In his platoon Sergeant George Kerr, a great favorite in the company, was fatally wounded. He was picked up by Sergeant Will Murphy (I always wanted to make a priest out of Will, but he was none the worse soldier for that), and carried down the hill; but George died before the bottom was reached and Murphy himself was badly wounded.

In the 2nd Platoon Lieutenant Watkins was killed in the very front line. Near him fell Sergeant Tom O’Donovan and Bert Landzert, good friends of mine since Border days. Lieutenant Spencer was also wounded doing courageous liaison work, as well as Lieutenants Leslie and Booth and Knowles, who had battalion duties and were there to help in co-ordination. The 4th Platoon was led into action by my loyal friend, Sergeant John Donoghue—like Tom O’Donovan, a Killarney man, and both fine specimens of the Irish soldier. He was hit very badly in the early part of the fray, but remained there for hours spurring on his men. His place as leader was taken by Sergeant Ray Convey, a deep, sincere, religious youth whom the whole Company admired. He was a gallant leader, till death and glory claimed him. The same quick route to heaven was taken by Corporal Neil Fitzpatrick, wounded the night before but still in the fray, and Dave O’Brien, a quiet saint and a model soldier. Owen McNally also, and the two Coneys boys, George Heinbock, John J. Booth, and two youths dear to all for their nobility of character, Lawrence Spencer and Bernard Sheeran. With Lieutenant Watkins and Sergeant O’Donovan and Convey on the hilltop lay Mat Moran and Mario Miranda, Earl Weill, Roland Phillips, Herbert Stowbridge, M. Simpson, John Hayden, Harold Yockers, Elmer Shaner and Preston Carrick, Dan Reardon, Alexander Jornest (Russian) and James Santori (Italian), all making the same sacrifice for the land of their birth or adoption.

Arthur Turner, Walter McCarty, E. J. Morrissey, Raymond Murphy were killed in town. William J. Ormond, James Cook, James Watson, Herbert Ray and Leroy McNeill died of wounds.

Johnnie McSherry, the irrepressible youngster, and Maurice Hart, the staid veteran, were both carried from the field. Sergeant Arthur McKenny was wounded and carried into Meurcy Farm, where he was afterward made prisoner by the enemy. Of the two McLaughlin brothers, Dan was wounded unto death, while doing great work, and Harry, less severely. Two other brothers of the same name, Longford men, Bernard and Thomas McLaughlin, battled through it all and came out unscathed. The three McCabes fought like Maccabees. Sergeants Bezold, Thomas Kiernan and Bernard Woods were wounded, but Sergeant William Malinka, Tom Dunn and Leo Mullin came through.

On the left of L and in the middle of the line, Company I held the field and suffered even greater losses; but they too kept working steadily forward and no man went back whose duty it was to stay. Lieutenant H. H. Smith was killed on the last slope, urging his men forward. Sergeant Frank McMorrow and William Lyle, Paddy Flynn, and Hugh McFadden kept the platoon going. Lieutenant Cortlandt Johnson, like Captain Ryan, kept moving all along the line unmindful of danger, until he was badly wounded. His platoon was in good hands. Sergeant Charles Connolly took command and kept them advancing till death called him from the fray. Across his body fell Tommy Brennan, his closest friend—“In death not divided.” Sergeant Billy McLaughlin, a thorough soldier, took command but five minutes later he, too, was killed as he led the advance shouting, “Let’s go and get ’em, men!” Otto Ernst and John O’Rourke were killed at the very top of the hill, but Lenihan and Vail, Adikes and Lynch, still held the survivors together until they, too, were wounded. John J. Maddock, a veteran of the Regular Army, was badly hit while trying to save Corporal Beckwith.

Here, too, fell Lieutenant Beach, killed by shrapnel while shooting an automatic. Along side him lay in a row like harvest sheaves, Matt O’Brien, William Corbett, Roger Minogue, Patrick McCarthy, Patrick McKeon, Floyd Baker, Louis Bloodgood and James Powell. Sergeant Charlie Cooper escaped severely wounded and Dan Mullin led what was left of the platoon.

It was at the top of the hill that the Captain was wounded, a bullet going through his left side. Before he fell he had looked the situation over. The forward lines were now able to see clearly the whole field. In front the terrain stretched over perfectly level ground for five hundred yards to the edge of the forest of Nesles where one could detect the prepared emplacements and regularly wired positions. It was useless to advance in that direction; not a man could ever cross that stretch alive. To the right a company of the Alabamas had come up, but they, too, had been swept to pieces by the German fire and no more managed to reach the top. To the left, across the valley, our second battalion had begun to work its way up the opposite slope towards Seringes. Their fire could be detected as they wormed their way forward.

Looking back down the hill the sight was discouraging. The ground was littered with the bodies of the brave, and the slopes of the Ourcq were dotted with the wounded, helping one another to the dressing station across the river in Villers sur Fere.

Half the battalion was out of action. Of five Lieutenants, Hurley had lost three killed, and one wounded. Merle-Smith was wounded and also three of his four officers, the fourth being killed. Eugene Gannon, a brave and competent soldier, was now his second in command. Ryan, badly wounded, was the only officer left in I, though he had well placed confidence in his first sergeant, Patrick McMiniman, a rock-ribbed old-timer, and Sergeants Shanahan and Patrick Collins.

All three commanders decided that the position on the top of the hill was untenable. When they had swept over the last emplacements of the German guns on the hill they not only found that their own further advance was impossible; they had also left the German artillery free to act, and the shelling began with terrific vigor. So the main body drew back a little below the crest, leaving automatic gunners and sharp-shooters to keep the Germans from venturing forward from the woods. Our own machine guns, the Wisconsin lads manning them, had followed the advance, the gunners fighting with desperate courage. The ammunition was carried up by their men and ours at a fearful cost. Five feet or so a man might run with it and then go down. Without a moment’s hesitation, some other soldier would grab it and run forward to go down in his turn. But the guns had to be fed and still another would take the same dreadful chance. Death was forgotten. Every man thought only of winning the fight. Finally the guns were put out of action by shell fire at the top of the hill and there they stood uselessly, their gunners lying dead around them.

Death was busy on that hill that morning. It claimed Johnnie Bradley, the baby of the Company, for whom life was still an unexplored field; and Ben Gunnell of the Northwest Mounted Police, who had tried most earthly things and found them wanting. Pat Stanley, who had left his kitchen to fight, found a noble end to his fighting. Arthur Matthews, mortally wounded, spent what remained to him of breath, calling words of encouragement to his companions. Two men worked side by side,—one was taken and the other left. Frank Mulligan and Frank Van Bramer worked an automatic. Van Bramer was called. John O’Hara went the long road and Jim O’Connor stuck it out untouched. Frankie Connolly took the automatic from McCarthy’s dead hands and kept it going all morning. Eddie Martin and Will Corbett, liaison men, were shot down, and Charlie Garrett wounded. The voices of Thomas Curry and Henry Lynch and Arthur Thompson were hushed forever. Frank Courtney, Will Flynn, Earl Rhodes, Thomas Boyle, Carl Moler, John McCabe, Harold Van Buskirk, Louis Ehrhardt, Fred Muesse, Darcy Newman, Melvin Spitz, kept up the fight of that bare hillside with no thought of retreat until their heroic souls were sped. Charles Ford and Spencer Ely, Albert Schering and Thomas Shannon were carried from the field and died of their wounds.

Captain Hurley, in command of the battalion on the hill, had gone down to confer with the Colonel. Captains Ryan and Merle-Smith were both wounded. The latter kept cheerfully moving around amongst his men, while Ryan had to lie in a depression and try to keep up the spirits of his followers by calling to them. When his voice failed him, Paddy Flynn, a clean-cut young Irish athlete, came and lay along side him and coached the team like a captain on the base lines. As he raised his head to call he was hit on the cheek, but he kept on urging resistance until he was finally wounded severely. Paddy Hackett’s voice was also heard throughout the fight urging the old gallants to stick, until he, too, found his place among the heroes of the regiment that are gone.

And still the remnants of the battalion held their ground, though that ground was being plowed by shells. They had the hill; and if a general forward movement was on, as they had been told, it was their place to hold that hill till the other organizations could come up, even though the last man amongst them should remain there for his long sleep. Captain Meaney had sent up reinforcements to piece out the thinned line. A platoon under Lieutenant Ahearn arrived, but reinforcements only added to the slaughter. What was needed was artillery fire and strong supporting movements on the flanks. Lieutenant Ahearn was wounded and two of his best Sergeants, Patrick Clark and Patrick Hayes. Sergeant William Francis was killed, also Corporals Patrick Cooke and George Hoblitzell, one of two fine brothers; and Patrick Byrne, Hubert Hill, James Scanlan, John Tobin and John Donahue fought their last fight. Mat Mahoney, Frank Cullum, John Powers and Bill Conville, with many others, were badly wounded.

Lieutenant Connelly had tried to remove Captain Ryan from the field. But the Captain threatened to shoot anybody who would attempt to take him away from his men. Finally, about noon, Captain Merle-Smith came to him with information that the order had come to withdraw through the 1st Battalion, which already occupied the lower slopes of the hill.

That task remained to carry in the wounded. Company M gave great help, but every man who could walk lent a hand to this task of friendship. Corporal Dynan, who had already done more than his share of the fighting, got wounded finally while helping others off the field.

Lieutenant Williams remained out to hold the advance position with a platoon of Company K, including Sergeants Joe Farrell and Peter Crotty, Corporals George Meyer, Patrick Ryan, John Naughton and John McLaughlin.

The survivors were a sorry remnant of the splendid battalion that had so gallantly swept across the Ourcq that morning. But they had carried out a soldier’s task.

Their’s not to reason why,

Their’s but to do and die,

Disputes may arise about the orders that sent them in but they will not affect the place in the martial annals of their race and country which was made on that day of tragic glory by the Shamrock Battalion of the old Irish regiment. Laurels grow from the graves of the dead. Laurels, too, encircle the brows of every man who fought that day on Hill 152.

Still further news of tragedy waited for them. Their gallant Major was dead. Major McKenna had tried to recall his Company when the word came to countermand the attack order. But his wild Irish had rushed to the attack with too much eagerness for that, and the situation was beyond mending in this way. They could not retreat under the fire of the machine guns on the hill which could mow them down as they recrossed the river with nothing gained from their sacrifice. They had to go ahead and put these guns out of action. When he had seen how things were going, the Major started back along the Ourcq to consult with Colonel McCoy. A shell came over knocking the Major down and wounding his Adjutant, Lieutenant Cassidy. When the Lieutenant, with Sergeant Major Joyce and George Strenk, ran to pick him up, they found him dead, though without a wound upon his body. They bore him in sorrowing, as every man in the regiment sorrowed when the news went round, at the loss of a brave and beloved leader whose talents fitted him for a high destiny if life were spared him, but to whom had fallen the highest destiny of all, and one which he had always expected would be his—that of dying for his country.

His Company Commanders had been informed of his death not long after it happened, and Captain Hurley had taken general direction of the fight when Ryan was wounded. Hurley came back to report on the situation to Colonel McCoy, and while talking to him was badly wounded by shell fire. The Colonel had already made up his mind on the matter and Major Donovan, with the 1st Battalion, was crossing the river to effect a relief.

But meanwhile another battle, scarcely less fierce, had been going on on the western slopes of the brook. On Saturday afternoon Major Anderson, with the 2nd Battalion, had received orders to proceed from Courpoil, north through Beuvardes, and maintain close liaison with the 3rd, which was to go to the river and get contact with the enemy. Anderson marched his men up to a place north of the forest of Fere at the southwestern extremity of Villers sur Fere. Scouts were sent out to examine the ground toward the river, while the Major and his four Captains went to the town to interview the French Commander, who told them that it would be impossible to cross the Ourcq without artillery preparation, owing to the strong position held by the enemy. They obtained information about the dispositions and plans of the 3rd battalion and then returned to their commands.

About half past three in the morning Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell came with the information that the attack was to be made at 5:45 and that they were not to remain in support, but to advance to the attack at the left of the 3rd Battalion. Anderson aroused his men and formed them in the field north of the forest with Companies E and F in the front line, E being on the right, and G and H behind them. They advanced in approach formation through the fields until they reached the southern slope of the crest just south of the river, where orders were received for the battalions to halt.

This advance was made under heavy shell fire and at serious cost. Early in the advance Charles B. Wethered and William Hurst were killed by the same shell, which also wounded Haggerty, Dearborn and Strang; and nearer to the river Company H suffered a tremendous loss by the severe wounding of Captain James G. Finn, whose leg was so badly gashed that he had to be carried from the field. The place where the battalion was to cross was to the west of the little brook. To their left was Fere en Tardenois, which was being systematically attacked by the French troops. Our people had time to admire the method in which these seasoned warriors went about their business. They had dug in during the night so that they could place their fire against three sides of the town, but they evidently had no intention of going over the river until the fire of the machine guns had been fairly well blanked. Some of their men were engaged in drawing fire from the German nests, while others were sniping at them from their shelters.

Our men got the advantage of the French thoroughness when, as they came over the crest, they were liberally spattered with bullets from two or three detached houses on the left just outside Fere en Tardenois. Our one pounders were directed at them; but the French gave those hornet’s nests their coup de grace when they pulled up one of their 75’s which they had handy, right into the front line and sent a few shells straight as rifle bullets into the houses. Captain Kelly sent my old friend, John Finnegan, with a patrol to see if any of the enemy were left in the houses. John came back with the report that there were no Germans there but dead ones.

The battalion rushed down and across the Ourcq without a casualty. There was one German gun which commanded the little bridge and which could have caused great losses, but the gunners were daunted by the resolute advance of our men, as they knew that no matter how many they might kill, they could not themselves escape, so they threw up their hands and surrendered.

Companies E and F rushed over the little bridge and through the river and up the slope of the hill towards Seringes and Bois Colas. Here Captain Charles Baker of Company E was badly wounded in the neck and shoulder, one of his best Sergeants, Michael Lynch, was killed, and the bold Steve Derrig got a mortal wound. (Long afterwards we learned with deep and universal regret that Captain Baker died of his wounds.)

Company F on the left had the place of danger, as their route lay straight up the hill and over the flats, to skirt the village of Seringes, the village itself being allotted to the Ohios when they could take their place in the line. Since they had been unavoidably detained and the French were still working in their business-like fashion at the task of getting Fere en Tardenois ready for capture, Kelly’s left flank was bound to be in the air with the prospects of worse to come if he got far enough forward to have it pass the village, which was giving trouble enough while in front.

He sent messengers to Company E on his right to see whether Bois Colas was rid of the enemy, for if it were strongly held, his men would be simply fighting down a lane into a trap. Jim Quigley of Company E had been in there already and Jim came around to report that the woods was not held by the Germans. Later Captain Prout sent a party into the wood and Lieutenant Conners, commanding E Company, took possession of it up to its northern edge. Kelly’s men had meanwhile been going forward in spite of Artillery and Machine Gun fire, until they found a spot from which they could effectively retaliate. This was a cutting in the roadway between Fere en Tardenois and the north edge of Bois Colas. The shelter it gave was not very great, but Lieutenant Frank Marsh had his automatic and rifle men lined up in the ditch, happy to get a shot at the foe that had been sending death amongst them. In the advance they had lost Frank Connaughton, Charles Fox and Michael Campbell, and later on Charles Caplinger, Harry Jennings and John J. McGloin. While holding the road other good men were killed. Matt Wynne, who was known to the whole regiment; Frank Divine, Lawrence Brennan, Alfred O’Neill, Sergeant Thomas Erb and Eugene Doty were mortally wounded, and also Harry Mansfield and Charles Melsa.

Kelly with his headquarters group, 1st Sergeant Joseph Blake, Sergeant John P. Mahon, Corporals Long and Finnegan, Harris and McLean and also Lieutenant Ogle had his post at the crest of the hill where he could watch the fortunes of his forward detachment. Finding them hard pressed he got two automatics from the Ohios, who had now crossed the river and were forming under the bank, and sent Long and Finnegan for reinforcements from his own Battalion. Colonel Anderson ordered them sent, and detachments from all three Companies proceeded through Bois Colas and started working forward to support the right flank of the F Company men. In this operation Company E lost Thomas Cullen, Philip Ford, Edward Fuld, Frank O’Meara, Louis Hazelton, Louis Cohen, John Costello, Michael Breen, Emmett Bingham, Corporal Gus Winter (hit carrying Cullen in), and Corporal John Cronin, the saint of the Company (who had gone as a volunteer), and whose body lay when I came to bury him the nearest to the enemy of any soldier of ours. Not far from Cronin’s body lay four men of Company H, John T. McCarthy, Patrick Reynolds, George Smith and Thomas Hayes. G Company lost John Conroy, Floyd Graham, and Edmund Reardon. Patrick Scanlan, whose brother Dan I had buried at Baccarat, was wounded this day, but stuck to his Company to meet his death the day following, as did James Higgins of the same Company. Of the two guides from Company F, Long was wounded and the heroic John Finnegan fought his last fight.

It was evident to anybody that a further advance without careful artillery preparation was impossible. Like the 3rd Battalion on the other hill across this valley, they had reached the level approach to the strong defenses in the village and along the southern edge of the forest. It was an artillery job. And any infantry commander who would send his men across that open space would deserve a court martial. The difficulty for both battalions arose from the alacrity with which they had obeyed the orders from above which sent them across the Ourcq on a bayonet charge against a fleeing foe. They had followed the orders, and overcoming the first resistance of the enemy, they found themselves opposed to the main line of defense with practically nobody else, French or American, on their side of the river. Their flanks unsupported, to go forward would be to hand the Germans a couple of geese to pluck, and as there were no means of communication with the distant artillery except runners, that arm of the service could not act without grave danger of shooting up its own side.

The Ohios meanwhile had pushed their way up to have their share in the battle. But since they had been considered as a support regiment, they naturally thought they were coming to relieve the New Yorkers, and officers and men announced that supposed fact to the groups of our men. Anderson stormed around when he heard of it and Kelly and Prout were disgusted, but they finally accepted the situation of falling back into a support position when orders came to make it final. After their struggles in the battle less than two weeks before the second battalion deserved a comparative rest from the toil of fighting. They withdrew to the northern edge of the Ourcq, where they supported the advance of the 1st Battalion the next day. Later the same day they formed a connecting link with the Alabamas on our right. The losses of the battalion in the remaining days of the fight were few in comparison. John McGeary of G was killed while saving the wounded of Company H. Sergeant James P. Robinson and Thomas Bugler were killed by shell fire and also Arthur Baia of Company E. On July 30th, while providing for the needs of men in line, two Sergeants of Company F, Charles Denon and Charles D. Echeverria, were killed, and Lieutenant Smith and Thomas Kelleher of the same company seriously wounded. While engaged in a similar task the First Sergeant of Company H, Daniel O’Neill, whose brother, William, had been killed in Champagne, was mortally wounded, leaving only one of that famous trio still alive.

THE BATTLE FIELD OF THE OURCQ

It was between nine and ten in the morning that Major Donovan’s battalion had reached the river, and not long after midday the relief of the 3rd Battalion was practically complete. Major Donovan brought into line with him three Companies, A, B and C. Company D, which had been on the hill since early morning, was told that it could retire with the 3rd Battalion. It had suffered losses, though not so severe as the other companies. The platoons on the left of the line had occupied Meurcy Farm with Company K. On the right the headquarters group and one platoon under Lieutenants Connelly and Daly had performed a very neat job of infiltration. There was a group of German machine guns in a clump of trees some distance beyond the right flank of our battalion, which was exceedingly annoying. So Connelly took his detachment far to the right, shielded by the bank of the river road, and led them up a gully into the rear of the Germans, driving them out by rifle fire and hand grenades. Two of his men, James Hayes and Harry Silver, an automatic rifle team, occupied a lone outpost which was attacked by the enemy. Silver was mortally hit, but kept on working his rifle till it dropped from his hands. Hayes grasped it and kept up the fight till he was wounded and taken prisoner.

In spite of their hard day, Company D wished to remain in the fight with their own battalion. Connelly and Daly represented this to the Major, who was very glad to keep them.

Major Donovan did not try to retain occupation of all the hill, since the results of the gallant work of the preceding battalion were preserved if the German machine guns could be prevented from re-establishing their posts on it. So he placed automatic riflemen and sharp-shooters in the wheatfield, and drew up the main body of his troops under the lea of the high inner bank of the river road, the one under which McKenna’s Battalion had formed for their attack. The Alabamas were under the same bank further to the right, while Anderson’s men held the river bank and the wooded swampy ground across the valley to the left, keeping in touch with the Ohios, who were also along the river.

The afternoon and night passed without any special infantry action. When the strength of the enemy resistance became manifest, the artillery were put to work. Both regiments of our divisional light artillery were given to the 83rd Infantry Brigade: The 151st (Minnesota) behind us and the 149th (Illinois) behind the Ohios. Further back our heavies, the 150th (Indiana) and Corps Artillery were sending their huge missiles over our heads at the enemy’s position. The edges of the forest of Nesles and the roads behind were heavily shelled. This led the enemy to a great deal of counter-battery work, and the infantry had it easier. But their shelters were exposed at all times to machine gun fire and it was dangerous for a man to lift up his head. Companies B and C successively held the hill slope and had many casualties. Captain Reilley was wounded, but kept right on till the whole battle was over. Tommy Mooney was hit four times and came off the hill joking with his friends, who had so often said that he was too thin for a German to hit him. B Company lost good men in James Phillips, William Doyle, Michael Tierney, Joseph Chambers, John A. Lane and Thomas Kelley. That night, too, Barney Barry, soldier and saint, pulled the latchstrings of the gate of Paradise. From C Company also Mat Carberry and Richard Dieringer, Joe Augustine and John O’Connor, good lads all and true, received their mortal wounds and John J. Campbell and John F. Autry, litter bearers of Company A, were killed while performing their work of mercy.

By morning the plans were made for a new alignment for attack. The 165th Infantry was to sweep the valley along both sides of the brook, with Bois Colas on the left of it, and Meurcy Farm on the right, as their immediate objectives. The second battalion was to be in close support. Further left, the Ohios were to advance on the right of the French and occupy the Village of Seringes et Nesles. The movement of the 84th Brigade was co-ordinated with the advance of the 83rd.

This called for a shifting of Donovan’s battalion to the left, to face up the valley. The movement was carried out in the early morning of Monday, July 29th, with few losses, but one of them a costly one. Lieutenant Daly, thinking as usual of the safety of his men, and paying little attention to himself, was killed. Well, as Lieutenant Burke had said of him two days before, there was no place else he would rather be. His sacrifice was made with a generous heart.

The Battalion was lined up in the following order. Right of the brook, Company A, with Lieutenant Baldwin in the lead, and Company B in support, under Captain Reilley, their mission being to debouch from the scattered trees which concealed them, and advance up the gentle slope forward and right to Meurcy Farm. On the left, Company C, under Captain Bootz, had the van, with Company D, under Lieutenant Connelly, in support. Their work was to push on to the left of the brook and clean up Bois Colas, a thickly wooded clump of trees about as big as three city blocks, which lay two hundred yards west of the farm.

Company A had only one officer with them in the attack as Lieutenant D’Aguerro, with Sergeants Duff and Schmidt, had charge of a platoon whose duty it was to carry ammunition. Lieutenant Baldwin, an earnest, courageous man, was in command, with Sergeant Thomas J. Sweeney as First Sergeant. They advanced at eight o’clock in the morning and were immediately made to feel that they were in for a hard time. There were German machine guns now in Meurcy Farm and on both sides of it. The shelling, too, was vigorous, as all their motions could be seen and reported. Sergeants Fred Garretson and Don Matthews led a detachment with great prudence and dexterity, capturing one of the machine gun nests and seven prisoners. The direct attack against the farm, however, was not to be successful that day. Sergeant Scully, who had been badly wounded in the Lunéville raid, was wounded again early in the fight. Acting Sergeant Willie Mehl, whose father used to bring him to our encampment as a lad, was also hit; and many another good man was put out of action forever. Corporal Petersilze was killed and Corporal Michael O’Sullivan, a big, bright, good-natured giant, whom I had held in my arms as a baby, and another of the Campbells of Company A, Louis, this time, slender Harry Kane and sturdy Dan O’Connell, Stephen Curtin, who did good work with his automatic; James Ronan, Leroy Hanover, Joseph P. Myers, James Robinson, John Gray, John Williams, Clyde Evans, John Boneslawski, William Barton, John Gilluly, John Rice, William Thompson, W. V. Kelley, John Fisher, Dennis Donovan, Fred Floar, William Mallin, were killed on the field. Fred Finger was killed going back with the wounded. Tom Fleming and Charles Mack died in the dressing station, and Anthony Michaels, Albert Poole, James Tiffany, Patrick Carlisle and Edward Blanchard died of wounds in the hospital.

Lieutenant Baldwin was in the van waving his pistol, when a machine gun bullet struck him in the chest. His last words were: “Sergeant (to Sweeney), carry out the orders!” His spirit animated the brave men who followed. Moreover, they had still a fine leader in Tom Sweeney, and they kept pushing ahead, some of them meeting their fate under the very walls of the farm. It was all that they could do. One officer and twenty-five men of the diminished company were killed that morning. Multiply the deaths by six to get the total casualties and one can see that few indeed were left. Sergeant Sweeney ordered his men to dig in and wait. They were still full of spirit and vigor. Major Donovan tells of the impression made on him by a New York High School boy who carried his messages under fire with a cigarette nonchalantly drooping from his lip, coming and going as if he were an A. D. T. messenger on Broadway. It was Harold Henderson. Ed. Chamberlain, whom I had always admired, also did credit to the good opinion of his friends. He was hit across the stomach and as he rose to go back, holding the ripped edges together to keep his bowels from falling out, he said to Sweeney: “Have you any messages for the rear?”

It was some hours after Lieutenant Baldwin’s death that Lieutenant Henry Kelley arrived with Major Donovan’s orders to assume command. “Hec” Kelley, a young lawyer who enlisted as a private in B Company when we went to the Border, was never one to take good care of himself in a fight. He lasted just half an hour and was carried back with a bad wound which robbed us of his hearty, courageous presence for the rest of the war. Sweeney and the rest stuck it out till morning. Corporal John F. Dennelly, who had left his country newspaper in Long Island to join the 69th, spent the night with an outpost which was busy discouraging the nocturnal efforts of the Germans to erect barbed wire defenses in front of the farm.

In the morning the remnants of Company A withdrew a slight distance down the valley to merge with Company B. This Company, too, had had its losses. One platoon, under Lieutenant Wheatley, was in line with Company A, and the rest of them were close behind. Lieutenant Wheatley met the usual fate of officers in this battle by being wounded. Timothy McCarthy, Denis Bagley and Albert Lambert were killed and Phil Schron died at the dressing-station. It was a pleasant surprise to everybody in the Company that their gigantic captain, Tom Reilley, was not hit again, as he walked around using a rifle for a crutch and exposing his massive frame to the enemy. But he escaped with no further wounds.

Company A failed to get the farm that day, but their dogged persistence helped to make the task of Company C an easier one. This Company was led by Captain Bootz with Lieutenants Irving, Allen, Betty, Stone and Friedlander. They advanced with their right near to the brook and their left on the slope of the hill towards Seringes. A machine gun on the south edge of Bois Colas hampered them, but they got up one of our guns with Lieutenant Davis and Sergeant John O’Leary and soon put it out of action. When they got to the woods they beat their way through them cautiously, expecting every moment to find resistance, but they met only one frightened German who was glad when they made him prisoner. From the other side they could see a disconcerted enemy dotting the slopes in front of the forest of Nesles. The riflemen immediately got busy and when Lieutenants Davis and Bell came up with the machine guns, commanded by Captain Seibert, the field gray uniforms disappeared under their fire.

The first platoon, under Lieutenant Allen, had harder going. Its task was to cover the left flank as the line advanced, which brought the men along the top of the hill, where they suffered severely. Sergeant Crittenden was killed and Louis Torrey, a pious lad, Charles Geary also, and Carlton Ellis and R. J. Schwartz. Sergeant Dan Garvey and Frank Daley, John J. Murphy, Patrick Cronin and one of the Gordon brothers were fatally wounded and carried off the field. Harry McAllister was badly wounded. Big, impulsive Mike Cooney carried him down through a rain of fire to the bottom and then went back through it to get his rifle. James Allen lay out on the hill moaning. Harry Horgan started up to get him but was killed before reaching him. Thomas O’Connor crept up cautiously and coolly. He was stooping to pick him up when a bullet struck him and he fell on the body of his comrade. Nothing daunted, Michael Ruane and William McCarthy made their way up that hill of death and carried down their wounded comrade. Both Allen and McAllister afterwards died of their wounds.

The biggest price paid for the capture of Bois Colas was when the courageous soldier and trusted leader, Captain Henry Bootz, was put out of action by a bullet which passed through his chest from side to side. He had a wound which would have killed an ordinary man, but he merely grinned, took his pipe which he used in action to signal to his men and threw it to Lieutenant Betty, saying: “Here, son, I won’t need this for a while.” He started back, followed by his faithful orderly, Michael Sypoula, better known as “Zip,” who had gotten a wound himself and was happy that he had a reason for sticking to his beloved Captain. First Sergeant Gene Halpin and Maguire assisted Captain Bootz to the rear. Lieutenant Friedlander had also received a dangerous face wound and had been carried off the field by Austin McSweeney of the Headquarters Company.

Major Donovan, never happy unless in the middle of things, had gone up the bed of the brook so as to keep ahead of the advance of C on the left and A on the right. Lieutenant Ames, his Adjutant, was with him, led by devotion as well as duty, for the Major was his ideal leader. They lay half in the brook, resting on the bank, when a sniper’s bullet from the farm yard whizzed past Donovan’s ear and struck Ames in the head, liberating for larger purposes a singularly attractive and chivalrous soul.

Lieutenant Connelly tells of coming up with Sergeant Tom O’Malley and Corporal Gribbon to receive orders from the Major about taking over the line from Company C. He did not know just where to find him until he met Bootz going down the brook bed with his faithful attendants. Following up the stream he found Donovan still in the water with Ames’s body by his side. The Major also had received a bullet wound in the hand. Nearby, Pete Gillespie, whose machine gun was out of order, was absorbed in the game of getting the sniper who had killed the Lieutenant. All stopped to watch him and his rifle. Pete settled down, intent on a dead horse near the farm. Suddenly he saw something had moved behind it. He cuddled his rifle, waited and fired. They could see the sniper behind the horse half rise, then drop. The beloved Lieutenant was avenged.

The day’s work had improved the situation immensely. Control of Bois Colas gave a better command of the terrain northwards to the edge of the forest, although Bois Brulé, a narrow strip of woods which lay between, was still alive with machine guns. Meurcy Farm was not yet occupied, but its capacity for being troublesome was reduced by its being outflanked by our left. Anderson’s battalion held the lower slopes of the hill that had been taken by the third battalion the first day, and kept the Germans from reoccupying it permanently. Anderson was in touch with the 84th Brigade which was on the same line with himself. The Iowas and part of the Alabamas had taken the town of Sergy. It was a tough nut to crack, and took all the dash of the Southerners and the stubborn persistence of the Westerners to conquer and hold it. The elements of the regiment on our immediate right delayed their advance until the whole brigade was in a position to move forward.

The other regiment in our Brigade made a fine advance on our left. The 2nd Battalion passed through the first, and after our regiment had taken Bois Colas, the Ohios could be seen pushing up to the road running from Fere en Tardenois to Meurcy Farm. To co-operate with them Major Donovan sent Lieutenant Betty with what was left of Company C (sixty-five men) to move with their flank, Company D holding Bois Colas with forty-two men. The Ohios kept advancing and by nightfall had captured the southern half of Seringes et Nesles. The upper portion which curved over to the top of our valley was not occupied until the German retreat had begun.

The situation was set for a further advance. Headquarters at regiment, brigade, and division were busy preparing for it and the Artillery were ready to co-operate. They had been shelling Bois Brulé just in front of us, and the upper edge of Seringes et Nesles and the edge of the forest all day. Telephone lines had been stretched to the front by the 117th Signal Battalion and our own signal section of Headquarters Company.

These were exceedingly busy days at Colonel McCoy’s P. C., for at last there was a spot that one could dignify with the title of Post of Command. The first day of the battle there had been three or four posts in succession. On Saturday evening Colonel McCoy was in the Chateau de Fere, but when he got orders for his regiment to make the attack he went forward with them himself to join McKenna near the river. When the battalion went over he set up his headquarters right there in a shallow trench on the exposed river slope. It seemed no place for a commanding officer on whom so much had to depend, but he made up his mind that it was his place to be where he could view the battle himself, as there was no speedy way for him to get information, and the immediate decision concerning the actions and fate of his men would rest largely on his own judgment. These were his reasons; but there is always a good deal of the element of personality back of anybody’s reasons. And Frank R. McCoy, soldier of five campaigns, would naturally see the force of reasons which brought him as close as possible to the firing line. The Germans began to argue the point in their usual violent way, but the Colonel remained unconvinced.

Lieutenant Rerat was wounded slightly in that hole, and many men hurt around it. Finally Captain Hurley was badly wounded while reporting to his Chief, and the Staff united with the Germans in arguing that it was not the best place to do regimental business. So Colonel McCoy brought them back a ways to a sunken road that ran across the town. Here the shelling pursued them and Lieutenant B. B. Kane, a fine, manly fellow, received a mortal wound from a shell that exploded a few feet from where he was standing in a group around the Colonel.

Meanwhile the reliable Captain Michael J. Walsh had been scouring the town for a suitable place, and had found one in the cellar of a house still nearer the lines, but accessible to messengers from the orchards on the east, thus obviating the trip through Dead Man’s Curve.

On the morning of the 29th Colonel McCoy with Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell went up to look over the whole situation and consult with Donovan and Anderson. The decks were now cleared for a battle. The telephone was in to the front line, to the Brigade Post of Command, and to the Artillery. There was a chance for a commanding officer to be of real service to the Battalion Commanders. With the telephone to the front and rear at his elbow, he had the strings in his hands, and he certainly kept pulling those strings day and night. A message would come in from an O. P. (Observation Post) where Captain Elmer and Corporal Bob Lee were on the watch: “Shells needed on machine gun nests at crest of hill 195.45-274.05 to 196.1-274.5.” Or one from Donovan: “Important to shell Bois Brulé, where forty machine gun emplacements are reported.” And Lieutenant Weaver, a smart youngster from the 151st Field Artillery, would be put on the job in a second. Or it might be a message of the Colonel to General Lenihan in response to a call from Donovan: “Cut out fire on neck of woods south of Bois Brulé. It is endangering our Infantry in Bois Colas.” Night and day that telephone was working, receiving news from the front, effecting co-operation with neighboring regiments or sending back requests for barrages, counter-battery work, food supplies, ammunition, ambulances, air service. Soldiers in the line never fully realize how much their lives, and victory, which is more to them than their lives, depend on the alertness and intelligence of those in command.

It was an interesting group at the regimental P. C., McCoy with his spare soldierly figure and his keen soldierly face, radiant with the joy of action and the prospects of victory, always a stimulus to those who might be downhearted. For the first day, as operations officer, he had George McAdie, patient, painstaking and enduring, until the order came, less endurable to him than an enemy bullet, that he should proceed forthwith for duty at a home station. A hard sentence for a born soldier in the middle of a battle. And succeeding him Merle-Smith, just come out of the carnage, with an untidy bandage around his wounded arm, but with his mind set only on his job. Alert youngsters, Lieutenants Rerat, Seidelman, Jim Mangan, Heinel (afterwards wounded) and Preston, with Captain Jack Mangan drifting in occasionally to see if his supplies were coming up satisfactorily.

And next to the Colonel was one big personality dominating all; the rugged personality of Captain Michael J. Walsh, old soldier and solid man. He was disgusted with his part in the conflict. “I came out here to be a soldier and I am nothing but a damn room orderly,” he growled. But who fed the hungry fighting men? Captain Michael Walsh. Who scoured the yards of houses for utensils to send up the food to them? Captain Michael Walsh. Who saw that the ammunition was delivered on time to the front line. Once more, Captain Walsh. And the Colonel, when there was a task of real importance to perform, never delegated it to the bright young men; he always said: “Captain Walsh will attend to that.”

The principal task for July 30th was assigned to the 84th Brigade. They were to try to get forward and even up the line on our right. The Ohios were to hold fast, but Donovan requested to take advantage of the forward movement on the right to improve our position with reference to Bois Brulé. Company C was still in line west of Bois Colas maintaining our connection with the Ohios. Company D was at the upper edge of this woods with the machine gunners under Captain Seibert, Lieutenants Doris, Davis and Bell. Companies B and A were dug in around the approaches to the farm. Food came up on the night of the 29th for the first time. The men were all hungry, as their reserve rations had been consumed long before. Lieutenant Springer had been sent to take command of Company A, succeeding Lieutenant D’Aguerro, who had been wounded in his turn. He and his First Sergeant, Tom Sweeney, were sitting on the edge of a hole preparing to enjoy a can of corn when one bullet got both of them. They were helped back to the dressing station and Sergeant Higginson took command. The affair had its compensations. Higginson and young Henderson got the corn.

Major Donovan’s Post of Command was a hole at the southern edge of Bois Colas. Lieutenant Ames’ body had been brought in during the night and buried nearby. Ames’ place as battalion adjutant was filled by Sergeant Joyce Kilmer, whose position as Sergeant of the Intelligence Section would naturally have entitled him to a place nearer regimental headquarters. But he had preferred to be with a battalion in the field and had chosen Donovan’s. The Major placed great reliance on his coolness and intelligence and kept him by his side. That suited Joyce, for to be at Major Donovan’s side in a battle is to be in the center of activity and in the post of danger. To be in a battle, a battle for a cause that had his full devotion, with the regiment he loved, under a leader he admired, that was living at the top of his being. On the morning of the 30th Major Donovan went forward through the woods to look over the position. Kilmer followed, unbidden. He lay at the north edge of the woods looking out towards the enemy. The Major went ahead, but Kilmer did not follow. Donovan returned and found him dead. A bullet had pierced his brain. His body was carried in and buried by the side of Ames. God rest his dear and gallant soul.

At 3:30 that afternoon the 84th Brigade had made progress, though it was slow and difficult going. The artillery was doing good work but all their efforts could not keep down the fire of the German Machine Gunners. The gratifying surprise of the day was when two escadrilles of friendly planes came over. Our companies in the line had not been pushed very hard. They repelled a couple of counter attacks on their position, and the machine gunners were on the alert to fire whenever our artillery work on Bois Bruleé started the Germans running.

Donovan was to move forward when the progress of the 84th Brigade brought them abreast of him. But regiments, brigades, and it was said, divisions, sloped away to the right like steps of stairs, and each was hanging back for the others to come up. So Major Donovan insisted on making a try for Bois Brulé without waiting for any help except what our Brigade would give. Colonel Hough was perfectly willing to back him up. So Lieutenant Connelly with Company D moved out to the attack.

It was the pitiful remnant of a company, one officer and forty-two men instead of the six officers and two hundred and fifty men who formerly swung along like an old time battalion in the parades on the Hempstead Plains. But the few who were left were inured to danger by patrols and raids and battles, and they were ready for anything. The ground in front was rough and hummocky for two hundred yards, and then a double row of trees led up to the Bois Brulé. At the right it sloped off to the brook where it ran past Meurcy Farm. Sergeant Dick O’Neill was to cover the ground in front with fifteen men, including Masterson, Peterson, Bedient, Gugliere, McGee, McAree, Stoddard, Lord, and Edward Moran.

Lieutenant Cook led a smaller number of picked men to work to the right and up the bed of the brook, cooperating with Companies A and B working around the farm. In his command were John Gribbon, his red head an oriflamme of war; Colton Bingham, the fighting nephew of the gentle Bishop of Buffalo, John Curtin, a tall young Irishman who afterwards became regimental standard bearer, Tommy Blake, later Lieutenant Blake, and the steadiest of riflemen, Pat McDonough. Lieutenant Connelly came in the rear of his skirmish line where he could control their movements. With him were his First Sergeants Edward Geaney, Sergeant Hubert Murray, Corporal John F. Moran and others. Tom O’Malley had already been wounded.

Some distance out there was a deep, irregular sand pit. O’Neill, carefully rounding the corner of it, suddenly saw right under his eyes a body of about 25 Germans. He uttered a shout of warning and jumped into the midst of them with his pistol cracking. He had shot down three Germans before they realized what was happening, and produced great confusion amongst them. Some rushed to the other side of the pit while others began firing at O’Neill, who kept firing after he was hit, and when finally carried back to the dressing station had seven bullets in him. The Germans who had run across the sand pit found themselves face to face with Lieutenant Connelly and his little group. What followed was as sudden, as confused in plan, and as resolute in spirit as the action around the log house in Stevenson’s Treasure Island. The Company D men came running from all sides to take part in the fighting. On our side Connelly was hit; also Geaney, Gribbon and McDonough. And James J. Gugliere, Paul McGee, Louis Peterson and Rollie Bedient were killed. This all happened in an instant. The Germans paid a fearful price for it. Those that were left scrambled out of the pit to flee in the direction of their own forces. There they saw the advance elements of O’Neill’s section running back toward them, and they turned toward Bois Colas at a headlong gait. The cry went up that a counter attack was coming. Colonel Hough saw it and telephoned to our headquarters. Anderson heard back in the woods and stormed up from the support with reinforcements. Our machine guns were turned on the advancing Germans; and the advent of a few bedraggled prisoners in dirty field gray uniforms let the rear line see that the counter-attack was a myth. The whole business was over in a few minutes.

But the Germans in Bois Brulé were again at work sweeping the ground with their bullets and it was under fierce fire that John Burke, Joe Lynch, McAuliffe, Bingham and Blake carried in Lieutenant Connelly and the other wounded. Sergeant Murray took command and kept the survivors going forward until they had outposts established in the approaches to Bois Brulé.

Besides those already mentioned, Company D lost, killed in these three days, Corporal Frank Fall, Privates George Johnson, Terance McAree, John McCormick, Michael Romanuk, Harvey J. Venneman, Robert Luff, Frank J. Lackner, Attilio Manfredi, Edward G. Coxe, John Dolan and the senior of the two Michael J. Sheas, who died of his wounds.

July 31st was a day of comparative quiet. The longer the struggle lasted the more it was borne in upon the Lords of High Decision that the ousting of the enemy from their position was a matter for artillery. It was the first time we had the opportunity to observe with reluctant admiration the German development of the use of the machine gun in defensive warfare. To send infantry in under the intense fire of their numerous guns was like feeding paper to a flame. Our artillery, however, was good,—none better in the whole war, we confidently assert, and we waited with assurance for them to reduce the resistance. If our air service were sufficiently developed to give them good photographs of positions, and to register their fire, we felt sure that the Infantry would soon be in a position to make short work of enemy opposition.

That day we had our first experience of another auxiliary arm. The day before there landed at the regimental P. C. a section of our 30th Engineers, our Gas and Flame regiment. With them there was an Australian officer with a name that would qualify him for the 69th, and a young lieutenant who, we discovered after he was killed, was a son of the famous baseball manager, Ned Hanlan of Baltimore. They came out with their men on the 31st and threw over thermite and smoke bombs on Bois Brulé and Meurcy Farm. Under their protection Company D occupied the woods.

Company A, under Lieutenant Stone, finally took possession of the Farm. The first attempt failed. A patrol led by Corporal Sidney Clark started up but four men were hit in the first three minutes, Michaels dying of his wounds. Another attempt was made in the evening and the farm was occupied by a patrol under Corporals John Dennelly and Van Arsdale.

It was evident that the enemy’s resistance was weakening and that it would be a matter of a very short period before he would retreat to his next line of defence. On August 1st the 3rd Battalion relieved the 1st in line. Company M had had serious losses after being drawn out from the line on July 28th, as the battalion had been bombed in its reserve position at the sunken road, and the Company had suffered other losses in a ration detail which was caught out under a heavy fire. Of its officers, Lieutenant Hunt Warner was badly wounded; Lieutenant Collier was wounded but stuck to his post. Edward Brennan, Hugh Kaiser, Alfred Schneider and Johnnie Madden were killed and Sergeant Nicholson wounded. Captain Meaney and Lieutenants McIntyre and Bunnell escaped uninjured. Lieutenant McIntyre was blown into the Ourcq by the concussion of a shell, but he stuck to his task till he finished it.

Company K also suffered further disaster while in reserve, and Sergeants Peter Crotty and Bernard McElroy, who had done prodigious deeds in action, received mortal wounds; and also William Bergen, who did more work as a stretcher bearer than any other man I have ever seen in a battle. Louis Gilbert and Everett Seymour of Company L were killed in the same bombardment and Sam Klosenberg fatally wounded.

In fact, the town of Villers sur Fere was throughout the action a part of the battlefield. Its church square at the northern end was not more than a thousand yards from the place of actual conflict. The front line forces were at times too near each other to allow artillery fire from either side, as each side had to avoid the danger of shelling its own infantry—an event which is always most disastrous to the morale of troops. But the approaches to Villers sur Fere lay under the eyes of the enemy, and they could see a constant stream of liaison men, litter bearers, hobbling wounded, and food and ammunition carriers going in by the entrance to its one street. They knew it to be the center of our web so they very wisely concentrated most of their fire upon it and especially on the square which opened out after the short narrow northern entrance of Dead Man’s Curve. Even before dawn they had been raking its streets as a natural mode of approach of an oncoming enemy, killing and wounding a large number of men. Indeed nearly one-third of those who lost their lives in this action received their death wounds from shell fire in and around Villers sur Fere.

Early in the morning of July 28th, Lieutenant Joseph J. Kilcourse, Medical Officer attached to the Third Battalion, had opened his aid post in the schoolhouse facing on the square, and the development of the battle soon made it the regimental dressing station. The schoolhouse quickly filled up with wounded. A constant stream of limping men, of men with bandages around their heads or with arms carried in rough slings, of men borne on rude litters, were coming into town along the narrow entrance. No ambulances had gotten through and there were no directions as to where a triage could be found. The courtyard in front of the hospital was filled with “walking cases,” discussing the battle with that cheerfulness which is always characteristic of soldiers who are not fatally wounded. A menacing whiz came through the air and a shell fell amongst them, followed by two others, one of which struck the wall and spattered the litter cases with plaster and broken bricks. The survivors in the yard scattered in all directions but nine of them lay quivering or motionless. Lieutenant Kilcourse ran out sobbing and swearing and working like mad to save his patients from further harm. Those who could walk were started down the road towards the Château de Foret in the hope of being picked up by an ambulance or truck. Inside the hospital nobody was seriously hurt, but the men of the Sanitary Detachment labored energetically to get them into places of comparative safety. These were Sergeant 1st Class William Helgers, James Mason, James McCormack, Ferraro, Planeta, Larsen and Daly.

Before long, Lieutenants Lyttle, Martin, Mitchell and Lawrence had arrived, and the wounded received all the attention they could be given with the facilities at hand. But the worst cases lay there till the next morning before they could be evacuated. They bore their sufferings with cheerful fortitude, their thoughts being for others. Father Hanley was sore because he had been put out so soon. Sergeant John Donahue’s thoughts were with his beloved Company L; Tommy Delaney, an innocent lovable boy, talked of his mother and what a good son to her he had planned to be if he had lived, and Tom Mansfield, with his leg shattered, was full of Irish pride that he had been given a chance to be in a big battle with the “Ould Rigiment.”

Headquarters Company was located in town in the shattered houses and stables but most of its sections had to take a frequent part in field operations. The signal section, under Lieutenant James Mangan, labored at great risk in putting down the wires for connection with the front line on the night of July 28th. Sergeant Beall, Corporal Brochen and Privates J. McCabe, Kirwin and Olson kept the lines intact, while the remainder of the platoon did great service as ammunition bearers. The intelligence section under Captain Elmer had an observation post 100 yards northwest of Villers sur Fere which did excellent work in reporting machine gun nests and the direction of fire of enemy artillery. Dick Larned acted as Chief of Scouts with the Third Battalion and Joyce Kilmer and Levinson with the First Battalion. In the headquarters section little Corporal Malone was on the job day and night with his runners. Edward Mulligan of this section was killed.

Coming to what we might call the Infantry Artillery, the Stokes mortar platoon rendered excellent service throughout the battle. Two sections of this platoon under Sergeants Jaeger and Fitzsimmons took up the advance with the Infantry on July 27th. Early Sunday morning, July 28th, an infantry patrol drew fire from enemy machine guns located on the banks of the Ourcq river. Major McKenna called for one trench mortar, and a gun crew in charge of Sergeant Fitzsimmons and Corporal Harvey reported and shelled the enemy position in front of the Ourcq. At three in the morning Colonel McCoy ordered a barrage to be fired by the four guns on a machine gun nest. This was done and then the men waited for the advance of the Infantry at 4:30. When the first wave started to cross the Ourcq a barrage was laid down until the troops had crossed the river and were ascending the height beyond it. The men then followed the advance as far as the river when they were ordered back to their position of reserve in the village. It was during this advance that John Perry, a fine youth, received the wound which later caused his death.

On July 29th, one section under Lieutenant Frank McNamara and Sergeant Cudmore, entered the lines to support the first battalion. This section fired an effective barrage when the enemy attempted a counter-attack. During this action Private Malcolm Robertson was killed by an enemy shell and Sergeant Cudmore and F. Garvey were wounded. On August 1st at two in the afternoon one gun was set up in front of the woods facing Meurcy Farm. Despite the fact that enemy aeroplanes constantly harassed them, machine gun nests in and about Meurcy Farm were shelled with good results. After two hours work the men were driven to cover by enemy machine guns, Corporal Clark and Private Casey receiving severe wounds. The platoon was relieved on August 2nd and lent their aid to the burying of the dead.

The 37 mm. guns, commonly known as the one-pounders did excellent work, the small platoon paying a heavy price in losses. On July 28th, three members of the crew were killed with one shell in the village square as they were advancing with their gun—Cornelius Grauer, Joseph Becker, Frank Guida—Grauer, a youngster of seventeen, being a particular favorite with everybody that knew him. On July 30th the platoon took part in the attack on Meurcy Farm. During the operations the crew were caught in a box barrage by the enemy artillery and serious wounds were sustained by Sergeant Willemin, who was in command, and Privates Monohan, B. J. McLaughlin, John Seifried and John Kelly. Although the crew was almost entirely wiped out, the gun was kept in action by Corporal Charlie Lester and Private Berry. Another gun crew under command of Lieutenant Joseph O’Donohue was kept going all morning and did great execution. Of this crew John C. McLaughlin was killed while firing his gun.

The members of the Company whose duties detained them in the village worked for the interest of the whole regiment in positions almost equally exposed with those in the front line. Captain Walsh, a soldier of many campaigns, knew what the men in line needed was not encouragement (he took it for granted that every man had courage) nor sympathy (his own feeling was one of envy of them), but ammunition and food. His own company kitchen worked night and day to feed everybody who came into town on any business. Mess Sergeant Louis Goldstein and Cooks John Wilker and Leo Maher, moved by his example, set up their kitchen under an arch just off the square and fed 800 men a day while the engagement lasted.

That square was an interesting sight throughout the battle. Men drifted in, singly or in twos or in parties, fresh from scenes of death. Liaison men, ammunition details, litter bearers carrying stretchers dripping blood. They were fresh from the field where bullets were flying. They had been forced to drop on their faces as they crossed the valley under fire. They had scurried around Dead Man’s Curve and they were still only about 1,000 yards from the fighting, with shells still screaming in the air above their heads and enemy planes forcing them to scuttle out of sight, but they were not breathless or anxious or excited. They borrowed the “makings,” or got a cup of coffee from John Wilker and stole a few minutes to gossip about the fight or to relate something that struck them as interesting. A year ago if one lone maniac had been lying in Central Park taking pot shots at passers-by going along Fifth Avenue they would have run down a side street calling for the Police, would have gotten home excited and out of breath, and would have stood outside of the church the next Sunday after ten o’clock Mass to tell all their friends what an adventure they had had.

It was magnificent, but it was not war. Especially with the aeroplanes overhead. Those German aeroplanes—they circled over our troops in line, over our men in the rear. Colonel McCoy sent word to inquire about the aeroplanes that were promised us. General Lenihan wanted to know. General Menoher sent orders; entreated. But the only ones we could see had the black Maltese cross—the same old story.

There was but one thing to do if we would prevent a recurrence of the catastrophe which had already occurred at the hospital in that same square. And that was to prevent the men from gathering there. The kitchen was moved to a less exposed spot. This was done to draw the men away from the square and not from any sense of timidity on the part of its operatives. On the contrary they had made a bold attempt to get that kitchen up to the front line. On the night of July 29th the bold Jim Collintine had hitched his trusty mules to the beloved goulash wagon and driven it right up to the Ourcq. When they found they could not cross, the Mess Sergeant and cooks unloaded its contents for the men in line. Mooney of Company A tried the same thing, and, when the river stopped him, sent the food up on litters.

One of the officers whose duties kept him near the hospital appointed himself as Police Officer in addition to his other duties, to keep the men under cover. On the second day of the fight he saw a tousled looking soldier without hat or rifle coming from a barn.

“What outfit do you belong to?”

“I belong to the 165th Infantry, sir.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came in last night with an ammunition detail and we got scattered under shell fire and I crawled into the barn.”

“Yes, you slept there all night and let the other fellows do your work. You must be a new man. But I see you have a service stripe.”

“Well, I am new in the regiment and I don’t belong in this game. I was in the S. O. S. and they sent me up here as a replacement after I got into the hospital.”

“Where is your rifle.”

“I lost it and it ain’t no good to me anyway cause I don’t know anything about it, and I can’t see good anyway.”

The situation was too much for the officer and, like everyone else in emergency, his mind turned to Captain Walsh.

“Go down that road about forty yards and you will see a farm yard with soldiers in it and ask for Captain Walsh. Tell him I sent you and tell him the story you gave me.”

The hatless soldier obeyed very willingly because the street led towards the rear. An hour later Captain Mike breezed into the square and came over to the officer with the demand,

“Who was that bird you sent me?”

“What did you do with him, Mike?”

“What did I do with him. I salvaged him a nice new rifle, strapped two bandoliers around him, led him gently out into the street, faced him north and said, ‘Keep right on going in that direction until you see a Dutchman and when you see him shoot him for me.’ And I gave him a good start with my boot and by the way he made his getaway I’ll bet he’s going yet.”

The Commander of our Sanitary Detachment was Captain Wm. B. Hudson, who had been assigned to us from the 117th Sanitary Train when Major Lawrence was called to Division Headquarters. On July 28th, Captain Hudson had taken his post at the Chateau de Foret, General Lenihan’s Headquarters, most of which the General had given over for the accommodation of the wounded who had managed to get back that far. Here, too, the wounded men met with fresh disaster. A German aeroplane dropped bombs in the courtyard and killed seven men, including Sergeant Brogan of Company B, one of the best men we had.

On the next day Captain Hudson started to look for a better place for the wounded in Villers sur Fere, accompanied by the ever-faithful Jewett, the “Y” athletic instructor. He was standing in the door of the place he had selected when an enemy gas shell came over and a fragment of it hit him full in the chest, killing him instantly.

We buried him sadly by the cemetery wall where already too many of our men were lying in their last long sleep.

In the town also we buried many who were killed by shell fire as they advanced to go into action during the night of the 27th-28th. In this our Machine gunners were the greatest sufferers; almost a whole platoon was wiped out. A shell landed in the midst of them, creating havoc. The uninjured rushed boldly to succor their comrades, when another shell and still another, fell in the same spot, scattering death afresh. Sergeant Phil Brooks here gave up his life and Ray Nulty, J. R. Keller, H. Van Diezelski, Frank Carlin, G. Foster and C. G. Sahlquist.

Accompanying Lieutenant Connelly on his mission of the morning of the 28th was the Second Platoon of our Machine Gun Company under Lieutenant Carter, who was wounded during the action.[4] The Platoon was kept together by Sergeants Bruhn and Kerrigan, and Doherty, and afterwards went through the whole battle with our First Battalion.

While the first battalion was lying under the hill during the afternoon of the 28th they were very much harassed by enemy planes which came across flying low and shooting from their machine guns at the men on the hill and under the bank. Here Harry Martenson was killed and Hugh Heaney badly wounded and carried back by Sergeant Devine. Sergeant Frank Gardella thought it was time to try reprisals, so he set up his machine gun as an anti-aircraft weapon and began blazing away at fourteen planes which were above his head and flying low. He got a line on two planes which were flying one above the other, and by a lucky shot hit the pilot of the upper plane which crashed into the lower one and both came tumbling to earth not far from the river, their crews being killed.

When Company C was advancing towards Bois Colas they met opposition from enemy light machine guns some of which were operating from the tree tops. Lieutenant Bell’s platoon, Sergeants Stephens and Gardella, Corporals J. McBride, Paul Fay and Williams were given the task of dislodging them. They carried up their heavy guns on their backs, and without taking time to set them up, they made use of them as if they were automatic rifles, with great effect, killing or capturing the enemy.

From the time that Company C took possession of Bois Colas the Machine Gunners kept their pieces busy from their positions on the north edge of the woods, keeping down German fire from Seringes and around Meurcy Farm. Of their twelve guns, five were put out of action. In the later encounters Lieutenants Davis and Bell were wounded and Jack O’Leary, a famous fighting man, received a wound which afterwards caused his death.

In the front line, on August 1st, there was a comparative lull in the activity. Our artillery was still going strong, but the Germans held command of the air and used it to the full. They flew down to the rear of us and hovered over the tree-tops of the woods where our artillery was emplaced, dropping bombs on them and shooting at them from levels so low that the artillery men answered with fire from their pistols.

It was the sudden leap of the cat at the dog’s nose before she turns to flee. At four A. M., August 2nd, our patrols reported no resistance. Word was sent to the Ohios, but they found the enemy still in their path. However, under orders from General Menoher, the whole Division started forward and found that the main body of the enemy had gone. Our Infantry hastened on through the Foret de Nesles, keeping in touch with neighboring regiments left and right. Finally they encountered resistance near Moreuil en Dole, north of the forest. The 4th Division was coming up to relieve us but Colonel MacArthur wanted a last effort made by his Division. He called on one regiment, then on another, for a further advance. Their commanders said truthfully that the men were utterly fatigued and unable to go forward another step. “It’s up to you, McCoy,” said the Chief of Staff. Our Colonel called Captain Martin Meaney, now in command of what was left of the third battalion. “Captain Meaney, a battalion is wanted to go ahead and gain contact with the enemy; you may report on the condition of your men.” “My men are few and they are tired, sir, but they are willing to go anywhere they are ordered, and they will consider an order to advance as a compliment,” was the manly response. As the brave and gallant few swung jauntily to their position at the head of the Division, Colonel MacArthur ejaculated, “By God, McCoy, it takes the Irish when you want a hard thing done.” The battalion located the enemy and took up the fight with them, but already the 4th Division was coming up and the orders for relief were issued.

In that bloody week the Rainbow Division had met the 4th Prussian Guard Division, commanded by the Kaiser’s son, Prince Eitel Friedrich, the 201st German and 10th Landwehr and the 6th Bavarian Division, had driven them back 18 kilometers to the last ridge south of the Vesle at a cost in killed and wounded of 184 officers and 5,459 men.

Back came our decimated battalions along the way they had already traveled. They marched in wearied silence until they came to the slopes around Meurcy Farm. Then from end to end of the line came the sound of dry, suppressed sobs. They were marching among the bodies of their unburied dead. In the stress of battle there had been but little time to think of them—all minds had been turned on victory. But the men who lay there were dearer to them than kindred, dearer than life; and these strong warriors paid their bashful involuntary tribute to the ties of love and long regret that bind brave men to the memory of their departed comrades.