A notable exception to this general disposition of these Pioneer Regiments was the 809th—a sturdy set of lads from the Middle and Northwest. They arrived in France in early October, and almost immediately were ordered to the front. Investigation showed that this regiment had been formed about the first of September, sailed the 21st of the same month, and that most of the men knew very little about handling a rifle. The order was revoked and the regiment kept in the rear, most of them being sent to Nantes, where they remained until the following summer. And yet this regiment had a larger percent of professional men and skilled artisans in their ranks than most of the others. Three of the nine who went to the University of London were from this organization. Howard Drew, the world-champion at a hundred yards, Dismukes, Lyons, Malacher and Charleston of baseball fame were a part of it. Lionel Artis, now Y. M. C. A. Secretary at Indianapolis was one of its fine Regimental Sergeant Majors. An officer admitted to the men that he had been requested to recommend some of them for commissions, but preferred to keep them to build up the regiment.
Pioneer Infantrymen
Sergeants Baylis, Coleman and Freeman.
Sergeant Majors Long, Armstead and Clifford.
Sergeants Carr and Johnson.
The experiences of these Pioneer regiments in France, related in their own unique expressions, would make a volume of much historical value, rich in humor and pathos. Each regiment held a certain pride for outstanding qualities peculiar to itself. Very often we found “silence golden” as we sat in the midst of heated discussions relative to the merits of these various “8s,” as they were often called, because the regiments ranged in number from 801 to 816. But we did learn by personal contact that each organization had its own distinctive fineness and fitness, and all who served these men in France will ever count it one of their greatest privileges as welfare workers.
The first of these regiments to reach France was the 808th, which landed at Brest September 7th, 1918. There were many men in this group of superior intellect and character—Maurice Clifford, a teacher of the High School, Washington, D. C., and son of Honorable and Mrs. William H. Clifford, was one of its regimental sergeant majors; Cornelius Dawson, graduate of Lincoln University, had left his theological course at Philadelphia to join the ranks. Warwick Johnson of Virginia Union University fame was one of them, along with hundreds of others of the same type. These men were called to help the 12th Engineers in the construction of a narrow gauge railway at the front. As they worked, shot and shell rained over them. In their dugouts they were tortured by rats and “cooties.” Small wonder that an officer who had observed it all should have remarked: “We cannot understand their make-up, for under hardest conditions they hold themselves together and are able to raise a song.” It seems after all that only black folk can interpret the “Souls of Black Folk.” We went to look for the “808” at Dombasle where they had their headquarters so long after the war ended. But they had entrained, and there was left only the dreary waste and desolation, that swept unbroken over many a mile, to tell us the terrible isolation they had suffered in France.
One of the men of the “813” said: “We endured all the hardships of the front but missed the thing we wanted most—some real whacks at the enemy.” This was no doubt true, for this regiment was really bombarded from one front to the other until it reached St. Remy a few miles from Metz. Then the order came to fight! It was two o’clock in the morning, and at four they were moving forward. For two days they were under constant fire. This regiment held itself with a justifiable pride. Regimental Sergeant Major W. W. Tyler, fine in physique, intellect and manners, was a fit leader and representative of the men under him. Whether in field maneuvers under Sergeant Major Williams of the 24th Infantry, or in the office with men like Jay Dickinson, one was conscious of the high intelligence of the soldiers of the “813th.” We went one Sunday to visit some of this particular regiment. At that time it had been distributed on the various battlefields to assemble the American dead in cemeteries, and we were visiting the companies at Belleau Wood and Fere-en-Tardenois, near Chateau Thierry. At these places the men gathered in the huts to hear a word from the Y secretaries. Each had received the hearty applause that only soldiers know how to give. But there was one young lad in the party, formerly a sergeant in the regiment, who had been released to the Y. M. C. A. for service. It was when he modestly moved forward to say his word that the men made the hut too small for their outburst. There were yells and cries for “Sergeant Burwell! Burwell!” until, putting his hand to his mouth, he yelled back, “Fellows, give me a chance!” He stood before them with a wonderful light on his face, and drove home plain truths about right living; he told them about those secret places of reward for the hard things they were then doing. The men listened to him and cheered, because they knew that he exemplified in his own life the message he gave them.
The day was closing at Fere-en-Tardenois and we went to sit on a log and eat supper out of a borrowed mess kit. It was then two of the fellows said they wanted to tell us something. This is what they told us. “We think you might be able to tell some of the Y men about our condition here, and they could help change it. We find the French villagers here have been told we are an aggregation of diseased men, sent to dig these graves and bury the dead as a punishment!” It had been a glorious day, full of the fun and joy to be found in the midst of our young manhood, and we had realized all the delightful thrills of being A. W. O. L. (absent without official leave). But now the cloud came as it so often did in France. We looked out upon the war shattered landscape about us, and wondered why the spirits of the thousands of French, who had allowed themselves to be mowed down in that very place rather than surrender the principles of right, did not rise up to curse this awful wrong. With tears in our souls, but with brave eyes, we talked to them. We did tell this case, but the soul that should have been strong to vindicate them, proved but a weakling, and the young Y man who made the attempt to help them, was not only thwarted, but crushed for his effort.
Several of the Pioneer regiments touched foreign soil at Liverpool. Some were held there for service as were some labor battalions. But most of them crossed England to Southampton and landed at La Havre. This was the route of the 802nd, who came largely from West Virginia, Ohio and Pennsylvania. Making long and exhausting hikes, this regiment also reached the First Army where it talked little and worked hard. Says one of the men: “Our regiment was divided about October 1st into three sections. The first battalion was given the task of helping the engineers build a standard gauge railway from Aubreville to a point north, half-way to Varennes—a distance of ten kilometers. The second battalion was to connect up with the first battalion at this point—thence northward five kilometers beyond Varennes. The third battalion was given the task of furnishing rock from the stone quarries for the repair of the highway. All this work was highly essential in order to keep the firing line supplied with ammunition, rations, etc. The conditions in the sector were at all times most trying. The men were subjected to bombardment from enemy long range guns and aerial attacks almost daily. But the railroad was completed in a short time, and supplies were speeding up to the front for the final drive.”
November 18th, seven days after the Armistice was signed, the entire 802nd Pioneer Regiment was highly commended in general orders by the Chief Engineer of the First American Army in which he declared their services indispensable to the final drive. We must look behind this record to the quiet, dignified, but wonderfully alert enlisted men who made it. The ranking Regimental Sergeant Major, J. Emmet Armistead, was not only an experienced army man of spotless record, cultured by hard study and Old World travel, but a high type of Christian soldier. Although still young, he carries the marks of Philippine fighting and is an expert swimmer, horseman, marksman and athlete. But one learned this only after many conversations and gentle probings. This spirit of modesty went down through the regiment. We think of Sergeant Toney of Ohio University, Sergeant Kenneth Pack of Virginia Union University, and many others who made us conscious of the fineness of the regiment.