Many of these promotions came after Donovan’s accession to the command and through his energetic efforts. He also made use of every possible means through official and private channels, to get back every officer and man of the Old Regiment that was able to come. First and foremost amongst these was Lieutenant Colonel Timothy J. Moynahan, who left us in Baccarat as a Major and had won his Lieutenant Colonelcy as well as a D. S. C. and a Croix de Guerre with the 37th Division. Jack Mangan, now Major Mangan, came back from 2nd Army Headquarters. We had an abundance of majors though we had lost one of them—Major Tom Reilley, who had been sent home much against his will for a promotion which he never received, just after the fighting was over.
We also got back a lot of happy lieutenants who had gone to officers Candidate Schools, and had been commissioned in other Divisions, the happiest of the lot, I think, being Leo Larney, a fine athlete and a fine man. We had often recommended men for promotion in the regiment but had been successful in very few cases. Sergeant Thomas McCarthy was commissioned after the Ourcq; and later on Sergeants Patrick Neary and John J. Larkin were sent back to us from school as sergeants because the war started too soon after they left Ireland. When facilities for becoming citizens were extended to men in their case, they received their commissions in the regiment, and both did remarkable work in the Argonne. Sergeant Frank Johnston of Company E was for a long time an officer without knowing it, as his commission had been sent to his home address.
Colonel Donovan also inaugurated a series of little entertainments and dinners, inviting the leading officers of other regiments in the Division to partake of our Metropolitan Hibernian hospitality. Everybody in the Division likes Donovan, and they were as much delighted as we when he finally got command of the Regiment that he had so often led in action. One of our greatest friends is Colonel John Johnson of the Engineers, a manly forthright two-fisted South Carolinian; we delight also in verbal encounter with Colonel Henry Reilly of the 149 Field Artillery, a man of wide experience, unlimited mental resources, and agile wit. The other three infantry colonels Hough, Screws and Tinley have been with the Division from the beginning and our interchange of visits with them will be always one of the pleasantest recollections of the campaign.
We celebrated St. Patrick’s Day on the Rhine in the best approved manner with religion, games and feasting. My altar was set up in a field beside the river. The theme for my discourse was the debt that the world owes to the sons of Saint Patrick for their fight for civil and religious liberty at home and abroad, with the prayer that that debt might now be squared by the bestowal of liberty on the Island from whence we sprung.
The day before Saint Patrick’s Day the whole Division was reviewed by the Commander-in-Chief, General Pershing, at Remagen. It was a note-worthy military ceremony in an appropriate setting, by the banks of that river of historic associations. When he came to our regiment the eyes of General Pershing were taken by the silver furls which covered the staff of our flag from the silk of the colors to the lowest tip. In fact, that staff is now in excess of the regulation length, as we had to add an extra foot to it to get on the nine furls that record our battles in this war. “What Regiment is this?” he asked. “The 165th Infantry, Sir.” “What Regiment was it?” “The 69th New York, Sir.” “The 69th New York. I understand now.”
This visit was the final hint that our stay was not to be long. The whole Division got together to organize the Rainbow Division Veterans which we did at an enthusiastic and encouragingly contentious meeting at Neuenahr.
When the orders finally came for our return to America I received them with a joy that was tinged with regret that the associations of the past two years were to be broken up. They had been years full of life and activity, and take them all in all, years of happiness. There never was a moment when I wanted to be any place other than I was. There were times of great tragedy, of seeing people killed and of burying my dearest friends, but all that was part of the tragedy of our generation. It would not have been any less if I were not present, and it was some consolation to be where I could render some little comfort to the men who had to go through them and to the relatives of those who paid the big price.
The sense of congenial companionship more than makes up for the hardships incidental to a campaign. What I am going to miss most is the friendships I have formed. In a very special degree I am going to miss Donovan. Nearly every evening we take our walk together along the river road that parallels the Rhine. It is the very spot which Byron selected for description in Childe Harold. The Rhine turns sharply to the right to make its way through the gorge of the Siebengebirge. “The castled crag of Drachenfels” looks down upon the peaceful cloistered isle of Nonnenwerth, upon pleasant villages and vineyard terraces and beautiful villas which, with the majestic river, make the scene one of the most beautiful in the world.
The companionship makes it all the more attractive. This young Buffalo lawyer who was suddenly called into the business of war, and has made a name for himself throughout the American Expeditionary Forces for outstanding courage and keen military judgment, is a remarkable man. As a boy he reveled in Thomas Francis Meagher’s “Speech on the Sword,” and his dream of life was to command an Irish brigade in the service of the Republic. His dream came true, for the 69th in this war was larger than the Irish Brigade ever was. But it did not come true by mere dreaming. He is always physically fit, always alert, ready to do without food, sleep, rest, in the most matter of fact way, thinking of nothing but the work in hand. He has mind and manners and varied experience of life and resoluteness of purpose. He has kept himself clean and sane and whole for whatever adventure life might bring him, and he has come through this surpassing adventure with honor and fame. I like him for his alert mind and just views and ready wit, for his generous enthusiasms and his whole engaging personality. The richest gain I have gotten out of the war is the friendship of William J. Donovan.
That is the way I talk about him to myself. When we are together we always find something to fight about. One unfailing subject of discussion is which of us is the greater hero. That sounds rather conceited, and all the more so when I say that each of us sticks up strongly for himself. Those infernal youngsters of ours have been telling stories about both of us, most of which, at least those that concern myself, attest the loyalty of my friends better than their veracity. There is only one way to take it—as a joke. If either of us gets a clipping in which his name is mentioned he brandishes it before company under the nose of the other challenging him to produce some proof of being as great a hero. The other day Captain Ryan gave Donovan an editorial about him from a paper in Watertown, N. Y. It was immediately brought to mess, and Donovan thought he had scored a triumph, but I countered with a quotation from a letter which said that my picture, jewelled with electric lights, had a place of honor in the window of a saloon on 14th Street. Donovan surrendered.