I know Kilmer well. He has evidently made up his mind to play the game without flinching, without any admixture of fear. On our last day in Lunéville, when the town was being shelled, I called to him to stand in a doorway where there was a little less danger and he answered with a story about Tom Lacey and a French Major, the moral of which was that a soldier is expendable and officers not; and the outcome of which was that I went forth and walloped him till he came in, though still chuckling. He has been for some time out on an observation post in a beautiful spot which overlooks the German lines, with Watson, Kerrigan, Beck, Mott, Levinson, Titterton—all great admirers of his. Whenever he gets a day off he is in to see me and we break all the rules chatting till midnight and beyond. Books and fighting and anecdotes and good fellows and things to eat and religion; all the good old natural human interests are common to us, with a flavor of literature, of what human-minded people have said in the past to give them breadth and bottom.
Kilmer or I, or both of us, may see an end to life in this war, but neither of us will be able to say that life has not been good to us.
DENEUVRE
May 17th, 1918
Just over to the Regimental Supply Office to see Mangan. I am always looking for reasons to spend a while with Captain Jack. He has a great outfit. I watched his trained youngsters, Lacey, Kennedy, Burke, Nulty and the two delightful Drennan boys at their business of taking care of the Regiment, which they have learned to do so efficiently. I wonder if they will find in civil life jobs to suit the talents they display here. The Regimental Supply Sergeants, Joe Flannery and Eddie Scanlon, could run anything. First Sergeant Comiskey is back with us, and so is Harry Mallon, mule-skinner and funmaker. Everybody was glad to see Harry once more. Walter Lloyd’s gentle voice booming from a nearby stable let me know that the Company kitchen was near, so I wandered in that direction for a cup of coffee from Healy and McAviney—always the height of hospitality for everybody there. Stopped a row between Frankie Meade and Carburetor Donnelly—Frankie is the proud guardian of the Regimental ratter and the other boy-soldier passed a remark about it that no man would let be said about his dog. I held up Charlie Feick for a canteen, and before I left Henry and Klauberg and Beverly had dug me up an O. D. suit, underwear, socks, shoe-laces and a web belt. Had a good day.
BACCARAT
May 21st, 1918
The new regulations provide for a senior chaplain in each Division. I felt that General Menoher would appoint me for the job as I am senior in service, and I had a notion that my friend Colonel MacArthur would suggest my name. It has been a worry to me as I do not intend to leave the regiment for anything else on earth and I am afraid I may have to go through the war hanging around Division Headquarters. So I asked Colonel McCoy if he would back me in my refusal to accept the office if I had to quit the regiment, to which I received a hearty affirmative.
I received news of the outcome from McCoy a few days later. Colonel MacArthur had told him I was to be senior chaplain, but he was in entire accord with my wish to remain with a fighting unit. Our Chief of Staff chafes at his own task of directing instead of fighting, and he has pushed himself into raids and forays in which, some older heads think, he had no business to be. His admirers say that his personal boldness has a very valuable result in helping to give confidence to the men. Colonel McCoy and Major Donovan are strong on this point. Donovan says it would be a blamed good thing for the army if some General got himself shot in the front line. General Menoher and General Lenihan approve in secret of these madnesses; but all five of them are wild Celts, whose opinion no sane man like myself would uphold.
At any rate, Colonel McCoy was so satisfied with the result of the outcome in my case that he went further and said, “Now, if my chaplain is to be senior chaplain of the Division it is not right that he should remain a First Lieutenant. He ought to be a Major at least.” McCoy told me with twinkling eyes, “MacArthur said, ‘Now, McCoy, if I were you I would not bring up the question of the rank of Father Duffy, for I had serious thoughts of making him Colonel of the 165th instead of you.’ You are a dangerous man, Father Duffy,” continued the genial McCoy, “and I warn you, you won’t last long around here.”