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.