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.