Father Duffy's story

by Francis Patrick Duffy

Supply Company lost Giuseppe Mastromarino.

Nobody wants to talk very much about the recent battle. It was a nightmare that one does not care to recall. Individual acts do not stand out in actions of this kind. It is a case of everybody going ahead and taking the punishment. Everybody who stood up under it and kept carrying on deserves the laurel crown. Some men, however, stand out in more striking way than their companions, either through natural coolness and willingness to take added risks or by their acceptance of a position of command that the chances of battle offered them. Prominent amongst these is Sergeant Michael Fitzpatrick of Company L, whose brother Cornelius was killed at the Ourcq, and who took charge of a platoon and kept it going with great spirit after First Sergeant Wittlinger was wounded. The veteran First Sergeant of Company K, Tim Sullivan, was also wounded in this fight, and another of the Sullivans, John L., was killed. Company K also lost a fine character in Sergeant Gavaghan, a stalwart, heroic, innocent-minded young Irishman.

When Colonel Donovan called for the Stokes Mortars to repel the threatened counter-attack on the morning of the 15th, the pieces were set up under the slight protection of the sloping ground, but from this point the gunners could not observe the accuracy of their own fire. So Sergeant Fitzsimmons ran forward to the top of the slope, making himself an easy cockshot for the German gunners while he signalled to his own men his corrections on their aim. He escaped himself by a miracle and had the satisfaction of seeing the shells dropping right amongst the Germans who were gathering for the attack, and doing dreadful execution.

The battalion runners received great praise from everybody, as they had to take untold risks in moving from place to place without shelter. Ammunition carriers also had a dangerous task, those from Company H suffering severe losses. Amongst those killed were Corporal Clifford Wiltshire, a nice quiet boy who was married to Sergeant Winthrop’s sister; and Clinton Bushey, who once before was reported dead when out on the digging detail during the bombardment of July 15th. The sergeants we lost were all good men. Hussey was a clean-cut young athlete; Duff and Stenson of Company A were both very dependable men, as were also Sidney Clark, who did great work at the Ourcq, and Bernard McOwen, who had the Croix de Guerre. Donnelly and Mahoney of B had worked their way up from being privates by character and merit; and Tom Winters was also a good man. Eddie Kearin of C was one of the best liked youths in the regiment and James Farnan, a solid Irishman; Dougherty, Colgan, Bechtold and John Naughton of E have figured before and in these annals; also Fred Gluck, heroic litter-bearer. Company I was hard hit in the loss of Patrick Collins and William Harrison. Charlie Stone’s mother was the last person I shook hands with before our train left Camp Mills for the transport. Robert Cousens was killed while looking after his brother who had been wounded. Sergeant Peter Cooney of M Company was out with the regiment in ’98 and the three corporals, Elson, Brennan, and Crunden, were fine types of soldiers. Harry Dearing, John Claire, John McKay and the others from the Machine Gun Company will be sorely missed by their fellows.

With Colonel Donovan on the slope on October 15th were Sergeants of Headquarters Company and the Machine Gun Company. The Colonel told me later that the shell which blew Sergeant Sheahan heavenward took the legs off another Irish soldier who was with him. This I knew was Patrick Connors. Another Irishman jumped from a neighboring shell-hole, picked up the wounded man and kissed him, saying: “Me poor fellow, me poor fellow.” He put tourniquets on the stumps and then, unaided, started down the dangerous slope carrying him to the rear. Gillespie and Doherty tell me that this deed was performed by Corporal John Patrick Furey of Company H, who was in charge of the ammunition carriers for the machine guns. Furey had been wounded already himself, and the sergeants wanted him to go to the rear, but he refused, as so much depended on keeping our machine guns fed. When he was carrying Connors back they shouted to him to get in an ambulance when he got there; but later in the morning Furey reappeared alongside them after his two-mile journey in each direction; and this in spite of the fact that the strain of carrying his burden had reopened another wound that he got at the Ourcq. It was an exhibition of tender-heartedness and sheer courage that honors humanity.

Liaison men have to take untold risks in action of this kind. Of Major Kelly’s group in the sunken road nearly all were killed or wounded. Young Eddie Kelly (killed), Cody (killed), White (a hero in every battle), Liebowitz (wounded), and Matty Rice (often mentioned in these annals) worked their way from Kelly to Bootz or from Kelly to Donovan. When they were gone Corporal Thomas O’Kelly offered to deliver messages, but the Major wished to keep him by his side as a valuable man in combat. “Send me, Major,” insisted Tom, “I’ll carry it through, and if I don’t come back, you’ll know I’m dead.” He got it through alright, though wounded. He wanted to go back with a message, but Colonel Donovan ordered him to go back to the Dressing-Station. Every last man amongst these men deserves a citation for bravery.

In this battle one of the tasks which required the greatest courage was that of getting back the wounded when the retirement from the wire of the first battalion was ordered. Their rescuers had to abandon their pits and advance in full view of the enemy in their work of succor. The men who stood out in accomplishing this dangerous duty were in Company A: First Sergeant Thomas Sweeney and Sergeant John H. Dennelly; In Company C, First Sergeant Thomas P. O’Hagan, Sergeant Joseph Burns and Corporal Archie Reilly. Also Mike Donaldson, of Company I, who volunteered for this service and carried in man after man under heavy fire. Two of the liaison men from A Company, Matthew J. Kane and Martin Gill, as also John Hammond and Fred Craven of Company C, are also highly recommended for the cheerful and efficient manner in which they performed their perilous job.

Company M is very proud of its youngest corporal, little Jimmy Winestock, the mildest looking and most unassuming youth in the regiment. When troops advance under fire, there are always some who get strayed from their command, especially when their platoon leaders have been hit. Jimmy picked up all these stragglers from their companies, formed them into a detachment, issued his commands as if he were a major at least, and led them forward into the thick of action.

Major Lawrence very early in the battle had established his regimental dressing station as near to the front line as an ambulance could possibly go. There was absolutely no protection where he was, and his group which included Chaplain Holmes and the “Y” Athletic Director, Mr. Jewett, were exposed to danger from shells at all times. Father Hanley stuck as usual to his beloved Third Battalion and was out further living in a hole in the side of a hill, with Doctors Kilcourse, Martin, Mitchell, Cowett and our dental officers Bamford and Landrigan, who always rendered good work in battle.

When they were carrying Donovan in I met him at Lawrence’s station. He looked up from the stretcher and said to me smilingly, “Father, you’re a disappointed man. You expected to have the pleasure of burying me over here.” “I certainly did, Bill, and you are a lucky dog to get off with nothing more than you’ve got.” He was in great pain after his five hours lying with that leg in the shell-hole, but it had not affected his high spirits and good humor. He was still of opinion that the regiment could get through the wire, with proper artillery preparation and co-ordination of infantry forces.