On Saturday night, November ninth, I had repaired to my dugout near Bouillonville, planning to say two Masses at distant points the following morning. I retired early to snatch a little rest.
At midnight, Lieutenant D'Orleans rushed into the dugout and roused me, hoarsely whispering,—"Chaplain, a big movement is on!"
Rolling from my blanket I hurried outside. The night was intensely dark; but there, in the valley before me, I could make out a long column of troops.
For some days there had been growing signs and vague hints of a big attack impending. Was this its beginning?
Reporting at once to the head of the column, I found Colonel Lewis and Major Black. The troops were the 2nd Battalion of the 64th Infantry. The Colonel, a trimly built little man, and every inch a fighter, was eating a bar of chocolate. "Here, Chaplain, have a bar of chocolate; I have an extra one. By the way we are going to attack at dawn."
St. Joan of Arc.
The personification of coolness, how proud I was of him! He was ready; he knew his troops were ready; he was about to lead them to the heights of grim Rembercourt, one of the most prized and fought for positions along our front!
These brave boys of the Second Battalion, going, many of them, to their death, needed us. Good Chaplain LeMay of the Battalion would need assistance; moreover the 55th Infantry would be in that attack, and they, at that time, had no Catholic Chaplain. Many needed Sacramental Confession; all needed God's blessing. At once, I decided to cancel the two Masses I had planned, and accompany them.
In column of squads the troops moved down the valley. As we were but eight hundred marching against a strongly held hill, every approach to which fairly bristled with machine gun nests, success depended primarily on the element of surprise. We were prepared to pay something for that hill, but if we could rush it, the cost would be minimum.