The Brighton Boys at St. Mihiel

by James R. Driscoll

IT was breaking daylight, the rain had ceased and the sky was clearing when stretcher-bearers arrived to remove the unfortunate Frenchman from the squalid shed which had been the roof of his dungeon prison.

A steady and terrific pounding of the big guns in the rear had begun. And as though the first shot had been the signal for general activity, the vast area occupied by the American troops became suddenly peopled with thousands of khaki-clad men. They swarmed here, there and everywhere, apparently springing to life and action from nowhere.

The individuals formed into small groups, and these in turn rapidly mingled with and became parts of larger units; and thus uninterruptedly the process continued until, in the briefest conceivable time and with remarkable system and precision, and even before the sun was well above the horizon, an army had been reassembled and was ready to follow the creeping barrage which would be laid down by hidden artillery, as soon as its present firing had mowed away wire entanglements and other obstructions which aerial observers already had reported the Germans as having left behind them as they began another day’s retreat.

The direction of the firing indicated that it was along a line stretching far to the northward, and as time wore on it became apparent that the extreme upper end was swinging eastward in a movement of which the section of line where Company C remained was the pivotal point. Nor was the object of this strategy, and the part to be played in it by those surrounding the pivot, long in doubt.

For four miles almost due east of Company C, the American lines stretched out unbrokenly where they had smashed back the southern leg of the St. Mihiel salient. Not only had this line remained invincible to each successive effort of the Huns in counter attack, but it had slowly but steadily advanced northward, in absolute keeping with the prearranged schedule by which every unit was to go forward.

This line, and the troops around the pivot on which the turn was being made, were to hold firm for a time, and then advance but slowly, if at all, until it had been fully determined whether the enveloping movement being swiftly carried out by the left wing was a success or failure.

If it accomplished its aim, and closed in, or pocketed, the retreating Germans before they could make their escape, then but two courses would remain open to them—suicidal battle, which must mean ultimate annihilation, or surrender.

The big question of the day was whether the already routed Germans could get through the neck of the bottle-shaped line in which their pursuers now were closing in upon them, before even that escape was cut off.

But if that section of the line in which the lads were stationed was not to advance at once, at least no man there was inactive, for there was more than enough to keep everyone busy during every moment of the time that they were waiting for the word that would send them again into the life and death struggle in which the contending armies were engaged.

Red Cross units which had not been able to keep pace with the rapid advance now were coming up and making ready to go forward with the first of the doughboys to carry on the offensive.