The Brighton Boys in the Argonne Forest

by James R. Driscoll

On came the men in gray-green, probably a full regiment of infantry, including a dozen machine-gun squads. They marched well, these sons of the Fatherland, and they were mostly young and vigorous-looking men, presenting not the slightest suggestion of weariness, nor of being underfed. But there was not a word spoken among them; the entire number was as obedient to evident orders as though possessing but one brain and as the soldiers filed along the valley and around the little hill, past and not fifty yards away from the position of the hidden Americans, they reminded Herbert of so many automatons. Thus they entered the ranks, were taught and trained, and thus they fought, a wonderfully coördinated whole, but without individual incentive. The boy understood, as never before, how it was that the German army was at once so remarkably pliable and effective in strategic movement and yet he had seen that in battle the Huns were readily disconcerted when confronted with conditions foreign to their teaching and understanding.

Tramp, tramp, tramp. The boys were indeed marching, but they were not the sort of boys, nor did they have the end in view that made them, as in the old song, pleasant to contemplate by those twelve Americans up among the rocks within hailing distance, but as yet unsuspected by the Huns.

That muffled jarring of the earth from many tramping men would haunt Don Richards’ memory as long as he lived. But perhaps he would need to remember it but a very short time, for how could the little band fail being discovered, and Herbert had declared they would die fighting. So be it; Don for one would stick by his friend.

There was a sharp command given to the marching men below. Instantly the nearest footfalls ceased, though beyond the little hill they were heard to go on and on, the sound growing fainter; then ceasing. More commands given to those near by and a general confusion of breaking ranks ensued; the unslinging of equipment followed.

Herbert, his eye against the slit between two boulders, felt a momentary sinking at the heart when he realized that this company, at the rear of the column, was separating from the others of its unit and was stopping here, perhaps for breakfast, or to rest; probably it had been night marching.

For how long could the Yank squad remain undiscovered? And remaining so, would it not be a veritable torture within this narrow defile, hardly able to change position? Well, for grit and determination, in any event Whitcomb knew he could rely on the squad; there were none better nor more loyal; no better shots in the whole Army.

The German company prepared camp at length. The men ate breakfast with the methodical exactness that characterizes all the Huns’ doings, though they were four times as long at it as the Americans would have been. Each man carried his allotment of food and utensils; each with a regularity that showed long practice got out his duffel and fell to the task. They sat in little groups and the mumbled words from the few who conversed came to the squad up in the rocks like a dull murmur. Herbert noted that the officers, four in number, kept to one side, standing, and talking very earnestly, one of them gesticulating toward the south. Evidently something was on foot that meant a still more determined resistance to the Americans and this was the company in reserve of the regiment that was intending to hold the woods at this point.

The young officer knew that his men must become impatient to see what was going on, so he relinquished his place to Don for a peep; then beckoned the corporal. Farther along the rocky basin some of the men were at another peep-hole they had found and one fellow was trying to lift his eyes just above the level rocks, but Herbert sternly motioned him down; then crawled over and explained again the inevitable result of being discovered. This admonition he imparted to each of the others also and the agreement again was to try to hold the place in any event.

Hours wore on. The sky became entirely overcast, the air damp with a suggestion of rain. From time to time it would get brighter and the sun would appear for a few minutes. Perfect quiet was maintained in the rock basin, though after a time Herbert called Don’s attention to a silent game of cards going on at the other end of their stronghold. That indicated the American spirit: next door to death or imprisonment at the hands of the Hun, yet getting what fun and cheerfulness they could.

Noontime came. Herbert set the example of not eating. It went harder with some of the fellows that they could not smoke, for the white fumes might be seen below.