During the day the sun shone at intervals, and we scraped out cubbies in the side of the trench, and tried to get a little dry. Barney O’Rourke, who had been missing since the night before, showed up under guard, somewhat the worse for wear. He had wandered off to Hermaville, met an Irish Tommy, found a hospitable estaminet, and subsequently had severely rebuked an officer from Rgt’l. Hdqrs. who undertook to reprove him. Regt’l Hdq. was all for having Barney shot at sunrise or something, and of course I got a call. At the courtmartial, though, we got him off with a month’s hard labor and a $10.00 blind, which was really quite all that happy-go-lucky, golden-hearted son of Erin deserved. He never did the month at that, or rather we all did. But he dug me a company headquarters when he came back, and it would have been fine only someone walked through the roof.
We were relieved that night by “E” Co., 24 hours before we expected. We marched back to the clearing in the woods, had supper at the rolling kitchen, pitched pup tents and had a comparatively dry night’s sleep. Jerry came over and tried to drop an ash can on the kitchen, but didn’t succeed.
They let us sleep late next morning, and we started for our billet at 10:00 A. M., leaving the 2d bn. to the joys of make-believe trench life.
Right here I want to say a word about our experience with court-martials. There has been much criticism of military justice as administered in the A. E. F., but the 78th Division was fortunate in having as Judge Advocate a most capable, honest, experienced, broad minded man, Major George G. Bogert, formerly Professor of Law at Cornell, I believe. His assistant, Lt. John J. Kuhn, was an equally fine type of lawyer and gentleman. I know of no accused man who did not get an absolutely square deal from them, and from the courts-martial before which they appeared.
Well, here we are back in St. Michel, rocked to sleep every night by the free fireworks from our aerial visitors. We had hardly rested from our trench experience before I was ordered to take details from each company to the rifle range. Part of “B” company had gone a week before, and their tales of woe had in some measure prepared us.
We had no guide. As we hiked through Foufflin-Ricametz, I stopped off and Capt. Wagner showed me our destination on a map. We plodded on and on, through about 20 villages, all alike, and all with a maze of crooked little streets that weren’t on any map. We passed by a lot of Canadian artillery back for a rest. The Canadians had been badly shot up before we got to France, and were being reorganized and recuperating that summer. They, the Anzacs, the Australians, the Scotties, and the Guard regiments were the shock troops of the British Army.
Finally we came upon a welcome sign, “Target Range,” and we bivouacked in woods behind the slope whereon the targets were. The next day we plugged away at 200, 300 and 500 yards at four rickety swivel targets. It rained, of course; but we finished in the afternoon, and hiked back to St. Michel. It seemed even longer than before, though we took a short cut by a back road; and we were for once glad to see the lonely tower of St. Michel rising above the woods outside St. Pol.
I returned to find Major Odom on the eve of departure for another school. From this time, then, until he returned on August 20th, the company was commanded by Lt. Schuyler, who carried out his additional duties with characteristic energy and conscientiousness.
On August 12th, the whole regiment was on the move; and this time we were leaving St. Michel for good, though a small detail was left to guard the baggage. Sgt. Haynes, who had hurt his leg in bayonet practice, was left behind with water on the knee, and never succeeded in rejoining the company. Our faithful company clerk, too, Cpl. Jimmy Jones, broke his ankle, and was sent to a hospital in England. Fortunately for me, we had Cpl. Stiles ready to step into his shoes. From this time on Stiles handled the company paper work in a most efficient and conscientious fashion. Most fellows never have any idea of the long hours, day and night, that a company clerk puts in, struggling with the labyrinth of forms, records, reports and correspondence that are vital to the running of the company. The greater part of the paper work that was done at Camp Dix by the officers and Co. Cmdrs. was turned over to the Co. clerks in France, and many a night Stiles and Jones have pored over that field desk, by the light of a candle, keeping us straight with the authorities. If records ever went astray, or passes went awry, it was not their fault. “B” Company was certainly most fortunate in its company clerks.
It was a long, hot march that sunny August day up toward the front, and the company pulled into Lattre St. Quentin pretty well tuckered. I had been taken up in a British staff car as we passed through Regt’l Hdq., and, with the other two battalion commanders, was taken to reconnoiter the sectors of the front line which we were to take over. Each battalion was to be brigaded with an English regiment, and to hold the front lines for a regular tour of duty as the last step in the training schedule.