Sgt. Levy was placed in charge of the carrying parties, and they were soon on their way. The men knew nothing of the country; it was pitchy black, the shelling was still heavy, and they were wet, weak and miserable. It was very hard to make orders understood, and everything was wrong at once. Besides, there was the possibility of a counter-attack or raid by the Boche.
In about half an hour the shelling died down and the 4th platoon came up. When they were posted, while inspecting the outguards, I stumbled over a body. As I could not see the face, I cut off the front of his gas mask pouch where the name of the owner was printed. Next morning I saw it was Kindt, of the 3rd platoon. He had been killed instantly by a small piece of shell through the heart.
As I got back to Co. Hdq. it was getting light. I crawled into our hole, which had a shelter half over it, and lit my pipe—the old black briar I have in my face now as I write. Before I had taken three puffs I fell off to sleep. A few minutes later Sgt. Robbins woke me with the news that the ration detail had returned. I had been breathing through my pipe which made me very sick and dizzy for awhile.
It was too light then to get the rations out to the outguards. The ration detail was lying about on the ground, dead beat, among the pots and cans. Sgt. Wilson and his cooks had worked all the day before to make up a good chow, and Wilson had come up with it himself, though that was no part of his duty. It almost broke his heart to be too late. I tried to eat some, but everything tasted like blood.
Someone in the rear—not Sgt. Wilson—had the idea that we needed coffee worse than water and so while we had plenty of strong, thick, cold black coffee, we only had water that was left in our canteens. Our upset stomachs refused the coffee; I used mine to wash the blood off my hands and wrists. Robbins shaved in his.
Just then Capt. Fleischmann came striding along the path. He greeted me with “Hello Daddy. Isn’t this awful?” D Co. had suffered even worse than we, and they had not enough men to carry in the wounded, though they had stripped the outguards as much as they dared. He asked me for men to carry in four wounded that were still at his Co. Hdq.
I looked at the men lying on the ground asleep—the only ones available. They had been carrying all that awful night under the heavy shell fire, and I had not the heart to order them to make the trip again. But I woke them up and told them that D Co. had some men lying wounded, and asked for volunteers to take them in.
They stared dully for a moment, too tired to understand. Then Joe Levy, who had been on the go all night, dragged himself to his feet, and said “Hell, I’ll go. Come on, fellows.” Nobody wanted to go, and nobody pretended to. But they went. It was one of the finest things I ever saw, and every man that went should have had a D. S. C. No excitement to it though; nothing to thrill the penny-a-liners, so they didn’t get it.
When night fell, a detail went out to bring in the bodies of Weidman, Kindt and Laurencell. Cpl. Weidman had been hit right in the waist by a shell; his legs were lying several yards away from his body. It was a gruesome task bringing him and Laurencell in. We laid the bodies, covered with a blanket, near the graves of two H Co. men who had been killed, just off the path at the place when it crossed the good road—about point 368.8-242.3.
The night passed comparatively quietly; we got the rations issued, and some water came up too late. Holly, one of the company runners, had twisted his knee badly, and could not walk; so Cole was made runner in his place; and a faithful, fearless lad he was, too.