Battery B thru the fires of France ; being a very human and intimate sketch of a few men who served stem a tiny eddy in one of the greatest of cataclysms--the World War

Foreword

In this great moment of peace and lawn parties, good fellowship and woman's presence; of wakeless nights and a bountiful table — a paradise — it is difficult to recall the days spent in France under arms, much less the actual ' ' call of the cannon. ' '

As I sit in my studio gazing out over green stretches, blossoming trees and buzzing bees, I am tempted to ascend into that state of mental bliss, sequel to a midsummer's dream, and romp with ethereal children.

Yet, thru the pages of this book I return to the past with a keen sense of enjoyment, nor would I forfeit one iota of experience gained ''over there." I recall Battery B with a smile; the farewell, the ocean voyage, France, the Front and the roar of a million cannon.

The whole panoramic picture unfolds in a flash then disappears with but a trace fluttering in the wind. The incidents are personal, but the pictures are of stuff such as a million Yanks touched in that march towards Berlin. Thus can one share, if the reader but transpose the proper nouns. There were a thousand Corporal Blankys, and Captain Ironhand's shadow stalked in every quarter of the camp. How familiar old Paris and that letter the French maiden wrote; the cannon's roar and the army beans which contained an equal number of pebbles per pan.

Captain Ironhand and Corporal Blanky are notn de plumes. All other characters are properly named and true to life. Members of Battery B will readily recognize the "plumes" and perhaps will recall a bitter taste. I make no apologies; I have stated the facts.

This little book is my humble contribution to that memorable epoch of our globe's history — 1914- 1918. It is intended for boys who have made the journey. Others may linger over the written words and perchance catch a glimpse of the real, but how well we realize that actual experience is the master key to all symbolic code.

Hollywood, California.

Summer 1919.

Contents

Chapter

Page

3 Journey Overland ----- 15

Prologue

Our transport the Amerika, a pre-war German liner, departed from its mooring on the tenth day of June, nineteen eighteen. Seven thousand troops were aboard and a happier, more venturesome lot of lads I have seldom seen. Their quest was not a selfish one — for personal pleasures or gold — but an entry into the Great Adventure, and their better natures fairly shone in the afternoon sun.

There were few persons about the wharf, chiefly stevedores and sailors bent on their daily tasks, and the usual sea of handkerchiefs and shouting was sadly not in evidence. This was a stern business — a war-business — and being of this nature the troops were being shipped by the thousands, yes hundreds of thousands, every month from dozens of handkerchiefless wharfs systematically, secretly, and at each sailing the public was not aware of the departure.

Uncle Sam could ill-afford to have his secrets known to the enemy. Yonder across the sea lay submarines, wolves of the ocean, ready to swoop down upon their prev. Thp Lusitania had sailed gloriously into the Great Beyond and the sacrifice was great, but the lesson was indelibly stamped upon the National Consciousness of Free America. This lesson and the pirates of the sea were prime factors in Uncle Sam taking every precaution to

10 THRU THE FIEES OF FEANCE

protect his fighting men. Empty wharfs and secret sailing, then, M^as necessary and when the order sounded forth, ' ' all below, ' ' the troops disappeared within the great iron walls of the gigantic liner without protest.

Below deck I closed my eyes and mentally witnessed the departure. As we cleared New York harbor I could "see" the famous Our Lady of Liberty, gift of the French, plainly silhouetted against the late afternoon sun and it seemed to me that a great fire was burning in the torch ; a fire that would continue, I thot, for all time ; a fire, the sparks of which would invade every American home and keep the home-fires burning; a fire that illuminated the world ; a fire that symbolized SAC- EIFICE.

Yes, Ave were on an errand; some would survive but many would journey into the Great Beyond and there witness the heavenly splendors of the Great Torch of Sacrifice. Nor did my meditations upon such matters give me a misgiving. Rather I felt uplifted, I was anxious to proceed to the land of activity. I wanted to share the life of my brothers "over there."

It was later that I chanced a conversation with one lad who had wisely, or otherwise, taken refuge among the sailors and witnessed the historical departure — historic as far as we were concerned for were we not the center of the Universe? It was on this occasion that I wrung from my soldier friend the following: "Boy, my heart sure did come up in my throat when that Grand Old Lady said good-bye."

PROLOGUE 11

You know, a soldier is not supposed to be sentimental or weak, but brave and strong and iron-like. On this occasion the statement of my soldier-friend expressed the sentiment of every other heart aboard.

CHAPTER 2 Farewell

It was on the 31st day of May, 1918, that our troop-train departed from the station at San Diego, California. On this day my sweet wife stood amid a crowd of townsfolk leaning on her father's arm. Battery B stood in rank upon the station platform after having executed a ''squads left" and "Battery halt." At the command of "rest" each soldier was permitted to see his loved ones once more — perhaps for the last time.

Mrs. Stone rushed over to my side and, strange as it may seem, not a tear did I discover. Ah! brave girl, but I knew the heartache that was hers? and she could see the struggle that I was making. Just before arriving at the station my little girl had purchased a full bag of fruits and nuts and a couple of magazines. These she gave me and a kiss for good measure.

Other sweethearts were among the ranks, too; wives and mothers, frtd +>"^ same heart-burning was theirs I know. Fathers were saying farewell to their sons and their hand-shakes were firm, but mothers, wives and sweethearts gave tender hugs and kisses as their tokens of farewell.

Five minutes later the Battery was ordered aboard but luckily we did not start for some minutes. Mrs. Stone came aboard and we sat together upon a comfortable leather sofa in the closed com-

FAREWELL 13

partment of our ear. In those preeious moments we made anew our pledges, and the love and understanding that passed between us was sufficient to urge one to brave the gates of hell, even. Yes, to the end of time would she be true.

Orders came to clear the ears — a last embrace — and a few seconds later I was at the side window. Once more we held hands. I made an effort to reach down for an extra kiss. The lad at the next window was doing likewise and all up and down the platform were sweethearts reaching up and lovers reaching down. A sea of waving handkerchiefs and shouting and — the whistle! We were moving !

"Goodbye, goodbye" is heard from all sides. It was then that the fountain of tears o 'erflowed ; the dear girl had held on desperately, but now, now I was actually being carried away. Soon I would be lost in the hazy distance, perhaps to be gone for many years. At this juncture tears as large as apples began to flood my eyes and my heart throbbed — and would I ever, ever see her, my darling wife, again? The parting kisses, parting words and growing distance were revolving in my dazed mind.

Father Time waits for no man. That day we embarked upon a new journey.

Twenty-eight days later "somewhere in France" I received my wife's first letter: "It is early and the beginning of a new month (June 1). We both stand at the threshold of a new life to which we must adjust ourselves. Shall we falter? * * * * I have not cried one tiny tear. What have I to weep about? * * * * This is my 'front-line trench' and I am readv. * * * *"

CHAPTER 3 Journey Overland

Our route carried us over the Salt Lake Line, through the Mojave desert, across the border and into Nevada. For the purpose of concealing troop movements we traveled over branch roads, skirted large cities and stopped at odd places.

Our first stop was Las Vegas, Nevada, and at this small village we quit the train to take our first exercise.

The Battalion traveled in two sections; 3 companies in one, 2 in the other, including the medical staff, numbering 520 enlisted men and 15 officers in all. Each section trailed an extra baggage car which was used for a kitchen.

Our mess was carried out along efficient lines, to the sorrow of our porter. We received two cooked meals and one lunch per day. Breakfast consisted of rice, usually, or a cereal, bread, butter and coffee ; and on one occasion, biscuits. We were always ready at meal time. Those who happened to be asleep or interested otherwise soon were awakened from their reveries for there would descend upon their heads a noise such as one hears on New Year's Eve ; clanking of mess-tins, shouting and a general up-roar.

The K. P.s (kitchen police) would juggle an infant tub, filled with "chow" down the aisle of the moving train and in dishing out to the waiting mess-pans would not always find the mark. Our

16 THEU THE FIEES OF FRANCE

i»

colored porter had his sweet time, you bet, though he was good-natured and lafpT the boys fully paid him for his labors. His gratitude grew and grew and his affection was good to see.

After performing a few acrobatic feats with our mess-tins placed upon our knees or on the windowsills, or on the red-floor, we retired to the vestibule to wash our "dishes." The refuse can was a poor excuse, for many times the garbage would be scattered upon the platform. The buckets containing hot water, supposedly, usually contained cold water. However we managed and after each meal the garbage and the extra water, splashed upon the vestibule platform, found a path into the corridor and even into the toilet compartment. This state of affairs was not improved and the porter of our car patiently cleaned up after each meal through the entire trip.

To remain clean was an impossibility and the stock of fresh towels was quickly exhausted. The men evidently preferred to economize in water for our towels were soon made black.

Considering the equipment each soldier carried and the general untidiness usually prevalent among a group of men (there are always a few who are slouchy and careless) the interior of our Pullman sleeper presented a comical sight, indeed. I have had occasion to travel in Pullmans in civil life and know what the general appearance and comforts are. The contrast was decided. From the ceiling to the spaces beneath the seats every possible inch was discovered and filled. Back-carriers, hats, coats and what-not were tied to the overhanging chande-

JOURNEY OVERLAND 17

liers. Bed hammocks were exposed after the berths were made up and these nets could expand and expand until an enormous amount of truck could be stowed away.

In our car there happened to be a reddish powder upon the floor (for what purpose I could not discover) and of course everything pushed under our seats received a good coating of red. The dust poured in through the open windows during travel (soldiers are not accustomed to closed circumstances) and particles of food answered Newton's law; this and the red dust and white dust, combined, made us a pretty dirty, grimy outfit.

CHAPTEE 4

Corporal. Blanky

One member of our Battery was a rustler, a regular East-end Izy Kazat. This corporal Blanky would get permission from the Commanding Officer to run up-town whenever we stopped along the road and stock up with fruit, nuts, candy, cigarettes and cigars. During the first two days he did an ordinary fruit-stand business, but each day became more daring and speculative until about the fourth day out he was conducting a department store. Yes sir, you could buy handkerchiefs, towels, shoestrings, magazines and books.

Blanky had arranged a temporary counter over two seats and any hour of the day you could find him sitting supremely on top of the world, with a cigar in the corner of his mouth and hat cocked, dispensing his wares.

It was a war-department order that no man leave the trains without permission from the Commanding Officer. Blanky held the monopoly. But it was well for it centralized the business and, while we were all supplied with ''eats" at a fair price, at the same time it gave Blanky a profit for his services.

About 6 :30 p. m. the second day we reached the state of Utah and later at Provo we changed over to the Denver-Eio Grand. On the desert it was hot, here it was cold. We passed through Grand

CORPOEAL BLANKY 19

Junction, Colorado, at 4 p. m. and that night at twelve we ascended to 10,000 feet above sea-level and crossed the Great Divide at Tennessee Pass.

It was my turn at guard on this occasion and while the Battery was tucked away in sleep T stepped out into the ripid night air and filled my lungs to overflowing with the pine-scented mountain ozone. I breathed deep and long and was reminded of the ever growing distance between the loved One at home and myself. The Rockies presented the first great physical barrier between us, I thought.

Descending the eastern watershed was a simple task for our modern giant locomotive. Just at dawn we entered the Royal Gorge. In all the world, perhaps, there is not a more picturesque spot. The canyon was appropriately named for it is truly Royal.

We followed the river in and out through the stately Gorge and at five in the morning reached Pueblo the city of my birth. As my parents deserted Pueblo for country more mountainous in nature while I was still of tender age I did not remember the city. When I discovered the huge banks of smoke overhanging the city I was glad that my parents had changed their abode.

At Pueblo we switched over to the Missouri-Pacific, reaching the state of Kansas at 11 -.30 the same day (June 3). Switching from one line to another was in name only and we retained the original coaches of our through-train during the entire journey.

CHAPTER 5 Sedalia

About noon the fourth day we passed through the small town of Sedalia, Missouri. Here we received a royal reception. Bed Cross girls and workers were on hand early and we were served ice-cream which was excellent in quality and thriceexcellent in quanity.

Our daily exercise was taken at this lively little city and as we marched through the streets the townspeople fairly carried us away. Later at the depot our quartette (Ingram, Fleck, Steiler and Ginn) sang in good measure and when the people shouted for more we all sang. ! yes, our Battery was noted as the ' ' singing bunch. ' '

The boys made eyes at the girls on the side and of course the fair sex all just dearly loved the soldier. When our train departed an hour later the boys of the Battery cast back many longing glances.

On this occasion hundreds of post office addresses changed hands and the secret service men were more than foiled in their efforts to guard and uphold Uncle Sam's rule that no military information reach the public, but nothing could stay the dauntless energy of youth. This custom was secretly in order during our entire trip.

It was later at Conneaut, Ohio, early one evening, that an avalanche of humans descended upon our train and scores, yes hundreds of addresses

SEDALIA 21

passed from girl to soldier and from soldier to girl. There were kisses thrown in for good measure at this place and it was my ill-fortune or fortune ( ask Mrs. Stone) to be left entirely in the cold. But I enjoyed the energetic tactics of the grown-up babies that mother so recently had cut loose from her apron strings.

To this day some of the boys are in correspondence with "our lady in America" who had casually given an address to a passing soldier and I am not missing my guess if more than one match will be the result. While some of the boys were lavish at first with their letters to addresses galore, others dropt their mailing list completely. Of course there were a few good permanent ones — girls worth knowing as revealed in letters — and these girls receive letters from their soldier boys even to this date.

CHAPTER 6 Lake Erie

The fifth day we traveled through Indiana over the Wabash and Nickel Plate and late in the afternoon came to the shore of Lake Erie. Here was an opportunity for a bath and in less time than it usually takes to undress we were all splashing and swimming in the merriest sort of fashion, filled with glee and shouting.

The water was not cold as was our expectation but otherwise, and later we regretfully left the lake. We playfully jumped around upon the shore stark naked and imagined that we were kids back at the old swimming hole.

The dip was refreshing and the boys were well supplied with topics for conversation for the remainder of the day. A bit later the moving train reminded us that we were making a journey in the stern interests of war.

That night we cut through a small strip of New York state and next morning traveled through Pennsylvania. At Sayre, just over the border, we stopped for exercise. At this town I smuggled a letter through to Mrs. Stone. I had suffered my entire correspondence to be censored up to this date, but I was determined to get one intimate letter through, at least, or go to the guard-house in the attempt.

This was my manner of procedure : First I had

LAKE ERIE 23

my letter ready for the mail. Next I awaited my turn at guard. The time arrived and I walked upon the platform in a military manner. The letter was stowed away in my hat. I approached a car repairman who happened near, told my story and then, when all eyes were turned I removed my hat; simultaneously did the repairman and the letter was simply and quickly bounced from one hat to the other. It worked, too, for later in France I received an acknowledgment from Mrs. Stone. This was my first and only smuggled letter.

During the day we crossed the Delaware, with Washington in mind, and now we were nearing the end of our journey. Corporal Blanky was selling his goods at reduced rates and at the last min- .ute was frantically disposing of an overstock.

The quartette sang louder than ever and the red dust and fallen food churned and churned in chorus. We were glad for that last day; and two hours after midnight we reached our destination, Jersey City, New Jersey, all tired and grimy and thankful.

At daybreak breakfast was served and later we traveled over a spur track to Merritt where we detrained. Details were appointed to load our baggage and ordnance property into waiting trucks and soon we were marching to camp.

During our march we had visions of good things to eat, elaborate hot and cold shower baths and feather beds. And we were not totally disappointed in our visions for at noon that day we had "some feed."

Camp Merritt presented a good appearance and not only this, one could find the conveniences of life therein. Showers were working overtime that afternoon as the boys scrubbed and chased dirt both in clothes and body. We remained in Camp Merritt, the largest concentration camp for overseas troops in America, three days. In the meanwhile we were completely equipped and properly booked for the next transport sailing for Europe.

CHAPTER 7 The Iron Hand

The entire trip was made in true military style as regards discipline and the guard-house. Our Captain ruled his command with an iron-hand. Haughty, arrogant and proud and lacking in the finer qualities of manhood he caused much distress among the troops. Early in the trip Private Woolaver, who had accidentally spilled a glue-pot upon the First Sergeant's desk, was excommunicated for his pains and thrown into the improvised guard-house under guard. The extra guard entailed extra work and so Woolaver and the guard joined in chorus and denounced the "skipper" in scathing terms.

Gambling was permitted by the Captain but he would not allow the privates and non-coms (noncommissioned officers) to mingle in the games. One fine day the haughty one came through the train unexpectedly and pounced upon Corporal Honey and three privates who were industriously playing at twenty-one. Honey lost his stripes besides landing in the "whosgow" or company guard-house. I have never had a speck of sympathy for gamblers in trouble but for Honey I did. For this reason: He was the unlucky one. Practically every other member of the Battery chanced the game but during the illegitimate pastime all had reserved an eagle-eye. Honey was a good scout.

The third day the guard-house was overflowing. Faulk, Fears, Kottinger and Neustead were guilty of poking their heads out the windows and talking to the girls; giving information to the enemy, the Captain argued. This slight infringement could not be forgotten by our poor big lanky good-natured Faulk and so he suffered on patiently.

Fears laughed and smoked his peace-pipe. And Kottinger, of the tribe of Izy Kazat, closed his large eyes and dreamed of the time when he could follow up the rereating Hun and reign supreme over a huge salvage pile. Kottinger always had a bargain or was willing to make one.

Neustead was the backstop for an excellent flow of wrath. This he stopped in true soldier style and said nothing. I happened to see the performance — I was on guard at the time — and I noticed the smile that escaped from a rather whitened face which bordered onto a grin.

''Shortie" Jorgensen was a problem for the ' ' top. " " Shortie ' ' could never hold his silence and so one day the "top" gave an extra vigorous command to which "Shortie" answered in boiling rage. He went to the guard-house, by request, nor was this " Shortie 's" first experience.

"Portagee" Fonso was picked out by the doctor for violating G. O. No. 45. This short unlearned fellow was so much ballast in our organization and I am ashamed to admit that some of our enlisting officers are without common judgment. This awkward little man the boys would tease in this manner: "No lik-a-da-ba-nan, put back-a-da-

THE ntON HAND 27

ba-nan, git up r-r-red." Repeated several times this sentence would cause Fonso to fly into a tantrum. He was transferred from our moving "whosgow" to one more permanent in nature. We dropt him at Camp Merritt and I doubt if he ever crossed the Atlantic.

There is a story that came through in a letter from Clark who remained in Camp Merritt because the crabs would not permit of his traveling with us and who was later transfered to a permanent post, that this same poor ignorant Fonso was fined forty dollars for not obeying a corporal. Now Fonso always obeyed his superiors, grudgingly I'll admit, but the real joke of the story is that he did not know the difference between a non-com and a private. His road was a thorny one and I can see his future flight to his native country with stories of the brutal American.

The medical corps did duty in good fashion and we were examined daily. But we took these examinations in a matter-of-fact way due, perhaps, to the numerous subjections which we had already undergone during our enlistment. The nude body has long since ceased to arouse our curiosity and the boys now stalk about in the same manner as the Australian aborigines or the South African Hottentot or even Adam.

The day after our arrival at Camp Merritt we drew our final clothing and equipment. The Captain had discovered that a small rip would warrant an exchange for a new article and so he proceeded to rip-rip right and left and later that afternoon

I gazed at our salvage pile in utter disgust. Dozens of coats, trousers, shirts, shoes and working denims were ruined in the mad rush for something nice and new and "smelly."

CHAPTER 8 Our First March

Sunday morning bright and early, 3 a. m., to be exact, our Battery was ready to march. We carried full packs and side arms. A sandwich stowed away in our mess-tins represented our future breakfast.

To appreciate the five and a half mile march which we faced it will be necessary for the reader to understand something concerning our packs and extra avoirdupois. Each pack-carrier is normally supposed to weigh 60 pounds. The blanket roll consisted of two heavy army blankets, shelter-half, tent-pole, tent-pins, rope, condiment can, two suits of underwear, five pair of sox, one extra 0. D. shirt, blue denims and two towels. The small upper section contained the usual set of toilet articles, towel, mess-tin, knife, fork and spoon. A third blanket was rolled and fastened over the pack in horse-shoe fashion.

Add to this a small shovel, the cartridge belt, canteen, cup, side-arm and scabbard and the pack proper is complete. But we carried extra articles such as soap, tooth-paste and tooth brushes, books, chocolate and foodstuffs. This bulk and our lusty army rifle brought the pounds up and the scales down to the sum of from 75 to 100 pounds. But I can assure you my pack seemed to weigh 500 pounds the second mile out.

Captain Ironhand ordered us about in his usual manner, though I '11 admit he found himself a mere unit among the numerous Majors, Colonels, Brigadier Generals and the like.

When at last we moved out into the night our little Battery of 105 men was swallowed up in a sea of soldiers. Seven thousand men traveled the road that morning. At daybreak, as we were ascending the first hill on our way to the Hudson River, we saw the marching Yanks through the early dawn and it seemed that all the troops under enlistment were marching to the river.

Our packs soon became filled with lead, it seemed. and mile after mile we gritted our teeth and went stubbornly forward. This march was our first real taste of warfare and it was an excellent test for weakness. I later heard that a few men fell by the wayside. These men were sent back to camp. Battery B made the grade.

At the summit of the hill we could see New York City in the distance across the river. The climb had been gradual, but once at the river we descended on a 30 deg. to 45 deg. grade and soon reached the waiting Ferry Katskill. Which was well, for our shoulders were simply raw.

A few minutes later the crowded ferry moved down the Hudson passing on its way two large British transports camouflaged in the latest style. The stripes and colors presented a novel sight. Many boys aboard were having their initial boat excursion and they looked on the passing show with wondering eyes. At 10:30 we swung into

OUE FIRST MARCH 31

dock and fifteen minutes later were hailed by the Red Cross girls and fed. Coffee and buns appeased the pangs of hunger and a package of cigarettes soothed the nerves and dulled the senses.

While standing on the dock ready to be checked in an Intelligence Officer gave the troops a short talk. He spoke of mail conditions and urged each soldier to write home often; then dwelt at length upon the morale of soldiers; and lastly gave the prerequisite of every American soldier : A keen sense of discipline. The talk was fitting, I thought.

CHAPTER 9 The Embaekation

Presently the Battery was summoned to go aboard. Each man passing the gang-plank was required to call, after hearing his surname called by the checking officer, his Christian name and initial.

Battery B was assigned to G-4, one deck below waterline. On our canvas bunks, a few minutes later, we wrote several hurried letters and postcards — the postcards to be mailed from New York upon cable advice of our safe arrival — while the transport was riding at anchor. The boys made a desperate attempt to write, but it was difficult. What could be said? Had not the ten months previous separation at the training camp been sufficient to wring from every heart the fullness of love and manhood and had not the suspense prior to the order to proceed over seas brought forth the best that man could offer in his correspondence? What was left? And what could one write amid the hurry and scurry of soldiers and sailors, the checking of quarters and all the details preparatory to sailing.

So it happened that the mail-bag was filled with thin-looking envelopes.

We were not aware of the time set for sailing and so expected to move without notice. The boys retired early the first evening on board for reasons

THE EMBARKATION 33

which the reader can plainly see and awoke early to find the transport still in port. Anxiously we w^atched the time and were eager to be off. The hours dragged into the late day and finally as the sun was fading in the western sky a long blast from a deep bass whistle told the story. I wondered at the wisdom of advertising our departure, but later found that Uncle Sam had played a ruse, having anchored in the Sound all night and leaving for deeper waters early in the morning.