CHAPTER III

THE LUNÉVILLE SECTOR

ARBRE HAUT

_March_ 1st, 1918

The trenches at last! We have all read descriptions of them and so had our preconceived notions. The novelty is that we are in a thick woods. You go out from Lunéville (where we have been having the unwonted joys of city life for a week or so) along the flat valley of the Vesouze to Croix-Mare, and east to Camp New York, where some Adrian barracks, floating like Noah’s Arks in a sea of mud, house the battalion in reserve; then up a good military road through the Forest of Parroy to Arbre Haut, where a deep dugout forty feet underground shelters the Colonel and his headquarters. A mile further on, at Rouge Bouquet, one arrives at a Battalion Post of Command dugout now occupied by Major Donovan, Lieutenants Ames, Irving, Lacey and Captain Mercier, an energetic, capable and agreeable officer of the French Mission. Duck-board paths lead in various directions through peaceful looking woods to a sinuous line of trenches which were, when we arrived in them, in considerable need of repair. Company D, under Captain McKenna, had the honor of being first in the lines. They were followed by Companies B and A, Company C being in support. Off duty the men live in mean little dugouts thinly roofed, poorly floored, wet and cold. But they are happy at being on the front at last, and look on the discomforts as part of the game. Their only kick is that it is too quiet. Their main sport is going out on patrols by night or day to scout through “No Man’s Land,” to cut wires, and stir things up generally. With our artillery throwing over shells from the rear and our impatient infantry prodding the enemy, this sector will not be long a quiet one.

CROIX-MARE

_March_ 10th, 1918

We have had our first big blow, and we are still reeling under the pain and sorrow of it. Our 1st Battalion left the trenches with few casualties to pay for their ten days of continuous work at trench and wire mending and night patrols. Arthur Trayer and John Lyons of Company D were the first to gain their wound chevrons. On March 5th the 2nd Battalion began to move company by company from Camp New York. I spent the afternoon before with each unit attending to their spiritual needs, and ending the day with a satisfactory feeling of having left nothing undone. I was with Company E on March 6th and will always retain a recollection of certain youngsters who stayed for a little friendly personal chat after confession, like Arthur Hegney, Eddie Kelly, Steve Navin, Arthur Christfully, George Adkins, Phil Finn; while Steve Derrig and Michael Ahearn with Bailey, Halligan and McKiernan were rounding up the bunch to keep me going.

The Company went out in the early morning of March 7th to relieve Company A, and soon had the position taken over. About 4 P. M. the enemy began a terrific shelling with heavy minenwerfers on the position at Rocroi. The big awkward wabbling aerial torpedoes began coming over, each making a tremendous hole where it hit and sending up clouds of earth and showers of stone. Lieutenant Norman, an old Regular Army man, was in charge of the platoon, and after seeing that his guards and outposts were in position, ordered the rest of the men into the dugouts. While he was in the smaller one a torpedo struck it fair and destroyed it, burying the two signal men from Headquarters Company, Arthur Hegney and Edward Kearney. The Lieutenant barely managed to extricate himself from the debris and set himself to look after the rest of his men. He was inspecting the larger dugout alongside when another huge shell came over, buried itself in the very top of the cave and exploded, rending the earth from the supporting beams and filling the whole living space and entrance with rocks and clay, burying the Lieutenant and twenty-four men.

Major Donovan of the 1st Battalion was at the Battalion P. C. with Major Stacom when the bombardment began. As there were six positions to defend and the shelling might mean an attack anywhere along the whole line, the Battalion Commander’s duty was to remain at the middle of the web with his reserves at hand to control the whole situation. So Major Donovan requested that as he had no general responsibilities for the situation he might be permitted to go down to Rocroi and see what he could do there. Stacom was unwilling to have anybody else run a risk that he was not permitted to share himself, but he gave his consent.

Major Donovan found the men in line contending with a desperate condition. The trenches were in places levelled by the bombardment and though the enemy were no longer hurling their big torpedoes they kept up a violent artillery attack on the position. The only answer that we could make to this was from the trench mortars which were kept going steadily by Lieutenants Walsh and F. McNamara, Corporal Cudmore, William Murphy, Wisner, Young, Harvey, P. Garvey, Herbert Shannon, F. Garvey, DeNair, Robertson and the one pounders under Lieutenant Cunningham, Sergeants J. J. Ryan and Willermin. One of their guns was blown clean out of its position.

Corporal Helmer with Privates Raymond, McKenzie, Cohen, McCormack, O’Meara and Smeltzer were saved from the dugout and immediately began to work for the rescue of the others, aided by 1st Sergeant Bailey, Sergeants William Kelly and Andrew Callahan, Corporals Bernard Kelly and William Halligan with John Cronin, Thomas Murray, James Joyce and John Cowie. They knew that many of their comrades were dead already but the voices could still be heard as the yet standing timbers kept the earth from filling the whole grade. The rescuers were aided by Lieutenant Buck and three sergeants of Company A, who had remained until the newly arrived company had learned its way about the sector. These were Sergeants William Moore, Daniel O’Connell and Spencer Rossel. Sergeant Abram Blaustein also hastened up with the pioneer section, Mackay, Taggart, Schwartz, Adair, Heins, Quinn, LaClair, Dunn, Gillman and the rest.

Major Donovan found them working like mad in an entirely exposed position to liberate the men underneath. A real soldier’s first thought will always be the holding of his position, so the Major quickly saw to it that the defense was properly organized. Little Eddie Kelly, a seventeen-year-old boy, was one of the coolest men in sight, and he flushed with pleasure when told that he was to have a place of honor and danger on guard. The work of rescue was kept going with desperate energy, although there was but little hope that any more could be saved, as the softened earth kept slipping down, and it was impossible to make a firm passage-way. The Engineers were also sent for and worked through the night to get out bodies for burial but with only partial success. Meanwhile the defenders of the trench had to stand a continuous shelling in which little Kelly was killed, Stephen Navin and Stephen Derrig were seriously wounded, and Sergeant Kahn, Corporal Smeltzer and Privates Bowler and Dougherty slightly.

The French military authorities conferred a number of Croix de Guerre, giving a Corps citation to Corporal Helmer for working to save his comrades after having been buried himself, “giving a very fine example of conscience, devotion and courage.” Division citations went to Major Donovan, “superior officer who has shown brilliant military qualities notably on the 7th and 8th of March, 1918, by giving during the course of a violent bombardment an example of bravery, activity and remarkable presence of mind”; and to Private James Quigley, who “carried two wounded men to first aid station under a violent bombardment and worked all night trying to remove his comrades buried under a destroyed dugout.” Regimental citations were given to Lieutenant John Norman, Lieutenants Oscar Buck and W. Arthur Cunningham, Sergeant William Bailey and Carl Kahn of Company E, Sergeants William J. Moore, Daniel O’Connell and Spencer T. Rossell of Company A, Sergeants Blaustein and Private Charles Jones of H. Q. Company.

The bodies of Eddie Kelly and Oscar Ammon of Company F, who was also killed during that night, with those that could be gotten from the dugout were buried in Croix-Mare in a plot selected for the purpose near a roadside Calvary which, from the trees surrounding it, was called the “Croix de L’Arbre Vert” or “Green Tree Cross.” The others we left where they fell. Over the ruined dugout we erected a marble tablet with the inscription, “Here on the field of honor rest”—and their names.

Company E held those broken trenches with their dead lying there all of that week and Company L during the week following. Following is a full list of the dead: Lieutenant John Norman, Corporal Edward Sullivan, George Adkins, Michael Ahearn, Patrick Britt, Arthur Christfully, William Drain, William Ellinger, Philip S. Finn, Michael Galvin, John J. Haspel, Edward J. Kelly, James B. Kennedy, Peter Laffey, John J. Le Gall, Charles T. Luginsland, Frank Meagher, William A. Moylan, William H. Sage and Robert Snyder of Company E; Arthur V. Hegney and Edward J. Kearney of Headquarters Company and Oscar Ammon of Company F.

ARBRE HAUT

_March_ 12th, 1918

We have given up hope of getting our dead out of Rocroi—it would be a task for the Engineers, and it would probably mean the loss of many more lives to accomplish it. Joyce Kilmer’s fine instincts have given us a juster view of the propriety of letting them rest where they fell. So I went out today to read the services of the dead and bless their tomb. Company L is in that position now, and they too have been subjected to a fierce attack in which Lieutenant Booth was wounded. He and Lieutenant Baker and Corporal Lawrence Spencer are in for a Croix de Guerre for courage in action. Today there was a lot of sniping going on, so Sergeant John Donoghue and Sergeant Bill Sheahan wanted to go out to the position with me. They are two of the finest lads that Ireland has given us, full of faith and loyalty, and they had it in mind, I know, to stand each side of me and shield me from harm with their bodies. Val Roesel, Bert Landzert and Martin Coneys also insisted that they would make good acolytes for me. But I selected the littlest one in the crowd, Johnny McSherry; and little Jack trotted along the trench in front of me with his head erect while I had to bend my long back to keep my head out of harm’s way. We came on Larry Spencer in an outpost position contemplating his tin hat with a smile of satisfaction. It had a deep dent in it where a bullet had hit it and then deflected—a fine souvenir.

We finished our services at the grave and returned. I lingered a while with Spencer, a youth of remarkable elevation of character—it is a good thing for a Chaplain to have somebody to look up to. Back in the woods I met two new Lieutenants, Bernard Shanley and Edward Sheffler. Shanley is from the Old Sod. Sheffler is a Chicagoan of Polish descent, a most likable youth. I gave them a good start on their careers as warriors by hearing their confessions.

That reminded me that I had some neglected parishioners in Company I, so I went over their set of trenches. Around the P. C. it looks like pictures of the houses of wattles and clay that represent the architecture of Early Britain. Met Harry Adikes and Ed Battersby and found them easy victims when I talked confession. Where do the Irish get such names? Ask Wilton Wharton what his ancestors were and he will say “Irish”; so will Bob Cousens and Bill Cuffe, Eddie Willett, Jim Peel or Jim Vail. Charlie Cooper is half way to being Irish now, and he will be all Irish if he gets a girl I know. I know how Charlie Garret is Irish,—for he comes from my neighborhood, and if it were the custom to adopt the mother’s name in a family he would be Charles Ryan. The same custom would let anybody know without his telling it, as he does with his chest out, that George Van Pelt is Irish too. I saw one swarthy fellow with MIKE KELLEY in black letters on his gas mask, but on asking him I found that he was Irish only by abbreviation, as he was christened Michael Keleshian. Tommy O’Brien made himself my guide and acolyte for my holy errand; and he first took me on a tour amongst the supply sergeants and cooks for he wanted us both well looked after. So when we had gotten Eddie Joyce, Pat Rogan, Michael O’Brien, Tom Loftus and Joe Callahan in proper Christian condition for war or hospitality, we sallied forth around the trenches.

Religion in the trenches has no aid from pealing organ or stained glass windows, but it is a real and vital thing at that. The ancestors of most of us kept their religious life burning brightly as they stole to the proscribed Mass in a secluded glen, or told their beads by a turf fire; and I find that religion thrives today in a trench with the diapason of bursting shells for an organ. I had a word or two for every man and they were glad to get it; and the consolations of the old faith for those that were looking for it. It makes a man feel better about the world and God, and the kind of people he has put into it to know in conditions like these such men as Bill Beyer, Fordham College Man; Pat Carroll, Chauffeur; Tom Brennan, Patrick Collins, whom I am just beginning to know and to like; Bill Dynan, whom I have known and liked for a long time; manly Pat Hackett and athletic Pat Flynn, solid non-coms like Ford, Hennessey, McDermott, Murphy, Denis Hogan, Michael Jordan, Hugh McFadden, not to mention the old Roman 1st Sergeant Patrick McMinaman. It was the vogue at one time to say with an air of contempt that religion is a woman’s affair. I would like to have such people come up here—if they dared: and say the same thing to the soldiers of this Company or of this Regiment—if they dared.

The last outpost was an interesting one. It did not exist when I was in these parts with the 2nd Battalion, as our friends on the other side had not yet built it for us. But recently they have sent over one of their G. I. cans (that, dear reader, means galvanized iron can, which are as big as a barrel, and which tells the story of what a minenwerfer torpedo shell looks like when it is coming toward you) and the G. I. Can made a hole like the excavation of a small cottage. In it I found four or five of Company I snugly settled down and very content at being that much closer to the enemy. Here I met for the first time Ed. Shanahan, a fine big fellow who ought to make good with us, and Charlie Stone, whose mother was the last to say good-bye to me as we left Camp Mills. Mess came up while we were there and we did justice to it sitting on clumps of soft earth which had been rolled into round snowballs by the explosion—and chatting about New York.

ST. PATRICK’S DAY IN THE TRENCHES

_Sunday_, _March_ 17th 1918

What a day this would have been for us if we were back in New York! Up the Avenue to St. Patrick’s Cathedral in the morning, and the big organ booming out the old Irish airs and the venerable old Cardinal uttering words of blessing and encouragement. And in the afternoon out on parade with the Irish Societies with the band playing Garry Owen and Let Erin Remember and O’Donnell Aboo, as we pass through the cheering crowds. And how they would shout in this year of Grace 1918 if we could be suddenly transported to New York’s Avenue of triumph. But I am glad we are not there. For more than seventy years the old Regiment has marched up the Avenue in Church parade on St. Patrick’s Day. But never, thank God, when the country was at war. Other New Yorkers may see the Spring sweeping through the Carolinas or stealing timidly up the cliffs of the Hudson or along the dented shores of Long Island; but there is only one place in the world where the old Irish Regiment has any right to celebrate it, and that is on the battle line.

The 3rd Battalion is in the trenches, so I went up yesterday and spent the night with Major Moynahan, who gave me a true Irish welcome. He and Leslie have made good Irishmen out of Lieutenants Rerat and Jackson and we had a pleasant party.

We had not a Cathedral for our St. Patrick’s day Mass but Lieutenant Austin Lawrence had Jim McCormack and George Daly of the Medicos pick out a spot for me among the trees to conceal my bright vestments from observation and the men who were free slipped up the boyaus from the nearby trenches for the services.

Later in the morning I said Mass back at Camp New York for the 2nd Battalion in a grove of young birch trees on the hill slope, the men being scattered singly over the slope and holding very still when the bugler sounded the alert for an enemy aeroplane over head. I described former St. Patrick days to them and told them they were better here. New York would talk more of them, think more of them than if they were back there. Every man in the town would be saying he wished he were here and every man worth his salt would mean it. The leading men of our country had called us to fight for human liberty and the rights of small nations, and if we rallied to that noble cause we would establish a claim on our own country and on humanity in favor of the dear land from which so many of us had sprung, and which all of us loved.

In the afternoon we had a fine concert under the trees. Sergeants Frye and Tom Donahoe played for Tommy McCardle’s funny songs, and for John Mullin’s serious ones. McManus and Quinn played the fife for Irish dances, and Lieutenant Prout, by special request, recited John Locke’s poem, “Oh Ireland, I Bid You the Top of the Morning.”

In the middle of the concert I read Joyce Kilmer’s noble poem, “Rouge Bouquet.” The last lines of each verse are written to respond to the notes of “Taps,” the bugle call for the end of the day which is also blown ere the last sods are dropped on the graves of the dead. Sergeant Patrick Stokes stood near me with his horn and blew the tender plaintive notes before I read the words; and then from the deep woods where Egan was stationed came a repetition of the notes “like horns from elfland faintly blowing.” Before I had finished tears had started in many an eye especially amongst the lads of Company E. I had known it was going to be a sad moment for all, and had directed the band to follow me up with a medley of rollicking Irish airs; just as in military funerals the band leads the march to the grave in solemn cadence and departs playing a lively tune. It is the only spirit for warriors with battles yet to fight. We can pay tribute to our dead but we must not lament for them overmuch.

CROIX-MARE

_March_ 18th, 1918

I buried a soldier of the 117th Signal Battalion in Croix-Mare today with unusual honors. Private Wilkerson had been killed in action and as he was a Catholic Major Garrett had asked me to perform the ceremony. The French were most kind in participating, but that is no new thing. Colonel Dussauge always has his Chasseurs take part with us in funerals, though it is a distraction to me to see them trying to accommodate their short choppy gait (“like soldiers in the Movies” according to Bandsman McGregor) to the air of a Dead March. I said to the Colonel: “There is one thing your men can’t do.” “What is that?” “Walk to a funeral march.” “Thank you for the compliment, Monsieur l’Aumonier.” The Curé, too, always came to our funerals. And we had a fine grizzled old Oblate Division Chaplain who has been in all the French wars from Madagascar to Tonquin. The Government tried to put him out of France when the law against Religious was passed, but he refused to go, saying he would live his life in France if he had to live it in jail. I met a number of these religious in the army, most of them returned from exile to offer their lives in defense of their country. If the French Government puts them out after the war is over they will deserve the scorn and enmity of mankind as a rotten set of ingrates.

At the grave we found we had other spectators. I saw General Menoher and General Lenihan with a short spare-built civilian whom I took for a reporter. He had a French gas mask with a long tape, which hung down between his legs like a Highlander’s sporran. There were Moving Picture cameras too, which seemed to spell a Presence. I whispered to the old Curé that his picture would be put on the screen in every town in America, at which he was, I could see, somewhat shocked and altogether pleased. After the ceremony a number of the Signal Battalion took advantage of the opportunity to go to confession; and I was standing by the side of a truck performing my pious duties when General Lenihan approached with the slim reporter. They did not intrude, so I missed my chance of making the acquaintance of the energetic Newton W. Baker, Secretary of War of the United States.

LUNÉVILLE

_March_ 21st, 1918

For the past twelve days volunteers from the 1st Battalion have been preparing, under command of Lieutenants Henry A. Bootz and Raymond H. Newton, for a _coup de main_ in connection with the 41st Battalion of Chasseurs. They have been training with the French at Croix-Mare and I find it interesting to watch them. They go through all sorts of athletic stunts to get into perfect condition, study the ground through maps on the blackboard showing just what each man’s position is to be, and then work out the whole thing over a ground which is very much like the Ouvrage Blanc, where the raid will take place.

Last Saturday afternoon, after I had been hearing confessions amongst them, four or five of the Irish lads waited to see me. I went for a walk with them around an old moat and as we stood looking at a stone tablet that commemorated the victory of some Duke of Lorraine over a Duke of Burgundy four hundred years ago, Billy Elwood put the question, “Father, do you think we’ll be afraid?” “Not you,” I said, “not a bit of it. You may feel rather tight across the chest for the five minutes before you tear into it, but when you get going you’ll forget even that, because your blood will be up.” “I believe you,” he said. “Of course you know none of us are afraid and we are all anxious to have a try at it, but it’s our first time in a thing of this sort and the only worry we have is that something might go wrong inside of us and spoil the good name of the Irish.”

Before the raid started there was an amusing little interlude. Corporal Bob Foster of Company D had a little Irish flag given to him by Sergeant Evers of the Band, and the lads were determined that that flag would go over the top in the first organized attack made by the regiment. A young officer, not of our Division, who had been sent as an observer, saw the flag stuck at the top of Foster’s rifle and felt it his duty to protest against it. After a short parley Bootz demanded, “What are you here for, anyway.” “I’m an observer,” was the response. “Then climb a tree and observe, and let me run this raid.”

Our artillery was busy bombarding the position that was to be the object of assault and at 7:35 P. M. the men went out through our wires under cover of darkness and took up their position near the _chicanes_ (passages) in the enemy wire, which had been reconnoitered the night before. Our artillery laid down a barrage at 7:50 for a space of three minutes upon which the front line advanced and got possession of the German trenches without opposition, as the Germans had evacuated them during the heavy bombardment of the past two days. They were just in time in reaching shelter for the German artillery began to shell their own abandoned line most vigorously. The trouble about this attack was that our own artillery preparation had been too good. The Germans could not help inferring that this point was to be made the object of an assault, so they drew back and waited until the infantry had reached the position. Then they turned on them the full force of artillery and machine gun fire from positions further back, leaving to the assaulters the choice between getting back to their own lines, or attacking an unknown and well defended position in the dark. The French Officer in charge gave the order to retire. During this period Edward Maher of Company B must have been killed because no word of him was ever received. Corporal William Elwood and Joseph Miller of Company C were fatally wounded. Badly wounded were Sergeants John F. Scully, Fred Almendinger and Martin Gill of Company A and Patrick Grogan of Company D. After getting back to the French trenches Bootz and Newton repeatedly led parties back over the shell-swept area to search for Maher, and to see if the Germans had reoccupied their trenches. On this mission Thomas P. Minogue of Company B was killed. Lieutenant Newton carried in one French soldier and Private Plant carried in another. Lieutenant Bootz, with Corporal Joseph Pettit of Company C, helped Sergeant Scully to the lines, and going out again, they found Joe Miller, his right leg amputated by a shell. Miller was a big man but Bootz swung him up on his back and with Pettit assisting, carried him back into the lines.

The following officers and men taking part in this _coup de main_ were decorated by the French authorities on March 22nd at Croix-Mare: Division Citations, First Lieutenant Henry A. Bootz, Second Lieutenant Raymond H. Newton, Private Marlow Plant; Regimental Citations: Company A, Joseph C. Pettit, Frank J. Fisher, Privates George McCarthy, Bernard McOwen, Michael Morley, Sergeant John Scully; Company B, Sergeants Spiros Thomas, Christian Biorndall, Corporal William F. Judge, Privates Frank Brandreth, Vincent J. Eckas, Daniel J. Finnegan; Company C, Sergeant Eugene A. McNiff, Corporal Herman E. Hillig, Privates Bernard Barry, Michael Cooney, James Barry, John J. Brawley, Joseph A. Miller; Company D, Sergeant Thomas M. O’Malley, Corporal Thomas H. Brown, Privates Denis O’Connor, Patrick Grogan, John Cahill, Harry H. DeVoe.

Of the wounded, Elwood died shortly after being brought to the Hospital at Lunéville and Joe Miller succumbed the next day after sufferings borne with a fortitude that begot the admiration of nurses and doctors used to dealing with courageous men. The others are wounded badly enough but they will recover. Almendinger, who describes himself as “half Boche and half County Kilkenny,” was going off to the operating ward to have his wounded eye removed when I saw him the second time. “Never mind about that, Fred,” I said, “Uncle Sam will look after you.” “I’m not thinking about Uncle Sam at all. There’s a girl back in New York who doesn’t care whether I have one eye or two, so I should worry.”

THE GAS ATTACK

_March_ 20th and 21st, 1918

But meanwhile there had been other happenings in the sector which quite overshadowed the 1st Battalion raid.

Company K went into the line in the Rouge Bouquet Sector on March 12th, 1918, relieving Company H. The Company Headquarters were at Chaussailles, and the two platoons in the front line were: on the right, at Changarnier (C. R. 1), one platoon; in the center at C. R. 2 a half platoon; and on the left at Chevert (C. R. 3) a half platoon.

There were no casualties for the first eight days except that John Ring received a bullet in the arm. Our patrols did not come into contact with the Boches (who apparently never left their lines) and except a few minenwerfer and some shelling with 77’s the sector was quiet, the weather was fine, and every one spoke of the tour at the front as a picnic.

About 5:30 on the evening of the 20th the Boches suddenly began to bombard the entire company sector, from a line not far from their own trenches to a line several hundred yards in the rear of Company Headquarters, with mustard gas shells and shrapnel, the heaviest bombardment being in the vicinity of C. R. 2, where Sergeant Frank Doughney was in command, of C. R. 3, where Lieutenant Bill Crane was in command, and at the first aid station, where Lieutenant Patten and his group were quartered, together with the fourth platoon under Lieutenant Levi. This bombardment lasted about three hours.

The groups stationed at the outposts were caught on their way in, the two groups under Corporals Caulfield and Joe Farrell being led by Corporal Farrell into an incomplete dugout about 300 yards in front of our lines, the other two going directly in.

The second platoon, under Lieutenant Dowling in Changarnier, were not so heavily shelled and being on higher ground, were not gassed so badly as the others.

In C. R. 2, Harry McCoun was struck by a shell which carried away his left hand. He held up the stump and shouted, “Well, boys, there goes my left wing.” Sergeant Jack Ross and Private Ted Van Yorx led him under heavy fire back to the first aid station, where Doctor Patten tore off his mask to operate on him (for which he earned the Croix de Guerre), but McCoun died the next morning.

In C. R. 3, Lieutenant Crane walked from one post to the other in the midst of the heaviest bombardment in order to encourage the men. In the midst of this bombardment, several of the runners, including

## particularly Privates Ed Rooney and Ray Staber, distinguished

themselves by their courage and coolness in carrying messages between Company headquarters and the front line.

The men were prompt in putting on their masks as soon as the presence of gas was recognized, but it was found impossible to keep them on indefinitely and at the same time keep up the defense of the sector. Immediately after the bombardment, the entire company area reeked with the odor of mustard-gas and this condition lasted for several days. It had been raining heavily the night before, and there was no breeze whatever.

By about midnight some of the men were sick as a result of the gas, and as the night wore on, one after another they began to feel its effects on their eyes, to cry, and gradually to go blind, so that by dawn a considerable number from the front line had been led all the way back and were sitting by the Lunéville road, completely blinded, and waiting their turn at an ambulance, and the third platoon were unable to furnish enough men to man all their posts and were compelled to ask for replacements.

Meanwhile, about ten o’clock at night, the first and fourth platoons had been ordered to leave their reserve positions and march back to the Lunéville road and down the cross-road on the other side where they lay down in the mud and slept till morning. In the morning they filtered down to replace the casualties in the other two platoons.

About three o’clock in the morning Lieutenant (Doctor) Martin came down in the midst of the gas to relieve Lieutenant Patten, who had been blinded and taken to the hospital. Lieutenant Martin was himself affected by the gas and went blind on the following morning.

By dawn, the men were going blind one after another, and being ordered to the hospital. Often, by the time they got to the ambulance, the man leading was himself blind and both got into the ambulance together. Not a man lost his head or lay down on the job and not a man left for the hospital until he was stone blind, or ordered to go by an officer, and a number of men were blinded while on post, while others stuck it out for so long that it was finally necessary to carry them on stretchers to the dressing station; and this although all had been instructed that mustard gas was one of the most deadly gases and that it caused blindness which lasted for months and was in many cases permanent.

By ten o’clock in the morning fully two-thirds of the company had been blinded, and about this time Lieutenants Crane, Dowling and Levi, and Captain Hurley one after the other went blind and were led back, followed later by Lieutenant Burns.

Throughout the day the men continued to go blind, until by seven o’clock only about thirty were left, almost all of whom were in the front line, under command of Lieutenant Tom Martin, and they were so few that it was necessary for them to go on post for four hours at a stretch, with two hours off, and some of them, including Tom Hickey, Barney Furey, John McLoughlin, Pat McConnell and Jerry O’Connor were on post for as long as six hours at a time.

At seven o’clock Lieutenant Hunt Warner, with Lieutenant Zipp, appeared with reinforcements, consisting of forty men from Company M. Lieutenant Warner was put in command at Chevert with Sergeant Embrie of Company K, as second in command; Sergeant Von Glahn of Company M, was put in command at C. R. 2, where the gas was at that time especially heavy; and Lieutenant Zipp was put in command at Changarnier, with Corporal Joe Farrell, who knew the sector thoroughly and spent the night going from one post to another, as second in command, Lieutenant Tom Martin at Changarnier being in command of the whole company sector.

That evening about dusk the men in the front line heard an explosion in the rear and looked back in time to see the battalion ammunition dump go up in a blaze of glory, on seeing which all broke into applause and loud cheers. It was thought that the Boches might be so foolish as to think the evening propitious for a raid, and all posts were manned and all were ready to give him a warm reception, but he failed to show up.

At seven next morning the French appeared and the relief was completed by about nine o’clock, when the survivors set out for Lunéville, where they were taken in hand by Lieutenant Arnold, who ordered them all, much against their protest, to a hospital where they were surprised to find that they were casualties, their injuries consisting principally of burns on the body, which had just begun to show up, and which kept most of them in the hospital for at least a month.

On their arrival at the hospital they found there some of the French troops who had relieved them on that morning and who had already become casualties because of the gas which lingered in the area.

The men killed, besides McCoun, were Salvatore Moresea, whose body was found by the French in No Man’s Land the day after the Company was relieved, Carl Braun, of Headquarters Company, hit by bullet, with Robert Allen, Walter Bigger, and Lawrence Gavin, who died in the hospital within a day or two as a result of the effect of the gas on their lungs. About four hundred of our men were put out of action in this gas attack including practically all of K Company, many of M, and some from Headquarters, Supply and Medical.

The event had one consoling feature, and that was the superb conduct of the men. They had been told most awful stories of the effect of gas. When they found that their whole position was saturated with it, they felt that their chances to live through it were slender, and that they would surely be blind for a long time. And yet not a single man quit his post until ordered. There was no disorder or panic; the men of Company K were forced to quit their position, but they quit it one by one, and every man was a subject for a hospital long before he left. And the Company M men coming up to take over the position, and seeing the blinded and tortured soldiers going back, had courage in equal measure. Soldiers that will stand up to it as these had done under the terrors and sufferings of that night can be relied on for anything that men can be called on to do.

LUNÉVILLE

_March_ 23rd, 1918

We are quitting this sector and going back to the Langres area to rest up a bit and study out the lessons we have learned. Most of the companies have started already. The Germans are shelling this city today for the first time in over three years. It is an interesting experience to be in a shelled city, and, so far as I can see the results, not a particularly dangerous one.

ST. BOINGT

_Palm Sunday_, 1918

This has been an ideal Spring day. I said Mass in the village church for the “4th Battalion” (Headquarters, Machine Gun, Sanitary and Supply Companies). Later in the morning Major Lawrence and I dropped in to the High Mass. I was interested in the palms. When I was a lad we used cedar, before the days when ships from the Spanish Main brought their cargoes of broad palmetto leaves, which we carry in our hands on Palm Sunday and wear in our hats through Holy Week. Here they use anything fresh, young and growing, that the country and the season afford. The people pluck small branches from the trees on their way to Mass, the preference being for willow shoots with their shiny yellow green bark and furry buds. There is a fine old-world countryside flavor to this custom of plucking these offerings to the Lord from one’s own trees or along familiar lanes, that we never get from our boughten palms.

This I felt especially when I saw what they were doing with them. When the procession began, everybody arose and followed the crossbearer out of the church portals into the mellow spring morning. Around the church they went, their ranks now swelled by a crowd of our own soldiers. Our route lay through the graves of the village dead. At each grave a lone figure or a small group would detach themselves and kneel in prayer while they stuck their fresh young twigs in the soil around it. We too found a place for our offerings and prayers when we came to a recently made mound with a Croix de Guerre and bronze palm embossed upon its stone—a French soldier, “Mort pour la Patrie.” We borrowed pussy willows from the people and pulled branches of green box, and covered that grave with them while we made our soldier’s orisons for the man that was sleeping there, and for our own fine lads that we had left behind in the dugout at Rocroi and under the Green Tree Cross at Croix-Mare.

After Mass I started off across the fields to visit the 2nd Battalion at Essey la Cote. A wonderful spring day—fresh and sweet and clear. From the hill one could see the dull red tiles of twenty villages clustering along the slopes of the rolling landscape. Faint sounds of distant church bells came to my ears; and nearer, clearer notes from overhead such as I had never heard before. Skylarks! It was the final touch to make it a perfect morning.

I dropped down to the road which led to the nestling village, and met a band of children romping out. Here too was spring. They gathered round me, not at all shy, for they were bubbling with excitement and anxious to talk. The American soldiers—they were so—big-and so young—and so nice—and so devout (they filled the church at three Masses)—and so rich (they gave money like nobody had ever seen before, and the Commandant had put a twenty franc note on the collection plate). “Good Old Bill Stacom,” I mused, “we are both far away from our little parish in the Bronx, but he has not forgotten my teachings on the first duty of the laity.”

I dined with Captain Jim Finn and his happy family of bright young Lieutenants—Sherman Platt and Becker and Otto and Flynn, clean cut

## active youngsters who enjoy their work and are delighted at serving

with the old Regiment. I spent the afternoon amongst the men. They too were enjoying the day lazily, cleaning up equipment in chatty groups or propped against sunny walls, or wandering through the fields. They have heard of the big German Drive in the north and they know that we have been halted and are to be sent in somewhere. They are somewhat disappointed at not getting back to Longeau and Baissey and Cohons and Percey once more, but if there is anything big happening they don’t want to miss it. That’s what we are here for.

Billy Kaas offered to be my guide to the hilltop, from which the whole countryside can be seen for miles around. The spot is interesting for other reasons. It marks the high water level of the German invasion of Lorraine in 1914, and now it marks the furthest backward step we are to make on this journey. I feel prophetic twitchings that it will be a long long time before we are allowed to pitch our tents in that part of France over there which has not known invasion by the enemy. The news from the North is grave, and our side will need every soldier it has if the Germans are to be held off. And that is a job that will take a lot of doing. Well, as the men say, “that’s what we are here for.”

ST. REMY AUX BOIS

_March_ 27th, 1918

Dropped over in the morning to call on the First Battalion. I found them in the field, where Donovan had had them lined up for a cross country run. I prudently kept out of his way until he was off with his wild youngsters, and then I looked up George McAdie, who had a stay-at-home duty. Reilley and Kennedy and McKenna were cavorting cross country with the rest. Good enough for them—athletics is a big part of their lives. But George and I are philosophers. So while Donovan led his gang across brooks and barbwire fences and over hills and through woods, George and I sat discussing the most interesting beings in the world; soldier men—their loyalty, courage, humor, their fits of laziness and sulkiness. He pointed out to me a dark Celt who had been discontented with the mean drudgery of a soldier’s life and was hard to manage. Different methods had been tried to jack him up. All failed until the Captain gave him a chance to go over in the Lunéville raid. At last he found something the lad was eager about. He went through the training with cheerfulness, distinguished himself under fire for his cool alacrity, and is now playing the game like a veteran.

Finally the harriers got back, the Major the freshest man amongst them. “Oh, Father,” he said, “why didn’t you get here earlier? You missed a fine time.” “My Guardian Angel was taking good care of me, William,” I said, “and saw to it that I got here late.”

In the afternoon the band came over and we had a band concert in the church square and afterwards a vaudeville show given by the men. The Major was asked to say something and he smilingly passed the buck to me. I got square by telling the story of a Major who had been shot at by a German sniper while visiting one of his companies in the trenches. He made a big fuss about it with the Captain, who in turn bawled out an old sergeant for allowing such things to happen. The sergeant went himself to settle the Heinie that was raising all the trouble. Finally he got sight of his man, took careful aim and fired. As he saw his shot reach home, he muttered, “Take that, confound you, for missing the Major.”

BACCARAT

_Easter Sunday Night_

Yesterday we were at Xaffévillers, Magnières and St. Pierremont. For my Easter celebration I picked Magnières, as the whole 2nd Battalion was there and two companies of the 1st in St. Pierremont, only ten minutes away. For confessions I set up shop in the street at the crossways, and I had a busy day of it. There was always a long file waiting, but when nobody has much to tell the task is soon sped.

I stayed with Stacom. It is always a pleasure to be with Stacom and his officers. He has a way of kindly mastery that begets affectionate loyalty. A man likes Stacom even when he is getting a call down from him. At supper with Doc Houghton, Joe O’Donohue, Arthur Martin, McDermott, Fechheimer, Landrigan, Ewing Philbin, Billy Burns Guggenheim, and Joe McNamara. A man might search the list of all his acquaintances and not find a set of men so congenial and happily disposed.

I looked up the Curé, an alert slender youngish man with a keen intelligent face, a soldier just back that day _en permission_ to keep the old feast with his own people. The Germans had held him as a hostage in 1914 and had thrice threatened to shoot him, though he had looked after their wounded. If thoroughness was their motto they would have been wiser to do it, I reflected as I talked with him; for he was a man that would count wherever he went, and he certainly had no use for Germans. “Too big a man for this place. We won’t be able to keep him long,” said Stacom’s landlady, a pleasant thoughtful woman, whose son of seventeen was just back for the holidays from some college where he is beginning his studies for the priesthood.

The village church was a ruin. Both sides had used it to fight from and both sides had helped to wreck it. The roof was gone and most of the side walls. The central tower over the entrance still stood, though the wooden beams above had burned, and the two big bells had dropped clean through onto the floor. The Curé used a meeting-room in the town hall for his services, but that would not do for my congregation. The church faced a long paved square, so I decided to set up my altar in the entrance and have the men hear Mass in the square. The church steps served excellently for Communion. It is one of the things I wish I had a picture of—my first Easter service in France; the old ruined church for a background, the simple altar in the doorway, and in front that sea of devout young faces paying their homage to the Risen Savior. My text lay around me—the desecrated temple, the soldier priest by my side, the uniforms we wore, the hope of triumph over evil that the Feast inspired, the motive that brought us here to put an end to this terrible business of destruction, and make peace prevail in the world. Here more than a thousand soldiers were present, and the great majority crowded forward at Communion time to receive the Bread of Life.

I hiked it into Baccarat with the Battalion. At a point on the road the separated elements of the Regiment met and swung in behind each other. Colonel Barker stopped his horse on a bank above the road and watched his men go by, with feelings of pride in their fine appearance and the knowledge of how cheerfully they had given up their prospects of a rest and were going back into the lines again. With his usual kind courtesy, he wanted to have me ride, but for once I preferred to hike, as I was having a good time.

Arriving in Baccarat I ran into Captain Jack Mangan,—always a joyous encounter. We found a hotel and something to eat; met there Major Wheeler, Ordnance Officer of Division, a Southerner of the finest type. I tried to start a row between him and Mangan. I always like to hear these supply people fight—they battle with each other with such genial vigor. When they began to swap compliments I left them, to look up the Y. M. C. A. to see if there were religious services in town that I could announce to my Protestant fellows.

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