Chapter 3 of 52 · 3943 words · ~20 min read

Part 3

“There were evidences everywhere, during this fighting, of German treachery. Those Prussians were nasty fighters. The following is quoted from the letter of a quartermaster’s sergeant who talked with a number of our wounded in the hospital:

“‘If evidence were lacking of ingrained German untrustworthiness and treachery, the following from the lips of three men, one an officer, would be ample. During the progress of a hot engagement a number of Germans, hands aloft and crying “Kamerad!” approached a platoon of Marines who, justifiedly assuming it meant surrender, waited for the Germans to come into their lines as prisoners. When about three hundred yards distant, the first line of Germans suddenly fell flat upon their faces, disclosing that they had been dragging machine guns by means of ropes attached to their belts.

“‘With these guns the rear lines immediately opened fire and nearly thirty Marines went down before, with a yell of rage, their comrades swept forward, bent upon revenge. I am happy to state that not a German survived, for those who would have really surrendered when their dastardly ruse failed were bayoneted without mercy.

“‘As stated, I talked separately with three different Marines at different times, and have no doubt of the truth of the story. When it spreads through the Corps, it will be safe to predict that the Marines will never take a prisoner.

“‘Can they be blamed? As one man remarked, “A good German is a dead German.” Another said, “They are like wolves and can only hunt in packs. Get one alone, and he is easy meat.”

“‘Little of this sounds uplifting, and smacks of calloused sensibilities. But the business that brought these men to France is not a refined one. It is kill or be killed, perhaps both, and the duty of each man in the American army is to kill as many of the enemy as may be, before he, in turn, is killed.

“‘I will not deny that my nerves are tense with horror at what I have seen, and with pride at what our boys have done, even while my soul is sick with this closer view of the red monster, War.’”

The Marine brigade was cited by the French army for its work in the capture of Bouresches and Belleau Wood and the regimental colors have the Croix de Guerre with the palm; but, let it be recorded as evidence of what the Marines were that there were 518 individual citations for conspicuous valor and extraordinary heroism in action, including officers and privates.

“FORWARD, LANCERS!”

And Captain Grenfell’s Cavalry Troops Lived Over “the Charge of the Light Brigade”

The first officer in the British Army to win the Victoria Cross in the great war was Captain Francis O. Grenfell. He gained the coveted reward on August 24, 1914, almost at the commencement of the British fighting in Belgium, it was at the time of the great battle at Mons and the perhaps more momentous retreat that followed. The gallant little English army was struggling desperately to escape from the superior force of Germans, who gave it no rest. The cavalry was ordered to charge the enemy—to delay, head off and harass him as much as possible. Foremost among the Lancers—mounted soldiers carrying lances—who were always to the front in this dangerous and difficult undertaking, was Captain Grenfell of the 9th.

The German guns caused terrible execution. The German infantry came on in dense columns—like peas thrown out of a sack, as one soldier described it. They pressed hard on the whole of the main body of the army but especially dangerous was the position of the 5th Division. To relieve this section the 9th Lancers were ordered to charge.

“Although all knew they might be going to certain death,” as the story is told by G. A. Leask, “not one of the gallant men faltered. They sang and shouted like schoolboys as their horses thundered over the ground. They treated the charge in the spirit of sport. These dashing cavalrymen, as they rode straight at the German guns, presented one of the finest sights of the whole war. There has been little opportunity to engage in cavalry charges since. Grenfell rode at the head of his men, encouraging them by his coolness. One who took part in the charge has said that he was the life and soul of the squadron, shouting the loudest, always in the front, setting an example to his comrades by his fearless riding.

“At first all went well. Few of the Lancers had fallen, and the dashing cavalrymen were looking forward to a real fight at close quarters with the German gunners, who were playing such havoc among our troops. The men were in excellent spirits, although they knew their danger.

“INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH”

“Suddenly a murderous fire from the enemy pulled them up. Grenfell’s cheery voice rose above the awful din of bursting shells, urging his men to continue the charge. They recovered, and followed their leader. Then the enemy’s fire became hotter. It was like riding into the jaws of death. Twenty concealed German machine guns rained death on the horsemen at a distance of not more than 150 yards. Even then the gallant 9th did not waver, for they were led by a hero. Standing up in the stirrups and brandishing his sword Captain Grenfell called to his men to ride straight on. They cheered and obeyed. It now seemed as though nothing could stop this wild charge. Both men and horses had become infuriated.

[Illustration:

The Rifle Brigade Fighting Its Way Through Neuve Chapelle

This brigade is the youngest of regiments in the regular British Army. It was the first to enter the village of Neuve Chapelle.]

“Grenfell himself seemed to bear a charmed life, while all around him empty saddles told their terrible tale. He did not come through the charge unscathed, but his wounds were not serious.

“The Lancers continued to sweep forward until finally held up by the enemy’s barbed wire, cunningly concealed in the long grass. The German trap had succeeded. To proceed farther was impossible, and in order to escape total annihilation the gallant horsemen reluctantly turned their horses’ heads and rode back. Of the 9th Lancers not more than forty came out of the ordeal.

“The charge of the Lancers had failed, but it will live forever in military annals. It proved to the world that the British cavalry was as dashing and brave as in the days of old.”

GRENFELL RESCUES THE GUNS

Grenfell’s second great exploit came on the same day. It was equally daring. When the survivors of the 9th Lancers rode off the field the Captain, although not seriously wounded, was greatly in need of rest. That, however, was not yet to be. He had espied a railway embankment, and quickly made for it with the men under his charge. When they arrived at the shelter they found a number of men of the 119th Field Battery, which had been put out of action and abandoned. There was the danger of the guns being captured by the enemy and turned against the English. It had been a great day for the artillery, no less than for the cavalry.

“This battery had been in action earlier in the day with the object of delaying the German advance and relieving the terrible pressure on the harassed infantry, who were being driven back from Mons by superior forces. The 119th Battery had given and received a terrific fire. One Germany battery had been silenced by the gunners, who were afterward attacked by three of the enemy’s batteries from different directions. The unequal contest was very fierce while it lasted. All the gunners had been killed by shrapnel, and the survivors of the battery were ordered to seek safety.

“Up till now it had been found impossible to attempt the rescue of the guns. They remained exposed to the German shells and would have been captured but for the gallantry of Captain Grenfell. An officer of the 119th Battery, Lieutenant Geoffrey Blemell Pollard, who had been trying to devise means to save his guns, came to where the Lancers were resting, and put the matter before them. Would they assist him to get the guns away?”

Captain Grenfell heard the lieutenant’s request. He carefully climbed to the top of the embankment, surveyed the position, and returned. He had seen that the Germans had now captured the guns.

Grenfell determined to get the guns, regardless of the cost. He asked for volunteers and before he had done speaking two dozen Lancers had given in their names. They did not need to be told that Grenfell would lead—they had been in the charge with him and knew that he would not send others to do his work. They would have followed him anywhere.

Grenfell led his little party of troopers into the open. Bullets were flying around, shrapnel was bursting near. “He was as cool as if he was on parade,” said a corporal who took part.

He led his men right into the hurricane of shot and shell. Every few minutes they stopped for breath, then on again. Advancing at a rapid rate they reached the guns.

“So unexpected was the charge of Grenfell’s squadron that the Germans, taken by surprise, fled in panic. Grenfell gave quick directions; rapidity of action was essential, for the Germans in the rear of the guns were pouring in a rapid fire. One gun was safely man-handled out of action. Grenfell was not the man to leave a task half-finished, and, braving the shells, he galloped back to the guns. By the time he reached them some of the battery’s horses had been brought up, and Grenfell assisted to hitch them to the guns. This done, the latter were galloped off the field. Not one gun of the 119th Battery was lost, and most of the wagons were recovered. Only three men were hit during the rescue operations. Thus ended one of the quickest and most gallant gun-saving exploits of the war.

“Later in the day Captain Grenfell was wounded. A bullet struck him in the thigh, and two of his fingers were injured. He was brought back from the firing-line, and an ambulance was sent for.

“While awaiting the ambulance a motor-car dashed along. ‘That’s what I want,’ said Captain Grenfell. ‘What’s the use of an ambulance to me? Take me back to the firing-line.’ He entered the motor-car and went back to fight....

“Captain Grenfell was twice invalided home, but on each occasion curtailed his rest in order to get back to the firing-line. He was killed while in command of the left section of the 9th Lancers on May 24, 1915. The Germans had broken through the line, but Grenfell held, and in the words of his Commanding Officer, Major Beale Browne, ‘saved the day.’”

Thus died one of the greatest heroes of the war, a soldier to his fingertips, a born leader, a true gentleman. His men loved him because they knew his worth. In his will he left his Victoria Cross—the most honorable decoration England bestows—to the men of his regiment, “to whom the honor of my gaining it was entirely due.”

AN UNPARALLELED HERO

The Church Elder and Champion Turkey-Shooter Who Killed 25 Germans and Captured a Machine Gun Battalion

Six feet tall, weighing a trifle over two hundred pounds, brawny as becomes a man whose time was divided between blacksmithing and farming, clear-cut and strong of feature, kindly of disposition but positive and resolute by the testimony of keen blue eyes and flaming red hair—that is the general description of Alvin C. York, native of the Tennessee Mountains, extraordinary hero of the Argonne Battle, and modest withal.

There is no story of the great war that reads more like an extravagant fiction; but it is thoroughly attested, its truth unquestionably established by official investigation and by the sworn statements of fellow soldiers as one of the most amazing individual achievements in the four years crowded with deeds of almost incredible heroism and daring.

In a sentence: On Oct. 8, 1918, less than a year after he joined the army, Alvin C. York, as Corporal York, Company G, 328th Infantry, 82d Division, A. E. F., during operations in the Argonne sector, killed twenty-five Germans, captured 132 prisoners, including a major and several lieutenants, and put out of commission thirty-five machine guns—and did it by his “lonesome,” subduing the machine gun battalion with his rifle and automatic pistol.

Now, the thing that gives vivid additional interest to the thrilling story is the fact that its hero was an elder of the Church of Christ and Christian Union—a sect scrupulously opposed to any kind of fighting and firm as conscientious objectors to war—and was one of the most devout and earnest members of his home church, in Pall Mall, Tennessee. And thereby hangs a romance!

He had been one of the young bucks of the region, a typical mountaineer; a dead shot with rifle or pistol; champion of the turkey-shooting matches; breezy, jovial, liberal of oath, free with the demijohn, and not averse to a fight. He was one of eleven children, having seven brothers and three sisters, and when his father (blacksmith and farmer) died in 1911, Alvin, then twenty-four years old, took on the two occupations as head of the family; the older brothers married and went away. But in hours not demanded by smithy or farm he followed the bent of his old habits for the next two or three years, when, yielding to his mother’s entreaties, he gave up drinking and settled into sobriety. The “girl of all the world” urged him to join the church. So he waited a year, thinking the thing over. Convinced that it was the right course to pursue, he joined the church in 1915.

[Illustration:

Sergeant Alvin C. York

As Corporal York of the 328th Infantry he captured 132 prisoners, killed twenty-five German machine-gunners and put out of operation thirty-five machine guns.]

When the United States declared war and conscription came, York was second elder of his church and, naturally, pastor and congregation urged him to abide by the doctrine of the church and claim exemption as a conscientious objector. He was sorely troubled. He believed in his religion, was soulfully committed to it, but he loved his country too—and patriotism is also a religion. He refused to claim exemption, and went with the draft to Camp Gordon in Georgia, but was obviously unhappy in his divided duty. He talked many times on the subject with Captain Danforth and Major Buxton. In addition to much reasoning they cited scriptural passages from the Old and New Testaments, that convinced him there are times when the sword is the instrument of divine justice, and before the 82d Division sailed for France, the conscientious objector declared himself satisfied that he was on the right course, and gave himself wholeheartedly to the duties of the soldier.

And a good soldier he was, cheerfully, promptly obedient to orders, quick in mastering details, and distinguished by the cool, positive conduct of the self-reliant by habit and of the fearless by nature. He was made Corporal of Company G, 328th Infantry, 82d Division, a division made up of representatives of every state in the Union, hence the A. A. (All-America) in its insignia.

EARLY INTO ACTION

Over the sea went the 82d and was speedily in action, doing valorously in the Meuse-Argonne battles. And then, Oct. 8, at 6 o’clock in the morning, the 2d Battalion of the 328th, Corporal York with Company G, set off from Hill 223 with the Decauville railroad as its objective, two kilometers to the west. They had to cross a valley of several hundred yards and climb the ridges of a hill, all the time under machine gun fire from three directions. The guns from one hill had the Americans enfiladed, and Acting Sergt. Bernard Early was ordered to take two squads, and put the guns out of action. Early had sixteen men under him, one of whom was Corporal York.

They set out to climb the hill with a heavy fire from a ridge at their backs, but the density of the trees and brush permitted them to get beyond observation without loss, though bullets continued to cut through the trees as they struggled and stumbled upward through the tangle. They crossed the crest and began the descent of the opposite slope, and suddenly, on the farther side of a little stream they came upon a group of Germans, twenty to thirty in number, seated on the ground for a meal.

[Illustration:

Home, Sweet Home

Back home again in the Tennessee mountains.]

The Americans fired and there were a few return shots, but the majority of the surprised Germans threw down their guns and held up their hands in sign of surrender, and the others followed suit promptly, including the major in command of the battalion. They were amazed to find that their captors were American.

Sergt. Early had them line up and was just ready to take them out when, in the expressive words of a survivor, “all hell broke loose.” Machine-guns placed in “fox-holes” that had been pointed the other way were swung round, and from the slope above Early’s detachment, began a fusillade. The German prisoners at once dropped down and lay on their bellies as did some of the Americans, others seeking the shelter of trees. Six of the little detachment were killed outright. Early was shot three times through the body and Corporal Cutting and Private Muzzi were wounded. On one side of York was Private Wareing, on the other Private Dymowski, both shot to pieces, York untouched. This fire reduced the party to eight, York and seven privates. Of the latter, one was pinned behind a tree, the others were guarding the prisoners. That is the testimony of the men themselves. They did no shooting.

“ALL THE TIME I WAS A-USING MY RIFLE”

York, when he dropped at the first fire of the machine-guns, found himself in a little path by a clump of bushes; the machine-guns were peppering from a distance of less than thirty yards, cutting off the tops of the bushes about York. On his return to the United States May 22, 1919, York said to a reporter: “I sat right where I was, and it seemed as if every gunner was a-firing straight at me. All this time, though, I was a-using my rifle, and the enemy he was a feeling the effects of it. One of our boys yelled that it was impossible to get the best of the situation, but I yelled back ‘Shut up!’ I knew one American was better than ten Germans if he kept his wits.”

He had no thought of surrender and “Somehow, I knew I wouldn’t be killed.” Aiming as he used to when shooting off the heads of the turkeys, he spotted Germans in the “fox-holes,” those firing from behind trees or over logs, with deadly precision, himself lying low to have the protection of the German prisoners prostrate between him and the machine-guns. He was not the man to miss a mark at that range. One boche had the indiscretion to rise in order to fling a small bomb at the rifleman. The bomb missed its object; not so the responsive bullet. “I got him square,” said York.

“I WHIPPED OUT MY AUTOMATIC”

“I turned in time to see a Heinie Lieutenant rise up from near one of them machine-guns and with six or seven men come charging toward me with fixed bayonets. They were only twenty yards away from me when I whipped out my automatic and I potted them off one after another.” (This man York, by the way, in a contest with an automatic pistol, hit a penny match-box every shot at forty paces.)

“As soon as the Germans saw the Lieutenant drop, most of the machine-guns stopped firing and the battle sort of quieted down, but I kept on shooting until the Major with the first batch of Germans we had come across, and who was lying on his stomach to avoid being hit by his own gunners, called to me in perfect English that if I would stop shooting he would make them all surrender, so I did. Then I called all our boys, and their affidavits show they came, and we herded the Germans in front of us and started toward our lines. I walked among four German officers and had our wounded bring up the rear. The Major asked me how many men I had, and I just told him, ‘I have a-plenty.’”

On the way they stirred up several more machine-gun nests, one of which put up a fight and York felt it a regrettable necessity to “shoot a man there.” After that when a nest was flushed the Major touched him on the arm and said, “Don’t kill any more, and I’ll make them surrender.” This was done and the hill was pretty well cleared up before they got to the other side and York’s herd of prisoners numbered 132, counted and certified to by Lieutenant Joseph A. Woods, Asst. Division Inspector, as they were reported to the P. C. of the 2d Battalion, 328 Infantry, that same Oct. 8.

PROMOTED AND DECORATED

Now what should be done with a corporal who, with rifle and automatic pistol, outfought a machine-gun battalion and took 132 prisoners in addition to killing twenty-five of the enemy? First they made him a Sergeant. Then somewhat later, after his amazing story was officially examined and verified by affidavits, in the presence of all the officers of the 82d Division, Major General C. P. Summerall decorated him with the Distinguished Service Cross, and said to him: “Your conduct reflects great credit not only upon the American Army, but upon the American people. Your deeds will be recorded in the history of the Great War, and they will have an inspiration not only to your comrades but to the generations that will come after us. I wish to commend you publicly and in the presence of the officers of your division.”

[Illustration:

Major-General R. L. Bullard and His Entire Divisional Staff

Major-General Robert Lee Bullard saw far more actual fighting than many of his colleagues in the old regular Army establishment. He led the First Division in France and later received the honor of being put in command of the Second Army Corps, many of his troops distinguishing themselves at Château-Thierry.]

Then the French, to whom valor is a thing of divine sanctity, awarded him that enviable soldier’s treasure, the Croix de Guerre, and in presenting it to him Marshal Foch, who knows right well what brave deeds are, told him that his was the greatest act of bravery and presence of mind under great stress performed by any soldier of the Allied Armies. Add to this that badge of nobility, the Congressional Medal of Honor.

But with the two crosses on his breast and the medal in prospect, Sergeant York had a light in his eyes and a hesitant smile on his lips when he spoke of a Tennessee girl, “the prettiest in the state,” that rather suggested the idea that in his opinion his proudest distinction would be when Miss Grace Williams became Mrs. Alvin York.

“I FEEL A HEAP STRONGER SPIRITUALLY”