THE LOST
BATTALION
ARCHIVES PAGE
A Personal Memory by,
Private Ralph E. John, Company 'A' 308th
Foreword
Nothing makes a man feel more
heartsick than the awful picture of men repeating an
event, which had, even the first time, such horrible
results on human beings. Maybe twenty four years is a
long time to some people, long enough for them to forget.
But to me, the world war is not as easy as that to
forget. It seems like yesterday that I experienced what I
experience even today in dreams, men being killed in
action, men wounded, suffering and crying for care when
no help was possible. The five days of being lost in the
famous "pocket" are to vivid in my mind to
forget; five days of horror and bloodshed for what we, as
soldiers in the Lost battalion, thought was a just cause.
Today we still think it was a
just cause but it seems to me that we are slipping into a
situation where another dreadful experience like mine
will be necessary for the young men of today. If such a
case happens, it seems to me that it is very important
for the young men to keep in mind the picture of what
happened in 1917 and especially in October 1918. I hope I
can make them think twice by writing my experiences as
they really happened. That I have tried to do in the
pages that follow.......
When I was
drafted and left McIntosh, South Dakota on April 28,
1918, 1 had no idea of the extent of my travels before I
would return home again. I did not know if I ever would
again return for that matter, nor what changes would take
place in the meantime. I gave all this no thought. At the
time I was not married, had been used to a carefree life
on the range and farm and like practically all of the
others in the first company to which I was assigned my
parents were the only care I left behind. Camp Lewis in
Washington was where I was sent to be sworn into the army
and to receive my first training. This was very limited.
We were outfitted with the full clothing and equipment of
an Infantryman, and had only a little drilling during the
five weeks at this camp. A bunch were shipped out every
so often, to what destination we did, not know. Some were
left behind to help train and drill the others. I had the
chance to be made a corporal but I didn't like that. It
was too easy to mix them up, so the next bunch that went
out, included me.
Camp Kearney, California was the next stop. Here we
joined the Fourth Divisions Up to the time I reached this
camp, I had had only two days training with the army
rifle. But I had carried a pistol or a rifle with me all
the time while riding the range back in South Dakota, and
I could shoot. During the first day on the rifle range, I
could not hit a thing. The next day, when shooting rapid
fire, I got a bull's eye every tine. A lieutenant came up
to me and asked what had been the matter the day before.
I told him that every time I was ready to shoot the day
before, some one would bang away at my sides This would
cause me to flinch just that little bit to throw my sight
off, but that with rapid fire, I got the range and held
the sight. The officer slapped me on the back and said,
"Rapid fire is what we want. You're alright."
These were the only two days I had on the rifle range.
In those days, there was no delay, and it seemed to me
sometimes not even enough for the best routine in rifle
practice and drill. I did not have to have practice with
the rifle, but drilling was something else. But off we
went at the end of only two weeks for another move
somewhere. When I was going to dinner on the day we were
moving camp, I saw a boy whom I had known back home. His
name was Harley Wilcox. We only had a minute to talk as
they had us slated for a big pow wow after dinner. I
looked for him later but the oars were gone and I never
run into him again until after I returned home. I would
have liked to have been with him, as all this was new and
strange to me, and I would have liked to have shared it
with someone from the old home town. There were a large
number of fellows in the outfit, but we didn't have no
time for play.
During my lifetime I had not had an opportunity for much
travel and had not been in but four different states. But
on this trip, destination unknown then, my travel lust
was being fully satisfied. Across mountains, onto the
plains, into cities bulging with factories all booming
with industry and the final stop at Camp Mills in New
Jersey. It was all a sight for me and during the seven
days on the train, we had a lot of fun. Each car was full
but everybody had sufficient space. The baggage car had
been turned into a kitchen with the old army range ever
busy getting out the food for the whole troop train.
Here again at Camp Mills, there was no delay; a brief
stop to get our ground legs again and a breathing spell,
and onto a big boat for the hop across the pond. And what
a pond it was, sometimes rough as some of the Rockies,
and at other times as smooth as glass. We were eight days
crossing. The last two days, I began to feel tough. I
didn't know what was the matter. It wasn't seasickness.
When we landed in England, there was quite a hike to make
and I was sick as a cat with a fever and weak. We would
hike fifty minutes and rest ten. By the time we reached
camp, I was all in. The English acted as if they were
glad to see us and followed us like kids, waving and
cheering. I got by for the two days we were here, just
holding my own and then we were off for another trip.
This time we were loaded on a much smaller boat and
packed in like cattle late at night. By dawn the next day
we had reached the shores of France at a place that I
have since found out was Cherbourg, France. Over the long
period since this experience, dates and places have faded
considerably. Since that time, I have had so much
sickness and distress, that it seems hard to remember
anything. I do remember this, I was getting sicker all
the time
This time we had a twelve-mile hike to make when- we
debarked. We were billeted in an English camp or at least
there were a lot of English soldiers around. I was so
sick I didn't know how I got there but some of the
buddies helped and the camp was reached at long last. As
we came to the outskirts of the camp, we had orders to
fall out on the side of the road, until arrangements were
made for barracks inside the camp. There was
a little French kid tagging along dressed in a black slip
over smock dress and with wooden shoes clanging on the
hobble stone street. I gave him twenty cents and my
canteen. Soon he came back to me with the canteen filled
with wine. I tipped it up. It went gurgle, gurgle, gurgle
until it was all gone and I sent him after another. I got
half of that one down when the call came to move on. We
had about two blocks to go. I didn't stop for supper or
anything but unpacked my roll and went to bed. It was the
next morning when I woke up but I didn't get up. When the
Sergeant came around on inspection, he bawled me out for
not shaving. So I got out my razor and hung up my mirror
to take a shave. When I looked in it. I saw that my face
was all broken out as thick as it could be with small red
pimples, which I knew immediately, was the measles. Off I
was rushed to what was called a hospital. It had a tile
brick floor and boy, it was surely hard. I laid on it for
four days and nights with only one blanket that was used
for a padding. There were no shades on the windows. Our
eats were fine for the measles., nothing but what we
called sow-belly and gravy one meal, the next gravy,
bacon and coffee, no bread nor even hard tack. But
somehow I was tougher than the measles and got over it
even if it did take a quart and a half of wine to make it
pop out. But my outfit had gone on and I was assigned to
another, which I now know was the 77th Division from New
York.
With this outfit, I had two days of training with the
bayonet and then off we were loaded again, this time not
in comfortable cushioned cars, but in very small box
cars, 7 x 20. These cars had a sign on them 40 men or 8
horses. We had 40 men in our car. The train went so slow
that we could take our moss kits and by building a fire
along the track, we could cook our bacon with the train
always on the move. Finally we came to one small town
where we were told it was out final stop. Just as the
train pulled in, we saw an M.P.(Military Police) pushing
one of those small mail carts loaded with all the bread
they could pile on it. Boy, we were hungry and there was
no stopping us from that bread. It was a free-for-all.
Some got a little, others got a lot and still some got
nothing but bruised and smashed fingers. But it tasted
like Melba toast.
Again, as always there was no dilly dallying around. I
had never seen a gas mask until the next day when we
started to the front lines. We were shown how to put them
on and given a long speech about how to detect gas, and
what to do in case of an attack.
We drew our ammunition and each received one box of
hardtack and a can of corn willy. This food was to do us
for the first three days in the lines. As night came, we
started for the front lines.
From the camp, we could hear the occasional bombing of
the big guns of the artillery, which became louder as we
drew nearer. Close in behind the lines, we were hiking in
a deep ditch. I don't know just what happened nor haw,
except that I do know the trench blew up. And such a
mess! I hadn't forgotten what I had been told to look out
for yourself. When I came to my senses, I was up on the
bank crouched down on my knees and with my gun down in
firing position. A second instinct just seemed to tell me
that we had been attacked and to protect myself. But
there was no enemy in sight, nothing but blackness
pierced by the screams and moans of those all but torn to
pieces. We rolled a big rock off one buddy whom I thought
I recognized in the darkness and I asked, "is that
you Reuben?" and he replied, "what is left of
me." He was in the same squad as I. It was my last
sight of him and many more were to go the same way.
It must have been around eleven thirty that night when we
crawled into some big dugouts for protection and rest. It
was pitch dark and we just sat around, listening to the
big shells going over and talking in subdued tones. I got
to talking to a buddy sitting close by me and happened to
mention the name of the town Marmath, North Dakota. This
fellow asked me if I knew Percy Perney and when I replied
that I did, he told me he was his brother. Though we
couldn't see each other, we surely had a real visit for
about two hours. He was then called out and put with
another company. I never saw him again in France and it
was only after I returned that his brother called me into
his store one day to tell me that his brother had gotten
wounded on the second day of the fighting, was taken to a
hospital and passed away. One by one even in this early
stage of the war game, buddies and acquaintances that I
would strike up with were dropping out.
The break of dawn brought plenty of activity. We started
over the top. With a parting word of warning and
instruction to each man by an officer standing in the
trench, up and over the top we went. It was an odd
feeling. It didn't seem like fear, nor even dread, but
more just a feeling of wonderment at what we might see or
learn as we pushed out into no man's land. I never saw so
much barbed wire in my life as there was strung around
there. I could get through better than some as I wore
number ten shoes with hobnails. I had been used to
wearing number eight riding boots nearly all my life and
it is no wonder that now my feet are flattened out and my
arches broken. They serve as continual reminders of those
days often making it necessary for we to get out of bed
at nights and walk around for an hour or two.
Then, marching on and on, I didn't think anything of
stepping over dead bodies of men with whom I had started
out or wading through a pool of blood, but now something
comes up in my throat. Sometimes my eyes get so full of
tears I can hardly write and my thinker quits thinking,
just halted on those dreadful scenes that I ran into
hundreds of times each day. To think back, I can just see
them drop, to look at them and hear what they said and
their requests for help. But we had to go on and leave
them lay for others to aid when they could work up to
them. I don't know who felt the worse.
There had been a great deal of rain and the going was
slow and hard over the slick mud. One day when we were
advancing, I started to jump a trench. I slipped and fell
on my left leg, throwing my knee out of joint. I had done
this about ten years before, so it was loose enough that
I could get it back in place fairly easy. The company had
only gone a little ways ahead when they had orders to
fall out for a brief rest and two of the boys came back
and helped me up, After I got up with the main outfit, I
got a stick for one crutch and used my gun for a cane. I
made a go of it this way. It took lots of guts, but I
didn't want to go back-to the hospital for treatment of
something like this and kept on the go, though slow. When
I had fallen, my tailbone had struck a rock. That hurt as
much as my knee or more. I could hardly sit down or lay
dawn and when I'd get down, it was the devil to try to
get up again. In about a week though, I was as good as
ever again. I just wore it off.
This territory through which we were advancing on the
Western Front had been in the German's hands for over
four years and they had dug outs fixed up like homes. All
of our work up to this time had been hunting these dug
outs and routing them. I shall never forget on particular
time. Pop Pop! Pop.' started a machine gun. All of us
dropped as close to the ground as we could. There were a
lot of them who didn't get close enough to the ground. As
soon as Jerry stopped shooting, we crawled around until
we found the door leading to the machine gun nest. I
threw a hand grenade in and just as it hit the door it
exploded. Here they came out and really acted as if they
were tickled to death to get out alive. There were six of
them. Three looked as if they were around seventy years
of age and had great long whiskers. Bat the other three
looked very young. When we would roust out a dug-out, the
first thing we would look for on the inside was food.
That showed what was on our minds even if not on our
stomachs. There hardly ever was any food, but old dank
black bread. Next we looked for ammunition and then
souvenirs. We found plenty of these, but could not take
any but the best and smallest, as we were already loaded
to the limit with the things we just had to have each
day.
On another instance when the Sergeant had told me to throw
a grenade into a machine gun nest, I had rheumatism and
didn't throw, it far enough or either it backfired. It
went off too quickly and the dirt and rock surely did
pound us. The sergeant yelled, "Good God, man, can't
you throw any farther than that?" But it brought the
Germans out just the same. Each day was just a repetition
of the day before, hiking, crawling, searching for
machine gun nests and routing them out. If it had not
been for the almost amusing incidents to break the
monotony, many fellows would have gone raving mad. There
was a very intensive drive on, with orders to advance as
rapidly as we could, clean out everything in our way, and
not give any ground that we took. Across open fields,
through woods and over hills we kept steadily going. When
night would come, we would just dig in where we stopped
as darkness hit us and hope for supplies of food and
ammunition to keep up with us. Often it was several days
before we had anything but the hard tack and corn willy
left over, without even a fresh supply of this. Hot food
or coffee was something I could remember I had had long
long ago.
Once as we were advancing, we had orders to drop down so
Jerry would shoot over us. There were a lot of large
blackberries growing at this place where we dropped. I
was hungry and getting up on my knees, I picked and ate
some. Pop! Pop! Pop! went a mach-ine gun, but he didn't
get me. In a little bit, I tried it again. The sergeant
yelled for me to stay down. I was, so hungry that I was
willing to take the chance of getting hit and crawled
around to the, other side of the bushes. I was sitting
there eating the blackberries when the machine gun
spotted me again and pop!pop! pop! it started every few
minutes. One of the boys got a bullet through the leg
just before the knee. The sergeant told me that as I was
so eager to get shot at that I could, take the fellow
back to the first aid station. So I put the fellow's arm
around my neck and holding him around the waist, we
started across a little field that had been farmed and
was cleared off. I should judge it was about 20 rods
across it, and how the bullets did sing as they sailed
by. But neither of us got touched. He was a big load
though, through the soft mad. -But I got him safely back
to the first aid station and then started on the return
trip to the outfit. I picked berries on the way and took
my time. When I got back to the place where the outfit
had been, I could see nor hear nothing, and I could not
tell where they had gone. I looked around and wondered
what to do. Finally, fear or lonesomeness thinking of
myself being out there in the middle of the woods alone
and a little vague as to direction, seemed to creep over
me and I started across the valley. As I got to the top
of a little hill . I stopped and. listened but couldn't
hear a sound. The woods were so thick, it was next to
impossible to see very far, but I got a glimpse at last
of some men going across an open place. Without waiting,
to be sure that they were part of my outfit or even
friendly troops, I started after them on a run. There was
no grass growing under my feet until I caught up with
them, and they were of my own outfit. They surely had
cleaned the Germans out making this advance. I never saw
anything but dead bodies scattered around. Maybe you
think I wasn't glad to see the company again. The
sergeant asked me how 1 made it and I reported all OK.
One morning when we were camped in the timber about two
days back from the front line on one of those very few
reliefs we got, there was a hungry bunch of men lined up
for chow. There were a few cans and papers thrown around.
We had hiked about half a mile and just as we thought we
were ready to be served, the sergeant told us that the
major said we had to go back and clean up all that mess
before we ate. I was first in line and was among the
eight men picked out to do the work. Boy did I blow off?
and started cursing. He, called me by name and said that
if he heard any more of it, that held give us all the
detail of the company. Then he said that he would hold
the outfit until we got back. So we did the work, got our
hash and I walked over and sat down by his side, We were
as good friends as ever, A few days later he called for
volunteers to go back after chuck when we were advancing
again back in the lines. I jumped up and he said,
"No. John, you are. too near all in, but it pays to
be square."
So back into the fighting we went, advancing rapidly all
time, on the lookout for machine guns nest, steadily
gaining day by day. The Germans had held this territory
for so long they had dugouts fixed so you couldn't see
anything until they would start shooting, and by the time
we ducked down, there was a lot of lead sailing around.
As soon as they would cease firing, we would crawl around
and throw a few grenades at the place where we thought
the dugout was and how they would core out. One day, we
had fought a tough battle, and the sergeant left one man
to watch a wounded German as we advanced. We hadn't gone
far until this fellow care running as. fast as he could
and all out of wind. He wouldn't say what had happened
but I'd be willing to bet that Jerry turned over and
grunted, and this old kid just quit the flat.
There were men falling out and new ones coming in all the
time as we drove the Germans farther back. It wasn't any
easy go by a long shot, and at nights the whole outfit
were moving so slowly, from a distance they hardly looked
as if they were moving at all. There was only one time
that we retreated any. We had run into a machine gun nest
just before dark, and I'll tell the world they sure made
a lot of the boys drop, never to get up again. After
Jerry ceased firing, we moved back a short ways and let
the artillery thin them out. It was awfully dark and
cloudy that night. It was dark before we dug in for the
night. I was placed on guard. As I was standing close by
a tree, trying to pierce the darkness and drizzling rain.
I heard a bullet whine and jerked my gun up into Position
for firing. As I grabbed hold of the stock, I ran a
sliver in my hand. And when daylight came, there was a
hole through the stock of my rifle. Our artillery kept at
them hot and heavy all night, and the next day we were
able to advance again with the same old speed and more
safely.
Another little incident happened while I was on guard at
a later time. The night was as dark as pitch and very
still. I was in a crouched position with my rifle at my
side. I could hear a noise in the brush and I was trying
to see what it Was- Stealthily it came nearer and nearer
to me. When I thought the object was close enough, I
sprang to my feet ready to f ire away at the spot and
umph, umph, umph, in quick succession came the grunts of
a wild pig as it scooted off through the forest. You have
heard the expression of people's hearts coming up into
their mouths, well, I had to swallow mine several times
before it would stay down. If the whole German army had
stepped out in front of me, I wouldn't have been nearly
so soared, because that was about what I was expecting,
more or less; anything but a wild pig.
Every day and night brought something unlooked for, but
not what we run into on the date of October 2nd, 1918, We
had had orders to advance straight north, but on this day
we run into fierce machine gun fire in thick woods. It
was too thick for the artillery even to do much good, and
to try to go straight through it was sure suicide, so our
commander who was Major Charles W. Whittlesey, turned the
outfit towards a hill on our right. We made it over the
top of this little hill in nice shape and as the enemy
fire had been so intense and as it was getting dark fast,
we were commanded to gig in for the night, on the down
grade of the slope and protected more or less here from
the artillery fire of the Germans. Early the next morning
some more men stumbled onto us, and we learned that the
balance of the men, supporting us on the right had been
out off. Major Whittlesey sent man back to get orders and
find out how the advance was to be made for the day, and.
they quickly returned advising they couldn't get through.
He knew then that we had been entirely cut Off from all
support and were surrounded by the Germans. There were
something over five hundred men from various companies in
this lot who were cut off in what is now historically
famous as "the pocket" and which men have
become known as the Lost Battalion.
There were a lot of German soldiers on the hill in front
of us, around which there was a road near the top* They
seemed to know that we were surrounded and felt that they
could handle us with machine guns and potato masher
bombs. If we tried to make the open space at the bottom
of the hill snipers and machine guns would have picked
off every man as soon as he stepped in the clear. Our men
had I not come up for relief during the night and we had
practically no eats at all, just a few cans of corn willy
and hardtack and no water at all. There was some in the
small stream at the bottom of the hill which we could not
get to at all during the day time, but which some of the
follows did succeed in reaching at night later on. They
would fill up a few canteens and then beat it back into
the brush, protected by a lot of men hidden behind trees
at the
edge of the clearing.
We soon began to search the dead men for food and
ammunition. There were a lot of men lying just outside
the woods in the clear space. Once I tried it out there
to search for food and ammunition but the bullets were
flying too thick for me. It seems they were coming from
all sides. The Way I went into the brush, I was sure
behind myself. You may laugh at this, but if you had been
there, you wouldn't have had time to laugh. The bullets
were close enough to clip the leaves off the trees and
low brush so that they would sting the devil out of my
face. Yet none of them hit me. I wondered then, as I have
done millions of times while fighting in France, how in
the deuce I ever got through it all without being hit by
a single bullet. It seemed almost impossible. But our
food was almost entirely gone and the men had to have
water. The Germans were trying every way to get at us,
using potato mashers, machine guns and trench mortars in
bitter attacks. But we had dug in and the Major was not
going to give ground. They even tried sending messages to
us asking that we surrender, and speaking commands in
English to make our commanders think there were American
soldiers close by, but Major Whittlesey said held never
give in. Messages had been sent out by carrier pigeon,
asking for aid and giving our location, but it seemed
they must all have been killed for the second day rolled
around and there was no help in sight.
There were so many dead around us, that the small was
almost unbearable. Some started digging graves for these
men, and whenever they would stand up in sight, the
Germans would open up on then in full blast. On the hill
behind they had machine gulls and plenty of them. There
were twenty of us who tried our luck to get those Jerrys,
so we could get though for food but no luck. Sargent
Anderson was in charge. If he had just made it up the
hill to the road and were lining up when the machine guns
let loose and how the lead did pour in at us for just a
minute. Just long enough for us to get out of sight.
Those who couldn't jump rolled or were drug off the road.
I jumped and when I hit, I hit rolling, me and the gun
all through the brush. When I finally came to a stop, I
was pretty well scratched up and my clothes, were torn
about off. Again I wasn't hit. There were only three of
the twenty who escaped however. I remember that Sergeant
Anderson got a bullet just above both eyes. It knocked
him down but it only burned the skin in a dark brown
line. He surely had a close call. One of the boys had a
finger shot off and some were dead. Many tried to sneak
out but they would just have to come back, if they could
get back. Many never did return. Whenever we saw a plane
overhead, we would try to signal to it, waving white
flags, but they evidently never did see us.
My buddy and I
were lying in our little dugout or foxhole, keeping watch
for the Germans coming in behind us. They were hollering
as they were passing through an open space in the timber.
I told him that the next time one came out, I was going
to cut loose. We weren't the only ones who had the same
idea. My gun barrel got so hot I couldn't touch it with
my bare hands. They didn't scare us as much as they
thought they would. The men were getting weaker and
weaker. Our ammunition was almost gone. We had robbed the
dead men of everything in the way of food, water and
ammunition. The stink was almost unbearable. Many wounded
men would almost rot before they died. They surely were
brave though, and Knowing that we didn't have food nor
water to give them, they didn't ask for much and didn't
complain much either for the intense pain they must have
been in. At night sometimes we would be able to bury a
few of them in shallow graves or just throw dirt over
them in their dugout.
Right after noon on the third day, with no assistance in
sight, and the Major refusing to give up to the many
ruses used by the Germans to get him to surrender, there
came one of the worst barrages I have ever seen. My buddy
and I were lying in the same dugout listening to the
shells come over. We could tell about where they were
going to hit. He would say, "Here is one that is
coming close." And it did strike---too close for
comfort. The dirt was thrown sky high and both of us were
nearly buried. I only had one hand out in the open. With
this one free hand, I reached my shovel and dug myself
and then my buddy out. We had Just got ourselves out when
another shell hit close by and via were buried again. The
third time was too much and we started looking for a
safer place. As I was walking around, I stepped on
something that wasn't too solid and felt it roll under my
feet. I looked down and there were three men lying on the
ground covered up with dirt until you couldn't see them.
They were still alive but stunned. I would not have known
they were there if I hadn't stepped on the leg of one of
them. My buddy and I layed flat on the ground to keep the
flying shrapnel from the shells from hitting us. This
shrapnel would make an ugly wound and was a lot worse
than machine gun bullets, many of which would go right
through a man and leave a clean hole. Neither my buddy or
I got a scratch but there was a lot of shrapnel that came
awful close, so close that we could just about feel it
whiz by. But a miss is as good as a mile.
Soon we realized that it was our own artillery that was
bombing us. I certainly would have hated to be a German
and have to take barrages like this one very often. That
artillery fire that afternoon was the worst attack of the
whole siege. Major Whittlesey released the last carrier
pidgeon along about the middle of the afternoon and when
that pigeon took off, it carried a prayer from every man
there. It seemed the absolute last hope of any relief.
Food was all gone. Some little later, the firing from the
artillery stopped and we all had hope that our message
had gotten through.
But our hopes were again shattered the next day when the
firing started all over again. But the, shells were not
landing on us this time, but on the hill ahead. The
shells were coming over us, so our artillery must have
received some kind of message and were getting better
range. We had seen planes flying over, but they missed
their bearing, and we could see bundles or something
being tossed out. We latter found that was we believed at
the time was true, that these planes had been endeavoring
to bail out food for us, but they were missing fire. How
that did anger us, having to think of those Germans
getting good food intended for us. But the major wouldn't
give in.
It was dangerous for us to stick our heads up even a
little during the daytime. The Germans sure had sharp
eyes. Once when my buddy and I were lying in a foxhole,
he put his hat on the end of his gun and raised it.
Immediately the German machine guns started popping away
at it. I dug three bullets out of the bank. He said,
"The sons of a gun have sure got us spotted." I
replied, Yes, and you had better lie still. That was even
too close for me. In the daytime, we could only try to
lie still, no matter what we wanted to do or how we
cramped. The minute we would move around, they would pour
the bullets in on us. We had to do what little stirring
around that was absolutely necessary during the dark of
the night, and very little of that even. At times, they
would start closing in on us. Then we would spread to the
top and bottom of the hill and lay or sit still until one
of them moved. And, then we had to get him quick before
he got you.
When they stopped so we could get out a little, such a
mess you never did see. Some of our men were dead, other
dying and moaning for help. Some were already buried and
others just in pieces. You may think it is an easy job to
write about it all, but I write a while and my eyes get
so filled with tears at the memory of it all that I just
have to quit. Then something big comes up in my throat
and chokes me. I try to lie down and rest but I can't
rest nor sleep. If, after exhaustion, I do sleep it is
only to live it all over again in dreams, seemingly more
real than when I'm awake. Now after more than twenty
years, the memory carries an indelible copy of those
miserable days in the pocket, that will be never blotted
by good times or other troubles I may have.
The most terrible thing of it all, it seems to me, was
the fact that we could do next to nothing for the
wounded. We had no first aid to take care of them. What
little supplies each of us had carried, had long since
been used, even shirts, socks and underwear had been torn
into rags for bandages. Everybody living was like a
living scarecrow. It didn't seem so terrible then, as it
was a sight that was before our eyes every minute of the
day and to each of us it seemed so evident that it would
only be a short time until we would take our place along
side of them, that we became reconciled to it. But now,
it seems most terrible and inhuman, I can only wonder why
I never was hit by a bullet nor shrapnel or starve to
death right there. I guess it was just because Jerry
didn't have my number.
That night the major sent two volunteers back to see if
they could get through now. In a short time one came
back, and was so badly shot he just made it. The other
never returned and I never learned whether he got through
or was killed. The barrage kept up again all day, and the
next, which was the sixth day in the pocket, Major
Whittlesey wanted some of us to try again by working our
way along the road. He went along himself, What few of us
who were able to navigate at all went with him, although
our back-bones and out stomachs were rubbing. I was so
weak I could hardly make it and the hill was pretty
steep. The major passed me and said, "Come on, Jack,
this may be our last battle." I looked up at him and
said, "I'm a game son of a_________". When we
got up to the road, we sat on the edge of the bank,
scouting the woods across and above the road. I didn't
know it at the time but Major Whittlesey was sitting
behind me about three feet. I saw a German running
crouched over, and wheeling around with my rifle, fired
at him. When I had fired the end of the barrel was very
close to the major's shoulder and he almost shouted,
"What the h___is coming off?" I just pointed to
the German who was then rolling over the bank and he
said, "Good work, boy." This little compliment
from the major will always be remembered. ,
We couldn't make it through and worked our way back down
into the pocket where the others were. But shortly after
dark, following terrible fighting and shooting to the
rear of us that didn't let up even when dark came, a
bunch of our own boys broke through. They said they had
as hard a battle as any they had ever been into to break
through and that they could smell us a long way off. I
don't think I'll ever be as glad to see anyone as I was
that bunch of men. It wasn't safe yet for us to try to go
back during the night, so we settled down with happy
hearts and thoughts of what the next day would bring to
spend the last night in that hell hole pocket.
Early next morning more men arrived and the Major was
right down among his men, doing anything he could for
them. Worn with fatigue and hunter, a happy bunch started
the hike back to the rear for a little rest and food. It
was quite a hike back to the place where we could get
food, but we didn't mind it. I can well remember the
first thing I had to eat was a big white onion, and boy,
did I bite into it. Next I had some red molasses and
bread. There were prunes, tomatoes, spuds, rice and
coffee a banquet if I ever looked at one. I would eat a
few bites or rather gobble it down, then I would have to
run aside and I'd vomit it all up. I'd go back and eat
some more, then lose it. This was the way I tried to eat
supper, with darned little staying down. That night we
did have so called bedding, and boy, the nicest part of
it all was to be in out of the rain. Many a time the
water would drown us out of our dugout or foxhole when
caught in the pocket and I would try to sleep leaning
against a tree. But then I'd catch myself falling over.
An old building was out shelter that night and I'll bet I
made forty trips to the bushes----with both ends
operating.
Next morning, the sun was shining and boy, did we feel
wonderful we tried to shave but had only cold water and
with three weeks whiskers on, besides plenty of clay that
had massed on our faces, You can imagine what agony we
went through with trying to scrape all this off with a
safety razor. Some of the yells were like the coyotes
back in Dakota. We got a clean bath and clean clothes.
How well I remember the first bath after my first few
weeks in the line. When I removal my clothes, the ground
was all white for several feet all around me from the
scales coming off, after getting well of the measles. Our
underclothes were as stiff from dirt as if they had been
starched. Most of the fellows were kept busy for some
time picking the cooties off their clothes, but as I had
a little envelope in my shirt pocket filled with
sypazilla, I didn't have many cooties.
Now we were out of the fighting for a while, at least. We
were told that we were going way back behind the lines
for the long deserved rest, and that the end of the was
not very far off, that an armistice had been talked
between the Germans and the Allies, so we were all in the
best of spirits. We spent most of the day lying around
and resting. It is wonderful how a rest feels after such
a strenuous time as the last week had left us. We had no
ambition to do anything else. At the time, it all seemed
like another big battle that we had pulled through.
The next morning at four o'clock, we were ordered to roll
our packs for what we thought was the hike back to the
rest camp. We hiked four days but didn't mind, though it
seemed to me that we were heading in the wrong direction,
yet I was always turned around while fighting, sometimes
going one way and sometimes the other. The little stay
over of one day had put us in good spirits again. But we
were hiked right back into the front lines again, and
here we found some real fighting. An intensive drive
started as we reached the lines and lasted four days.
This time, it was slow going, the artillery