HISTORY
OF THE 304th FIELD ARTILLERY
by
James M. Howard
1920
CHAPTER
IX
A TEN DAYS' MARCH
That was a happy Sunday we spent in the Bois de Munier. A
warm sun overhead, soft turf under foot, ample water near
at hand for the horses and for washing, and, above all,
the knowledge that we were out of the battle for a while
and on our way to some rest camp for a clean up and fresh
clothes, made it a day long to be remembered. There was a
sort of holiday feeling among the men. Mr. Dolphim dug
into the baggage wagons and got out his band instruments,
and about sundown there was a concert. The band was sadly
out of practice the players hands were stiffened by
manual labor and their lips had lost their skill but
their music seemed a thing divine! The Chaplain held a
service in 'the woods, and although the fact that it was
watering time for the horses interfered somewhat with the
attendance, a goodly number of the men joined reverently
in the worship and thanked God heartily for His goodness.
Night brought a welcome opportunity for more sleep. The
lighting of fires or of cigarettes after dark was still
prohibited, but there was a sense of security that no one
had enjoyed for weeks.
Monday was spent in getting the wagons and horses, as
well as a few blistered feet, into shape for the march
that lay ahead, and that evening, after a hot supper, the
regiment swung out of the woods and took the southward
road.
That night we crossed the Marne again, this time in no
feverish haste, but slowly and easily. The beautiful
valley, bathed in moonlight, lay before us as the column
wound down the hill to the bridge, and presented a
picture that lingered in the minds of the most unpoetic.
Then up a long slope on the southern bank, made easy by
the fact that we could see where we were going, and by
the evenness of the well paved highway. Eastward then we
turned, following the valley of the Marne, until, about
daybreak, we reached our camping ground in a sweet
smelling pine wood.
The next night it rained. One who has never traveled on
foot at night cannot realize what a difference the
ability to see makes in the amount of fatigue one feels.
In the moonlight, when the road lies ahead like white
ribbon, and the surrounding hills and valleys and woods
and fields stand out clearly and lend variety to the
scene, marching is comparatively easy. But when the sky
is overcast, and no moon nor stars give their light, and
the darkness is like a wall shutting the travelers in,
the feet grow tender and stumble over pebbles, the pack
becomes heavy, and every step is an effort. Or, if one is
mounted, sleep attacks the rider with a sort of
vindictive persistence, and will not leave him alone. He
nods and droops, and then, beginning to fall, catches
himself with a jerk, only to lose consciousness again and
be jerked once more into a half intelligent realization
that he must keep awake. Then he dismounts and tries
walking, and at every halt leans against his horse and
dozes anew with an overpowering drowsiness that brings no
rest. And when it rains, these conditions are aggravated
by the water that gradually soaks through one's clothes
and filters into one's shoes and turns the road under
foot into a series of muddy pools through which horses
and pedestrians splash and ooze their way.
Yet the men bore it patiently, because they were headed
away from the front and toward some unknown haven of
rest; and when, with the morning light, the regiment
pulled into a broad meadow, near the town of Epernay, and
the sun, peering through the breaking clouds, revealed a
fair hillside covered with vineyards, and streams of
water near at hand, and cordial villagers coming up with
eager offers of eggs for sale, and wine, and good French
bread, every one was content.
When, at evening, the regiment was preparing to resume
its march, an unusual thing happened. Let a corporal's
diary tell the story:
"About 11P. m. . . . all the canonneers were given
two days rations and marched off through a drizzling rain
to a neighboring town where we were hustled into trucks
and on our way. What distance we traveled and what route
we followed that evening will always be a mystery to us.
Suffice it to say that the trucks were loaded to
suffocation and sleep was of course impossible. We
rumbled and rocked along through the mud. The morning,
though, was clear and bright. We passed scores of
villages, all of which were well behind the lines, but
which all had their quota of American troops. About 10
o'clock A. m., we arrived at the little town of Braux St.
Remy. The battery was split up and billeted in different
places, our section faring the best. We were assigned to
a long stable, and here we enjoyed the luxury of cots,
keenly reminiscent of Camp Upton days. The town itself is
utterly devoid of any attraction, save for the one wine
shop where John Barleycorn reigns supreme. For two days
and a half we stayed here, led the simple life, with no
drills and no formations-quite a contrast to what we had
undergone at the front." And, one might add, quite a
contrast also to what the rest of the regiment was
undergoing in the meantime.
For while these cannoneers, some four hundred strong,
were being conveyed across the country in trucks, the
rest of us made our way on foot. We wondered vaguely
where the cannoneers had gone, and why. Our answer came
within a day or two.
One afternoon (we were marching by day now, and sleeping
at night) the regiment came down into the valley of the
upper Marne. We had been following a general
southeasterly direction now for five days, and we were
beginning to wonder where that rest camp was and when we
should reach it. But when we saw the broad, green meadows
of the river valley, with the stream meandering through
them; when we parked our guns and wagons on the beautiful
turf, and pitched our tents on the rich carpet of soft
grass, we decided that, if only they would let us stay
there, we could easily be content without any rest camp,
for we could rest where we were and be happy. Men
sprawled on the ground in utter abandon. The horses and
mules were turned loose to graze, and some of the
weariest looking nags kicked up their heels and raced
about like colts. It required considerable skill in
stalking them to gather all the animals in when it was
time to picket them f or the night. There was a
restfulness about the place that surpassed anything we
had ever known in France, and our sleep that night was
deep and dreamless.
The next day baseballs were produced, and although there
were no set games there was considerable exercise for all
who wanted to indulge in it, and the exhilaration of a
real early fall day made everybody feel fresh and active.
Several neat villages near by served as an attraction for
some of the men, and they explored them at will and
sought vainly for eggs or poultry. Alas, the 305th had
got there before us, and there was not a thing to be
bought! It was fun to wander around, however, and the
desire to stay in that spot grew as the day wore on.
But about four o'clock a messenger dashed up on a
motorcycle and delivered an order to Colonel McCleave
which brought surprise and consternation to the whole
camp. We were to pack up and be on the road, ready for a
march, within twenty minutes! And we did it, too. Such a
bustling preparation as there was during those next few
minutes, such a buzzing of tongues, such a wild spreading
of rumors! What was up. Where were we going? Why all this
haste? Why another night march?
Presently we were on the road. Colonel McCleave rode
along the column and spoke a few words to each
organization commander, and as he passed down the line
the ominous order was given out. "Gas masks and
helmets will be worn." We were going back to the
front!
What a gloom spread through the regiment! No rest, no
bath, no clean clothes? Do they think we are fit for
front line duty without them? Aren't there enough
American troops in France to hold the lines without
calling on regiments that have been doing their share for
two months without a letup? These were the thoughts that
sped through men's minds as we crossed the Marne at Vitry
le Franqois and turned northward toward the front. Little
was said, but a feeling of indignation ran high.
Perhaps the only man who was really happy was Mr.
New-berry, the Y. M. C. A. secretary who had joined us
the day after we had quit the Aisne, and who was eager
for service at the front. Colonel McCleave rode up
alongside the supply wagon on which he sat beside the
driver, Bill Hawkins.
"Newberry, I've got some good news for you. We're
going back into the lines, and I guess you're the only
man here who will be thoroughly glad of it!"
The next day's march brought us to a little place called
Busy le Repos. The very name was a mockery! It was
Sunday, and a great crowd of the Catholic men thronged
the little church, where Chaplain Sheridan, of the 305th,
said mass. Chaplain Howard had arranged for a Protestant
service in the afternoon in an old Y. M. C. A. hut, but
when the time came the regiment was busy getting ready
for the march again. In a driving rain that turned the
roads into a morass the dreary column started on the
worst hike in our whole history.
Mention has already been made of the difficulty of night
marching in the rain. On this occasion the hardships were
augmented by the fact that the route lay, for the most
part, up hill, and by the depression which reigned among
the men when they started.
How it poured! Within an hour every one was drenched to
the skin. Up and tip we climbed, until it seemed as if we
must be reaching the top of the world. The horses were
tired, and no one not absolutely needed f or driving or
working the brakes was allowed to sit on a vehicle, or
even to take hold of a wagon or caisson. The packs on the
men's backs grew heavier and heavier as the rain soaked
into the blankets. Their shoes oozed with water. The
riders, who must dismount at every halt to rest their
horses, had to climb, when they started again, into wet
saddles that gave a fresh chill with every mounting.
We passed through woods that cast additional darkness on
the road, and made it utterly impossible to see where we
were going. Each man followed the one in front of him
with a blind, dogged monotony of compulsion.
Then the column emerged from the woods and, still
climbing, came out on a high plateau that was utterly
bare of trees, save for an occasional row of thin poplars
that swayed mournfully in the wind. There was nothing to
offer any protection from that steady gale which drove
the beating rain right through to the marrow of our
bones.
As we took our way on this interminable march, still in a
north-easterly direction, evidences that we were nearing
the front began to make themselves felt. Military traffic
began to appear on the roads. As we turned into a great
highway, there loomed in the darkness long trains of
camions. Some hurried past us toward the rear, empty, but
most of them were rumbling along in our direction, loaded
with French and American infantry. Something unusual was
afoot. A bewildered M. P. on a crossroad, questioned by
one of our officers, said that troops had been pouring
through for hours, and we could well believe him, for
from every road that we passed new columns of men and
guns and wagons streamed in to swell the volume of the
mighty river of war traffic that moved on toward the
front.
At last we turned aside into some black and wet and
uninviting woods. After crossing a bridge and pushing
along a little farther in the darkness, the column
halted, and the foremost wagons were directed to turn in
to the left. One by one they bumped down a steep incline,
wallowed for a moment at the foot, and then creaked their
way into the blackness and disappeared. As each
organization moved up to the place it was piloted into
the woods by a drenched reconnaissance officer, and told
where to put up for the rest of the night. No one could
see his hand before his f ace. Not a light could be lit,
not so much as a single flash from a pocket lamp. The men
had to feel their way around, and what they felt chiefly
was mud. The ground under foot was nothing more than a
marsh, and it was becoming more swampy every moment as
the rain poured in and saturated the soft loam.
That was our camp. There the men pitched their tents, and
there they crawled into their wet blankets and drowsed in
a fitful, uncomfortable sleep until daylight.
With the dawn came another day of rest as the
artilleryman on the march knows it. No reveille nor
drills, but horses to be fed, watered, groomed, and
perhaps shod, harness to be overhauled and mended, wagons
to have new wheels put on or springs repaired, wood to be
fetched, blankets to be spread out in a vain attempt to
dry them, and then the feeding and watering all over
again until at last the order is given: "Roll your
packs; harness up!"
During the day we tried to piece together the bits of
information which had been picked up along the way during
the march of the previous night. There were many
conflicting stories, but on one point they seemed to
agree: a great American offensive was in preparation, and
all the available troops in our army were being rushed
into it.
Before nightfall our higher officers, at least, had some
definite information as to our movements. The '77th
Division was to take its position in the heart of the
Argonne. The infantry had gone in ahead of us, and were
already concealed in deep ravines behind the front lines.
The French, who had been holding this sector by strongly
fortified entrenchments for nearly four years, were to
leave a thin garrison in the front line trenches, in
order that the Boche might not suspect the presence of
American troops. Ever since the Crown Prince, in 1915,
had been baffled in his attempt to force a passage
through this forest, the two opposing armies had lived in
comparative peace and quiet, each secure in the knowledge
that the other could not possibly break through. Now the
Americans, making their assault simultaneous with a
general Allied attack along the whole front from Verdun
to Rheims, were to try, by a sudden surprise, to rush the
Germans out of their elaborate fortifications, and hurl
then back out of the forest and into the open country
beyond the Aire River.
The rank and file, however, knew nothing of this. They
knew only that here were more troops than they had ever
seen before, and, tired and discouraged as they were,
they could not suppress a feeling of elation that our
regiment was to have its share in some great operation.
It was with a sense of growing interest, therefore, that
they took the road again on the night of the 24th, and,
passing through the trim little town of St. Mennehould,
"Queen city of the Argonne," moved eastward
along the Paris-Metz high-way.
On reaching the village of Les Islettes, our column
turned sharp to the left and started due north along, the
road that led into the forest; and at Le Claon the
headquarters and sup-ply detachments, and all those who
go to make up the echelon, turned aside. After toiling up
a frightfully long and steep hill, they pitched their
camp in a grove of superb beeches, while the firing
batteries, joined once more by the cannoneers who had
gone ahead in trucks, moved up the valley into the Forest
of Argonne.
What a beautiful place it was. Lofty beech trees towered
above the road, their smooth trunks gleaming in the
moon-light, their tops lost in the darkness overhead.
Deep ravines stretched away on either side, cradling soft
blankets of mist. "Little wonder," writes one
of the officers, "that the Argonne should have been
from time immemorial the scene of tales of romance and of
the supernatural. Indeed, our imagination refuses to
connect these charming scenes with the modern offensive
soon to start in their midst. It seemed as if the
opposing forces in this great forest, after making futile
attempts to destroy each other, had long since succumbed
to the magic spell cast by these proud woods over the
unseemly activities of warring human beings."
But there was enough of the actuality of war to keep
one's thoughts from soaring too far. At one of our halts
we saw tired doughboys lying all about by the side of the
road, their packs still strapped to their backs,
sleeping. Replacement troops they were, sent in to fill
up the depleted ranks of our own infantry. Most of them
had never been in the lines before.
Skirting the edge of the forest, the batteries proceeded
through several ruined hamlets, whose crumbling walls
gave evidence that heavy shelling had once taken place in
the now quiet region. Great shell craters yawned by the
roadside, filled with water from the recent rains.
Presently they came to La Chalade, shell torn and
deserted save f or a few soldiers on duty. One of the
latter proved to be a marker left there by Captain
Bateson, who had gone ahead to find positions for the
guns of his battalion. He furnished the information that
the batteries were to turn aside here and proceed up the
steep road that led off into the forest.
The difficulties experienced by both battalions in
getting into position are well set forth in the following
description written by Major Devereux:
"My route lay up a winding, narrow, and terrifically
steep road flanked by high banks. It was necessary to
clear and keep open this road before the battalion
started up, otherwise we should be in a nasty jam.
"Urging on my horse, I had just reached a sharp
turn, when my worst feats were realized. Down the hill in
a steady stream came a column of motor trucks, swaying,
skidding, and giving forth all the squeaks and noises
peculiar to their breed. I yelled at the first driver to
stop, but he paid no attention, and I narrowly escaped an
ignominious death at his hands. Finally I obtained a
hearing from one of his followers. He was one, he said,
of a great many more behind that had just delivered
ammunition to the gun positions and were going back for
more. I inquired about the width of the road, and learned
that it widened out about a quarter of a mile farther on.
'But there's a hell of a tie up ahead of you,' said the
driver. 'The road is covered with tractors.'
"Sending a mounted messenger back to hold the
battalion until a clear passage was assured, I hastened
up the hill and soon encountered the tractors. Looking
like giant lizards of prehistoric times in the night
mist, they literally sprawled all over the road, and with
them a battery of eight-inch howitzers, covered with huge
fish nets and boughs.
"After much questioning, I found the lieutenant in
command of these monsters. His temper was at the breaking
point, for he had been ordered to be in position before
morning, and here he was on the wrong road, with dawn
threatening to break at any moment, and movement over
this road in daylight strictly forbidden. But if be and
his pets started down the hill, as he threatened to do,
it was goodbye to my own plans. In the most honeyed tones
I could command, I reasoned with him, and he finally
agreed to move to one side of the road and remain there.
With much growling and snarling both by his men and by
the monsters, a pathway was cleared.
"Meanwhile from up the road another truck, in trying
to turn on a ten cent piece,' had performed the feat of
the Vindictive in Ostende harbor, and beyond it were
blocked a motley column of camions and motor ambulances.
The drivers, dozing on their seats, awaited developments.
Coaxing, cursing, ordering, pleading, I rallied a
sufficient force to attack the truck, and, by
overwhelming it with superior numbers, we soon had it
turned about.
"Just as the trucks had moved far enough to leave a
pas-sage for the oncoming batteries, there suddenly
appeared from nowhere an ammunition officer, who
announced in no uncertain tones that he was from some
army or corps ammunition park with orders to deliver many
thousands of rounds of 75mm. shells at the positions
before morning, and that I had no business holding up his
trucks.
"By that time, my philosophy of life was hanging on
a thread. Turning on this new annoyance, I silenced him
with the logical retort that guns with some ammunition
were a damned sight more desirable than a lot of
ammunition with no guns. He disappeared, muttering.
"Presently the battalion came along, and as we
reached the top of the hill and emerged from between the
steep banks which had been cramping us, we found
ourselves in a wide avenue that bristled with artillery
of every description. It reminded me of a dog show, so
varied was the array, though these dogs of war had not
yet commenced to bark. The crew of every gun were
laboring feverishly to get their emplacement prepared
before morning.
"It was with inexpressible relief that we came
presently to our 'positions.' Never before had I seen
such a place selected for artillery fire. We were on top
of a ridge that ran directly across the forest, parallel,
in a general way, to the front line trenches somewhere to
the north. On each side was a deep ravine. Everywhere
there were magnificent great trees that completely shut
off the view. Our guns were to be placed almost wheel to
wheel just off the road, and in the midst of this vast
forest. I thought my adjutant had gone crazy to select
such a place, for it would have been impossible to fire
in any direction without hitting a tree.
"He saw my look of amazement, and, with a wave of
his hand toward all the other guns, big and little, which
lined the road, he said, 'It was the only available
position.'
" 'But what about the trees?'
" 'They are all to be sawed through and ready for
felling just before the attack.
"It was then that the magnitude of the operation in
which we were about to engage first dawned upon me, for
what Frenchman would have permitted the beautiful Bois de
la Chalade to be thus laid waste unless great things were
to come of the sacrifice? Ha, this was something worth
being in- the great offensive, and perhaps, with the help
of Providence, the last of the war!"
So the Second Battalion hauled its guns off the road and
pointed them to the north, ready for whatever might come.
Meanwhile, Major Sanders, with his battalion, had come
tip behind, and, groping his way in the darkness, had
gone into position a little farther to the West, not on
top of the ridge, but well down the forward slope of the
northerly ravine.
The stage was set, the troops were ready, and with eager
curiosity we awaited the plan of operations for the
Argonne drive.