“july fifteenth started off with a good bang.
“the boches began drivin’ from rheims to where we were. the good old rainbow boys from the forty-second division was near rheims, so we didn’t worry much ’bout the boches breakin’ through on the right flank. when the drive started toward us through chateau-thierry the boches laid their last egg, i’m thinking. they gained a few yards the first day. slowed right up the second. on the third we stopped ’em dead still in their tracks.
“the big thing happened before we had time to know it was comin’ off. some bird—foch most likely—pushed a button and the whole damn french and american lines jumped up and busted the boches right on the nose and in the eyes.
“say, o. d., we better cushay before i get talkin’ ’bout them mad days from torcy up to sergy plateau. i could keep you awake all night listenin’ to that chateau-thierry stuff,” said jimmy. his blue eyes were shooting fire and his face showed the excitement that just the mention of chateau-thierry caused.
“if you stop now, jimmy, i won’t ask mary to write to you,” warned o. d.
“you win, toot sweet,” answered mcgee, quickly.
“encore, then. if that’s the way you say it in french,” begged the brother of mary.
“my outfit was stuck up on the top of a little ant-hill with the old howitzers pointed slam-bang at the germans who was on a small mountain right across the way, when our drive got under way. the yankee doughboys was down on the side of the ant-hill, hangin’ on the roots and different kind of bushes to keep from slidin’ down to the bottom and boggin’ up to their necks in mud. the boches had all the high places.
“the doughboys started over. we had to grab a place called torcy. now you must remember that country had seen beaucoup battlin’ and was all shot up—so much so it was mighty hard traveling. there was so much rubbish and ruins. all that was left of some towns was names. as i said, the infantry jumped at ’em. the boches was sure caught nappin’—didn’t have an idea that we would come back so quick and hard. toot sweet they began givin’ us hell with their damn machine-guns. course that was while they was makin’ a stab at gettin’ their yellow doughboys over the big scare that we threw into ’em. but our boys had got such a start that machine-gun fire, even as hellish as what they pumped into us, couldn’t stop ’em. they was out for the kaiser’s scalp.
“we took torcy on the short end of bayonets and barrage. the old artillery banged the boches into a lot of sausage meat. the bodies used to trip us up, and how some of the guys cussed them dead germans. toot sweet after we started the drive a drove of prisoners began comin’ in—privates, non-coms., loots, majors, and even colonels. we called ’em all heinie and fritz, you know, and some of the boche officers got mad as the devil and wanted to be treated as officers. the yanks prodded ’em with stiff bayonets when they pulled that stuff.
“from the first minute of the drive there was no let-up in battlin’. none of that trench-line fightin’. open warfare, buddy. open as a doorless barn, i mean. the noise never stopped like it did at seicheprey, a few hours after it started. no, o. d., it was just one continual roarin’, bangin’, crashin’, swearin’, moanin’, and prayin’. that’s all. gosh! there was so many kinds of different things that could kill a man, goin’ at the same time that it’s a wonder anybody was left to tell ’bout the second battle of the marne.
“time we took torcy they said to get hill 190. maybe you know that’s right ’bove chateau-thierry itself. you can imagine that the boches made some stand to hang on to that place. they sure did. we had beaucoup boys put out of business gettin’ up to hill 190, believe me.
“after strugglin’ up the sides of the hill—through barbed wire almost five feet high—and gettin’ a smashin’ artillery barrage shot at us—the boches had got their big guns back and in position by that time—we ran into the worst machine-gun fire that ever was. the dirty germans had camouflaged a few hundred machine-guns in a big wheat-field on top of the hill. you couldn’t see nothin’ but the wheat wavin’ in the breeze when we started across it.
“rat-ta-ta-tat! went the machine-guns. the boys began droppin’ like rain. wiped out companies at times. our own machine-gunners said, ‘to hell with waitin’ on horses and mules.’ they dragged their little babies right up to that wheat-field and gave the boches some of their own medicine. will you believe me that lots of the boche gunners was found chained to their guns? yep. it’s a fact. the boche morale had got so low till they had to chain their men to posts.
“the old cheveaux that used to drag our pieces ’round was half dead, anyway, when the drivin’ started, and we had one hell of a time tryin’ to keep up with the doughboys. everybody had to get on the wheels and push and cuss at the same time. i tell you, man, the damn chevaux was dyin’ in the traces. we managed to keep within range, but had to get some trucks to help us move.
“the boches was thrown so hard from the top of hill 190 that you could hear their necks breakin’ when they landed down in the valley. i never saw such a gory-looking hill in all the days of drivin’. there was men piled waist high. mostly germans. nobody had time to stop and bury dead people at a time like that. there wasn’t time for nothin’ but fightin’ and movin’.
“takin’ 190 meant gettin’ into chateau-thierry. we found beaucoup boches down there. they put up a scrap because there was a pile of stuff in the town that they wanted to try and save. down in some parts of the joint, even after most of the germans had started sprintin’ for the fatherland, there was some terrible battlin’.
“the main rues and boulevards was all chock-ablock with breastworks. they had pianos, tables, beds, big lookin’-glasses, sofas, bags stuffed with rotten smellin’ rags and rubbish, piled up—well, lord knows what wasn’t used to stop us. behind these things was the boche machine-guns. they was just like a bunch of hose and played as wicked a stream of lead as you can think of. americans and frogs both forced these works and fineed the machine-gun fire.
“after that there ain’t no way to describe the fightin’. it got all over the place. like scrambled eggs in a fryin’-pan. the yanks used rifles for clubs and waded into the boches like a bunch of good cops. bayonets and trench dirks came in with a noise like finee for the germans—chased ’em up alleyways, dug ’em out of cellars, laid ’em cold—that’s all there was to it.
“long, black shadows were camouflagin’ what was left of chateau-thierry as we rumbled through it. i ain’t much at tellin’ how things look, any more. but chateau-thierry looked like a plowed-up graveyard and then some. the moonlight got turned on and made everythin’ seem ten times worse, as the effect was kinda weird. houses looked like a bunch of crumblin’ skeletons. troops was movin’ over every street. supply-trains and ammunition trucks rattled up and down. ambulances crawled by so slow till we could hear the groans of the poor guys in them.
“time we got opposite the bridge that had been knocked into the river by american artillery we got treated to a warm bombardment. mashed up some of the lads pretty badly. that bombardment wasn’t a trifle compared to the smell that came from unburied men. whew! i hadn’t got a chance to monjay all day and my belly was pretty weak ’bout that time. it sure was an awful stink.
“there was dead americans, dead frenchmen, and heaps of stark boche corpses linin’ the route—just like so many yard stones. couldn’t help but feel good when we would pass a big bunch of them swollen-up germans, all blue in the face from dyin’ like they did.
“our column was halted in chateau-thierry for ’bout three hours. we had to wait for some trucks to encore the drive with. poor old chevaux were down for the count.
“i had already lost beaucoup stuff. thought i’d hunt ’round some of the near-by houses, or what was left of houses. needed some underclothes pretty bad. in one place i found a closet full of mademoiselle’s underclothes. you know that kind of stuff all full of holes and ribbons. i was up against it for underwear. as it was, i didn’t have on any drawers. i grabbed two suits and gave two to george neil. damn stuff nearly choked me to death after i got it on. the girl who wore it was smaller than me in a good many places. four days after i got the stuff neil and i hit a little stream and thought we’d try to take a bath. funny as a crutch, the way we looked gettin’ out o’ the mademoiselle’s riggin’s. neil got one arm caught in some lace and got a cramp before he could get loose again.
“just before daybreak we got orders to move ahead. most of the hikin’ was right down alongside the marne—river looked like a big red, open sewer. never hope to see so much filthy water in my life again. bodies, wreckage of all kinds, clothes, empty ammunition cases. a hundred things else, i guess. all floatin’ down the stream. the tide washed lots of bodies to shore. most of them you couldn’t recognize, as the water and fishes had eaten their faces and hands off. only way we could tell what army they belonged to was by parts of equipment and uniforms. water had faded most of the uniforms, though.
“the woods and river sent up an awful smell. when we came to a windin’ road that looked like a brown snake crawlin’ up a hill the column turned up it and pretty soon we was in position with the old pieces boomin’ away at the flyin’ boches.
“boche prisoners was pourin’ in like smoke pours out of a factory smoke-stack. some of ’em tried to be friendly. there was damn few smiles they got from us, i can tell you. we were darn tired of their ways of yellin’ ‘kamerad!’ and then throwin’ them hand grenades at a man.
“the boys was all full o’ fun at that. most of ’em had got hold of high hats, derbies, colored parasols, and a lot of other fool things in chateau-thierry, and the next mornin’ they was drivin’ along wearin’ silk hats, carryin’ green umbrellas and lord knows what else. i had a high hat on myself. the frenchmen thought we was nuts sure enough, goin’ to war rigged up like that. but we told ’em ‘say la guerre.’ o. d., the guys in this man’s army ain’t lettin’ no guerre get their nannies. i guess most of ’em was brought up just to get in this guerre and wallop the heinies.
“’bout twelve bells we started firin’. just in time to let dinner get cold. hadn’t put over eight rounds before the old coal barges—that’s the big shells that fritz throws at us—began sailin’ right in. third shell struck a shallow dug-out ’bout twenty feet from where our piece was. there was four boys tryin’ to cushay in that dug-out. they was all in a row, accordin’ to the way i heard it. first one nearest us got smashed up ’round the lungs. olsmo, second lad, got killed outright. he was mashed to pulp in places. ripped the stomach out of papan, next to him, and tore pap’s knees clean out of socket. the fourth guy, thayer, sleepin’ jam up to pap, didn’t get a scratch—not a thing. course he got all bloody from the others. but that wasn’t nothin’.
“when we dug ’em out we found silvia, the first lad, dyin’. he fineed toot sweet. just a gasp or so ended him. olsmo, of course, was stone cold—gashed into tit-bits from head to foot. o. d., he was twisted inside out and then all ground up like hash. them shells can sure ruin a man. poor pap, he got it worse than all. ’cause it didn’t kill him. his legs dangled from threads of flesh. you couldn’t see his face on account of the blood that spurted from his chest—covered his face with red. pap was in some agony, boy, but he had guts. looked like his pain gave him strength. but guess it was the madness that made him act strong and not the hurtin’. he went insane for a few minutes—then he would quiet down.
“‘olsmo,’ he shouted, grittin’ his teeth so till it gave me cold shivers. then he shook cold olsmo with his blood-drippin’ hand. ‘snap into it,’ yelled pap. ‘christ almighty, man, we can’t stay here. it’s killin’ me. move! get that horse out of my way. cannoneers on the wheels.’ he raved until he got so weak he just couldn’t whisper. the way pap stared at us out of them sunken eyes of his was enough to scare a man to death. but when your pals are dyin’, sufferin’, cussin’, prayin’, beggin’ for water and cigarettes, a man ain’t got no business to be scared, o. d. that’s what kept lots of us goin’, i suppose. pap wanted cigarettes. had to smoke, he said. course we gave ’em to him. but as fast as he got one in his mouth he’d throw it away and holler for another.
“the shellin’ was goin’ on merrily durin’ all that time. our piece was out of action, of course, till we got pap in the ambulance. heard later that he didn’t pass out for ten hours. docs claim he was the grittiest man they’d seen in some time. wasn’t time to bury the other lads then. we wrapped ’em in shelter-halves, dug holes and put ’em all in the same grave that night before we pulled to another place.
“we got orders to move three kilos that night and go in another position. hitched and hooked in ’round five. that gave us time enough to down some ‘corn-willy’ and black coffee. first we’d had to monjay since mornin’. soon as it was dark we got out on the main road and started. that road was just like broadway with traffic. only they don’t have so many ambulances goin’ up and down broadway. it was all a man could do to skin himself and horse, or whatever his cheval was hooked on to, by the stuff that was floodin’ down from the first lines. there wasn’t no trenches in that war. just lines, and half the time we didn’t know just where in hell the first lines was, ’cause after them doughboys would make three or four kilometers they would be scattered all over creation.
“column halted near a little village that was all knocked into a cocked hat. there was a few thousand replacements waitin’ to go in. all infantry. on one side of the road was a battery of 155 longs. them things make a noise like a mine explosion and raise a man off his feet when they go off. the horses got scared, naturally, and part of the column got smeared all over the road.
“just ’bout that time general edwards comes bowlin’ along in his big limousine. he was ridin’ on the seat with the driver. the back of the machine was full of sandwiches. course he couldn’t get by on account of the jam-up. boy, he climbed down and got hold of a first loot who was in the command of the outfit whose horses was raisin’ all the hell. gosh! you ought to heard him give that gink a bawlin’-out.
“‘git this stuff out of my way! damn quick too! look in that car. look!’ he yelled; honest he was cryin’. ‘see what’s there, don’t you? somethin’ to eat for my boys. yes, the doughboys. now move.’ o. d. that first loot got on a caisson wheel and strained himself enough to get a discharge from the army. they got the stuff out of the way toot sweet.
“general edwards hadn’t no more than got started when the old shells, whizz-bangs, blew in town with an awful noise. gas came over, too. there was gas alarms goin’ enough to wake new york city out of a sunday-mornin’ sleep. then those cussed boche planes began dronin’ over our heads. ever heard a bomb explode? no? well, you’re just as well off. they’re pas bon stuff, o. d.
“the boches sure must have known that we was right down-stairs under ’em, ’cause they started pullin’ up the old tailboards and droppin’ ’em every damn minute. bombs, bombs, and more bombs. they dropped right in the column, knocked ruined houses into our ears, filled your eyes with dirt. some horses, ’bout ten, got hurt so bad we had to shoot ’em. think ’bout three men got killed while the jam lasted, but ain’t quite sure.
“we moved after a while, and the planes followed us up. got to the fork of some roads and took the one leadin’ right down to the marne. that was just below mont st. pierre, a little village. there was a pontoon bridge, one of them boat things, you know—right near where we halted for the night. you can imagine how the germans was tryin’ to pot-shot that bridge. the town was all marbles from shells hittin’ it that was aimed at the bridge.
“time we halted a big boy banged in. hit in the woods where we was to camp for the night. bon welcome, eh? stink? whew! those woods did reek—had to bury our noses in the ground to get to sleep. well, the gas came over strong. the heinies threw bombs down as regular as christy mathewson used to heave strikes across the plate—and everybody was scared as hell.
“don’t let any man ever tell you he don’t get scared at the front. he’s a damn liar if he says he don’t get scared. ain’t that you want to run away or lose your guts in the fightin’. no, not that kind of scared stuff. it’s like this. there you are waitin’ for somethin’ to come along and take you off on some strange trip. you know it’s goin’ to hurt like hell gettin’ started, too. it’s that uncertain, don’t-know stuff that gets you. when those bombs are fallin’ and you’re in a place like we was that night, with no place to go, there’s nothin’ to do but pull a cheesecloth blanket over your head and try to cushay. ain’t much fun, o. d. i had one hell of a toothache and it worried me so much i didn’t get a chance to be as scared as i should have been. funny how a thing like a toothache can take your mind off other troubles.
“things got so bad toward five bells in the mornin’ that the c. o. decided to wake us up and move. but before we could get set to move the shellin’ let up and he says, ‘ah, let her go, we’ll stay.’ camouflaged the old cheveaux and stuff again and hung ’round for breakfast. course breakfast only meant a thin slice of bacon and a fistful of hardtack. the coffee had given out by that time. you might expect that the supplies could have reached us easy. but gettin’ supplies to us was like findin’ a nigger in the dark. i swear i believe we were lost durin’ most of the chateau-thierry racket. seems that way, anyhow. for a long time after we left mont st. pierre the batteries never did know where the échelons were and the échelons didn’t know where anything was. mules, drivers, and ration-carts used to get lost every day. that’s why we were short of café.
“put some over from there and got orders to move up in the afternoon. the column had just got formed and was waitin’ on the order to pull when a drove of boche birds headed straight toward us. we knew they were boches long before they got close enough to fire.
“‘look at ’em comin’,’ shouted one guy, and the whole crew popped their eyes out.
“i felt in my bones that we were in for a good lickin’ of some kind, but i had my horse to watch out for, so i was tied up, as it were. lots of the other guys were in the same fix as me, and when the officer yelled, ‘take cover!’ we didn’t know what in hell to do.
“‘tie your mounts to a wheel and beat it,’ says my platoon commander.
“didn’t ask for any further orders. tied jim so hard he couldn’t have answered mess-call. beat it to the edge of the woods and dove under a ration-wagon. the boches was in range by then and they started a machine-gun barrage. worst thing i ever was in. they had us by the halter-shanks, and maybe they didn’t twist and squeeze! we didn’t have nothin’ to get back at them birds with. blooey! the bombs started to fall and bust.
“an m. p. got crowned on the bean. he had been walking post on the pontoon bridge. tumbled right in the river and floated away. then a bomb lands right in the middle of a caisson team. horses’ legs and wheels was flyin’ in all directions. i couldn’t find my tin hat and sure was glad that there was two fellows layin’ on top of me as the machine-gun bullets was zippin’ all ’round us. everybody was sayin’, ‘where in hell is the american birds? why don’t they show?’ after the boches had a big chance to finee us and the bridge, and missed out, a flock of americans and frenchmen showed up and the dutchmen beat it toot sweet. that was one of the hairbreath harry things that we had happen that day. believe me, there wasn’t much time lost in gettin’ that column movin’ after that. when they counted up the casualties it was found that there was ’bout twelve guys killed, nine wounded, and we lost at least eighteen chevaux. there you are, o. d.
“moved toward beuvardis that afternoon. that took us northwest from the marne and farther in toward swasson (soissons), our old hunting-grounds. there was some tough fightin’ in there, believe me. the boches began to put up a mean defense; their artillery was in position and the roads sure caught hell for a while. i can’t remember all the woods and hills we had to take and hold, but there was beaucoup and it took beaucoup men killed to make them objectives.
“the monjayin’ got worse all the time and our nerves began to get just like a ragged toothache. so many of the fellows was gettin’ bumped off and hit ’round us that a man couldn’t help wonderin’ if his own name wasn’t written on a shell or bullet. i saw fat guys get as lean as a penny stick of candy in a week’s time. there wasn’t no chance to shave or wash, so we all looked as wild as cannibals soon. i never had any underclothes after i threw away that stuff i got at chateau-thierry. we slept full pack all the time and the cooties had one big party all day and all night. that was the time, durin’ the second battle of the marne, that young majors and colonels got gray-headed.
“the second day out from st. pierre was the day that i had a big argument with a lieutenant who blew by in a ford. he was wearin’ a campaign hat. course i felt superior like to any man that was wearin’ a campaign hat in them days. a campaign lid was the sign of an s. o. s. bird, ’cause we had thrown ’em to the salvage-men months ago.
“i was ploddin’ along ’way behind the column, with herb carnes and another guy just as lazy—my horse had been taken by a loot. course i happened to have my high hat on. i’d lost my overseas cap, also my helmet. the loot blows by. never thought ’bout salutin’ him. that kind of stuff is a joke up at the front, especially in a drive. he stops toot sweet and calls us back.
“‘why don’t you salute an officer?’ he asks me.
“‘salute?’ says i, kinda dumfounded. ‘hell, we don’t go in for that kind of stuff in this sector,’ i told him. you ought to seen that man’s face.
“‘how long have you men been over here?’
“‘eleven months. how long have you been here?’ i knew he had just landed. his sam browne was new-lookin’.
“‘how does new york look without any lights now?’ asked carnes.
“say, that officer must have felt like fifty centimes. he saw my high hat ’bout that time.
“‘take that hat off. it isn’t regulation,’ says the second looey to me.
“‘take that hat off. it isn’t regulation,’ says the second looey to me”
“‘regulation’s out of style up here,’ says i. ‘it’s all i got; can’t take a chance of gettin’ sunstruck.’
“‘don’t give a damn, take it off,’ he commands.
“i tipped my hat to him, bowed, and says, ‘yes, sir.’ we moved on. ’bout thirty minutes later he blows by again and sees the hat on me.
“‘didn’t i tell you to take that hat off?’ he yells.
“‘yes, sir,’ i yelled back, and tipped my hat again.
“never saw that gink after that, but it just goes to show you how some of them guys fought the guerre, runnin’ ’round in fords tryin’ to get salutes and make things, o. d. you never see any of our officers doin’ that kinda stuff. they know that it’s all bunk after bein’ with the boys in the lines.
“beauvardis, or just beyond it a few kilos, is where cap. davis got it. we was ’way up close to the front lines there. had us in front of the light pieces. there was a regiment of seventy-fives right behind us. we went into position in a place where the boches must have had a gun position, as the place was littered up with their equipment and beaucoup dead germans. i didn’t get in until late in the night, right in the middle of a barrage that the seventy-fives was puttin’ up. the woods was ringin’ with a noise that sounded as if the devils themselves was shoutin’ and yellin’ down in hell and we was gettin’ a loud echo of it. before us the whole country was lit up by a big fire from a burnin’ german ammunition dump. sure was weird in them woods. i asked where i was to cushay, and frank reynolds, top-kick, says, ‘anywhere ’round here.’ bickford and i drops our load, spread the blankets, and tried to cushay. no human bein’ could sleep much in that place. but we managed to cork off a little now and then. the woods smelled rotten.
“when daylight came i looked over my head and saw an arm pointin’ right down at me. there wasn’t no head or body. just that one arm. i got up quick as hell. found out i had been restin’ my head against a dead boche all night. felt like runnin’, but was afraid i might run right into the german lines. they was only a few yards away over a little hill.
“that mornin’ we got more movin’ orders. our doughboys had already been relieved by the forty-second division infantry, as they were all shot to hell. i’ll bet that there wasn’t a full battalion left in any regiment. the rainbow doughboys can fight, now, buddy, i ain’t jokin’. they made us artillery hump to keep up with ’em, too. but guess we did, as most of ’em said our barrages was as good to go over under as an umbrella is in the rain. there ain’t much use tellin’ much more. course, as i said, cap. davis got picked near beauvardis. he was steppin’ out of his p. c. when a shell fragment knocked him cold. funny how all good men get it so quick. he was only a kid, but, believe me, he had guts and could handle a battery.
“we got up to sergy plateau and cleaned the germans off that place and they relieved us. we had been in the drive from july fifteenth to august fourth—that’s a long time to battle, o. d. accordin’ to reports, we gained ’bout twenty-five kilometers against the boches. not bad, eh?” concluded jimmy, starting to stretch.
“gee! you had some war experience, jimmy. they sure must have given you a long rest and furlough after all that time at the front.”
“rest? hell, man, there ain’t no such thing in this man’s army. time we got pulled out of chateau-thierry we went back to la ferté and waited there for trains to take us to a rest area i got transferred back to battery c there. we was only in that rest area ten days and while there i’ll bet we did more work than at the front. we had hikes every day and drillin’. they even tried to pull that salutin’ stuff again. only good thing ’bout the rest area was that we could take a bath, as there was beaucoup little creeks ’round, and of course it’s warm here in august. on the tenth day i was standin’ on a big lawn with samson and a couple of other guys lookin’ at the divisional minstrel. right in the middle of the song up jumps the c. o. of the regiment and bawls out, ‘men we’re off to another fight!’ he must have been an actor in civil life ’cause he sure did pull the old dramatic stuff; believe he waited just for that minute to spill the beans ’bout movin’ to another front. that night we was on the old road hikin’. got on another french train. hit bar-le-duc two days ago, started hikin’ this way yesterday mornin’ and i got lost from the gang last night. that’s all there is to it, o. d. just waitin’ for the guerre to finee now. then we’ll get a seven-day leave, purtet—that’s what the frogs say for perhaps. what do you say to a little cushayin’, o. d.? i get kinda drowsy in the eyes ’round nerver—used to hittin’ the blankets ’bout seven bells every night now, tryin’ to make up for time lost at chateau-thierry.” jimmy yawned to show how true his statement was.
“jimmy, you don’t mind if i tell some of the things you said to mary and mother in my next letter, do you?” asked o. d., as he was pullin’ his hobnails off.
“no—just so long as you don’t hit the guerre stuff too hard. that red, battle-front stuff ain’t good for their hearts, you savvy? gets ’em all scared for nothin’,” cautioned jimmy.
both boys were tired and they were almost asleep when jimmy stirred and blurted out:
“say, o. d., i forgot to tell you that you’re liable to get beaucoup cooties cushayin’ with me. i’m crawlin’.”
“i’ll get them sooner or later, anyhow, won’t i?” asked o. d.
“sure thing,” assured the man with cooties.
“then i might just as well get used to them toot sweet,” declared the man who was about to find out just what the thing that jimmy mcgee called the guerre really meant.
“that’s the right dope. you won’t be long gettin’ on the front if you’re willin’ to learn. bon swoir, o. d.” jimmy felt mighty proud of his new pupil, then he dropped off and forgot the guerre in a dream of mary preston.
