CHAPTER XII ON THE BATTLE LINES

We had come to a halt near a beautiful village, with vine-clad cottages and an old château; and were quartered in billets and temporary barracks.

“Have you seen this?” said our French lieutenant interpreter, whom we met as we were on our way to the “Y”.

“What is it about?” we answered, Yankee fashion, by asking another question.

In reply, he translated from a French newspaper he held in his hand, the message of General Pershing tendering to General Foch all the American forces as follows: “_I come to say to you that the American people would hold it a great honor to her troops, if they were engaged in the present battle. Infantry, artillery, all are yours to dispose of as you will. Others are coming._”

“That’s great!” was the general comment. And then we gave three rousing American cheers for our general, which drew a crowd of soldiers and citizens to inquire its cause.

Then there was a general talk about the military situation, in which our captain took a part, and some of which I will repeat, to explain the situation.

On Tuesday, March 21, 1918, the German army made its first great drive of the year, by concentrating an immense force consisting of one-half of its armies, on a fifty-mile front between the Scarp and the Oise rivers, and drove the British back before they could bring up their reserves to the point of attack.

As the captain pointed out, an attacking force has always this advantage: that they can choose where and when to strike. And this made the task of quick concentration of forces to meet this overwhelming blow incredibly difficult.

The English army had, however, by its stubborn resistance, made up in part for this difficulty. And, as compensation for its heavy losses, exacted a terrible reprisal of blood from its enemy.

At the time of our arrival near the left flank of the German army, the attacking forces of the enemy, roughly outlined, was not unlike a gigantic U, the convex part of it pointing towards Amiens. The allied armies had not only the disadvantage of inferior numbers, but of difficult concentration. They must march around this curved line in order to concentrate at the point of attack. On the other hand, the foe could reinforce every part of his advanced line by marching men across the U.

The captain’s talk helped us to understand the situation, and the reasons why we Americans were assembled in force.

How, or when, we were to have a chance to prove our American temper, we did not know. But we did understand the power given to a united command. Though at first our work would be of minor importance, it was soon apparent that it was not to be that of holiday soldiers. We were to contend against an army of wonderful efficiency.

“Dem guys,” said our New York boy, “can fight, an’ don’t you forgit it. We’s got to give them a wallup, or take some.”

There was a general feeling that we must meet a supreme test. We had scarcely got into these trenches before there came a trial of endurance under fire. First a great flock of air craft, with inquisitive noses, came buzzing above us. Our big war birds, moving in spirals, flew up to meet them and, if possible, put them to flight. We could see, high in air, little puffs of smoke of gun fire; sometimes hear the chatter of machine-guns, and even the buzz of their propellers and sharp report of rifles, which showed that they were “out a-gunning.”

Sweeping around in curved lines, circling upward, darting downward, the combating planes fought with daring temerity, a wonderful battle in the air. We saw one plane, struck by a bomb, fall fluttering downward a thousand feet, right itself, and escape over the lines. However tame this may seem in recital, it was a thrilling sight to see.

At first, the enemy began to fire gas shells over us, and we had to put on our gas masks. Occasionally puffs of the poisonous stuff would reach us; but we were thankful that the shells were mostly going over our heads; for they were so numerous that they gave one continuous whistle.

There came a burst of artillery that defies description. It did not seem possible that an ant could live under such a destructive fire. Shell, shot, and shrapnel scarred the ground as though there had been a series of eruptions. Then the Germans charged our lines, their green-gray uniforms so blending with the smoke and rocks and ground, that it was difficult to see them. They were like so many fog banks or moving rocks or roads, so completely did their color intermingle with their surroundings.

Our artillery from the rear laid down a barrage with a terrific deafening roar like locomotives traveling the air above us. And now came the bugle call--over the top and at them--for which we had impatiently waited. Our nervous American temperament wanted action; we were at our best in attack, rather than in defense.

The enemy received us with a storm of machine-gun and artillery fire, under which, for a time, it seemed as though nothing could live. We made quick rushes forward, then throwing ourselves upon the ground with such protection as was afforded by the land, opened fire, and then another rush forward, again throwing ourselves upon our faces,--“sprayed them” as one of our men called it, with rifle and machine-gun fire.

Again we rushed forward until we could plainly see our targets. We gave them the best we had. It was sharp work; and apparently the enemy were not used to our Indian tactics, and did not relish it. Still we did not have it easy. Men fell before their gun fire. Others limped out of line, and headed for the first aid stations.

The confusion of sounds made it almost impossible to hear the bugle calls. The enemy gathered himself together and rushed upon us again, leaving a trail of dead and wounded behind, so effective was our sharp-shooting. Still they came on with a rush, as though expecting to scatter us by their impetus. Seeing that we were outnumbered, we fell back to a rise, leaving two machine-guns behind.

“That won’t do! We need those guns!” called out Lieutenant Nickerson, who was in command of our platoon.

With several others I rushed forward under the cover of smoke clouds and rescued them. But they were out of order, and for the time being could not be used.

Lieutenant Nickerson, a little in the rear, with his old mechanical dexterity stooped to rearrange their parts. He soon had them on the firing line with some of his own men to work them.

Getting more ammunition for them from the machine-gun unit, their steady clatter was again heard “spitting bullets,” as Sam said, like mad rattlesnakes.

It was hot work! When our line wavered under the enemy’s concentrated fire, our lieutenant placed himself in front of his platoon, and looked sternly in the faces of his men, with an indescribable magnetism, which seemed to hold them to their desperate work.

The lobe of one of his ears had been cut almost away, and was bleeding profusely. Whether it was that, or the undaunted look in his face that inspirited them, the men broke into a hoarse cheer and again moved into line under a heavy fire.

Our regiment, with others, had fallen back slightly, to a road, part of which gave us shelter by a low embankment.

“Say,” said practical Sam Jenkins, “I saw a big roll of wire down the road a little way. Supposing we get it and twist it around these trees along the road.”

The suggestion was adopted, and happily for our regiment and others too; for the Germans made one last effort to drive us from the field, and were checked before the fire we gave them from behind this barricade in front of the railroad embankment.

We had suffered heavily. Many a good man had gone down, or had been carried, or had limped to the rear with desperate wounds. It was late when we at last repulsed the enemy and they had faded away before our fire, blending with the smoke behind them.

Our men were exalted: their spirits rose high when they found that they had withstood the Hun in the open. Hoarse cheers ran down the line. “Shure,” said Pat Quinn, “Lieutenant dear; we bate the devils; but it was a toight squake.”

“Aw,” said Goodwin, “you’s can bet we’s give ’em a wallup. Say! our lieutenant is great stuff, an’ don’t you forget it! T’ain’t so sure but that they’d knocked the stuffin’ out of us, but for him!”

And that was the common agreement in our regiment.

We were not a little proud of our company and ourselves. We had, as a whole, done well, and as Sam said, so we agreed, although it may seem boastful, “given the Boche their belly full of fighting” and we had gained new confidence in ourselves and our officers. We were gratified to get the praise of the French General, who was in command on the field, though I was not without suspicion that he gave us more praise than was our due. Then came word officially that the enemy had fallen back all along the line.