Loyola University Maryland - Evergreen / Green and Gray Yearbook (Baltimore, MD)

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were issued from the regimental commander, I have a copy of the notes taken then, but I won’t burden you with them. Suffice it to say that a barrage was to commence at midnight and continue until 4.50 A. M., when firing would cease. Again at 4.55 A. M. a creeping barrage would open up and this barrage was to be our protection in the advance. As I said before, this was at noon. Five o’clock the next morning we were to engage in the most risky business in the world. Know- ingly, with full use of reason and under normal conditions we were to expose ourselves to every modern method of slaying. It is only natural that a man should begin to ponder at such a time. While everybody was thinking of himself, there is no doubt that similar thoughts were running through every brain — Will I be killed or not? That, naturally, was the predominating question. And the very in- definiteness of it added to the anxiety. A man to be executed knows his fate, and a person finally deciding on self-destruction is also reason- ably sure of his end, but a soldier going into battle realizes only the great odds against him. After disposing of this question by saying to yourself that you didn’t care (knowing full well that you did) the next fear that seizes you is that of being wounded. “Suppose I lose my sight?” “Suppose I lose my hands?” and so on down the line for every organ and every possible combination of organs. Finally you begin to figure to yourself how you preferred to be wounded, as if it made any difference. Thoughts along these lines eventually brings you to the conclusion that you are a fool for being there. You immediately question yourself why you did not take this or that avenue of escai3e, even going so far as to wish that you had been married. Realizing little comfort from these mental meanderings your next line of thought is in the direction of escape. Making a bold run is impossible, but still you wonder why other things just as impossible do not happen. Why don’t I break a leg? Why don’t I suddenly get very ill? Why don’t somebody change the order and send us back some place? Why don’t the war stop? But the fear of being a quitter and the realization that someone had to do the work filled everyone with a grim determination, consequently the thought of running away was dispelled. Had we not been kej)! busy between the time we received the order and the time we went into action, I suppose things would have been worse. But everybody was kept going, especially the writer. Being the understudy of a second lieutenant, who leaves everything to the understudy, is no soft job, and that is what fell to my lot. I was the senior sergeant in the platoon and the lieutenant commanding gave me the privilege of attending to all the details. Whether he was hysterical or just tickled at the experience he was going to have I never could ascertain, but the main thing he did was dance around, clap his 22

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either terribly polite or he had an awful impression of his Satanic Majesty’s palace. There is only one characteristic connected with hell that can be applied to the horrors of the late war — it is eternal. There was a mistaken idea among the A. E. F. that as soon as they received their little diploma from the Army their troubles would cease, hut experience has proved the contrary. If there is anything that is worse than being fired on in the open it is having questions fired at you in a closed room. The perpetrator of this, while enjoying a reputation as a good liar, has often been enveloped in a cold sweat as the result of some unsuspecting and well-meaning person asking a question that would stump Ananias in his palmiest days. While most of these ques- tions are as diversified as the colors in a freshman’s necktie, there is, however, one bit of knowledge which nearly every interrogator desires to ascertain, and that is : “How did you feel when you went over the top?” As well as a memory, hazy from undue excitement and dimmed by a desire to forget, can recall, what followed is the recounting of the exact details, emotions and thoughts of a jierfectly sober, normal dough- hoy just before engaging in the greatest drive in history. On Sunday, September 22, 1918, we were relieved from the trenches. The Germans evidently hated to see us go, for they made every effort, in the way of “whiz-hangs,” to stop us. However, we did not heed their insistent request to stay and that afternoon found us in a quaint little grove where one could easily have forgotten the war had it not been for the rumble of the distant artillery and an occasional plane. After a few days of comi)arative ease all the officers and senior non- commissioned men we re summoned by the colonel, who informed us that, while he had no official order, he suspected that we were to open a large drive. I don’t know whether he was fooling himself or not, but I do know he did not fool anyone else. Everyl)ody in the regiment knew we were slated for big doings. Tlie following day the same worthies were again hailed before the colonel, who by this time was sure of his wild guess of the preceding- day. The lovable old gentleman stuttered very ffuently through his re- marks, hut he succeeded in making those present realize that the greatest drive in the world was soon to commence; that the American Army had the most difficult part of the line; that our Division (the Seventy-ninth) had the most important sector and that our Regiment (the Three Hundred and Thirteenth) had the greatest job of all. I am glad he di dn’t know me personally or I would have had the whole war to account for. On the 24th of Se])temher the gallants were once more assembled and qifornied that the famous upheaval would begin that night. But I think it was called off because it looked cloudy. About noon orders 21

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hands and laugh. Once when I was in the midst of some of his duties he came to me and said: “Sergeant, how do you feel about going over the top tomorrow?” It was not very respectful, but I told him I would rather go to a part} or a dance, in fact, I thought I could mention, off-hand, a thousand and one places I would rather go. A little later this same “Loot” inquired: “I wonder what the people at home would say if they knew?” To which I replied “One of the advantages of fighting 4000 miles from home.” While I had tried to answer in a light-hearted manner I felt that my questioner had been reading my thoughts. It was not so much a question to me of what would happen as how it would aff ect those whom I loved and by whom I was loved, and my memory breached the miles and returned to the familiar sights and faces. What were they doing at this time? They also were suffering from the anxiety of being in suspense. In all prob- ability they were attending to their daily duties, hoping for the best, yet apprehensive lest they hear the worst at any moment. But now is not the time for reveries, we must form and move off. It had already grown dark. No moon was out and not a light was visible, for the enemy must not become acquainted with our intentions. We moved out in a single column, each man resi)onsible for his place in the line, for we were in a strange country and if the line broke all the men behind the break would be lost. Occasionally we came close to men of other companies in the same division and a few words would be passed, but for the most part the men were silent. Line after line like ours streamed along in various directions. In oim windings we would come close to other columns, but never did one organization interfere with another. Now and then someone would stumble on the uneven ground or fall in a ditch, but except for an oath or two no word was spoken. At length we came to a road occupied by machine gun carriages, also on their way to the front. The voices of the drivers and the rumb- ling of the carriages seemed like a tremendous noise in contrast to the wierd silence we had grown accustomed to. Everything seemed to be an orderly confusion. While skirting along the edge of the road men- tioned above word came back to me at the rear of the platoon that the columns had broken. What was to be done now? I made my way to where the break had occurred and questioned the man in the lead. He said the company had crossed the road and just as he was about to follow, a machine-gun carriage had driven in front of him, preventing him from crossing, and for that matter machine-gun carriages were still preventing him from crossing. I decided to stay where I was in the hope that word would be passed up the column relaying the break and that the captain would send back for me. In a few minutes I heard 23 a