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

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man inquiring my name and it developed I was right in my conjecture. He liad been sent back to locate us. Shortly after this the lost sheep joined the fold. this time the moon had come out, very dindy, indeed, but it served as a little illumination. A small part of the surrounding country was hazily perceptible, hut what could be seen bore marks of battle. The ground was pitted with large shell-holes, trees had been cut down to stumps, with only one or two short branches projecting, and barbed wire entanglements stood out in relief all over the landscape. All our travel from this time on were across country of the same nature. We encountered a detachment of engineers with cutting tools, who informed us that they had been out in front of the lines cutting wire. Aside from the conversation that passed between the wire cutters no one had spoken since the break in the line had occurred, and still we moved on in silence like a herd of cattle being driven to slaughter. It was near midnight when we came to the large flat hill on top of which about 50 or 60 “baby” tanks were snorting and clanking, the operators getting their information and instructions for the morrow’s battle. Passing these we moved a little further and halted. Receiving word to get as much rest as we could, my “buddy” and I crawled into a shell-hole and took olf our packs. Suddenly a deafening noise was heard and tlie skyline as far as the eye could see was lighted up by a Hash. This announced the opening of the greatest and most expensive barrage in history, when $1,000,000 worth of ammunition was used in slightly over four hours. Half standing and half lying in our shell-holes we could hear the missiles racing through the air, bent on the destruction of an one who miglit be unfortunate enough to get in their way or who happened to be in tlie neighborhood when they landed and exploded. I must admit that I felt some misgivings, but there is a limit to human endurance. It was not long before I was sound asleep in spite of my uncomfortable j)osition and all the noise around me. So soundly did 1 sleep that it was necessary to arouse me. I was astonished that everything was quiet. Looking at my watch I saw it was 4.50 A. M. Before I had replaced my pack and rci)ortcd to tlie captain, who had sent for me, the artillery broke loose again. This time marking the beginning of the drive that would have ended in Berlin had not the Imperial Government seen fit to meet the demands of tlie liead of tliat “contemptible little army.”

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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

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Slip ISnugp Unuqupt of Sloyrp iCtlntpr. Raymond B. Furlong, ‘ 21 . One of the essential attributes of literature whether it he in the form of an essay or a poem is suggestiveness; the appeal to our emotions and imagination rather than to our intellect. It should bring to our minds a thought, a delicate scene, or an event lovingly cherished by us in our memories — garbed in the regal robes of poetic expression by the vivid imagery, the delicate sensitiveness and emotional language peculiarly characteristic of poets. The possession of this rare quality, coupled with the fruits of an exemplary life must needs place the name of Joyce Kilmer in the cate- gorv with those who may well be called “the immortals. ‘‘ It is to his immortal fame that his poems were suggestive, beauti- fully so and with a sublimeness that is worthy of this devout soldier. The charm of his poetry lies, not in what he writes, hut in that which he awakens in us. Who could but read his “Rouge Bouquet,” feel its stirring appeal and not bless the writer or refrain from sending one, long, heartfelt prayer to the God of Compassion for those about whom it was written. For indeed the “brave young spirits are hut th e disin- carnate spmts of those who loved and were loved.” And the “Rouge Bouquet” is but what remains of a one-time forest lu’imeval where the murmuring pines and hemlocks stood ‘like Druids of eld.’ But now they are changed; the trees mangled and torn by the ubiquitous shrapnel; the verdure and freshness of spring tainted, insipid and lifeless from the devitalizing fumes of the poisonous gases. Now, over these self-same woods star-shells flicker, dissipating a blind- ing light, lengthening the fantastic shadows as it burns and falls; its life ebbing away slowly but surely, symbolic, perhaps, of those lying near whose days, hours — yea, and minutes are numbered; those whose last hours are like unto the torments of the damned ;mangled, torn, poor, bleeding bodies, hut with souls like that of Evangeline “strong in the hour of affliction.” This, indeed, is the “affection that hopes and endures and is patient.” It was in these very woods and those surrounding the Forest de Parroy that the Rainbow Division first saw service as a combatant unit of the allied armies. Here was grouped what was supposed to be a division of the best National Guard units of America. Here, too, was New York’s famous “Fighting Sixty-ninth, ' ’ now sacrilegiously (as they 25