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

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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

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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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thought) entered in the Army records as the 165th U. S. Infantry, thereby losing all the prestige naturally associated with a unit which had so distinguished itself. For a week or two after the coming of the division the front was as serene as a placid lake. Then came the fifth of March, with the Ger- man raiding party, followed by the American counter-attack on the ninth. Days characterized by the trying monotony of dawn and twilight vigils seemed once again the rule rather th an the exception. EAYMOND B. FURLONG, ’21. Another of our soldier boys who is just fluishiug Junior Class. He enlisted in the Maryland Coast Artillery from Sophomore and saw actiye service abroad with the Rainbow Division from Octoljer 1917, until the end, spending eighteen months overseas. On the seventeenth, just after “stand to” everyone, exhausted by the early morning watch, had sought asylum and comfort such as it was, in the musty dinginess of the dugouts. Suddenly everyone was astir; “they” were sending a few over; first a few shells, then a few more, then an avalanche of artillery burst forth. To us one missed its mark; to the Hun it was a perfect shot. For indeed it had “stopped its flight at the dugout stair, touched its prey and left them there clay to clay.” 26