Mike's Genealogy Site
"A Tale of Me and the War"
Louis Rosen's Journal from World War I
Louis Rosen's Journal from World War I
Lou Rosen, returning from the first World War. He writes: "Homeward bound. Resting by the wayside on a box in front of a small grocery store. This was after a line fell out for a little rest while marching to the sea at Brest, France, to embark for home."
My father Louis W. Rosen was born in New York’s teeming Lower East Side in 1888 to Russian immigrant parents, the first of nine children. He was already a graduate of New York Law School and an attorney when drafted in 1917.
He was also a typical basement inventor, and prior to the draft had been discussing a camera invention with army officials. The invention described a rapid mechanical automatic transport system for roll film. As a result, while on active duty as a private with the Field Artillery, he sought and obtained a transfer to the Air Force Photographic Division. You will also see how proficiency in the self taught skills of typing and stenography were of mutual benefit to himself and his superior officers.
I must say something about his inventions, which were usually concerned with common household products, like a one piece razor and even a wet tea bag disposer (to avoid soiling the table top) - he never used any of them in daily practice. Not even the camera, which he credits indirectly with removing him from the front line in the war. He never used anything but a vintage Brownie box camera which could not even be focused.
While in France awaiting the trip home after the armistice, he typed two letters home totaling 36 pages, dealing almost exclusively with his experience during the war. Copies of these letters, plus an Epilogue and some photographs, were privately printed and bound in 1920. The original typed letters are lost, but copies of a few sample pages of the book are included in this new version.
Although I always knew that Dad was a World War I veteran, I knew nothing of his book until about age 12. It was am eye opener to me in revealing how he had successfully and even proudly succeeded in coping with a strange and at times fearful environment.
Following the War, he returned to private practice and later served 20 Years with the New York State Department of Law in Albany. His specialty was real property, contributing to the success of the New York State Thruway in obtaining its rights of way.
Nothing could express my appreciation of his personality more than these final words of a speech delivered by a friend and co worker in 1968 upon his retirement from the Department of Law:
"It was many years ago that the outstanding facet of Lou’s personality impressed itself upon me – a facet which made it possible for me to address our guest of honor as 'Lou' – and that was his youthful spirit.
It is not by the white of his hair that one knows the age of the heart or the mind. Age does not depend upon years, but upon temperament. Some men are born old, and some never seem to grow old. Always sensitive in thought, always ready to adopt new ideas, they are never chargeable with fogyism. Satisfied, yet ever dissatisfied, settled, yet ever unsettled, they always enjoy the best of what is, and are always the first to find the best of what will be. Such a man is Lou Rosen. Constituted as he is, Lou is no different today from what he was yesterday, nor will tomorrow transform him from what he is today."
GENERAL HEADQUARTERS
AMERICAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCES
November 23rd, 1918
Dear folks:
The censorship having been lifted to the extent of allowing me to talk of the past and the present, I am taking advantage of this first opportunity to communicate a little account of myself concerning facts not related before. You can take my word for it that it is absolutely true. In telling the story, I shall omit numerous circumstances and events between dates, not that they are less important, some of them more - but that if I took them into account I should never end my letter. My dates will be fairly accurate, as I had no patience to keep a diary of "European Trips".
The same Sunday, April 14th that the boys visited me at the Camp, toward evening a request came in to the Supply Room for a memorandum regarding the amount of cubic space necessary for our luggage, to be submitted at once. It was a sure guess. At the end of that week about Saturday morning we were told officially by the Captain, who himself at the start evinced surprise. During the last remaining days I worked my head off in the Supply Room, as equipment then was the principal thing.
At last, about 3:30 A. M. Monday April 22nd we marched off, while the rest of the world was asleep. I was then all in through overwork, loss of sleep, and even food in attending to this job, and under the circumstances shall never forget the strain in reaching the station in marching order, carrying a full equipment consisting of a pack that weighed about a ton, a rifle, 100 rounds of ammunition in belt, hanging like so much lead around you, rations, overcoat, raincoat, etc., and with that I had the misery of wearing a brand new pair of shoes that were too small covered by rubbers of the truck drivers' type. It had rained all the time, the roads were extremely muddy, it was pitch dark, everything blended with this one setting. I just about kept together, puffing away, and with the break of day reached Hoboken.
After a delay of a few hours, we climbed aboard the good ship Vaterland (now called the Leviathan), the very boat on which Henry Schiffer and I came back when she made her last regular voyage from the other side. That was certainly a coincidence, and little did one of us dream on that former trip, while sitting at the table with napkins and music, that I would be going back on the same ship minus either of them.
The boat did not leave until Wednesday morning. You can imagine, in the meantime, how I felt standing on the deck and looking across the Hudson in the direction of Harlem - no chance to communicate, let alone going home. So near, and yet so far - and it was to be still farther.
A page from the journal with Lou's map of his travels during the war. Click for a full sized image of the map.
The voyage took about eight days, and I must say, so far as the sailing was concerned, it was splendid. Fine weather, and no submarine ever approached us. If any did we never knew it. She was heavily manned, and two days before we reached port we were picked up and convoyed by four destroyers, two on each side, fore and aft. When we got out of the bunk on May 2nd, we found the ship anchored in the harbor of Brest. The life on the boat was a mixture of comfort and discomfort, both in the extreme, but neither of which could be helped. There were about 14,000 troops on board from all over the country. One of the many things that kept us busy was the daily "Abandon Ship Drill". Of course, there was plenty of gossip, such as "the German Government has offered a prize to the submarine commander who would succeed in sinking this capital ship." The thought of that was a cure for seasickness (and nobody was sick).
On May 2nd, we marched off the boat and right up to the "resting" barracks in the heart of the town. Along the road women wept, waved, and what not. To the kids, it was a picnic. They kept following us, asking for chocolate and cigarettes.
The barracks referred to were really used by Napoleon's soldiers, and here and there were interesting sights, where executions had taken place, etc. The walls had about one hundred layers of calcimine, each denoting a certain epoch in the history of France. We stayed there about a week, and around May 9th started off for the training camp.
The trip consumed about four days and nights by train, until we reached the spot, about fourteen miles from the City of Bordeaux, - Camp De Souge. We journeyed in the box cars, labeled as they all are, "Cheveaux 8, Hommes 40"- meaning capacity either for 8 horses or 40 men. The floor was our seat, bed, recreation center, library, dining table, and clothes closet. Outside of that. we had plenty of room for one toothpick. Well, as the expression went, "C'est la Guerre", it is war.
When we finally got into Camp De Souge, I must say that I was agreeably surprised. It was a former French military camp. built on permanent lines, even unlike Camp Upton, well laid out, and had the appearance of taste and beauty. There we received the real training, although it was necessarily very much cramped. All of us, including officers and men, went to some school. For the Headquarters Company, whose duty was to attend to the technical work in connection with the batteries, the lessons were in the installation of telephones. telephone lines, and switchboards, and the maintenance thereof; also in radio work and firing data in connection with the guns. Miniature telephone lines were also set up. Toward the end, actual firing was done with the guns on designated targets, barrage practice was had, etc. However, I busied myself around the Supply Room, as my ambition was to get into the Air Service, steps for which I will explain later.
Our stay there was about two months. During that time, I was on two Sundays in Bordeaux on pass, and it was indeed a treat, after all that isolation, to get into a big city. At the beginning of the stay, right after I received a reply from The Adjutant General to Eddie, forwarded to me by Ed, I took up with my Captain the proposition of sending an application through military channels to The Adjutant General, A. E. F., asking simply "to be allowed to appear before the main Photographic Bureau in France to show and explain my invention", and in words to the effect "be judged according to its merits". I figured that was the best stepping stone, and it showed that I was not bluffing. I annexed the letter Eddie sent, also two sets of pictures that I luckily had, stating the experiences I encountered in the states, making the question very clear as to the merits, and giving telling proof by the pictures enclosed.
Images from Lou's patent application for a film advancement mechanism. Click to read the original patent.
By that time I stood very high in the estimation of the Captain. I had a heart to heart talk with him at his private quarters, and he confirmed to me the experience at Camp Upton, that he was prohibited from entertaining any application whatsoever for a transfer and under Division Orders could make no exception, as they in turn were acting under secret orders from the War Department, which later I learned were to the effect that the 77th Division was to be ready for overseas duty. However, now that I was in France, my environment was different. The Captain told me that he would speak to the Colonel of the Regiment about it, and he did so, getting the application to be sent off with recommendation for approval. In connection with the captain, I will say that I won his opinion in the last few days' of sleepless work I put in the supply room at Camp Upton - a time when he was almost always around, being anxious to have everyone fully equipped in time - and then through the work I put in, on board the Leviathan. The company clerk became seasick, and he called upon me to make up the pay roll and muster roll, a long and very tedious job. It lasted about five days, and I banged away on the typewriter in a Royal Suite on the ship. Special permission was given to work in there by one of the ship's officers acquainted with the captain, as otherwise there wasn't an inch of extra space. When the work was finished he paid me a very high compliment in the presence of the staff in his private room, saying it was the best he had seen - (ahem). In the course of a little conversation in that room he asked me if I had any touch of seasickness and how the voyage affected me and I then took occasion to tell him that I was on the very boat on her last passenger trip to the Slates and so felt perfectly" at home"
During the course of my stay at Camp De Souge, near Bordeaux, France, I must recite some little experience I had with horses. At that place, word came to us that, contrary to our expectation, the guns would be of a different type, horse-drawn and not motor-drawn. Also, nearly all of us would be mounted. Immediately, those of the Regiment who were "farmers" became more popular then the "would be chauffeurs". Details of men were sent all around the country to bring the horses in as they were bought up from the French, and there was a steady stream of them coming into Camp De Souge after a while. En route, these horses traveled in the same class we did, but evidently a horse can't stand it and when they reached camp a lot of nursing was needed to round them out.
We had two lectures on how to take care of them. These were improvised, as the subject of horses had not been anticipated in the States. At the first lecture, we were assembled around a wall on which someone, unseen, drew a picture of the beast for illustration. It was a good thing every part was named in writing, at that we had to use our imagination. The lieutenant who delivered the sermon was the best expert who could be found on such short notice - I think he once hired a horse in Central Park. One of the first things impressed upon us was to treat the animal with kindness. To a large extent, this was followed out later to the very letter, because we never were fed, until we had first fed the horses, and they had a "rub down" much more frequently than we had a bath. But otherwise it was a good thing those horses couldn't understand English or the little French we knew. A few days after the lecture we were marched up to the stables for lessons in equitation - cleaning, feeding, watering, harnessing, mounting, riding, and other things. Twenty of the most amiable horses were chosen for the purpose of instruction. The superlative degree that I use is not the clearest indication of their tameness. They were tamer than that.
I went over to one beast, patted him 3 - 1/2 strokes on the back, according to instruction, the Army having discovered that that was a friendly way of introduction. I stood on the proper side, according to instructions. I held the reins with the proper fingers and at the proper angle. I did nothing that was not in the lessons preached to us. At the command "mount" I jumped on his back (we had no saddles then) feeling certain that as a good student I had full control of the situation. We were then to go around in a large circle. At the command to go we started off. My horse covered just about two degrees of that circle, when up he went. I tried to hold on, but his back was so slippery that I was thrown to the ground. I was all shaken up, but nothing broke. It flashed through my mind that the horse becoming Louis-less, would run away, little thinking that there were others around to check him. I jumped up to get him, but just then a lieutenant intervened with the admonition "don't run at him like that, you scare him, approach him gently". As I started to get him, an Italian fellow in the company, thought he would like to take a chance with the devil. He was accustomed to horses, evidently being a member of the D. S. C. society - ante bellum. No sooner was he on his back, when off he went in the direction of Berlin (must have been a spy). But he managed to cling to him, and both came back to the prescribed circle alive.
We were at this camp for just about two months when word came that our period of training was over and that we are off to the front. Just then the Germans had made great inroads and the tide was very much in their favor. That was about July 12th. A Table of Organization was quickly gotten up as to what each fellow was to do in the line which he had demonstrated. Against my name, was placed the title "Battalion Commander's Instrument Operator". This B/C Instrument, for short, is one for sighting targets and results of fire. At that, we had no occasion to use it, as the fighting that developed later was largely through map work and airplane reconnaissance, In theory, the Major (who is the head of the Battalion) operates the instrument and I beside him, record results, and I also, presumably, take care of it when not in use. When the lists came in, they also contained checks as to who are to be preferred with horses, there being a shortage at the last minute, quite a few of them having become sick and some died. My name sure enough, had a check.
A day before we started off for the first front, I went, with the rest to the stable and picked out a brand new outfit for a horse - a beautiful McClellan saddle, etc. Also leather grain bags, feed bags, and what not, even a manicuring set (curry comb and brush). The theory of that long-titled job is that I ride up on a prancing steed with the instrument to any observation post the Major chooses, and naturally he having a horse I couldn't run after him on foot. In getting my equipment ready, I went so far as to fill up the extra bag that is carried for that purpose with oats. All I needed was a horse. They were to be picked the next day. If that "a horse" only knew what I had for him. During that night, some more horses either got sick or died and when the next day came, there wasn't enough to go around on the pick, and of course the privates had to give way to the noncoms, so supposedly I was out of luck. Well, I never got a horse since, and as for the B/C Instrument, the Major never used it. Somewhere in France there presumably lies a harness equipment that has not yet linked rider to beast. May the bond which it will eventually bring see both of them plowing the ground, with the proverbial sword as the plowshare. So I still know little about horse riding.
To continue, on July 12th we started off for the front. We were always in mystery as to where we were going and what was actually going to happen. That in turn, bred a lot of gossip. After a few days' trip we detrained at Baccarat, on the Alsace-Lorraine front. The town had before been shattered to pieces, and in the early morning (everything of that sort happens in the midst of the night or in the early morning) we marched through it. An additional article of equipment was the steel helmet given to us on the boat. As we marched to our position, the firing on the front could be distinctly heard and aeroplane duels above us were not uncommon.
We were on the Alsace front for just about two weeks. There we came together with our infantry, which had traveled by way of England. One evening, I happened to be in a little grocery store "epicerie" in the town of Neufmaisons (near the Alsace border) when I saw a fellow of the 308th infantry. Without regard to the number of men in the infantry, I asked him if he knew Charlie Zucker. "Sure", he said, "I worked with him". And so it was, he conducted me to the little town where the infantry was stationed and there I met Charlie. It certainly was a happy reunion, but we were too far apart to get together again.
Lou Rosen in his "doughboy" uniform
For the purpose of actual field work, our Headquarters Company was split up into a Regimental Detail and a detail with the First, Second, and Third Battalion. Batteries A and B, formed the First Battalion, Band C, the Second, and E and F, the Third. The Commanding Officer of each Battery is a Captain, of the Battalion, a Major. The latter would give the firing orders and instructions to the two batteries under him. The Headquarters Company were "the brains of the Regiment", so to speak, and supposed to contain the best technical men. We took care of establishing and keeping up telephone communication to the batteries, etc., a very important function in the process of artillery fire. I was assigned to the Third Battalion, Batteries E and F. Our detail consisted of about thirty men and we had our own little field stove and cook. In the first three days on the Alsace front we set up, and thereafter maintained, about twenty miles of wire, and it was some job, leading them to the batteries, between batteries, etc. In addition, among our own bunch we had guard duty, which consisted partly in standing by the telephone switchboard during the night, installed under a clump of trees. I had my share at that a few nights, and a little thrill and experience went with it which I shall describe at another time. I bet you would never have recognized me as I was dressed on those occasions - a winter overcoat, a belt full of cartridges, a loaded, 45 caliber Colt pistol on my hip, a tin hat on my head, a gas mask against my breast in the alert position and a wrist watch on which I continually looked for the time when relief was up.
The rumor that we were to stay on this front a few months was hit on the head at the end of two weeks. The gossip then was that we were going to Italy, somewhere in the mountains, evidently because we had turned in our summer underwear. The next morning, when I got up from my tortuous sleep in the box car, and compared the passing towns with the map, I found we were headed straight for the Chateau Thierry front. That was corroborated by the absence of any smell of garlic we all expected to be infused into our atmosphere after a while. As usual, we started and finished in the middle of the night. All the detail in connection with this moving taxes one's energy to the utmost and keeps one awake all the time. It was a case of no rest for the weary. The horses especially, took up a lot of time and attention.
We detrained about 25 miles southwest of Chateau Thierry at a station called St. Simeon, about 7 miles East of Coulommiers, but at that time, owing to the push started not very long before, the front was about 45 miles away from that particular station. Well, the hike to cover most of that ground lasted three days, walking all through the night and "resting" by day. I shall never forget that. The first night they were ambitious, and with the packs on our backs we covered 20 miles up and down hills. In short time the battle area was around us and we passed in the darkness of the night, through town after town, in which almost every house was battered to pieces. As we progressed, we came upon places that were fresh in their testimony as to what happened. We were immediately in the wake of the Rainbow Division etc., that had started the push back from the Chateau Thierry point. The many gruesome sights that I have seen in this battleground I shall relate at another time. During the day rests, so-called, we camped at Belleau Woods and on one of the days right on the bank of the Marne about 5 miles from Chateau Thierry. The sun was then strong, and despite my sleepiness and weariness I went into that historic river for a swim. It s something like the Neversink, only a little wider and deeper. It took me a little time to get accustomed in that section to the smell of lime, decaying matter, and the odor of the dead. At first it was nauseating.
Well, to cut the story short, we finally got into position near Fismes, directly north of Chateau Thierry and right between Soissons and Rheims. The Boche was still very near those two latter cities, but the strongest point of resistance became the center where we fell in. He had taken a definite stand on the Vesle, and also the nature of the ground at that section gave him a decided advantage. Before the final dart into battle line, we camped near the edge of a woods about four miles long, which distance, with a little more stretch, separated us from the line. The three nights we thus camped were as sleepless as they were exciting. No sooner would it get dark then there were air raids by the Boche, bomb dropping, gas alarms and what not. A regular Fourth of July. The steel helmet, gas mask and I were like the Three musketeers - inseparable. In fact, I used the tin derby for a pillow and the gas mask for a blanket. On the third night, half of the guns from each battery and half of the personnel went into position. All in our bunch went along, except three fellows and myself, who were told to remain to look after the horses not needed to go into line. The following evening, however, our Major came back in his motor cycle, and left word for me and another fellow to get up to the line that night, as we were very much needed on the telephone work. We were to find our way by following the remaining half of the guns and personnel of the batteries. His chauffeur, in the meantime, gave us a brief account of what was going on, and it was not very pleasant news. In the trip of the previous night he himself had escaped a large shell by a few inches and after my own bunch had reached the headquarters and been in the farm for little while, a shell came clean through the roof and landed in the next room, killing one and gassing a few others. Also, some of the horses had been killed by shell fire.
With the above information, I started off for the line. The batteries we were following were going to a position which was not exactly where our Battalion headquarters was stationed - just a little distance away, and this other fellow and myself got into a ration cart that was to stop a little closer to our position than the guns. The moment those guns pulled in they got right into action. We started off about 9 P.M. The vehicles kept about 50 feet apart all the time to minimize the damage by an exploding shell in our midst. As we emerged from the other end of the woods we still had a little stretch to make, but the itinerary had to be changed. The M.P. stationed there informed the vanguard that those roads were being heavily shelled at that time, and we certainly could hear and feel it so we had to make a detour.
About 12 P.M., the ration cart finally found the spot what was thought to be its prescribed stop - beneath a large open shed near the road. Well, let me tell you, for about a mile before we reached this shed all of us had fallen about a dozen times flat on the ground to escape the shrapnel of bursting shells all around us (through the woods we felt ostrich-like safe) and it wasn't a bit quieter at the shed. From the shed, our headquarters was supposed to be a distance of about three blocks. But in the thick of the night, with shells flying from directions we were not yet familiar with, we were not going to get lost looking for that barn. An M.P. came up to the shed and told us that if we intended to remain there one of us should be chosen as guard against gas attacks as there had been many cases of it in that section. No one volunteered. everybody was all in and sleepy, and being a mixed bunch, there was no organization. I lay down under a wagon on a pile of dirt underneath the shed, I in my clothes of course, intent not to fall asleep, but to rest up. Just then a piece of shrapnel tore down an edge of the roofing on the shed. It was that indiscriminate firing for general effect and no one could tell where the next shell would land. About 10 feet away from our shed another unit was putting in place a 6 inch rifle (cannon). It is a long range gun for shelling back areas and they worked fast (cussing and swearing) to get it in place under cover of darkness. Pretty soon it commenced to fire away. Despite its proximity and noise, and the noise of the general firing around us and bursting shells, and my intention not to fall asleep, I did doze off, so tired was I. All can say is that the Lord kept watch over me, and very early in the morning I got up and was able to stretch. One of our crowd came from the barn and showed us the way up.
The barn, called La Pres Farm, was a large old fashioned farm, dating back to an early age. The buildings were of heavy stone walls, consisting of four wings, forming a square, in the center of which was a large courtyard. There were also various outhouses. It is needless to say that everything was not spic and span there. Some of the infantry of our Division occupied most of the wings - those fellows who were immediately to go into the trenches a little distance away. Only one wing was used for our crew. The batteries were stationed at the edge of a woods about 500 feet away from us, right across an open field somewhat hilly, sloping up in the direction of the guns. My duty in the telephone squad was to help maintain communications at all times between the guns and our Battalion Headquarters (where we were) and certain other positions. It simply meant that every time wire was broken by fire we would have to go out and find where the break was and splice the wire to re-establish communication. We would do this in turn, but the breaks happened so often that one was sure to go out about twice in 24 hours.
When I got into that barn that early morning, I was still tired and laid down on the floor and fell asleep (a regular tramp, by gosh). In about an hour I was aroused to go with a lieutenant to patch up some wire. We went to that field referred to. By the light of the sun I became more acquainted with that terrain. There were two roads, one passing on each side of the field. While we were at work one shell after another landed in those roads. This lieutenant is a lawyer (and who I just learned, was subsequently sent back to the States to teach some of the recruits) and he said to me "a fine job for two lawyers," But he had the will and spirit. We got through with the work in good shape.
In the barn. our sleeping place was in a deep cellar, and where we also transacted all our business by candle light, the switchboard being located in one corner of it. My clothes never came off. The very first night I was called out about 1 A.M. with another fellow to find and repair two breaks. With heavy shelling going on, we just felt our way by a pale moonlight over that field never knowing when the next shell would land near us, patiently trying to find the trouble. Heavy firing was going on and at that time, several ammunition dumps of the Germans had been blown up, giving the reflection of the blaze as to make it seem that our own woods were on fire. Some night! The way to find the break is to get hold of the wire at the switchboard and let it pass through your hand as you walk along, picking it up somewhat from the ground. The wire is just laid on the ground. After we find the break and repair it, we tap in on the wire to see if the connection is perfect and in working order. We found the trouble that night, fixed it, and came back unscathed. The next day, in the afternoon, I went out again with the same lieutenant. We were away from the farm not more than 200 feet when a shell whistled right over us and landed square in the courtyard of that farm. After we came back we found that two fellows were killed and several wounded. Those shells do leave some holes in the ground. At another time, the Huns had gotten the location of some of our batteries, and a regular duel took place. It certainly was exciting. Two of the battery fellows were then killed and several injured.
The first aid station was in a room in our wing to which ambulances were continually called. And some sights, once more. As was to be expected the infantry was the principal sufferer, and I saw those doughboys coming in one after another gassed with mustard gas.
The happy climax, so far as I was concerned, came on the fifth day of my presence at that battling farm. At about seven o'clock in the evening, there commenced to land right up close to our building one shell after another - deliberately aimed at us. The walls actually shook. We were all huddled together down in the cellar. The Huns had evidently discovered the importance of the target being Ballalion Headquarters and where most of the lines were. If there had been a direct hit over us, we might have been buried alive under the fall and weight of those stones. The shrapnel, however, could never have entered those walls. At least, fifty shots were fired in rapid succession. and then it subsided to a much slower pace. Probably the next day, as was the case after any special firing, a Hun aeroplane would fly around to find out what damage had been done. Invariably, we were never left alone during night time, the firing being increased then. As a result of the very heavy firing just mentioned, some of the lines were already broken as no connections could be had from our switchboard. I saw visions of being hustled out shortly to do some fixing.
While engrossed in the said vision. I heard my name called from the other end of the cellar where the Major and his Adjutant were. I walked in, and the Adjutant said. "Rosen, you are going out." For the moment, it appeared to me that I was being sent on a dangerous, important mission in connection with the firing. The chauffeur standing by then told me that I was going with him. I asked him where. He said "you have been ordered back to the Headquarters of the S.O.S. (the rear) and I am to take you to Regimental Headquarters in the adjoining town, where you are to get a copy of the order, instructions, etc." Even then I could not fathom the significance of the whole thing, as I had long given up hope on that application - never having heard from it. Well. I gathered my belongings, and with it slipped into the side car of the motor cycle. He went through the roads like lightening; the firing was going on all the time. I reached Regimental Headquarters, about two miles away, and the Captain gave me an official copy of the order that came through. It read as follows:
"GENERAL HEADQUARTERS, AMERICAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCES.
Special Orders No. 227.
France
15 August 1918
Extract 81
Private Louis W. Rosen, Headquarters Company. 306th Field Artillery, will proceed to Headquarters, S. O. S., reporting upon arrival to the Chief of Photographic Section, Air Service, for showing and explaining drawings of his invention, and upon completion of this duty will return to his proper station. The Quartermaster Corps will furnish the necessary transportation and subsistence. The journey directed is necessary for the public service.
By Command of General Pershing,
James W. McAndrew, Chief of Staff."
The compliance of that order was left to me. That same night I got into a ration truck that went back through that woods to fetch food for the next day. At the end of this journey I remained in the truck and slept there until morning. Then I got out, cleaned myself a little, brushed off the dust of battle (although I still wasn't very far from it) and remained around until after dinner, eating with the Supply Company. Then I got my pack together and started on my way.
The journey certainly was very interesting. First of all, I had to get away from a large war zone, recently the scene of much conflict, meaning a stretch of many miles before I could reach a spot where there was railroad transportation. At any rate, I felt like a bird that had just left its cage. For the first time there was no officer at my heels to tell me which way to go, how to breathe, when to rest, etc. My destination was the City of Tours, some few hundred miles away from strife. I got to the main highway, jumped on a passing truck and away it rattled, the din of the shooting becoming fainter all the time. I figured I would get off at Fere-en-Tardenois and there find a Quartermaster who would furnish me with rations, etc., for the journey. When I got there, no such unit was in town. I questioned an M. P., and he confirmed this; he also told me that I had better be off the street before night, as all stragglers were picked up. I looked him square in the face and said "0h, I am not afraid of that, I have an order from General Pershing, which will take care of the situation”. He thought he was wise, but with that order in my pocket I was there with the "bravery". It was interesting to go through the town and see some of the French inhabitants return to their shattered and abandoned homes. There is hardly a building left untouched. Bullets and shells must have poured in these regions.
Transportation ticket issued to Lou Rosen for travel from Chateau Thierry to Tours. "No. 2" in heavy black crayon specified a second class ride.
The trip to Tours from Chateau Thierry was in the direction of Paris, and I had fond hopes of stopping off at that latter city. But there was a confusion of trains, with the result that my train stopped at a French military detraining point about two miles before Paris. If I were able to speak a little French, I might have found my way to Paris, by some shuttle train or the like, but I was traveling like a dumb animal, unable to converse intelligently in any language that I knew. I was always delighted to let well enough alone. In that respect I was worse off than when in Germany right before the war with Henry Schiffer, and had to eat boiled eggs simply because we couldn't express the term "fried" eggs either by word or motion. Then again, the pack on my back made it very uncomfortable to maneuver around. So from that spot I branched off to Tours. It was, all told, a long ride, and I reached Tours about 3 A.M. There is a large A. E. F. desk at that station, in grand style, because the city is the headquarters of many branches of the service, practically everything except General Pershing and his staff departments, the latter being where I am now, in Chaumont. After registration at the depot I was escorted by an M.P. to a temporary barrack and slept there until the following day at 12 noon. Then I commenced to hunt up my man and department.
I located the office in Beaumont Barracks, at one edge of the town. It is the cleanest place I have seen, built also on permanent lines, and for the time I was there I really enjoyed it. It didn't have that mob. We also had our own YMCA within the grounds where there was plenty of elbow room and silence. The meals also were grand. At first it was a strange reaction after all that I had been through and I could hardly believe myself, so suddenly did it happen.
When I called at the department, the officers told me that the chief of the Photo Section, Captain Steichen, was in London, and would be back the following day. In the meantime they chatted with me on the subject and treated me royally. They knew all the officers and departments I had dealt with in Washington - themselves members of that clique - also told me that Captain Ives had come to France, the very officer who had been experimenting with the camera in Washington, and I certainly felt big in that environment. Anyone who knew or got to know about the invention handled me in good style. At that place this matter touched home. I met Captain Ives a few days later for a short while and he still had the same high opinion of the matter, expressing regret that I was unable to get to Washington and stating that he still thought that I ought to be there, where the facilities were best, but that for the while the matter had better take its own course.
Staff at Photographic Headquarters, Air Service, A.E.F., Tours, France. Click for a high resolution version.
He then took up with me the matter of joining his force, stating plainly that I belonged here rather than there. He said that under that order he could keep me with him on temporary duty (while I still remained a member of the F.A.). In the meantime, however an application was to be put through for my permanent transfer. During the course of my conversation he made me tell him all that had been done with the camera and showed sincere interest in my activities. He volunteered the statement that after the matter had been settled he would put me in line for promotion. The application for transfer was then and there drawn up by his personnel officer, and here is the endorsement that was put on it:
" Hdqrs. Air Service, S. O. S., A. E. F., Office of C. A. S., Photographic Section, Aug. 23, 1918. - To Commanding Officer, Hdqrs. 306th F. A.
I. The Photographic Section is very much in need of men with the ability this soldier shows, and therefore approval is recommended.
2. Soldier is now on temporary duty at these Headquarters where he was sent on our request, for the purpose of showing his plans and to explain the working of his invention.
3. This camera shows great possibilities and if soldier can be transferred to the Photographic Section where he will be given every opportunity to improve and develop his invention, it is believed the transfer will prove of benefit to the service.
By authority of Col. Chandler E. J. Steichen, .
Capt. A. S. Sig. R. C. "
You see, before I was ordered down there, the matter was evidently referred to him for what it was worth, and he OKed the proposition to have me appear. In fact, when I showed up, there was a folder in his personnel file all ready with papers in my case. That in a way explains why it took me so long to get action.
I remained in the photo laboratory about six weeks and learned a whole lot about the work and the present cameras in use. I enjoyed the City of Tours immensely. It is a beautiful place and very historic. From the the latter standpoint it is the oldest city in France, and everywhere there is something of intense interest. It is the birthplace of Balzac. The beautiful Loire river passes on one side of it, with castles here and there. In the suburbs I have visited places where the monks used to live and worship in caves, visiting the cave where St. Patrick studied, etc. Then there are famous cathedrals in history going back as far as 1500 years - St. Martin. Charlemagne, etc. There are spots where kings and queens used to live, for at one time it was the most attractive city and crowned heads traveled from afar to visit it. It was also the great center of Christianity. I had plenty of time to see those spots on Sundays in conducted tours from the YMCA. Luckily, I was there during the holidays, and enjoyed a real, home-fashioned worship in a real synagogue.
My romance was not yet ended. About September 28th, while this application for transfer was still in military channels. I received a letter, delayed in mail, from the Captain of my regular company (Hq. Co., 306 F. A.) enclosing a copy of the following order and a letter written by him asking that I comply with that order:
"HEADQUARTERS THIRD ARMY CORPS, AMERICAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCES
France
Sept. 2nd, 1918
Special Orders No. 78. 3
Under provisions contained in Paragraph 114, Army Regulations. 1913, Private Louis W. Rosen (1715213), Headquarters Company, 306th Field Artillery, is transferred to Headquarters Troop, this corps, and will be sent with the least practicable delay to these headquarters with instructions to report upon arrival to the Chief of Air Service for assignment to duty.
The travel directed is necessary for the Public Service.
By Command of Major General Bullard:
A. W. Bjornstad.
Brigadier General, G. S. Chief of Staff."
This Third Army Corps order was mysterious to me. I was never able to discover what really originated or prompted it. I learned that the 77th Division, of which I was a member, was included in the Third Army Corps at about the time I asked for the transfer. Evidently the papers had to pass through the corps for approval, and some officer in learning of my ability had me preferably transferred so that I could be with the local Chief of Air Service of his corps using the authority of the law quoted in the order. I never could find out who that officer was and when I met the Chief of Air Service of that corps, he was a new officer on the job anyhow. Well, the order had to be obeyed, so it was thought advisable that I make the trip and see what's what and try to get the matter corrected.
I left on October 2nd, just after I received the money from home by cable, which came in very handy, taking with me 150 francs of that money and leaving the balance of 600 francs on deposit with the American Express Company in Tours. On account of being away on pay day at each particular place, I missed three months' pay in succession, which was then due to me. I also took with me a copy of the papers on request to be transfered to the Photo Division, with their endorsement, etc. I felt sure I could straighten the matter out and return to Tours.
My trip again was in the direction of the front. I did not, however, expect that I would go as deep as before. These Army Corps embrace about 4 or 5 Divisions (approximating about 160,000 men). The Corps Headquarters keeps pace with the advancing line within a reasonably safe distance, though the the latter is not always a sure thing. To find the unit, I had to stop off at St. Dizier, a regulating camp. where all casualties, those evacuated from hospitals, stragglers, and men and officers of every kind and description are corralled for the purpose of distributing them to where they belong or where they are ordered to report. The scene at that camp I shall have to describe at another time. It is a mixture of all elements. I spoke with many of the fellows of the famous Divisions that had seen the fighting from the start, the 42nd, 32nd, etc. most of whom were returning from hospitals, and heard some stories.
The officer in charge at that regulating camp did not know where the Hq. Troop office of the 3rd Army Corps was, at the time I inquired, and it took him until the next day to get the information. In the meantime I had to sleep on a bench overnight. For rations, while waiting to be sent off, they give you a slip with which at a certain counter you get two boxes of hard tack, a can of beans, and a can of corned willy. This is for one day. Of course, it is all eaten cold. There is no kitchen there. The next night, with directions in hand, I started off, at about 9 P.M., on a train of about 50 cars, containing fellows who were to branch off to the various towns for their respective divisions. I was to go to Nixeville (near Verdun) and get off at Lemmes the nearest point, a few miles away. It was some trip, the train just barely crawling along. To get to the regulating camp my train, mind you, consumed 15 hours more time than the schedule called for, and from St. Dizier the pace was even slower. Gradually the roar of the front became louder and louder, for we were hugging the Argonne sector, and at that time, right after the St. Mihiel drive they were banging away to extend their gains in the Argonne Woods, and near Metz, all of which could be distinctly heard.
I got off at Lemmes. as directed. The place was rather dismal, the air chilly, the sky cloudy. Not knowing what was in store for me I had a mingled feeling of perplexity and romanticism. In my hands I held an A.E. F. edition of the Herald of the previous day, in which the headline was "The Americans made a noted advance yesterday in the Argonne Woods, with new troops of General Bullard's Third Army Corps in the lead." I asked a soldier where the headquarters of the Third Army Corps at Nixeville was, and just how to get to that town. He said "you might save yourself a useless trip by asking the Town Major over here just where the corps moved to, because they went into position the other day, and I am sure you won't find them at Nixeville." That seemed to confirm the news in the paper. I began to wonder whether I wasn't chosen for the front lines again, but the order had a certain singularity about it that calmed my suspicion. It was cold, so I commenced to walk on the main highway, the Verdun road, until I was actually about a mile from the City of Verdun. Then by a happy chance, necessitating a little retreat, I found an old shanty that housed the office of the Headquarters Troop of that Corps: Because of the delay in mail in receiving that order, as stated before, I was about a month late in reporting on it, and the sergeant didn't know what to do with me. In fact, he didn't know why I was transferred.
He had on file my service record, and by a happy chance he had just finished typewriting the payroll, so I slapped my signature down for the three months' pay. That was something gained. The decision was that I call up the Third Corps Observation Group, a branch of the Air Service operating with that Corps, stationed at Souilly, a few towns away. This town also happened to be the advance Headquarters of General Pershing during the big drive. I did call up and came down there by appointment. I convinced the Adjutant over there of my standing, and he became satisfied where I belonged. However, he said the mailer would have to be taken up through the Chief of Air Service of the Corps, and to whom I was really to report under that order, but had not yet found where he was. These staff officers are separated in many instances among several towns in the same sector. The Adjutant asked what I could do to make myself busy in the meantime, and I told him I was good at stenography and typewriting. About two days later an officer of that Observation Group took me in an automobile to a nearby town called Rampont to report personally to the Chief of Air Service of that Corps. His name is Joseph C. Morrow, a colonel coming from Pittsburgh. These local chiefs, of course, are subordinate to the Chief of Air Service of the entire A.E. F., at G.H.Q., where I am now. The officer over here is a Major General.
To continue, I wish that I had a picture of the place where I was brought. It was a beautiful chateau or bungalow, call it what you wish, on a hill overlooking a beautiful valley. It had a balcony all around and a little lawn in the front. Its only occupants were the Chief of Air Service before mentioned; his aide, a first lieutenant; a French officer assigned to infuse us with their methods; a Private, as orderly, and a beautiful black dog, the pet of the family. There were wires running to the house and connections could be had with almost anybody. Now a colonel, let me tell you civilians, is a high ranking officer. He tops a 2nd and 1st Lieutenant, a Captain, a Major, and a Lieutenant Colonel. The rank above him is Brigadier General. It was night time when I was shown into his room. After I was introduced to him by the officer who brought me up, he said "You are a photographic expert, I understand." I replied, modestly, "Oh, I have just invented a mechanical device on the camera for automatic movement of the film." And said he, "Captain Steichen had asked for your transfer", etc. (He must have gone over the papers I submitted to the other officer before calling for me). I told him just what my situation was. Then he said, "I understand you can handle a typewriter." I told him I could. He then said, "It will take about a week to straighten your matter out so that you can be sent back, in the meantime you can make yourself at home over here and stand by with us." I was given a spare bed room right next to his chamber (mind you, a bed room), and did "stand by" for two weeks, The life, up there was very interesting, and I shall explain that another time. The activities took in all the aeroplane operations in most of the Argonne sector and on the Meuse, and all through the time that the Americans were hammering and bombing away which culminated in the final thrust started on November 1st and which then brought them as far as Sedan. What I did and the information I waded through was of a highly confidential character, very important and of course interesting - plans both before and after attacks.
Close to November 1st the Colonel came back from a conference at Corps Headquarters, and said that General Patrick, Chief of Air Service of the A.E F., was around and signified his intention to appoint him Chief Inspector of the Air Service, a newly organized department. The next day the Colonel called me over and asked me whether I wouldn't prefer to go with him to General Headquarters on this new job. I made a good impression with my work, and my proficiency was evidently the cause of his quietness on his promise to straighten the matter out with the Photo Division. Well, in the channels I was in, I became satisfied to let matters take their own course, having become somewhat tired of continually straightening out red tape. At least in this instance, especially after being coaxed, I was on the right path or rather on a pleasant path. I consented. He then sent his lieutenant up to Corps Headquarters and in no time had me transferred to the Air Service. Before that I was a member of "Hq. Troop" and assigned to the Chief of Air Service for duty. The next day he left for Chaumont, the home of G. H. Q., with arrangements to send his big Cadillac back for me the following day and also to fetch some of his belongings left over in my care. While I remained, his successor moved in with a larger staff. It was that first subordinate air unit I reported to. I helped them out in a little work. The result made them anxious to have me and feelers were put out about my willingness to remain. At the same time, I was asked by a lieutenant who expected to be put in command of a squadron - the aide referred to - whether I wouldn't keep him in mind. In either instance I would have become a sergeant major. But I was with a colonel, going to General Headquarters, and wouldn't entertain such ideas.
The next evening the car came back, and off I went via Chaumont, a distance of about 90 miles. We started too late, so after a long stretch we stayed over night in a barrack at Colombey-les-Belles, a very large Air Depot, principally to get some little things, and in the morning resumed and finished the journey. You should have seen me sitting back in that big car. I was amused at the many instances of salute by soldiers passing by, thinking that I was an officer, the car going too fast for them to discern the contrary. At one time, a company of about 10 Negroes braced up at attention and snapped their hands to salute as we shot by.
When we got to Chaumont the car pulled in to the big open space in front of Headquarters Building. I went up stairs and there was the colonel already at his desk. I wasn't there 10 minutes when off he went in the car to Paris. In the meantime, I busied myself starting shop. Since then, he has been away and back several times to get his personnel picked. The Table of Organization calls approximately for about 3 Lieut. Colonels, 4 Majors, 14 Captains, 11 First Lieuts., and a few Second Lieuts., all under him and then a host of enlisted men (those not commissioned officers) over whom I am to top as Sergeant 1st Class. The work is to cover the entire Air Service here and in Italy, and you can imagine how important the office is.
But just about the time when this thing was getting whipped into shape, peace was declared, and now everything is being held in abeyance, nobody knowing just how far to go. Of course, we are keeping together as evidently some kind of organization will have to be maintained, but time will tell how broad the work will be and far up I will go. I am not a bit disappointed because it is all the result of peace, and I would have foregone much more than this contemplated honor for such an event. In the meantime, I am taking life easy. To anybody who has been disappointed for some reason or other, they now retort, "est la paix", the French saying, "It is peace".
Now the question is, when I am going home. The answer is,. I don't know, and I am afraid a lot of good and bad luck will enter into that last bit with most everybody. But no doubt the authorities are trying to be square. I don't suppose I could now travel back with the 77th Division, being no longer a member of it. It seems to me they will go home early, as we were the first National Army Division to come across. The papers had that this Division had reached the most northerly point, at Sedan, when fighting stopped. In fact my Third Battalion referred to before, was the first to fire a National Army gun at the enemy, on the Alsace front. A fellow wandering around in Baccarat, was picked up and questioned by the Intelligence Department. He turned out to be an escaped German. He revealed that right opposite our lines was a church used by the Germans for an ammunition dump. We pulled our guns out and shattered it to pieces and the flames around it left no doubt of the truth of the matter. It was the first shot.
They are forming here an A. E. F. band. The best are being picked from each Regiment. The 306th F. A., has been drawn upon for three fellows, whom I have met here and from them have learned a good deal of how my Regiment fared after I left them in August. If a certain story is true, then I am a lucky boy.
As I said before, there are many, many things left unsaid in this letter, incidents both amusing and horrifying, and anecdotes and what not, but I hope this is enough for a while.
With love to all, I remain,
Affectionately,
Louis
Address:
Air Service, Gen'l Hdqrs.
A. P. O. 706, American E. F.
HEADQUARTERS, PHOTO SECTION
AIR SERVICE
A. P. O. 717, American E. F.
France, February 17, 1919
Dear Folks:
I was in hope of being home by this time and telling you more of my experiences in the American Expeditionary Force, but as this delay has occurred, I thought you would be interested in reading a supplementary account of what I have gone through, touching matters very little of which was mentioned before in “Dad's letter”, or as you term it, “17 page history”.
Even in this letter, I could hardly write everything, and many important things will slip my mind or in fact intentionally be omitted for want of both patience and time. From what I have stated before, you have a pretty good idea of my general movements, and I therefore can refer to them with little explanation, knowing that you will understand my references intelligently.
On the Vaterland or Leviathan coming over, we had but two meals a day, but they were good. Yet, that is all I cared for under the conditions we were traveling with a limited amount of freedom on deck. The meal service was handled quite efficiently, considering that there were over 12,000 men to feed at each meal. We ate in what was formerly the First Class Dining Room. It is the size of a large ball room and in height it extends through a few decks, allowing sufficient breathing space. We ate standing up, saving much room and confusion. That same room was cleared each night for moving pictures. Our bunks were very congested, the aisles very narrow. Every available inch was used up for quarters. We slept four cots high. They were so close to each other that one couldn't even sit up; I had to bend at an angle of about 45 degrees. Before we started out, one fellow shot himself intentionally in the foot and as a result all our ammunition was taken away for the rest of the voyage. There were rumors of another fellow jumping overboard, but I personally never confirmed it. While at sea, in the preparation of one of the meals, ground glass was found in the mince pie before being dished out, and as a result all the baking for that meal was condemned and not used. I know this to be a positive fact because our own cook who helped in the kitchen witnessed it all. Every afternoon we had Abandon Ship Drill, taking with us to the deck our life preservers properly adjusted, one blanket and a canteen of water. There was no lowering of the boats, only a standing by. Two days before we reached our destination at Brest - although the guess was, even by the sailors, that we would land in England - the break of day revealed four United States Destroyers convoying us. It was quite picturesque to watch them, two on each side, dart through the water. Standing from the top deck of the Leviathan they looked by comparison like little bugs cutting hither and thither in a zig zag course all the time at a tremendous speed, shooting away from us for a little distance at an angle, then coming back to us. So they followed us for two days and two nights, before which time we sailed all alone.
The last night was quite an ominous one, for we were passing through the most dangerous part, right through the submarine zone. While on other nights we slept partly undressed, that night we were specially cautioned to keep all our clothes on under penalty of punishment and also our life preserver adjusted and tied. Everybody had to be in his bunk at 10 o'clock and no loitering was allowed anywhere. The officer in charge of the ship in a deep voice went throughout the halls uttering the necessary regulations for us to follow. The port holes were closed tight as usual, and consequently with the crowding and the way we were dressed in bed, a Turkish Bath was like Iceland in comparison. Special guards were placed that night to watch every port hole. However, except occasionally for the sudden stopping of the boat or swerving from her course, nothing was heard or felt, and the next morning we found ourselves at anchor in the Harbor of Brest with the soil of France right in front of us. During the week we were supposed to rest up at Pontenezen Barracks in that town, and in line with that we had frequent hikes and marches with the band playing, going through neighboring villages and making quite a hit with the peasants.
The train trip from Brest to the Artillery Training Camp at Camp De Souge, 14 miles from Bordeaux, consumed a few days and nights. The train would stop frequently between and near stations for various personal accommodations. We had no portable kitchen with us on this first train trip (otherwise known as a rolling kitchen), and so to make up for the dry stuff we were eating all the time. at intervals in the large stations we would be served with coffee. I think only in one instance did we strike a Red Cross service and their coffee was fine. The rest were by the French. No milk, no sugar, yet of course it was coffee, and being hot was quite welcome. Sometimes in the middle of the night a particular station would be reached where we could get the "coffee", and with the chill the night brings on, none of us ever turned away that drink. We were early-comers in this war, and no doubt in the ensuing months more Red Cross stations were established. At these various stations, night and day we met French soldiers who were incapacitated from the war and heard many a horrible tale of what war was and what we were in for.
At Camp De Souge near Bordeaux, I had comparatively speaking, my easiest time with the 77th Division. The unit having arrived fully equipped as a result of all that work put in at Camp Upton; there was no rush at any time on the equipment proposition (except toward the end on the harness equipment), and I could take my time about it. The assignment to this work kept me off all details for the various kinds of work, something that no private enjoyed. I have been in the kitchen only one day, on a Sunday at Camp Upton, and I nearly missed that. The schools for training there were quite interesting. They tried to make the course as practical as possible, but the knowledge was necessarily cramped on account of the brief time of two months in matters that take years to learn efficiently. We went to school every day, including the officers. It was interesting to watch the latter, from colonel of the regiment down, file by on the road with note books in their hands, each morning, like a lot of school children. We spent the time at lectures and then out in the open at actual work in constructing telephone lines, poles, trenches for telephones, etc., and in setting up and maintaining communication between the Observation Posts and the guns when there was practice on the range in firing the 6 inch Howitzers we were using. We also had many lessons in signaling by buzzer, by flags and by projectors. The latter is the flash-light method and we would go off in the woods, stay apart at distances and flash messages to each other. Sometimes a French peasant would pass by with a basket of oranges or some good-for-nothing cake, and signaling would cease instantly, except to notify the distant party to come hither. A picnic would take place until it was time to go back to the barrack, and eat some slum. There were about three examinations given at the school, but apparently to stimulate some kind of competition, the fellows, as usual, had their note books with them. There were no desks to lean on for the purpose of writing, so we used the note books for that purpose. The hint was strong enough, and if a fellow kept his notes up to date and didn't get over 90 per cent, it was because he couldn't read his own handwriting.
The train trip from this camp at the end of two months to the first battle front in the Alsace-Lorraine sector had with it about the same experiences as in the previous trip, except there were horses and wagons to deal with and that just topped the climax for exertion. The horses used the same kind of cars we did, only by virtue of their size only 8 could be fitted in, just as the sign read. However, a narrow aisle was left and in that aisle in each car two of the fellows were assigned to sleep and stay there all the time, to take care of the horses' wants in every way. Luckily, I was never chosen for that job, although there were many cases where the fellows refused to be relieved when they saw the congestion we had in the cars without the horses.
We arrived in Baccarat under cover of darkness. There was an air raid in that town just a few nights before. Just as we started to march through the town about 3 A.M. (after getting all the horses and wagons off the train in that pitch darkness) a light was seen flashing from one of the houses, and one of our officers had it surrounded on the assumption it was the work of a spy. The military police (M. P.) came right up and the matter was turned over to them. What happened later, I never learned. We marched through the town worn out and broken up from the"feather-bed" ride. With the number assigned to each car, there was actually no room to sleep in those cattle cars. I would very often wake up and find my head resting on the edge of some body's heel (none of us undressed) or sole, and had to lie cuddled up in the most peculiar kind of contortion.
It was after detraining at Baccarat that we got the first glimpse of enemy aircraft observing right above us, and many a battle did we witness in the skies. We camped in the woods under the cover of many trees, to avoid being observed. That same day, two of our fellows were shot at different intervals by some evidently hidden sniper, as we couldn't otherwise account where the bullets came from. In both instances they missed their mark. The next day, our Headquarters Company was separated into three battalions, and we each marched off to our separate sector of operation, all of us, of course, remaining in the same section of the country. My third battalion reached a place in thick woods covered with large and beautiful pine trees, near the town of Maisonettes. There were about 30 in this battalion. Together with Major Moon and several lieutenants, we constituted Third Battalion Headquarters, taking in the operations of Batteries E and F. The Major, however, stayed about three miles away from us. In the two weeks we were there, we laid, up and back and around, a distance of about 25 miles of telephone wire, crossing hills and dales, and connecting the batteries with our headquarters, the Major, etc. This had to be done with a lot of patience and extreme care, because every single day the Boche planes were hovering above us in plain view, and we had to keep dodging under trees with our reels of wire to avoid disc1osing our operations. The antiaircraft guns would would be working all the time, and it was quite picturesque to see the puffs of smoke around an enemy plane or planes as she or they would move along to escape the fire. One could count at least 30 puffs around each plane and it often seemed like so many airplanes. Never did I see a plane shot down by an anti-aircraft gun. The chances of getting a plane in that way from ground fire is very, very slight, but it does accomplish one good purpose: it makes the pilot fly very high and get away without much delay, to avoid being hit, and consequently he cannot get much valuable information of what is going on below.
Our third battalion had the distinction of firing the first National Army gun, and it was in this Alsace-Lorraine sector. Right at the start a German was found wandering in Baccarat, and when picked up and examined, it was found that he had escaped from the lines opposite us. He was very hungry and after being fed, he was taken up to the Intelligence Office and questioned. He gave the information that a certain church opposite our lines was being used by the Germans as a munition dump. The following night (Saturday) one of Battery F's guns was secretly shifted from her then permanent position to a position some little distance away. From there she blazed away at the church, and the fire that went up after the church was hit left absolutely no doubt in the minds of our officers that it was the result of bursting shells within. The gun was then brought back to her original position - the original shifting being made so as not to disclose her position and later draw counter-fire and perhaps be hit. I met that gun the next day and patted her on the back, for these instruments after a little work almost assume a human existence, and are very much personified by the crew.
That sector at that time was what we called "comparatively quiet", but a thing of this sort of course aroused the enemy a little bit. Sure enough, on the next night there was a genuine air raid. Very few air raids accomplish just what they set out to do, and the result was that several Frenchmen were killed about a mile away from us. That night, as we reposed in our pup-tents, we could hear those planes buzzing above us, never knowing what was going to happen and where the bombs would land. We could detect a German plane by the double sound of the motor as that was quite distinct; our planes had a continuous buzz. At any rate, when there were planes floating around above us, in nine cases out of ten they were German. There is one thing about a plane: you will always know that it is above you and out in the silent country it has to be extremely high for the sound of the motor not to reach you. In that same sector the 308th infantry had about 50 of their men trapped in a trench with uncomfortable results.
As stated in the other letter, our detail took turns in guard duty as among ourselves. There were three shifts: 9 to 12 P.M., 12 to 3, and 3 to 6. I started off on the second night, from 12 to 3. All the telephones were not set up as yet, so there was no switchboard to take care of in addition. All I had to do was to keep my eyes and ears open, or better still, not fall asleep. The next time I was on guard was from 3 to 6 A.M. About 5 A.M. I started the fire for the cook and some water boiling for the coffee and an hour later waked him from his sleep to prepare the morning chow. The last time I was on guard was from 9 to 12, and it proved to be the most exciting. (These last two times, by the way, my position was near the switchboard, which was already in operation, installed under a clump of trees and with many bushes surrounding it to avoid detection.) It was about 11:15 P.M., pitch dark, no moon being out nor any stars visible. The boys were all asleep around me scattered among the trees in the immediate vicinity of that thick forest. One of the lines on the switchboard was to a station secretly known by us as Red Central, through which we could get connections to distant lines if necessary, that is, lines of the Signal Corps running to other and far away units. Every half hour at night Red Central would call up and simply check up that the wires were working. The reason for this is to make sure no one had cut them and if anything had happened to make the repair so that when any urgent use was necessary not to be left in the cold at the wrong moment. So, in that darkness, until 11:15 P.M., all that disturbed me was this regular call at intervals. We had a side connection, so that when the buzzer would drop, a tiny lamp would light all the time the buzzer was down, enabling us to see and make the connection - as otherwise no lights were allowed. (and this was very dim and only for a moment). The response would be "Orange talking. O.K., good bye". (Each station had a code name).
At the time I mentioned a call suddenly came in from the Commanding Officer of Battery F. As I answered the call, the Captain said, "I hear signals in the direction of the Infantry lines, which sound very much to me like signals of a gas attack". I snapped right out and said, "Captain, what do you want me to do, spread the alarm?" He said, "I think it would be advisable for you immediately to call up the Battalion Commander (the Major) and get his instructions and then immediately get in touch with me again." I quickly called up the Major, the Adjutant, however, answering for him. I told him briefly what the Captain of Battery F said. He told me not to spread any alarm instantly but be on the alert and wait for more definite signs, suggesting that if the matter became serious Red Central would notify me also and I would then be sure.
Well, if this thing had really developed, I would have been in some fix, for at the psychological moment I would have had to do about a dozen things at one time and yet protect myself. It was up to me to fire a few shots and wake the boys; to bang away at an empty brass shell case hanging nearby for that purpose; to telephone to the Commanders of each battery and to the Major at Battalion Headquarters; and in doing all this, if there were gas coming too close to us, I was to protect myself with the gas mask. The latter is generally effective when one can remain motionless, but to maneuver around and accomplish things at the same time, it is a very big handicap. I just sat silently waiting for another call or some other sign, in the meantime preparing myself for an emergency. I laid that revolver of mine right down in front of me and adjusted the gas mask against my breast in the alert position. The seconds passed into minutes, the minutes into five minutes, and so on. When 12 P.M. arrived, the time I was to wake my relief. I hopped off in the direction of where he was sleeping and got him up in quadruple quick time. The poor nut, while he was unconsciously rubbing his eyes, I was filling him with all kinds of ghost stories of the gas attack that was to be and had not yet come on, and told him to hurry off to the switchboard. As he went ahead, I darted into my pup tent with a sigh of relief at least for the responsibility that was lifted from my shoulders, and from the bottom of my heart wished that fellow good luck. In a few minutes' time I fell asleep, and the first thing I knew the Sergeant Major was blowing the whistle for breakfast. Hence, nothing had happened, except all this excitement.
Two days tater, while I was sitting under a tree and writing a letter in pencil, our telephone officer rushed up from the switchboard yelling at the top of his voice to the Sergeant Major to harness the fastest horse on hand for a so-called Paul Revere ride. Word had come that information had been received through secret channels that at 3 P. M. an enemy air raid was to take place over us. That time was quite near and we all made a rush for our tin hats and gas masks, this being the proper dress for such a pleasant party. We sat there looking at each other and waiting. We had not yet constructed any dugout and simply trusted to luck. Again, the seconds passed into minutes, and the minutes into hours, but nothing occurred and the only thing accomplished, so far as I was concerned, was a letter or two. I cannot remember just to whom I had then written.
It was toward the end of our stay in that sector that I received the first encouraging news of the war. While passing through the French town of Raon-l'Etape (in the Vosges) on a trip from the Major, a French officer told us that the previous day about twenty odd towns had been regained and about 10,000 prisoners taken. He got this information through a wired message. None of us believed him. Sure enough, it was in the papers the next day and from then on the news was of a brighter nature. The drive back had begun to mean something. However, that drive needed men and all else all the time to keep it going, and so our expectations of remaining in that sector for a few months was brought to an end after a two weeks' stay. Then word came to our detail from the Major's station to move on the same day - some short notice believe me - and to pack up and join him with the batteries a few miles away. Talk about work! My!! As we were leaving, a French unit was taking our place from the Champagne region, and they were amazed to find that we had not as yet constructed any dugouts. but lived in tents hidden under the trees. We were evidently doing it in the true American way, although the truth is we had not found time to attend to it and install such "improvements".
Right here, before describing the new move, I will say a few words about our experience with the Salvation Army in this sector. On two occasions our cook was short of this or that. These people had a hut in Neufmaisons, nearby. On one of the occasions they loaned us, on our word, a quantity of sugar which indeed was rare and otherwise impossible to obtain except from the Quartermaster when they had it; and on another occasion, when we were particularly short of rations and it looked like nothing to eat, they went to the trouble of baking for us a large pan of cake, enough to satisfy everybody. Every day we could get their crullers and some drink with it and everything that we bought was given in quantity and one felt he was getting his money's worth. Their treatment in general was splendid. At that time, being isolated as we were in one particular sector, I thought we had simply been fortunate in striking a good branch (this was the first experience with them), but sure enough, later on in the ensuing months, when I met fellows in other sectors and circumstances, they had the same opinion and praise on their lips, and I then became convinced that that was their conduct everywhere. They deserve all the praise they can get and also all the support they can get, and I say this very sincerely. Through experience, I cannot speak in the same way of the Y, although I think the intention was there, but that it was simply a case of gross mismanagement.
To return to the moving job. That very night we joined the Major and the batteries. There was much work to be done - loading trucks, packing, getting the horses in shape etc., all in utter darkness. As the procession was ready to pullout, we had each done enough work for 24 hours' rest right then and there, but the work was only commencing. For we started on the march and marched all night without a stop. None of us knew what front we were bound for. From our former location to the place of entraining consumed two full nights' march. On the third night, after covering a lap of about five miles still to go, we entrained at a place called Bayon. There was much loading to be done on the cars, and that work lasted from about 11 P.M. to 4 A.M. About 3 A.M., I personally witnessed the French officer in charge of the station go over to our Commanding Officer and tell him to speed up and get out, as word had come to him over the wire that German planes were headed in our direction, though no one knew their destination, and he was very nervous about any delay on our part. After working to exhaustion, the train started off at 4 A.M., with all of us on the floors of the cattle cars in our clothes trying to catch some much needed sleep and rest. There were many holes in the floors and that cold and chilly night air coming up all around certainly made us feel uncomfortable. Before we started off, the Y.M.C.A. had rushed two autos to the station with hot coffee, and that went well.
As I said before, none of us knew where we were bound for, but I had a map of France with me, and when daylight appeared discovered immediately that we were headed in the direction of the Chateau Thierry front. We detrained the following night about 1 P.M., at a place called St. Simeon, about six miles or so from Coulommiers. As proved later on, it was about 30 miles from where we later took our stand, and all this distance we had to hike with packs, guns and everything. That was done in three nights and it certainly put our strength to the test. l hardly slept during that time, not that I could not sleep, but there was really no opportunity, so many details to be taken care of. Many of the horses got out of commission through this overwork, and some of the saddle horses were in such shape that they could not be ridden but had to be led. A few of the draft horses fell out and their places were filled from the spare ones we had for that purpose.
On one of these nights of the 30 miles march, I was leading for a while one of these saddle horses. I was so sleepy that I walked like in a dream. The horse felt the same way, for his nose almost touched the ground. On these highways leading to the front, it is absolutely necessary that one keep to one side of the road, otherwise an accident is sure to happen. There are trucks dashing all the time with supplies, and with no lights being allowed, the only safety for everyone was to follow these rules. In fact, no one is allowed, under the heaviest penalty, to turn around. All you hear is the constant rattle of all these moving objects and you can feel the dust flying in all directions. On the side I was walking with the horse, there was a narrow ditch running along the edge. The horse was on the side of the ditch and I was to the left of the horse. It wasn't of course very pleasant to allow the horse to walk into the ditch and so I had to look out. But every two minutes I would doze off completely and then suddenly, by some instinct, remind myself that I was leading a horse and going in a bias toward the ditch. That would startle me, and in turn I would give the reins a sudden jerk to right "ourselves". The horse would throw his head up in a fright, as he had also been dozing off. The straight and narrow path would be followed for only about three minutes and the same performance would be repeated. Why, a good many of the fellows who rode on horses would actually fall asleep that way, and although I have heard of these things, it was interesting to watch it in practice.
While camping in Belleau woods on one of the days after a night's march I tried to catch a little sleep under a tree. In a short time, one of the fellows waked me and said the Major wanted me. I went over to his tent and saluted and he asked me to take a little dictation for him (the first time). There was no typewriter. and he simply wanted me to write a message in longhand, as he dictated slowly, for a nearby commander. I sat down in the grass with a pencil and paper in hand and got ready. Now this is a positive fact - through loss of sleep and fatigue my vision was just hazy, and I simply could not read plainly. I had more or less to depend on blind instinct and wrote as he spoke, being careful in that respect for I could hardly check up by reading. However, the job was well done, and I even delivered the message for him.
This thirty-mile hike had its thrill in other respects. It was only about a week before that the Germans had been rolled steadily back in that big reverse started at Chateau Thierry, back as far as the Vesle River, straightening the line out between Soissons and Rheims. Therefore, as we closed up to take our stand near the Vesle against them, we were just about that much time behind the places we were passing through, and almost everything was fresh in the testimony of what had happened. There was, of course, no such thing as bodies lying across the roads, because these matters are invariably attended to in less time than a week. But the graves on all sides and everywhere, usually according to where they fell - near the road, on the field, etc., were just temporary affairs and the odor of the dead was very strong. With it was that other smell, the lime. As we closed up on this hike, daybreak would reveal numerous articles of apparel and many personal effects discarded by the Germans on their run back, and these could be seen everywhere lying on the roads in loose fashion. The march through the night left no ambition in any of us to go collecting souvenirs, tearing off buttons, etc., for if we straggled behind it would require some effort to catch up. Then again, we carried all our belongings on our person and there was actually no room, strange as this statement might seem. These graves had nothing but sticks hastily pushed in, or a sword of a German with his helmet on it, or temporary wooden crosses and so on. And the printing would be some poor printing gotten up in a hurry, or an ordinary scribble. With a good many of our own boys, the aluminum disk, worn by all of us on the neck, giving name and Army Number, would be nailed on for identification. In one place there were so many of these cane-like sticks together that it looked like a bean plantation.
In Belleau Woods, the scene of so much fighting and where the Marines had such a big, I gave up some chances of sleep by wandering through and viewing the various spots occupied by the Germans – the piles of ammunition of all types left behind, etc. There were machine gun bullets piled high. The tables among the trees for the purpose of mess represented almost a picnic ground, and all the garbage and and what not all around emitted quite a smell. All over that region, on the roads and in the fields, one could pick up a piece of shrapnel every foot or so, or some kind of shell.
What a place it must have been to pass through when those things were coming down! I picked up on this battle field several letters written to some of our own soldiers who were engaged in the battle. There were many letters of cheer from home. A fellow who was with me on this inspection tour picked up a letter that was quite amusing. It was written by a sweetheart to her soldier boy. She had evidently been reading for the first time a serial in a magazine of the story "Over the Top" and had become familiar with the ways and means of the cootie. In one sentence she said, "Dearie, I hope the cooties won't suck any of the sweetness out of you, but leave all of it for me". Where this fellow is now, I don't know, but I hope he has sailed home in perfect health with about a million cooties over his body.
None of the debris of ruined houses, broken walls, etc., had been cleared away, and it was all scattered around just as if an earthquake or big fire had happened an hour before. We weren't allowed to drink any of the waler in that district for fear of it being poisoned, as thirsty as we were from those marches through that flying dust. However, we had a limited amount carried by a water cart, which had lime in it for purification. and I assure you it did not taste like ice cream soda. Just to prove to you how large some of those shell holes are: at one time we had to shoot a horse, not that he was a Benedict Arnold, but had become overworked beyond recuperation. We walked him over by inches to the edge of a shell hole. There he was shot and tipped right into the hole. All that was necessary was to cover him, and the work of digging was avoided,
In our last stopping place, before we made the final dart into battle position after catching up with the retreating Germans on the Vesle River, we were visited often by air raids. We did everything possible to camouflage what we had, to avoid detection, but one cannot hide everything, especially when an entire division had converged in one sector as we did on this front, with all our equipment. horses, guns, etc. Luckily, the raids went wild, but it nevertheless meant no sleep for us, for they invariably occurred at night in the two or three nights we were there. The explosion of the bombs was terribly distinct, and it was often an easy guess how near they came. At any rate these things brought on gas alarms, to protect against any possible gas coming by way of these shells.
These alarms had both a serious and a humorous aspect. The alarms were spread by manipulation of the regular Klaxon Horn used on automobiles. This sound proved all the more weird in the thickness of the night and for the purpose it was used. We would jump up from our sleep and hastily adjust the gas mask. After that, the fun would come in. The mask is not supposed to be removed after an alarm until an officer shouts "gas masks may be now removed". Before he says so, he must himself make sure that the air has plenty of oxygen and nitrogen, or in other words, no gas. He is supposed to use his nose for this chemical analysis. On the other hand, even if we get this removal advice, we must not heed it unless we are convinced that he is our officer (and not an enemy spy trying to trap us). During the day, of course, we can be assured of this by recognizing him and seeing him remove his mask first, but at night the best we can do is simply to recognize his voice.
With the first alarm, everything worked according to rules and regulations. No gas was present, and we could hear the Lieutenant yelling, "gas masks may now be removed!" About half an hour later the same thing was repeated. Then a confusion would take place and no one knew what was the last thing the other party was doing. The Lieutenant didn't remember whether the last outer cover of our face was a gas mask or a beard, and being a hill or so away, especially at night, he simply trusted his brains. On the other hand, we didn't remember whether the last signal was a gas alarm or a clearance notice and usually guessed the wrong way. And so it was, we would lie with our gas masks on, waiting patiently for an officer to advise us to take them off, but in vain. And they are so darn uncomfortable that you just ache to have them off your face. Then these various comments would pass among us, each talking through his gas mask, sounding like a crowd of ventriloquists, "Hey, John, how about it, can we take them off?" "Say Fred, what's what?" 'What's the matter with that Lieutenant, is he asleep?" "Bill, have you got yours off?" (In the darkness and through those goggles it was impossible to see). Then some brave fellow would yank his off, take a sniff and shout "For Jimminie's sake, break loose, break loose!"
However, these things weren't jokes but very necessary precautions. At that time cloud gas had practically been given up by the Germans and the only way they sent it across was by shell fire, the gas being contained in the shell. It was a surer method and they didn't have to depend on certain winds blowing the right way to do the work. So that fearful element did not stare us in the face, so to speak. We simply figured where there was shelling there was gas and so were hardly afraid of being surprised. Of course, nothing stopped the Germans from sending over a cloud gas, but they didn't. It meant using and carting tanks containing gas etc., and besides it was too much trouble, as I said before, having to wait for the right wind; and many a battle is lost by useless energy or waiting.
At one time, however, the air raid was so intense that the Major ordered us to leave our place and go up to the top of the hill and sleep there, the theory being that gas settles to the bottom. And so we all took our blankets and slept on the wet grass on the hill. It was very cold also and nothing but a strong yearning for sleep could make one doze off. I turned my steel helmet around with the crown touching the ground, so that it would have a tendency to rock, and slept with my face fitting on the inside of the rim - using it thus as a pillow. In a way it was a sort of sleepy balancing stunt, and sure enough I never slipped off that hat. I could swear to that because at dawn my position was the same, and if my head ever came off during the night in my sleep I could never have adjusted it that way again. I did find my nose a little grazed and evidently it had touched a part of the sandy surface of the hat near the edge. I had to resort to some such makeshift because the grass was very wet and I had to use my two blankets for all the warming up possible, rather than as a pillow.
At the place I am just describing, Quentin Roosevelt's grave was only about a mile away, but I did not have the time to go there and also was not particularly anxious for fear of getting stranded. The Michigan boys had just completed their push in that section at that time, and were resting up in the rear of us. Many of them came over to us and handed out some interesting stories of how they went about it only a few days before.
After we darted through the woods into actual line from this point, the casualties, of course, began to mount, and a little cemetery of our own was put up along one side of a field. I remember distinctly when the first fellow was killed in one of the batteries (and which shelling I also witnessed at close range} and the Major talking with the Captain about the burial. At the La Pres Farm we were entrenched in that place; it was artillery fire going and coming above us and around us all the time, from morning to night and all through the night. On several occasions, to accomplish some particular work. I would be near some fellows on stretchers with blankets covering them entirely, who had fallen dead at some other nearby spot. Very often would I witness a shell land in a spot where I had been only a short while before.
At one time, with that growth on my face, I simply had to shave. I went into the yard near the pump and lathered up my face well, ready to supply the good old Gillette, when BOOM! a shell went off in close proximity. The best protection we have is to fall flat on the ground to avoid the dispersion of shrapnel. It was sloppy all around, and I just dived into that mud. When I arose, I looked a sight. The white lather on my face wasn't white; my O.D. (olive drab) suit wasn't O.D. We had to resort to this falling flat many times and presented almost a tribe of Pagans worshiping the sun or moon. From some of the shrapnel that fell closer to us, at one time I picked up a piece right after the explosion, just to examine it at that state, and believe me it was hot. I told you in my last letter of some of the direct hits on this farm and the effects in casualties, so far as I could check up. The one that fell in the yard, and killed some of the fellows, while I was just then a few hundred feet away with a Lieutenant fixing some wire, carried a little miracle with it also. A piece of shrapnel from it shot right through a wooden shutter of a room we generally congregated in on the first floor, deep in a wall about two inches over the head of one of my gang who was standing there and shaving. This is just an instance of the many miracles that happened.
Our telephone wires were cut so often by shell and shrapnel that we were continually on the go to splice the broken parts and restore communication as soon as possible . We had been worked so much that Regimental Headquarters seemed to have got wind of it. In an official paper we were mentioned as being overworked and that apparently some crooked things were being done by a spy or spies. Instructions were given therein to us to shoot anyone down who was found tampering with the wires, and about whom we felt we had a well grounded suspicion. We ourselves were given a blue canvas buckle (brassard) to wear around the arm as indication of our official standing and permission to handle the wires. I still have this buckle, but its doesn't make much difference to the central over here. I don't remember whether I gave any description of just about where this farm was on the Fismes front. It was in the vicinity of Bazoches, up from the village of Chery-Chartreuve, The regemental headquarters of the 306th F.A. was closer to the latter place.
How I got away from the La Pres Farm on August 19th or 20th you all know. My ride to Chateau-Thierry from that place was very pleasant. The day was beautiful and it gave me a chance to scan over all that ground of 30 odd miles regained so recently and over which I passed before (perhaps on another road) only through the darkness of the night. I rode on a Red Cross truck through the courtesy of the chauffeur whom I hailed from the road. Trucks were not wanting in that section. There was a steady stream going to and from the lines all the time with all kinds of supplies. I saw quite a deal of Chateau-Thierry. The morning after I arrived there, while at the station waiting for a train, one ambulance after another came in with patients to be shipped to Base Hospitals, and that station was lined up in double row from one end to the other with these fellows on stretchers, ready to be put on an American Hospital train (fitted up very nicely) standing there on the tracks.
My experience later on with the Photo Section, after I came off the front, you all know. However, the request to have me transferred permanently to that station while I remained on Special Duty, brought some strange circumstances which opened before me that new and interesting adventure and in many ways shaped my "military career." Since I wrote you last, I found out that the 77th Division was a member of the 3rd Army Corps at the time the transfer was asked, and so the papers had to pass through that Corps. Also that the officer who was then Chief of Air Service of the Corps (whom I never met, however) in seeing the papers, had an order entered for my transfer to the Corps and report to the Chief of Air Service. When I reported, the Colonel had been in his place for a little while already, but had no personnel except a 1st Lieutenant as his aide, and an orderly. For three nights preceding the night I met him, I was at a neighboring town, called Souilly, and taken care of by the Third Observation Group (composed of the 88th and 90th Aero Squadrons and one French Squadron) which group operated under the direction of the Colonel I met later. The Sixth Photo Section was attached to this group and did all the photo work, and I slept in their shack. I there became very intimate with 1st Lieut. A. W. Stevens, the Commanding Officer of the Sixth Photo Section, who proved to be the best officer of the line in that service. He has become famous by securing the best aerial photographs of Chateau Thierry and Vaux obtained by any American unit, and although he was not obliged to do it, went up himself in airplanes and in the face of machine fire. He has been cited for bravery, etc., and has since been made Photo Officer representing the First Army.
A page from the journal with an aerial photograph of Thierry, taken by Lieutenant Stevens. Click for a high resolution version of this image.
I also got to know Major K. P. Littauer, who was head of the Third Observation Group and later succeeded Colonel Morrow as Chief of Air Service of the Corps when we went off to Chaumont. This Major has been one of the most daring flyers and took quite a part in the Chateau Thierry Sector. I think I mentioned before that the advanced headquarters of General Pershing were in this town of Souilly all during the Argonne drive. Also, most of the prisoners were brought here - marched right in after being captured - and I witnessed the construction of cages from day to day and the prisoners, coming in in long columns all the time. Most of them looked haggard and very much starved and presented an extremely pitiful sight. Their clothing and shoes were old and torn, and among them were mere kids and elderly and bent men.
German prisoners in an allied camp. Click for a larger version.
The country around there is very interesting from a standpoint of the activities that have been going on since the first Verdun battle. I think I stated before, I was just about a mile away from the city of Verdun. Rampont, where I reported and remained with the Colonel, is not far from Verdun and a few miles up from Souilly. Before I talk about my work in a little more detail at Rampont with the Colonel as Chief of Air Service of the Third Army Corps, I shall relate some experiences in my trip from the Photo Section at Tours to this part of the country. In this trip, I went by way of St. Dizier. In this town is a Regulating Camp, where all casualties, stragglers, those returned from hospitals, and any and everybody lost from their unit are set right. They collect the men in companies according to the destination and usually send them all off on one train of about 40 cars, with orders to get off at this or that station - all going in the same part of the country around the Argonne district. It is some job to watch for your station. These happen to be regular cars but there are no conductors and each cramped compartment has its own door opening up on a running board of the train. You have probably seen pictures of European cars. Then again it is often difficult to distinguish those French signs, and your station may come on in the middle of the night.
Well, going to St. Dizier, there was a Negro on board who was being sent back from a hospital as fit for duty. He had been laid up with a bad cold. In his pocket he had about a mile of mimeographed paper containing a list of names of men sent back from hospitals and where each was to report, and in that long list, all the space he consumed was one line, showing his name, etc., and with a check against it. That constituted his traveling orders, ticket, constitution of rights, etc. But the poor fellow was as illiterate as you could make one, coming from some far place in the Sunny South. I think he knew that he was in France and evidently he was positive that he had been made a soldier. He belonged to the Engineer Corps, but his work wasn't so much to compute the number of degrees this or that was lowest from the ground but to take hold of this or that with his two hands and place it where told. I was sitting and chatting with a fellow (from New York) and it was about 9 P. M., the train moving along slowly. This Negro came over and handed those papers to this fellow, asking him where to get off, etc. He looked at them, and so did I. Then he thought he would have some fun. He said to the Negro, "Man, oh man, are you goin there?" (this fellow didn't know where he was going). Then he continued, imitating the dialect. "Say listen, watcha carryn wid you? Hab you a gas mask and helmet? Der was a couple of hundred men killed or gassed der de oder day." The Negro looked at him with a wild stare. "Iz dat so? "They aint tellin me nothin down de hospital about this." Then this fellow continued "You aint got no gas mask and helmet?" He replied "No, I didn't know nothin." Then this fellow said "I think you're out-a luck, that am some place you're goin to." The negro just stood and looked and evidently was using his brains. Suddenly, in a mood which betokened conviction, he said, "Now, see er; der aint no Major, der aint no Lieutenant, der aint no Colonel, der aint nobody dats goin to git me to stay der widout these tings. I'se do what I can when they gib me a chance, but I aint go in to such a place wid nothin with me."
It was all amusing, of course, but I also saw the serious part of it, that is of unnecessarily frightening a man, for his station was a pretty safe spot. At the same time, I did not want to disturb this white fellow. So about a quarter of an hour after this conversation I went up to this negro on the side and assured him to his satisfaction that it was a joke. When he found that I was sincere in my assurance, a smile came over his face and those white teeth began to show set against a pitch black background.
I described to you briefly in my other letter what kind of camp St. Dizier was. When I got there, I found a collection of everybody from everywhere. All the fellows there usually are sent out the same day to the unit they belong, hence there is little or no sleeping accommodation, and also no kitchen. I was handed a ticket, which, when presented at a certain counter, would bring unto my worldly possessions some food-stuff in the form of canned meat (Corned Willy) and two boxes of hard tack. For soup, there was a large hydrant in the open, emitting some fresh, cold water. The French were also using this camp for the same purpose of distributing their soldiers, and in fact originally it was their place, not ours. I soon learned the French had a canteen there where hot meals could be obtained for quite a low price. Bang went the Corned Willy and hard tack to the ground, and millionaire that I was, I went in and got a good meal in the way of cooked meat and lentils (as a coincidence my favorite dish).
Around the camp were some German prisoners, working under the protective bayonet of a few French soldiers. I went over and spoke with some of them. These French soldiers didn't like the idea very much of our interfering with their guard, but you know they couldn't very well disclose it to us as their allies. At that time Bulgaria had just kicked in and Austria was swinging from one precipice to another. I discussed the situation with them in company with a few more of our fellows (a surprising number of whom could speak German, and received some very enlightening impressions). The gist of it was this. They had no animosity against the Americans and rather liked our ways and sympathy. They couldn't say that much for the rest of the allies. Regarding their own situation, they were very, very bitter against the Crown Prince and claimed that he was the real devil that brought about this misery, and that the Kaiser was not so much to blame. They plainly showed their hatred against the Crown Prince. They took a deep interest in discussing the aims of America and seemed to indicate that if our program was their salvation it was something that they thought worthwhile discussing, both for its substance and the result. The French soldiers guarding them couldn't speak a word of German and it was interesting to watch them trying to make each other understood.
The fellows I met at the Camp were an interesting bunch, for everyone of them had been through the mill and was getting ready to go through it again within the next day or two. One fellow was returning after being treated for shell-shock. He was telling me that when his company went over the top, he followed along with them in a wild enthusiasm, not taking much note of the fellows falling around him etc. But that many hours later, when it was all over, it gradually began to dawn upon him what he had been through, what he saw, what he missed, etc., and by degrees he began to shake like a leaf, so much so, that he had to be taken away. Another fellow I got into a long conversation with was a member of the Rainbow Division (42nd Division). At the Alsace-Lorraine sector, where they preceded us, a brother was killed and he personally saw to it that he was given a good burial, and while that was taking place, he received a cable notice of another brother of his having died in the United States. He himself had been wounded slightly on several occasions and gassed at one time. The effects of the gas made him cough continually. He had lost his outfit on a recent hike and was there trying to connect with them.
In that crowd were quite a few returning to the 77th Division. When I heard the announcement "All men for the 77th Division will leave on the train tonight and get off at Sainte-Menehould and from there proceed to the Division" (around the Argonne), quite a feeling came over me. Yet I was there on orders that had already gone through, transferring me from that Division to the Headquarters Troop of the Third Army Corps, to report to the Chief of Air Service of that corps for assignment to duty, so I felt both familiar and strange with them. They could not locate the address of my Corps that same day, so I slept there overnight on a bench and started off with a similar collection of soldiers the next night.
Now for a description of Rampont, near Verdun, where I finally landed and remained for over two weeks with the Colonel. That town was evidently used by some advanced headquarters of the French Army when they were operating on the Verdun Battle. It had been shelled here and there and contained any number of elaborate dugouts. There were a few cottages constructed here and there for the use of these officers. The bungalow I was in with the Colonel was evidently the principal one for it was the prettiest and commanded the best location, right up on a hill overlooking a valley for a few miles. In my private papers that are now on the way home by mail, there is an unintentionally sealed envelope, containing, among others, a picture of that bungalow. Also a picture of the Colonel and some other officers; also a picture of scenes in our vicinity.
The bungalow at Rampont occupied by Colonel Joseph Morrow, Chief of the AIr Service. Click for a larger version with Lou's caption.
The time I spent in that bungalow was extremely interesting. The colonel had all the say about aircraft operations in connection with the activities of the 3rd Corps (First Army), which was operating in the thick of the Argonne fight the time we were there. A corps consist of about 170,000 men, taking in several divisions, a division approximating about 30,000 men. There are several corps to an Army, the Army consisting at its maximum strength of around one million men. The Commanding Officer of our Corps was Major General Bullard. At first there were only enough men for one Army and during that time General Pershing was both the General of that Army (First Army) and also Commander-in-Chief. Then when the Second Army was organized, he stepped out and remained Commander-in-Chief, appointing a General over the First Army and one over the Second Army (the Third Army being organized only after the Armistice was signed and, as you know, used as the Army of Occupation). When this was done, our Major General was appointed to head one of the armies and his rank raised to Lieutenant General (called General for short). So Bullard and Liggett commanded the First and Second Armies. General Bullard played a big role from the very start, in the Chateau-Thierry Drive, at which time he commanded a Division when the halt at the Marne took place, and in this Third Corps we also had practically the "crack" divisions over here. (The 77th went over to another Corps early in September). That whole clique I was with had a big history in its tail and contained some of the best elements in the Army. This is really a fact.
What made the operations at Rampont interesting was this: The particular work I was doing, under whom I was doing it, and being close enough to the front to get the real atmosphere of war, and yet far enough away to be "comparatively" safe. We could have been shelled from the German positions, but they had enemies much closer to them and physically (perhaps not mentally) giving them more trouble. So in the tough fighting they were up against they had to choose the worst of the evils, especially with decreasing amount of ammunitions, morale, etc.
However, we were very much molested by air raids. There was an attack not far from our house the second night I was there, and for all we know it might have been meant for our town. The noise of our antiaircraft guns and the scanning of the heavens with powerful searchlights to locate the air craft was quit exciting. The next day I heard that a shell had landed right in the back of our hill. Being in such close vicinity of operations, many a night the Boche planes would go buzzing above us, none of us knowing just what was their objective. At any rate, the man running the electric generating plant for that small town would instantly stop his machinery and all the lights would go out despite the fact that every house had the windows screened at night not to let any light show. In the picture I referred to, you can plainly see the screens we used for the cottage resting on the floor or ground near the windows in the daytime.
At certain times, the danger looked more imminent than at other times. One night, it was distinctly so. The buzzing of the planes was heard in that still atmosphere about l0 P.M. The lights suddenly went out. The colonel jumped to his feet: "darn them, where's my coat!" I lit a candle, found his coat, fur-lined, and helped him put it on. He was bent on going out and seeing what's what, for of course, he was officially interested in all airplane activities. "Rosen", he said, "if you wish, you may get into one of those dugouts outside". "No", I said, "I might just as well remain here and trust to fate”. I did not say this in a spirit of bravado, for I have always felt that you cannot run away from these things, and it might have been just my luck to be buried in a dug out. He went outside, and just to quiet my apprehension, I kept on feeding the little parlor stove with wood, the only fuel we used over there. Just then the telephone bell rang. I went over, and answered the call. The Commanding Officer of one of the units up the Argonne called up and was complaining about the Boche aircraft at that very moment over his troops "strafing" them with machine gun fire, and he wanted some measures taken against them instantly by our aircraft. I called the colonel in from the outside and he then advised this commander about trusting to the anti-aircraft fire etc., for it is almost an impossibility to engage a plane in combat in the thick of the night and it is only a question of chasing them away by some effective means then and there at hand which could be used instantly and timely. That is one of the nasty problems of the war. A group of bombing planes can as a rule sweep over a certain piece of territory, from any height drop their bombs with more or less effect, and then rush away back to their lines. They don't have to monkey around like those taking pictures, trying to observe any special condition, etc.
Another night, I had an experience that was just as interesting. There was to be a surprise attack by our Corps at a certain time and all plans were being arranged secretly. The Colonel was to submit the plan of operation of the aircraft with us (3rd Observation Group - 88th and 90th Aero Squadrons and a French Squadron), and he was to outline just how they were to operate in conjunction with the other branches - infantry and artillery. He left definite instructions at Corps Headquarters that the same plan was to be used as in a previous attack, with a slight change, however. Evidently Headquarters wanted his writing beside their own and the colonel at the time was not aware of it. So one particular night I was aroused by the ringing of the phone. Corps Headquarters wanted to speak with the Colonel. Coming from such a place. I immediately waked the Colonel sleeping in the room next to mine. That plan had to be at Headquarters early the next morning, and so in the absence of electric current at that time of the night (none after 11 P.M.), I lit a candle and in my night clothes got busy on the typewriter getting up this secret plan according to some changes the colonel made with pencil on the previous copy, after which correction he left it all to me and went to bed. It consumed only a page single-spaced typewriting and when finished, I extinguished the candle and also went to bed. I got up at 6 A.M., and according to instructions previously given, went down with these papers to the Motor Dispatch Driver, operating for the colonel, sleeping in a shack at the foot of the hill and chased him off on his motor cycle to Corps Headquarters. Shortly thereafter, Corps Headquarters called up and confirmed to the Colonel that it was O.K.
Again, another night. I was aroused about 2 A.M., by the ringing of the phone. Corps Headquarters wanted a plane sent across the lines the following morning as soon as there was good visibility to make a reconnaissance - that is, see what was up by the Germans in a certain sector around the Argonne. I first waked the Lieutenant sleeping in the same room with the Colonel, and he told me I need not wake the Colonel, but get the exact location of the ground to be surveyed. and then get in touch by phone with the Operations Officer of the Flying Group and instruct him to arrange for sending out a plane under the instructions given. I did so, and believe me, certainly had to be careful about getting names and figures down. Early next morning. while I was crossing the road via the kitchen shack for breakfast all by my lonesome, above me I noticed one solitary plane flying in the direction of the German lines, and no doubt I was the only one in that village who knew of the mission (outside of the Colonel and his Lieutenant). This plane was gone for an undue length of time, and later some apprehension was felt about their safety, but the pilot and observer finally returned unharmed, bringing some very valuable information of movements of enemy troops. The conditions under which they got this information, having to fly low and thus dangerously exposed to machine fire - for it was kind of cloudy - made them the subject of a citation, although these fellows had already been awarded not long before each with a D. S. C. for bravery. Their names are Bagley and Bernheimer (Charles L. Bernheimer, I think, and he comes from N. Y.). The Operations Officer I mentioned is Lieutenant H. T. Douglas and he happens to be on one of those pictures I sent home.
My clerical work in the two weeks I was there, however, did not total more than about four full days of work. Most of the detail work was taken care of by the Third Observation Group under the direction of the Colonel to the head of the Group, Major Littauer. All the Colonel would do would be to pass on things submitted. Various kinds of applications by officers and men, coming through military channels, would have to receive the Colonel's endorsement as Chief of Air Service. But those endorsements as a rule, were brief, as "Forwarded, recommending approval" or “disapproval" as the case may be. Sometime there would be a little more to it. There was a French Captain with us in the office (Captain Pastray) designated by the French Army simply as an aid in letting us have in our operations the benefits of their past experiences. He could speak English quite well, and once in a big while he would dictate to me some little lecture on the subject of liaison work between aeroplanes and infantry and artillery, signaling from ground to air and from air to ground, etc. He also appears on one of those pictures.
Owing to the fact that it was necessary to have an officer present at all times to pass on important matters coming over the phone and otherwise, either the Colonel or Lieutenant H. M. Gallop (the one I have always referred to), it was not necessary for me to hang around whenever I was not busy and there was enough wood in the stove, although the orderly attended to the latter. And so I would go out for a ramble in the village. It was a small and quiet town. with one church whose clock kept pretty good time. That church also appears in one of these pictures I sent home (now on the way). There was one very small grocery, called in France an Epicerie. They had almost everything you didn't want and nothing that you did want. However, once in a while some kind of cake would come in, and in almost every instance, I was the first to sample it, although the price was quite steep. Who is to be blamed for the latter. I don't know, but there were times when I paid as much as one franc for one apple, for instance, and a franc in round numbers is 20c. But, when I wanted an apple and found I could get it, I did not want the franc, so was perfectly satisfied with the bargain.
In the course of my rambles I would stand at the roadside and watch Division after Division marching through on their way to the Argonne, everyone bespattered with mud from the night's marching. And it would always remind me of the similar environment I was in not so very long before. It usually rained then, and we invariably had poor visibility for aircraft operations. However, there were two days when the sun was out in all its its splendor. Then we got busy. On one of these occasions, we had as many as 200 planes assembled from all around go over in battle formation, and believe me they sure did raise some havoc. The second time we had almost that number. Tons and tons of bombs were dropped on German centers and concentrations. Hours before they started out I knew of the intended attack, and as the appointed time drew near I would go out in the open, and without betraying to anyone else in the village any emotion, would once in a while gaze at the heaven for that flock of "birds" and sure enough they would pass over the village to the astonishment of all the odd soldiers, and natives. After the bombing, we were practically the first to receive report of the results, as could best be observed, and I would take that down over the phone and then transcribe it for the Colonel, who in turn would supply a copy to the Intelligence Office close to us. Owing to the zig-zag spelling of some of these names of French towns, I made it a special point at the start of becoming familiar with all those within the scope of our operations, and so always knew what reference was being made.
The Colonel also saw to it that each day an aeroplane would drop a quantity of the daily A. F. E. edition of the New York Herald or of the English Daily Mail to the boys at the line. Those papers are just two sheets (or 4 pages if you will) giving a pretty good summary of the current events. The Mail, especially, has two columns devoted to "last night's cables from the States", and the Herald has also a column quite similar. These papers are printed in Paris and have quite a circulation among the A. E. F. In addition to these two papers, we have each Friday, the" Stars and Stripes" the official edition of the A. E. F. Through these papers, I have been able to keep up pretty well with events. From it I have been able to follow Wilson's notes, replies, etc. However, I have been getting generally the meat, and very little of the gravy in the way of extended comment that one can have in a New York newspaper. But I am just as satisfied to form my own conclusions as to get the opinion of "professors" - in fact more so, judging by the past. Yet at this place, while the interchange of notes was going on in the last stage, I saw the text before appearance in the papers the next day. A copy would be rushed to the Colonel from Headquarters who would receive it by wire.
Propaganda dropped on the German troops. Click for a larger version, with Lou's caption.
In the parlor of the bungalow, we had a very large detailed map of the Argonne and vicinity where the Army and especially our Corps operated - showing every hill, rock, etc. I took special care of it, as it hung covering one entire wall. We had chalked off the battle array, showing which Divisions were right on line, those supporting them, and those at hand in reserve; also by little flags which I made out of paper, I indicated the position or locations of the various Division Headquarters, etc. We also showed the military units operating to the right of our Corps and to the left of our corps; also, so far as our research and observation would disclose, the kind of German units up against, even giving the names and numbers of Regiments. Also a red tape run across, showing our objective. All of which, or most of which, you will readily see was information not for the public.
Several times during the day a messenger would bring in typewritten slips from the nearby Intelligence Office, giving a report on how the battle was progressing; mentioning the intensity of fire, approximate number of shells fired, caliber of shells, etc. We were also furnished with a summary of the intelligence of the day, containing the information disclosed by prisoners just captured. etc., etc., which was very interesting reading matter. A prisoner would be asked all about the unit or units he was with; how long they have been in line, when last relieved; on what fronts they operated, etc. etc. I had all those various papers and documents filed away so that they could be had at a moment's notice.
When the Colonel was finally relieved near the 1st of November to assume the position as Chief Inspector of the entire Air Service at General Headquarters at Chaumont, as you have been told before, he asked me whether I wouldn't prefer to go with him rather than arrange to go back to the Photo Division, where he promised to return me when I first met him. In view of the big job ahead I consented to go. He then said he would report to General Headquarters and then call for me. For no reason at all, I felt that perhaps when he got away and among the shining lights of such a big place he would forget about me, and I didn't like the idea of remaining in the Corps loosely connected. So on the quiet, I drew up an application requesting transfer to the Photo Division, all ready for his signature. I then went over to him and begged him not to mind my being so erratic, but that I had come to the conclusion it would be advisable for me after all to return to the photo game. He said: “ Rosen, I don't know, perhaps you are trying to place yourself in the position for obtaining a commission, but I promise to do the best I can for you at Chaumont. You go with me. I am arranging to have you transferred by Corps Headquarters direct into a branch of the Air Service with the corps (88th Aero Squadron) thus making a sort of short cut and thus bringing you under the jurisdiction of the Chief of Air Service of the A. E. F. When we get to Chaumont and you are not satisfied, the Chief of Air Service there can have you sent to the Photo Section immediately without any red tape". I wasn't fishing for all this information, but it revealed to me that he was in earnest, and I thereupon told him "That's fine". I never reported to the 88th Aero Squadron (which continued with the corps). The Colonel called them up and told them that as soon as the transferred records were received by them, they in turn should endorse them and send them on to the Chief of Air Service at Chaumont, basing that transfer on a V. O. C. O. (verbal order commanding officer). I left, as already written, the day after he did for Chaumont on his car sent back for me and some of his personal articles left behind in my care.
At Chaumont,I felt supreme in my job. Coming in like a farmer from the wilds of France, I thought I would dress up a little. I personally bought a pair of tan shoes for which I paid 60 francs (about $12.00). There was one thing the matter with them - they squeaked and squeaked and I could never get rid of that noise and very often preferred to wear my heavies for a light and quiet walk. While at Chaumont, I witnessed some memorable occasions. I was in a line-up, only a few feet away from Pershing when he delivered his Thanksgiving Day address in the parade ground in the front of our buildings. I was also present and in very close proximity when General Bliss presented General Pershing with a D. S. M. in the name of the President. And lastly, when President Wilson delivered his address to the troops (or I should say part of the troops) on Christmas Day about 10 miles away from Chaumont, I saw him about an hour later, for his entire entourage passed through and around our parade ground. He did not, however, come out of the car. It was previously planned that he would simply pass through out of respect, after the speech.
Chaumont, about that time. became the central point for all that musical l genius scattered among the A. E. F. The A. E. F. band was formed and gradually very much augmented by a pick of the best from the entire service, under the leadership of Lieutenant Fisher. It played each day at the Formal Guard Mount and also at noon rendered a one hour's concert out in the open for our delight. It was through this band that I first heard the strain of "Smiles" which got us all whistling day and night. In conjunction, a musical school was established (all this after the Armistice) for further training of the musicians in the service. Part of my crowd, constituting the 306th F. A. Band (who were a part of my Hq. Co.) was were called to Chaumont and I received some very interesting information from them on how the boys fared after I left them. I was told that my Battalion, a week before the Armistice, was caught by a direct hit by a German shell and that two were killed and about 12 wounded. And all of them had certainly been through the mill.
Also, while in Chaumont, three officers of the Air Service, on different occasions were summoned to appear before the Chief of Air Service to receive the Distinguished Service Cross. Their units had already sailed, and this method was chosen for presentation. The hero would take a position in one of the large rooms; then all the officers in our office, and the stenos and orderlies and filing clerks would be called in and we would form a semi circle around him. Then the Chief of Staff, Air Service, Colonel H. C. Whitehead. would come in with the medal in his hand, read off the official citation by virtue of which it was awarded and end with a little complimentary speech of his own. Then he would pin the medal on the breast of "My Hero", loud applause would take place by all of us, followed by a handshake and back to business or no business, depending on what we were doing. Those fellows did some daring deeds, but it seems to me the only time they were at all cowardly was when this formal ceremony took place with each one of us staring at them like the Indians did at Columbus.
Things in the office were progressing by leaps and bounds until the Armistice was signed and then it leaped and bounded the other way. The Colonel became listed to return to the States. I then took up with him the question of being able to get home at an early time on the strength of the camera and he immediately saw Colonel Whitehead, Chief of Staff, about it. The latter had me ordered to Tours to report to Major Steichen. where I had been before, and recommended to the Major that I be sent home with any unit going over, at his direction. The Colonel was going to Paris on his way to Brest and that route, not being very much out of my way for the trip to Tours, he took me in his machine from Chaumont to Paris, a distance of about 160 miles. At Paris, he got in touch with General Patrick, Chief of Air Service, and through the latter a memorandum was given to me requesting the Provost Marshal for a three days' pass in Paris, before proceeding on my orders to Tours. I consequently had no trouble in getting this pass. At that time, Paris was not a leave center, and it was impossible to get in that town or go through it unless, actually stationed there for work. So this was a rare treat, and it gave me an excellent opportunity to see the town, something that was worth while. The President at that time was on a visit from France to England, but the rest of the American Peace Delegates were there, and I had a good look at any rate at the Hotel De Crilllon where they stopped.
"This memorandum was obtained for me by Colonel Morow, after I reached Paris with him in his machine from General Headquarters at Chaumont, France - a distance of about 200 miles. At that time Paris was not a leave center for American Troops, and it was practically impossible to receive permission to stay there - so this was a rare treat. I also felt somewhat complimented to have a General make the request for me, and when i showed this memorandum to the Provost Marshal, he said 'yes sir, it's as good as gold'. He immediately stamped it and directed the sergeant to give me a pass"
I certainly enjoyed that city, expecting to be pleased from the reputation passed around, but never thought Paris would have so many things of interest besides "that gayety". One day I took a sight-seeing trip on the Seine River; the next day a sight-seeing trip by automobile; and the last day I viewed the pretty shops at close range on a pleasant stroll. Saw Napoleon's Tomb; was inside Notre Dame Cathedral; saw the Church that was hit by a Big Bertha Shell on Good Friday; saw the Louvre; walked on Champs d' Elysees. a most wonderful and beautiful thoroughfare; saw the Eiffel Tower at close range, etc., etc. I also saw the show "Zig-Zag" one night at the Follies Bergere Theatre. I think I mentioned these things to you in a recent letter. It was in Paris, for the first time since leaving home, that I slept in a real bed. Was in a real hotel in every shape, manner and form. run by the Y.M.C.A. (Hotel Pavillon). Had a room all for myself, with curtains and carpets, fringes and hinges, bed sheets and mirrors, steam heat and hot water, bath tub and tub bath, dining room and lounging rooms, etc. WOW!! And I could dig in my pocket and pull (accent on the pull) out a tip as of the days of yore and give it away with the feeling often expressed "Easy come, easy go".
The experiences of those last few days returned to me my pre-war instincts, just as a tamed lion would revert to his ways of life the moment he was let loose in the jungle. However, I was originally turned from the tame to the wild and had now switched back to the former, though many traits of the "rough and ready" remained in my wake at this time. So when I finally started off for Tours, instead of walking with my pack to the Quay d'Orsay station in Paris, I hailed a taxicab, and without inspecting the meter whether it was in "true" working condition, threw my burden inside and sat up like someone in general and no one in particular. (Louis W. Rosen from New York, Berlin, Bordeaux, Tours, Paris - and the sweetest place of all. "No. 1967 -7th Avenue". When I reached Tours, it was still in my blood and in my pockets, so this time, for variety, I hailed a one-horse cab, just so to get a horse to lead me this time, and had the "horse-chauffeur" drive me to Beaumont Barracks. As I sat inside, a feeling of joy came over me at the thought that when the ride was over it would be unnecessary for me either to feed or water that horse and that I may, if I wished, depart from the beast with utter disregard for his comfort. This was not a beastly instinct of mine, just human, after all the energy I had expended in doing my bit, and inserting the bit, for these "always hungry, thirsty, dirty, and fatigued" quadrupeds. It was December 31st. and when I reached Beaumont Barracks, the first thing the Top Sergeant did was to present me with a pass, permitting me to stay out till 2 A. M., and celebrate. Temptation thrown at me so soon, I went to the Y and had a cup of cocoa.
Major Steichen had left a few days before for an extended trip among the various units of the Armies, and so I didn't get to see him until the day he arrived about three weeks later. When I finally met him, I had quite an interesting conversation. He wanted to know how I got "stranded" since my first stay and I told him about the mix up. He was satisfied with my merits, but said, in view of the fact that all the fellows are clamoring to go home as early as possible, it was very difficult for him to make any exception; also that the work would be finished in a comparatively short time, and to get through with the last lap of work he needed all the men available (especially good men????). He was surprised to see that I was still a Private and I told him the cause of it was this constant moving around and getting away at the "psychological" moment. Right then and there he called in the Personnel Officer and instructed him to have me fill a vacancy that then existed for Corporal. However, this time, I chose to stay in the office rather than in the laboratory where I was before, and it has given me a good opportunity to become very well acquainted with the officers around and to know Major Reichenberg a little more intimately. He has made an enviable record as Chief of the Photographic Division of the Air Service, American Expeditionary Forces, both in the organization work and in technical accomplishment. My acquaintance with him may prove a valuable asset in the future in my side pursuit with the camera. The work of writing histories of the activities of the Air Service calling for many pictures to go along with them is practically finishing up, and I shall know something definite very shortly.
Lou's promotion to the rank of Corporal. Click for a larger version.
I forgot to mention before, while discussing some of the activities at General Headquarters, at Chaumont, which was quite amusing. One of our captured A. E. F. boys finally escaped from the Germans and fled to Belgium. He had to discard most of his clothes in bringing this about and thus was in need of some kind of outfit. The best the Belgians could do for him was to give him some fancy dress, not much used at that time. And so accordingly, he was fitted out with a full dress suit and dandy blue overcoat; also a brown soft hat, and patent leather shoes. The overcoat hid that sumptuousness within, so he was comparatively without the light of attraction, people taking him for a civilian. He went ahead and came on to General Headquarters at Chaumont, there to get placed right. While he was being checked up on this and that, he wandered about, always with the overcoat on, and came to the mess line in the same fashion. We soon got to know the story from his own lips, and despite the humor, of course had a little admiration for him. Each day some casual soldiers passed through Chaumont on their way to some other station, and while in this town, would fall in our mess line for feed. The line would thus become quite along with all these strangers, and those at the tail end would become, through mere impatience, a little irritable. In such a mood anything would become the object of their wrath. This "civilian" was always the first subject in hand. Standing up in the front of the line, with his blue overcoat and brown hat making him so prominent in that vista of khaki, something would immediately be said about him by these fellows (who were ignorant of his status), And the remark was always about the same: "Well I declare, what's the Army doing now, feeding the French civilians; why don't they stick to business}" And this poor fellow was sick and tired of telling the story and so would remain "at ease". He was a young fellow, somewhat quiet, and really did look like a Frenchman, At the end of the second day, he came out in khaki and so these "grumblers" had to pick on something else - the fish we got once in a while.
In Beaumont Barracks (Tours) we had quite a few German prisoners working for us, and they would come in our mess hall right after we finished. They certainly are an interesting lot. At one time I had occasion to have them do a little job in shifting some photo supplies. It was over here in Tours that I finally caught up, as you already know, with a lot of mail that was following me around even from the days of the 306th Field Artillery. I was handed over 40 letters at one time, and within about 10 days, that number was increased to about 70. To-date, I think there are still some coming to me, for I know they have been written and sent.
I am writing not under the best of conditions for concentration, hence the many x's and omissions as I go along. I am swamped with paper work, and through that swamp I am trying to wade with this letter, so don't mind its muddiness in writing and expression of thought. But I feel that you would much rather have it in this fashion than nothing at all, therefore this attempt.
Talk about muddiness, you should see me as I am typewriting. We moved out of Beaumont Barracks to a field about 3 miles out of Tours (the home of the 2nd Aviation Instruction Center). We are on much higher ground than Tours, and the country here is beautiful. The housing facilities are splendid - the best I have yet had anywhere. But all over this Northern part of France, at this season, rain is a daily occurrence, and so of course we have mud here and there (although there are many cinder paths to avoid it). We have all been supplied with boots, and mine are of the hip type-running right up to the hips. In New York I would present the dress of a man working at the bursting of some water main, yet here I am at the typewriter, half of me that rugged laborer and the other half that "sweet Miss Remington with her dainty fingers" gently touching those keys which shall open to you some of the thoughts in my mind. In describing this make-up I am reminded of the character of the Mermaid. But as I am not a fit subject for a Mermaid, if I stay here much longer, shall pray to the God of Phonetics to effect for me a "corporal" conversion from soldier-state into a "Mer-man", and then I could like "this-charge" across the Atlantic in my own "ship of state". However, I certainly am well taken care of here in every way, and as I expect to get started pretty soon, let us wait with patience and sing that song of "Smiles".
19 is rather an odd number to end at; but as I am not writing for a record or to fill any particular number of pages, shall end on this sheet. However, when I started, it never occurred to me that I would go above the previous figure of 17. Even as I close, I am tempted to ask, "Isn't it odd to be ending at odd numbers ?”
Your A. E. F. son,
Epilogue
My Own Diary of Final Events, Leading up to my Discharge and Arrival at Home Sweet Home
Having taken the patience of writing to my parents the letters November 23rd 1918 and February 17th 1919 containing so much detail about my experiences in France, I thought it would be fitting to describe subsequent events so as to form a complete history of all that had occurred up to the time I made my debut once more in civilian life.
The two letters in the beginning of this book were written primarily for one purpose, that is to convey to the folks a description of most of my experiences, because theretofore they were totally ignorant of all that had occurred. All through the war we were not allowed to disclose anything regarding our movements, and a strict censorship on our mail made it impossible to write any important news, or in fact to tell the truth about many matters. Up to the time the censorship was lifted, when I sent the first long letter, all that I ever said were common expressions, repeated by me over and over again, like "the scenery is grand" (not mentioning the mud and filth), or "the food is very good" (not saying a word about how, what, or when we ate). Consequently, the two letters in this book had to be large in order to cover a long stretch of enforced silence. There was no intention to write for print, either public or private, just simply to write home. But my kind father-in-law, Mr. Benjamin Harris, in a moment of sympathy that such an "interesting" story should finally go to waste, determined to "immortalize" it in printed book form; and if I displayed any pluck at all in the account that I gave, I was just the reverse in fighting him not to have the job done. So far as this book itself is concerned, therefore, it is like having "greatness thrust upon me". At any rate, it will help to perpetuate in my own family memories of experiences that were far from pleasant, and which would have been unbearable were it not that in time I became totally resigned to the situation, although a faint hope did linger until the war finally came to an end. While ordinarily it is well to forget troubles, to me these hardships have since assumed a treasured past, coupled as they were with such an historical event.
A note from Lou to his sister Kate, her husband Dave and their daughter Ruth, sent accompanying some souveniers from World War I (click to enlarge)
To proceed: Early in April, 1919, orders came in to the Photographic Division that our unit would start at the end of the month for a Base Port. This made us all extremely happy, for the constant thought in the mind of everyone was home, home, home. Ever since the Armistice was signed on November 11, 1918, there wasn't one soldier I knew or met who took any particular interest in his military work, whatever his disposition was before, and everything done was with a view of gelling away from it and back to the States. While the war raged, no one of course could think of this, but now that there was such a real chance, the time just dragged, and a nervous tension existed almost everywhere. The officers in our Division consequently found no difficulty in "coaxing" the boys to work a little more so as to get through with the work and be able to start for the port as soon as possible. This time, it was a means to a very pleasant end, the last pull in a field of service that at one time seemed would never end. In fact, even at this stage, I could not believe myself, and the vision of being back home in the midst of my family and amongst my friends, free to do as I pleased and to dress in the good "old fashioned" clothes, seemed like a dream that would never come true. I felt as if I were away for an age, and if I did come back, everything would appear novel and entirely different to me.
By the middle of April, our work was completed and our barracks cleaned up. The morning of April 4th our company was lined up, with packs and full equipment, and off we marched toward the depot in the City of Tours. The Transportation Division of the Army had arranged to carry us in a few box cars reserved for our unit on a troop train coming from Germany and passing through Tours. In that train was the vanguard of the Rainbow Division just commencing to return from the Army of Occupation to the States. We finally entrained according to these plans. These box cars were new, of American make, and more capacious than those belonging to the French. Hence, just a little more comfort in the way of another inch of room, although the arrangement was exactly the same, everybody and everything on the floor. One improvement, however, consisted in an empty garbage can placed in the center, but one wise fellow was quick enough to lay this can on its side and appropriate it for his sleeping quarters. He justly felt it was more useful for him than for refuse. This at least assured him of so much space and prevented him from being kicked by any of the other fellows lying around. It must be remembered that we all slept in our clothes, huddled together in one solid mass, and our heavy shoes proved a menacing "bug" to all stomachs and faces within kicking distance.
After riding for two days and two nights, we arrived at Brest, France, detraining about 11 P.M. We were given a meal right near the station, and then started on a hike up the famous steep hill of the city to the barracks. It was raining then, but who cared, with every step I took and with everything I did I realized that I was so much nearer to home. There wasn't one of us who would have hesitated to shovel coal on the ship or to do any other menial work in order to speed the return. In a few hours we were at the barracks assigned to us, where we were to stay for an unlimited number of days in order to polish up, and while waiting for our chance to board some ship. In comparison with the rigid treatment and discipline of the past, oh how nice they were! The officers were not as they used to be. They were somewhat relaxed, and there was more comradeship, more mixing. A little less pride, as it were. Upon arrival, each fellow was given about eight blankets for his bunk. They didn't want us to catch a cold. Being all in from the ride and hike, we did sleep.
One of the souveneir's sent by Lou from the War to his neice, Ruth Bloom (click to enlarge)
Then there were other lines: those on the way to some building for equipment inspection, for everyone had to be fully equipped before sailing; or those on the way to some bath for delousing and general clean up. Then there were the regular chow lines, marching three times a day from all directions to the respective mess halls; also the labor battalions, composed mostly of colored soldiers marching to and from work. So it was a steady tramp of lines, lines, lines in every direction, and the noise of the steps, as they walked along the duckboards laid out over the mud-covered roads of the city reminded me of the incessant rattling at the front. But, of course, it was more soothing here, contemplating the environment, and the knowledge that it was a beat for home, and not away from home.
Finally, the particular company with which I was returning as a part of Headquarters, Photographic Section, namely the 102nd Photo Section, was given orders to prepare for embarkation on the morning of April 12th on the Battleship South Carolina, bound for Newport. When the clerk came in to the barracks with this good news we fairly leaped for joy. We began kissing and hugging each other, for at last that "impossible dream" was coming true, and we were really going home. Oh, how happy we were! A few hours after this order came through, the first of a series of preliminary sailing steps came in. We were marched down for pack inspection; then later for full equipment inspection; then later for a good scrubbing. All this consumed time up to the evening of April 11th. That evening, we were marched over to the infirmary to have our temperatures taken before the proposed sailing the following morning. We did all our packing the same evening and slept practically in our clothes during this last night so as not to delay in the morning. The next morning, we were up early and had an early breakfast. Then we were lined up. the roll was called, no one was absent, and off we marched merrily to the sea.
A news article about Lou in his hometown paper. Click for a larger version.
At the dock was an elaborate Red Cross station, and as soon as we reached there, each soldier was given a pair of socks filled with candy, biscuits and cigarettes. It seemed like Christmas. We were then treated to some good buns and coffee. Everything was lovely but the waiting to get on boat. But alas, it soon proved too good to be true. After a suspense of about two hours our Commanding Officer came over and told us to unsling our packs entirely, as there was some mix up. Through some reason or other it turned out that there was no room for us on that battleship, and the vision of having to return to the barracks loomed up very strongly. In a few minutes this became a dismal reality. Our company freight had already been stored in the hold of that ship, and it had to be taken off with much trouble. Talk about the height of disappointment, this was a flagrant case. The officer of the pier in charge of embarkation came over and politely told us that he would place large automobile trucks at our disposal to return to camp, saving 'the labor of tramping again about four miles, mostly up hill. How kind he was, but oh how we did feel toward him: One of the fellows in our company yelled out, "I don't want a truck, I want a boat".
Well, back to the camp we went and into the same quarters. Then we started guessing how soon we would be taken care of. The general impression was that, having been disappointed, an effort would be made to place us on the next available steamer. Sure enough, three days later, on April 15th, word came that we would sail on the Pretoria the following morning, bound for Boston. We no longer had to go through any of the preliminary inspections, except that our temperatures were examined again the night before. The next morning, off we went again to the dock. After waiting for quite a while near the steamer, the signal was given to get on. Up the gangplank we went, and straight to the bunks assigned. I lost no time in unpacking and unhooking, and back to the deck I rushed to watch the ship slip out of the dock. At 4 P. M. (April 19th), the ropes were untied and out we glided from the Harbor of Brest, westward ho. It felt so good to be on the way.
The Pretoria was one of about seven ships taken over by the United States from Germany under the terms of the Armistice. During the war, she had been interned in Germany, remaining idle the entire time. This trip was her very first since the beginning of the war. She was now manned by a crew from our Navy, but also had several German naval officers on board, assigned by the German government to instruct in the running of the machinery. In order to press her into service immediately for transporting our troops, she had been renovated in a hurry-up way; in fact, all her rigging was rotten, and new ropes were supplanted during the time we were sailing home. But she was about a 14,000 ton boat, and had the makings of a good passenger ship. As cramped as we were, I enjoyed the accommodations, because we were practically free to roam around in almost every section. In fact, there was a notice posted on one of the promenade decks, under signature of the ranking officer commanding all the troops on board, that "this deck is for the exclusive use of enlisted men only", meaning that no officer was allowed. This was the first time any of us saw an officer cut out in this way. Evidently at this late stage, when soon the officer and soldier will meet on equal footing, an attempt was being made to recognize the latter as somebody. During the voyage, we were given the use of denim suits (two-piece piece overalls) so as not to soil our uniforms and in order to be able to roll around any way we pleased. We had all kinds of sports and musical entertainments on deck, both day and night, and this time three meals instead of two. At night, all the lights were on, and this appeared in pleasant contrast to the darkened ship of a year ago.
On the dawn of the twelfth day, April 28th, we entered Boston Harbor. Most of us were up early to watch for land, and I shall never forget the beautiful setting as we gradually pulled in. The sky was very clear, the weather was calm, and there wasn't a ripple on the water. Behind us, the sun was gradually coming up from under the horizon, a big ball of fire sending its rays clear out with a sharp glare. No land or boat was in sight, yet our ship had considerably reduced her speed and was gliding along very easily over the smooth, glassy surface. Suddenly, a speck could be seen, and gradually it turned out to be a sailboat coming in our direction. At that time, our ship had come to a complete standstill, and waited. This sail boat was also driven by a motor, and made faster time than we thought. We soon learned it was the pilot of the harbor, coming to lead us in. As he approached the side of our ship, a yell went up that fairly made the water rough, "come on, pop, show us the way in". A rope ladder was lowered by our captain, and up he climbed on to the wheel. Our ship then commenced to take on speed and closer and closer she glided toward land. Very soon, land was faintly seen and another yell went up. Another fifteen minutes rolled by, the land was more distinct, and then from the distance a boat could be seen coming toward us, with a band of musicians on deck, and across the front was a large sign reading “ Boston Committee to Welcome the Return of Soldiers and Sailors". As that boat came nearer, the band struck up, while members of the committee stood waving flags and shouting for all they were worth. Among them were men and women, some of who commenced to throw packs of cigarettes on to our ship, but a good many of these fell into the water. From then on this boat kept escorting us all the way in, the band playing lively airs all the time. Soon we got into the thick of Boston Harbor, and along with this came the noise of about a thousand whistles, emanating from every boat, train, and factory around us. It was glorious. Such a wonderful reception, all for us. To say that it touched our hearts is putting it very mildly, and I could read a tear in almost everybody's eyes. It was a wonderful sensation, the thought of coming into your own dear land under such good auspices, after wandering through a country so different in tongue and habits, and after going through so many horrors and privations. But our feelings were not shared by a group of men I noticed on the top deck of the ship. They were these German officers assigned to assist in the running of the boat, and there they stood seeing America for the first time after the war and the noisy greetings accorded to us. Their expressions were very sad.
Gradually we approached the Commonwealth Dock. As we neared the structure, a few hundred toy balloons of different colors were sent up by some pretty girls standing on the dock, some of which balloons landed on our boat. At the same time, another band on shore sent forth a volley of music, and all this gaiety certainly made things hum. Everybody was happy, everybody was glad. Very soon we were moored to the dock, ready for the gangplank. When that bridge was thrown across, another shout went up, louder than ever. We were then lined up on board and in turn marched down to the pier. Right after we set foot on ground, we were flooded with all kinds of attention. Women commenced to serve us with delicious buns and coffee. I say "delicious" because it tasted so much better than anything in France. The Salvation Army men besieged us with telegraph blanks, stating that we could address them to our relatives concerning our safe arrival, and that they would be sent ahead free by this organization. Of course we all did this.
We were then marched over to trains waiting at the pier, ready to take us to Camp Devens, Ayer, Massachusetts. Before entraining, we were loaded up by different organizations with different things. I remember one giving me a sealed handkerchief, another some candy, and a third several morning newspapers. The train finally started, and off we went passing through many New England towns. All along the road, men, women, and children waved and cheered from windows, porches, and housetops. Every time the train would slow up near some village or town, the neighboring girls would come over and shake our hands through he windows, some of them trying to grab our overseas caps for souvenirs, but we were too quick for them.
We finally reached Ayer, Massachusetts about noontime and detrained for camp a very short distance away. Our quarters were then assigned to us. We had regular spring cots, a floor and roof, and there were even radiators in the room. We were marched over to the delousing plant the very same day, a process that was not exactly agreeable but had to be done, whether needed or not. During the time we were taking the bath, our clothes were being steamed under high pressure in certain tanks in another room, each fellow's belongings
Dave Bloom (Lou Rosen's brother-in-law) and his nephew Robert, holding up the headline on the day of the World War I armistice.
There was very little discipline or check on our movements at this camp, and we could go as we pleased provided we were on hand whenever needed for inspection or examination pending discharge. Consequently, I had most of my meals out in the various cafeterias, welcoming the change and variety in food, and enjoying many dishes we practically never had in service, like ice cream, pie, etc. The very first night, at the earliest opportunity, I rambled to a telephone booth in the Y. M. C. A. and called up home. It was quite a feeling to hear mother's voice, although it took her a little while to compose herself and speak fluently. I then called up my brother-in-law, Dr. Bloom, speaking to him and sister Kate, and after that to two intimate friends. Massachusetts to New York is not a short distance call, but to me it was very short because until then I could not even call, and so my pocket gave way to my keen desire to hear those voices once again. The touch of home was also brought to me by quite a few telegrams of greetings.
Lou's Honorable Discharge papers. Click for a larger version.
On May 1st. we were given a thorough physical examination at the infirmary, and those who were well were certified for discharge. We turned in all our equipment the same day, except the suits we wore and underclothing. The next day, May 2nd, we were marched down to the Paymaster, there to receive our honorable discharge, salary, bonus of $60 and traveling expenses to home. I received a total of $107.03, and the moment my discharge was handed to me quickly inquired for the next train to New York. I found that I had very little time, so hailed a taxi and off I went to the station. I arrived just a minute before the train left. Soon I was in my seat, a free man, thinking of being home a few hours hence, and I almost had to pinch myself to make sure it was true. The train pulled in Grand Central about 7 P. M. I rushed to the phone and left word home that I was coming up by subway and would make Harlem in about twenty minutes. Alas I was a poor judge. The subway was not as it was when I left. The Lexington Avenue branch had been opened while I was breathing the air of France, and those new signs "follow the green line" got me rattled. Sure enough. I followed the wrong line, and instead of twenty minutes, as in the days of old, it took me close to an hour to reach Harlem from Grand Central. When I stepped out at 116th Street and Lenox Avenue, mother and other members of
Louis Rosen and Daisy Harris, at home after the war
Thus ended my experiences with The Great War, but I am inclined to stretch this diary a little in order to bring in an episode that might well round out that period of adventure.
When for France, there was none of that "Good bye sweetheart, I must leave you" stuff. Except for my family, there was no such species to pine for me, and so I had that much more freedom of thought to give to my country. But during all this time fate had been weaving my future and sparing me for "the girl in Flatbush" who had also been weaving - for the boys over there. She did her bit, but not a bit did I know her until two months after my return, when I left for my well earned vacation up in the Adirondacks. It was Miss Daisy Harris then, but it was also a pleasant climax to those many months of war. We clashed in arms, but this time, unlike the war overseas, General Cupid was directing both forces. Each was captured, yet it was a victory for both, proclaimed by the Reverend bestowing upon us the rank of "Mr. and Mrs.” In this encounter, no lands were conquered, but "peace hath her victories, no less renowned than war.”
