* HEROES ^ARGONNE FOREST ' 'Tr 
 
 I 
 
HISTORY OF THE 77th DIVISION AT A GLANCE 
 
 Organized — September to November, 191 7, Camp Upton, N. Y. 
 Demobilized — May, 1919, Camp Upton, N. Y. 
 
 Division Commanders 
 
 MAT. GEN. J. FRANKLIN BELL 
 BRIG. GEN. E. M. JOHNSON 
 
 MAJOR CASUALTIES BY UNITS 
 
 305th Infantry 
 
 306th Infantry 
 
 307th Infantry 
 
 308th Infantry 
 
 304th Machine Gun Battalion 
 305th Machine Gun Battaibn 
 306th Machine Gun Battalion 
 
 304th Field Artillery 
 
 305th Field Artillery 
 
 306th Field Artillery 
 
 302nd Engineers 
 
 Total 
 
 MAJ. GEN. GEORGE B. DUNCAN 
 MAJ. GEN. ROBERT ALENANDER 
 
 Killed 
 
 Died of 
 
 Missing 
 
 Prisoners 
 
 Total 
 
 in action 
 
 wounds 
 
 
 
 
 262 
 
 150 
 
 119 
 
 
 
 531 
 
 203 
 
 91 
 
 173 
 
 155 
 
 622 
 
 320 
 
 132 
 
 85 
 
 71 
 
 608 
 
 343 
 
 105 
 
 125 
 
 109 
 
 682 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 
 
 5 
 
 22 
 
 9 
 
 5 
 
 
 
 36 
 
 42 
 
 9 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 53 
 
 25 
 
 10 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 37 
 
 15 
 
 9 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 30 
 
 16 
 
 10 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 28 
 
 25 
 
 24 
 
 11 
 
 
 
 60 
 
 1275 
 
 552 
 
 529 
 
 336 
 
 2692 
 
 TOTAL OF ALL CASUALTIES— 961 1 
 
 Nature 
 
 Killed in Action 
 
 Died of Wounds 
 
 Severely Wounded 
 
 Wounded Slightly 
 
 Gassed 
 
 Missing in Action 
 
 Prisoners (at latest report) . 
 
 Total 
 
 icers 
 69 
 10 
 69 
 82 
 71 
 
 Men 
 
 1299 
 
 iSS 
 
 1894 
 
 2889 
 
 2297 
 
 696 
 
 31 
 
 9294 
 
 Heavy Artillery 
 Light Artillery . 
 Trench Mortars 
 Machine Guns. 
 Rifles 
 
 MATERIAL CAPTURED 
 
 Vesle Ar- Meuse Total 
 
 Sonne 
 o s 13 18 
 
 14 
 
 J400 3200 7000 
 
 Engineer and Railway Material worth $2, 000,000. 
 
 PRISONERS CAPTURED 
 
 Front 
 
 Baccarat 
 
 Vesle 
 
 Argonne Forest . 
 Forest to Meuse. 
 
 Total 
 
 ,cers 
 
 Men 
 
 Total 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 27 
 
 27 
 
 2 
 
 619 
 
 63I 
 
 1 
 
 88 
 
 89 
 
 DISTANCE GAINED 
 Sector 
 
 Baccarat 
 
 Vesle 
 
 Argonne Forest . 
 Forest to Meuse . 
 
 Total 
 
 Kilo- 
 meters 
 
 Miles 
 
 
 
 0.0 
 
 12 
 
 7-5 
 
 22 
 
 13-7 
 
 37' 2 
 
 23-5 
 
 n% 
 
 44-7 
 
 DIVISION'S ACTIVITIES DAY BY DAY 
 
 U.S. France Total 
 
 Days in Training 156 44 200 
 
 Days in Travel 76 
 
 (Based on one regimental unit) 
 
 At Sea 
 
 On Trains 
 
 On Motor Trucks 
 
 Hiking: Behind the Lines 
 
 Into Enemy Terri- 
 tory 
 
 Days in Reserve 
 
 Days in Rest Area 
 
 Days in Front Line 
 
 Baccarat (June 17 to Aug. 2) 
 
 Vesle River (Aug. 12 to Sept. 3) 
 
 14 
 5 
 
 22K 
 
 33 
 
 13 
 None 
 
 Oise-Aisne 
 
 Meuse-Argonne: 
 Argonne Forest 
 
 (Sept. 4 to Sept. 15) 
 
 . (Sept. 25 to Oct. 9) 14 
 
 Forest to Meuse (Oct. 10-15; Oct. 31- 17 
 
 Nov. 11) 
 
 TOTAL DAYS IN SERVICE 
 
 Calculated from Sept. 10, 191 7, when first 
 Selective Service Men arrived at Upton, to 
 May 6, 1919, New York's parade to the re- 
 turning victors 
 
 AWARDS 
 (to May 6, 1919) 
 
 Medal of Honor 
 
 Distinguished Service Cross. 
 Croix de Guerre 
 
 Total 
 
 572 
 
 5 
 159 
 61 
 
 225 
 
THE VICTORIOUS 
 
 »- 3 , „ 
 
 DIVISION 
 
 (TSIew York's Own:) 
 
 IN THE ARGONNE FIGHT 
 
 &y 1st Lieut Arthur McKeo^h 
 
 Published J5y 
 JOHN H. EGG£RS CO.inc 
 
 TIMES BUILDING-TIMES SQ. 
 
 "NEWYORK 
 Copyright 1919, John H.£ggers.>«r 
 
5 
 
 "You people in New York have every reason to be proud of the Seventy- 
 Seventh Division. I had the great honor to command it on the Vesle, at 
 the Aisne, and in the Argonne Woods, and up on the heights opposite 
 Sedan, where we were ready for action when the armistice was signed. I 
 never met men more loyal, faithful, or a better body of troops, officers 
 and men included." 
 
Photo Brown Bros. 
 
 OVER 
 
 THE 77TH DIVISION 
 
 (New York's Own) 
 
 By 
 
 1st LIEUT. ARTHUR McKEOGH 
 
 Of the 77th Division 
 
 " . . . While our left embraced the Argonne Forest, whose 
 ravines, hills and elaborate defense, screened by dense thick- 
 ets, had been generally considered impregnable." 
 
 Reporting after the armistice to the Secretary of War, in these words General 
 Pershing characterized a veritable jungle — the strongest of all German defenses on 
 the whole front, from the North Sea to Switzerland. 
 
 The fighting men who could pierce that vast fortress of nature, made doubly 
 impenetrable by the diabolic ingenuity of the Boche, were to immortalize themselves 
 in American history. 
 
 The fighting men who could and did conquer the famous Forest were New 
 York's citizen-soldiers, the 77th Division. 
 
 When Byng, the Britisher, "pushed" for 5 miles at Cambrai all the world was 
 agasp. The 77th Division started from a five-mile front and drove back the Ger- 
 mans day after day for two weeks. And when the Forest had been cleared, when 
 its last concealed machine gun nest had been silenced, the 77th had gained 14 miles! 
 
 Fourteen miles of heart-breaking plunging through thickets that spat death 
 with the rapidity of the serpent's fang! The historian of The Stars and Stripes, 
 the official overseas publication, speaks of the clearing of the Argonne Forest as 
 'unique in the annals of the American Expeditionary Forces." 
 
 It was a conquest, as it had to be, not without its price. In the three weeks 
 between September 26, the star 5,°Xt^e^ffensive, and October 16, when Grand Pre 
 
and St. Juvin, important towns on the northern fringe of the wood, had been taken 
 — in those three; weeks* -the- 7*Ztp lo*st*.wi killed, wounded and missing 3,697 of its 
 best. -""-•- ■>•"•*• 
 
 The New Yorkers paid the score unflinchingly. Paid it — and "carried on." 
 For after a two-week's breathing spell, still under shellfire, for re-equipment and 
 refilling the ranks, the 77th took up where it had left ofF and advanced 23 additional 
 miles! 
 
 Thus, with the armistice, they achieved the gates of Sedan, after reclaiming a 
 total of more than 37 miles for France. 
 
 And their conquest freed 10,000 French civilians who had lived for four years 
 in Teuton bondage. 
 
 NO OTHER DIVISION WON SO MUCH 
 
 No other division in the whole Meuse — Argonne Offensive — and there were 
 twenty-one of them in this operation — won as much ground as the 77th. No other 
 division was in the front line both at the start and finish. No other division, 
 whoever the claimant, fought its way completely through the "impregnable" 
 Argonne Forest. 
 
 How shall the wonder of it be depicted? Who could have believed possible such 
 a transformation in the youthful civilians, inducted into the service at Camp 
 Upton, that they were able to beat the veteran German hosts out of a wooded 
 stronghold which had balked the trained French for more than four years, on 
 ground which had cost them 60,000 men? And to add to the glory of its achieve- 
 ment, the 77th faced five different enemy divisions at various times. 
 
 Flash on your mind this picture, faithfully drawn from life; it may serve to visual- 
 ize what the fighting in the Argonne Forest really was. 
 
 It is September 29, 1918 — memorable because it marked the beginning of the end 
 for Germany's arrogant hope of world-dominion. The place is a small area of the 
 Argonne wilderness, typical of all the terrain for miles around. Huge trees tower 
 protectingly above their brood of close-grown saplings, branches interlacing 
 branches overhead until no patch of sky is visible and the light is the sickly half- 
 light of early dawn. 
 
 The ground hides under a maze of trailing vines, prickly bushes, rheumatic 
 tree branches, imbedded in soggy leaves, with here and there a clump of rank fern. 
 The undergrowth is so tangled as to give the impression that nature had gone on 
 a debauch and later, viewing the havoc, in a moment of self-spite had added to 
 her riotous handiwork. No birds sing. No living thing moves. Like the sear 
 leaves, like the rotting tree trunks, it is a place of death. 
 
 While there is no sound here to relieve the sepulchral silence, a few hundred yards 
 to right and left a regular, metallic 5 stuttering noise punctuates the quiet. 
 
 Machine guns! 
 
 If you are listening sharply, close at hand now there is a crackling of twigs 
 and a sound as of branches forced aside. Some minutes elapse before movement 
 is apparent, for one cannot see beyond twenty yards through the screen. 
 
 Gradually forms emerge into view, sketchy through the trees, in outlines of 
 khaki — six or eight of them. This is the head of a company, forced by the thick 
 growth to thread its way in single file — a whole company, say, of ninety men; for 
 they have been advancing four days since crossing No Man's Land from the French 
 trenches on September 26, and while they may have started with 150, they are 90 
 now. 
 
And such is the wilderness that the entire company presents but the front of a 
 single man! 
 
 No group of men, however small, could advance here in the "wave formation" 
 of open country — that is, on a lateral line, one or two hundred yards wide, with 
 intervals of five or eight yards between the attackers. Before such a line could 
 proceed fifty yards over this kind of ground, it would be hopelessly broken, 
 scattered and lost. - 
 
 OFFICER HAS HIS WORK CUT OUT 
 
 The officer is the trail-breaker, Jacking his way through the vines, pushing back 
 branches with both elbows, detouring clumps that defy penetration. At times he 
 twists sidewise to pass between saplings, or bends to the waist under an arch of 
 intertwined branches. And always, he is watching his compass, keeping the jigger- 
 ing needle as nearly fixed as possible on the letter "N", which means he is leading 
 north, — deeper and deeper into the fastnesses of the Boche. 
 
 The men mainly are silent, breathing hard from the weight of equipment as they 
 yank it through the brush that reaches out like the tentacles of an octopus to clutch 
 at them. They must keep close behind one another, or even the single line will 
 snap some place along its length and the remainder will find themselves casting 
 about in the indistinguishable sameness of the forest for their comrades. 
 
 Occasionally an oath is half-shouted, half-repressed as a doughboy is thrown to 
 his face by a treacherous root. Again, from the rear, may come a petulant cry, 
 in some foreign accent, to: 
 
 "Slow it down, will yuh! Are we goin' to a war — or a fire?" 
 
 The officer turns to the sergeant behind him and says in an undertone: 
 
 "Pass back the word to that man to shut up." 
 
 The officer knows that his men are being strained. During three days, food has 
 been meagre, sleep fitful and unsatisfactory, without blankets. His company has 
 beaten its way into the Forest to the depth of a mile and a half. There are no roads 
 
 77th Division Passing Through a French Village 
 
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 over which ration limbers can follow. The artillery cannot be called upon for 
 support. Ammunition and food must be brought up by hand. The wounded 
 must be carried back that mile and a half over the same difficult ground, the same 
 slippery mud trails by which they had come forward. 
 
 Hard though it be on his men, he must hurry, that officer. The more because 
 progress is slow must he hurry. Across his map there is a blue-pencilled line 
 indicating a position to be reached by dusk — his "objective. " Other units are 
 depending upon him to be there to give them flank support. The whole division is 
 planning to attain that advanced front, whatever the obstacles they meet meantime. 
 
 Suspecting every stirring leaf, every swaying limb after four days of bushwhack- 
 ing, the officer is peering ahead — to left — to right, when — 
 
 "Rat - tat - tat - tat - tat - tat - tat - " 
 
 Three men in the line drop — two mortally hit. The bullets strike into their 
 bodies with a strange little thump — just audible to the officer. Death comes at 
 once. 
 
 ONLY A KID AFTER ALL 
 
 The thitd man collapses, holding both hands against his side and crying with an 
 
 anguish terrible to hear. He is a big fellow, perhaps 28 years old; yet these are the 
 
 unexpected words that he shouts, repeating them over and over, as his first scream 
 
 sinks into a moan: 
 
 "Oh, mamma, mamma! It hurts, mamma! It hurts!" 
 
 It has not been necessary for the officer to shout: "Down! Take cover!" 
 
 Behind tree trunks his men throw themselves, behind clumps of roots, one man — 
 
 as the officer notes with a momentary, irrepressible smile — behind a handful of 
 
 ferns. 
 
 Someone crawls over to the wounded man and applies a dressing hurriedly, 
 
 preparatory to pulling him out of the range of fire. Even if he could walk, the 
 
 sufferer may not stand erect as yet. Men- have been hit a second time and in cases 
 
 killed while hobbling back to the first aid station. 
 
 The officer may give no attention to the dead or wounded just now. He has the 
 
 living to think of. This is the business of war, at which he must be efficient in 
 
 order that as few of his followers as possible may suffer. 
 
 w 
 
With the opening shots of the long "burst" from the machine guns the officer's 
 mind has leaped to a keenness comparable to the hunt dog's scent. Where is it? 
 His mental torture is indescribable as his eyes strain vainly through the shrub for 
 some telltale sign. Damn smokeless powder! 
 
 From the sound he knows the nest is somewhere within a 45 degree arc to the 
 right front. Because the staccatos of the explosions have run into one another, 
 he knows there are two guns — possibly three. How far away are they? He can 
 only conjecture. Maybe forty or fifty yards. Nothing in the world is more decep- 
 tive to his ears and their judgment of location than those explosions. That may be 
 because he is so eager to fix their source accurately. And he is aware that the nest 
 will be well camouflaged by masters in the art of concealment. 
 
 GERMAN MACHINE GUN TACTICS 
 
 After an expenditure of seventy-five or a hundred rounds the Germans hold their 
 fire. That is part of their machine gun tactics. The longer they fire the better 
 their opponents may judge their position. So, confident that they are as yet 
 undiscovered, they will wait for a target — a stir. 
 
 Everything is silent, motionless. 
 
 The officer counters with anti-machine gun strategy. 
 
 "Sergeant Quinn," he calls softly to one of the prone figures, "get your gang 
 ready! Corporal Smith, your gang. You're in command, Sergeant, till I get back." 
 
 The Sergeant is put in charge because there are no other officers. The attack 
 was begun with one Lieutenant to a company. 
 
 With his automatic unholstered, the officer, accompanied by an orderly starts 
 crawling toward the origin of the sound. He is going personally to reconnoitre 
 the position of the nest before he leads his men upon it. . 
 
 With his own movement and that of his men, who are converging near the spot he 
 has just left, the guns open again, as he has anticipated. He has hoped for another 
 outbreak — to guide him. It is not pleasant to have those bullets chirping like the 
 quick sweet notes of the meadow lark (for it is thus they sound) just above his 
 helmet, but he must locate that position if his men are to attack it intelligently. 
 Sometimes an unnatural depression of leaves or high grass from the force of the 
 explosions in front of the muzzle, as if an electric fan were blowing them flat, will 
 denote the hiding place. Sometimes a thin, bluish haze, hardly perceptible, is 
 expelled from the muzzle. 
 
 Worming his way towards the sound, his helmet pulled well down on his forehead, 
 the officer studies each bush, each irregularity of the ground, as they open up to his 
 view through the turmoil of undergrowth. The very air is nervous with the 
 reverberations of the guns. Tiny fern leaves, clipped off by bullets, flutter slowly, 
 almost placidly, to the ground. The officer notices little white "bites" suddenly 
 appearing low on the bark of trees. 
 
 Then he spots it! That big bush ahead, a little to tfc« right, — that's it! His 
 attention has been oddly attracted to it. Leaves do not turn their paler, under-side 
 to the light. Here there are many such, indicating that fresh-cut boughs have been 
 inserted at unnatural angles in the bush to make its cover denser. 1 he watcher 
 now sees through the leaves big rocks piled a little too regularly and a thick tree 
 trunk lying flat. Just in front of the bush the forest is a little thinner, offering 
 something approximating a field of fire. The forepart of the gun takes shape, — the 
 slender muzzle and its "flash screen" projecting a few inches out of the fat, round 
 
 [si 
 
"jacket." The officer notes surrounding objects, so that he may not lose his 
 find. Maybe he takes its poskion by compass. Then he crawls back to his men. 
 
 WHAT IS THE NATURE OF THE GANG? 
 
 When he told two of the non-coms to collect their gangs he wasn't indulging 
 in slang. The gang is a development of modern warfare. Numbering from eight 
 to twelve, these men are trained specialists who have simulated attacks upon 
 machine gun positions in practice. The gang is an elastic collection of perhaps two 
 scouts, an automatic rifleman, with two ammunition carriers, two or three bombers, 
 a rifle grenadier and a couple of bayonet men. Each man has his job. The bombers 
 are particularly effective because rifle-fire — a grazing fire — is not of much avail 
 against the protections of a nest; it is more vulnerable to bombs dropped from above. 
 But the trees are serious obstacles to bomb throwing, unless the missiles can be 
 hurled high through a branchless aperture. The automatic riflemen, sometimes 
 called a light machine gunner, can bore and bore like a steel drill on one spot, till 
 eventually his "lead" breaks through. 
 
 The officer does not intend to rush the nest frontally. It would be too costly. 
 He will leave his company under cover, and with the two gangs enfiltrate on both 
 sides of the nest working around to its rear. 
 
 With minuteness he tells his non-coms where it is. "Sergeant, you take their 
 left — Corporal, I'll go with you to their right. Let's go." 
 
 One by one, thus presenting no collective target, the men crawl out along the 
 lines of a "V". As they draw nearer, the nest breaks into a frenzy of fire. A 
 courageous German dashes out from the rear of the position so that he will be near 
 enough to the attackers to throw effectively his "potato mashers" or hand grenades, 
 so called because they resemble the old-fashioned, long, wooden-handled kitchen 
 utensil. 
 
 "Get that bird!" some one shouts. 
 
 For the first time, American bullets are spent. The Boche drops with an agon- 
 ized howl. There is something peculiarly soul curdling about the cries of a wounded 
 Boche. 
 
 The automatic rifles get into action. The bombers add to the fire. The Ger- 
 mans throw out rifle grenades. There are snatches of shouts above the clatter of 
 musketry. Another long-drawn howl comes from the nest — a "hit" through their 
 logs and corrugated sheet iron. 
 
 A bomb drops at the edge of the nest. Another seems to have exploded right on 
 top of it! Yes, it must have got home. Their fire is weaker. One of their guns 
 is "out," probably. 
 
 They've stopped firing now. Is it a trick? No — they're fini — they're quitting! 
 For through the trees at the rear two gray-green figures are darting. 
 
 "Get 'em!" 
 
 "There they go!" 
 
 The two Boches have a fair start, for they came out of a little covered trench at 
 the rear, leading to the nest. The woods are alive with action as a dozen Yanks 
 plunge after them. One turns, aims his pistol, fires and falls. The other, unarmed, 
 makes to raise his hands in "Kamerad" attitude, but his action is too late. 
 
 In the nest are two dead forms, sprawled grotesquely. One fellow's mouth 
 is open, as if he were snoring. His mustache is strangely well brushed. Of the 
 
 [6] 
 
Photo Brown Bros. 
 
 On the Firing Line 
 
 two heavy maxim guns, one seems in good condition. The other shows bullet 
 holes. 
 
 TIME FLIES IN SUCH A FIGHT 
 
 The officer looks at his watch. Nearly an hour has elapsed — an hour that 
 seemed ten minutes. He takes stock. Four of his men have been killed; six 
 wounded. Four Germans are dead; one badly wounded. And the company has 
 been held up for an hour. 
 
 Through a German of his command, the lieutenant questions the wounded 
 prisoner. The fellow is incoherent in moans. Where's the next nearest nest. 
 He doesn't know — he swears it — he needs a doctor. He cannot bear the pain. 
 * * * * To what regiment does he belong? (His epaulets bear the numerals 
 117.) * * * * The 117th — but the doctor — the doctor! * * * * Well, where is 
 his regiment? Are they holding this trench ahead — here, on this map? * * * * No 
 he thinks they moved * * * * Are they in these laagers — the huts shown in this 
 
 ravine 
 
 p * * * * 
 
 Oh, please, please do not ask him to look at the map. No, no, 
 they are not in the huts — they are retreating — last night they moved north — and 
 what of the doctor — the first aid station ? He knows he will die soon . 
 
 Reluctantly, the officer details two men to carry him back, because it means 
 making stretcher-bearers of combatants. 
 
 "Come on — let that junk alone!" — to a group of doughboys rifling the dead men's 
 packs for food. "Grab it, and get back to your squads! — Sergeant, let's get 
 going." 
 
 The wounded have been dressed and are being carried, or helped back. The dead 
 must lie for the present. When more troops come up from the rear those poor 
 bodies which harbored such valiant souls will be identified and buried. Just now 
 the outfit has to advance. "And so they start forward — probably to repeat the whole 
 performance a few hundred yards farther on. 
 
 The foregoing is a conservative rather than an overdrawn description of an 
 
 [7] 
 
attack upon one of the numerous points of resistance with which the Argonne forest 
 was pitted. 
 
 For fourteen days consecutively the men of "New York's Own" pushed ahead 
 each morning, over strange treacherous ground, against concrete-lined trench 
 systems, against nests, "pill boxes" and "strong" points, against wire belts so wide 
 that the 302d Engineers had to bridge them almost as if they were rivers, 
 
 Veterans of many hard campaigns in other wars might have been daunted. 
 The "Liberty Boys" (every one knows that their divisional insignia is the Statue 
 of Liberty) — went forward almost blithely. "Nerve" aplenty they had. Of 
 "nerves," however, they were completely devoid, according to the admission of a 
 German officer whose men tried to hold them back. 
 
 PRAISE FROM SIR HUBERT 
 
 This officer, oddly enough, asserted that he himself wrote the famous "surrencler- 
 in-the-name-of-humanity" note to Lieut. Col. Charles W. Whittlesey and his 
 beleaguered band. His name is Lieut. Heinrich Prinz, of the 76th German Di- 
 vision, and it was on the occasion of his meeting Colonel C. O. Sherrill, formerly 
 Chief of Staff of the 77th in Coblenz, that he paid this tribute to the New York 
 doughboys. 
 
 "Permit me to compliment you, sir, upon the morale of your men. I wish I 
 might pay my respects personally to their commander. The American soldier 
 seemed absolutely devoid of nerves. His buoyancy had a most depressing effect 
 upon our men." 
 
 Here is an officer of the old militaristic school, a judge of fighting men, lauding — 
 whom? Lauding the milkman, who used to serve you while you slept; the subway 
 guard, whose knowledge of explosives was confined once to the language of over- 
 crowded passengers; the taxi-driver whom you excoriated for keeping you waiting. 
 Perhaps that young officer who attacked the nest was the budding lawyer to whom 
 you gave that "worthless account" for collection — the one that was collected. 
 That sergeant, who was a gang leader in the forest, may have been a sallow-cheeked 
 draughtsman; the corporal, an enterprising proprietor of an east-side fruit stand. 
 
 Such were the men who came to Camp Upton, Long Island, in September, 1917. 
 Ten thousand acres of virgin timberland were suddenly turned into what looked like 
 a "boom town." Indeed, there may have been something remotely prophetic of 
 their later conquest of the Argonne in their earlier conquest of Yaphank. 
 
 Weeks were spent in digging up stumps before drill grounds were available for the 
 embryonic soldiers who were drafted — there is no sinister aspect to that word today! 
 — under the Selective Service Law of June 15, 1917. 
 
 After a four months' training programme, under the command of the late Major- 
 General J. Franklin Bell, the first units began sailing late in March, 191 8. 
 
 Because of physical failing due to age, General Bell had to relinquish command of 
 the division, which was transferred to Brig.-Gen. Evan M. Johnson, of the 154th 
 Brigade. 
 
 MAKE-UP OF THE 77TH DIVISION 
 
 Regiments and brigades and their relationship being -far from self-explanatory 
 to the non-military reader, it may be well to list here for future reference the units 
 that comprised the 77th: 
 
 [8] 
 
77th Division Headquarters and Headquarters Troop 
 
 153rd Infantry Brigade 
 
 Consisting of 
 
 305th Infantry Regiment 
 306th Infantry Regiment 
 
 154th Infantry Brigade 
 
 Consisting of 
 
 307th Infantry Regiment 
 308th Infantry Regiment 
 
 152nd Field Artillery Brigade 
 
 Consisting of 
 304th Field Artillery Regiment 
 305th Field Artillery Regiment 
 306th Field Artillery Regiment 
 304th Machine Gun Battalion 
 305th Machine Gun Battalion 
 306th Machine Gun Battalion 
 302nd Engineer Regiment 
 302nd Field Signal Battalion 
 302nd Trench Mortar Battery 
 302nd Ammunition Train 
 302nd Ambulance Company 
 302nd Military Police 
 
 Keeping in mind that four companies, each having 250 men, constitute a bat- 
 talion; that three battalions, in addition to a headquarters and a supply company, 
 make a regiment, and that two regiments form a brigade, the civilian will have no 
 difficulty in accounting for the 27,000 men that are needed to fill up a division. Yet, 
 despite all this array of numerical force in a combat division, the War Department 
 classified less than 50 per cent, of the 27,000, or exactly 12,250 men, as ''rifles," 
 i. e., actual front line fighting men. This indicates how large a force is needed 
 behind the firing line to maintain supplies and support for the man with the rifle. 
 
 THE DIVISION STARTS FOR "OVER THERE" 
 
 Nearly the whole month of April, 1918, was required to transport the 77th from 
 Upton to Calais, France. The infantry traveled by way of Halifax, Liverpool, 
 Dover and thence over the channel; the artillery sailed direct from New York to 
 Brest, entraining there for Bordeaux, where they spent a month mastering the 
 French "75's," a light three-inch field piece, and the "155's," known as the 
 "heavies." The "75's" threw a projectile weighing about 20 pounds; the shell of 
 the "155V weighed 96 pounds. 
 
 Photo Brown Bros. 
 
 A Trench Mortar Battery Ready to Fire 
 
 [9] 
 
May was given over to training in Flanders with the British behind Ypres and 
 Mount Kemmel. American ordnance was changed for British. American dough- 
 boys attended British schools; all indications pointed to permanent service for the 
 77th on the British front. 
 
 The 154th Infantry Brigade was even assigned to duty as reserves for the British 
 behind Arras, having been shifted from the training area near St. Omer, southwest 
 to the Somme country, where a German drive was then anticipated. 
 
 After about six weeks of training with the British, plans were changed back at 
 G. H. Q. (General Headquarters) — where moving a red-topped pin a few inches 
 on a map means moving tens of thousands of men. In this case the movement 
 by train and on foot was to consume eleven days, in which time the 77th, not sure 
 whether they were sight-seers or scrappers, but, knowing that they were confirmed 
 souvenir-seekers, traveled virtually the whole length of the front to Lorraine. 
 
 From now on the 77th was to create and live history. Already it had the dis- 
 tinction of being the first National Army Division in France. 
 
 On the night of June 17, 191 8, the New Yorkers moved into the front line in the 
 Baccarat sector, relieving the 42d, or Rainbow Division. It was the first time an 
 organization composed of citizen-soldiers took over and held a sector of front line 
 trenches — the first time the victorious German was faced by the Selective Service 
 man, on whom the eyes of the Allies, indeed, of the world, were focussed. The war 
 was to be won by a preponderance of man-power. And it was the National Army 
 alone that could supply the requisite numbers for victory. 
 
 The division front extended from Badonviller, on the south, to Herbeviiler on the 
 north, the whole slightly east of Luneville. 
 
 The relief of the 420" was successfully effected without a casualty, the 61 st 
 French Division remaining in part of the line to lend their aid should the enemy 
 *'start anything" at this rather critical period of troop change. 
 
 RELIEF IS NO SIMPLE UNDERTAKING 
 
 The procedure of a relief is considerably more complex than the word itself 
 denotes. It is more than the mere replacing of one body of troops by another. 
 
 Officers of the 77th preceded their men into the trenches by twenty-four hours 
 to familiarize themselves with the territory, the dugouts, the peculiarities of the 
 trench system, and to learn from the outgoing officers of the 42d the local customs 
 of the enemy as to patrols, snipers, etc. Each company had allotted to it a certain 
 subsector, which in turn was split up into platoon fronts. In order that the various 
 platoons might be led without confusion to their respective positions, non-com- 
 missioned officers went forward with the officers to guide the units into their strange 
 environs. 
 
 Liaison, or the various methods of communication, by phone, runners, etc., 
 between flanks and rear, had to be prearranged; trench stores, including bombs, 
 small arms ammunition, rifle grenades, fireworks, had to be turned over from the 
 outgoing to the incoming units, and receipts for the same given and taken in much 
 the manner of a commercial transaction. 
 
 And all this was done under cover of night, without even the flare of a match 
 or the flash of a torch to facilitate operations. 
 
 It must appear that on an active front the time of relief was an ideal moment 
 for attack, or, at least, heavy artillery activity. 
 
 [10] 
 
The Baccarat sector had been quiet almost since the outbreak of the war, and 
 both French and Germans used it as a sort of rest area for troops worn out by 
 strenuous service elsewhere. 
 
 With the advent of the National Army in the line, the enemy's curiosity could 
 not bide the completion of the relief, which took about ten days. Before all the 
 New Yorkers had "gone in" the enemy sent over a crack raiding battalion of the 
 picked "Hindenburg circus" detachment. 
 
 The "Hindenburg circus" was composed of selected fighters who were shifted 
 from sector to sector for the sole purpose of raiding. Nearly every man of them 
 wore the Iron Cross, and because of their efficiency at killing and taking prisoners 
 for the purpose of identifying units opposing the Germans, they were accorded 
 special privileges and pay, at no time being called to the drudgery of merely holding 
 the line. They were the gentlemen road agents of Kultur, as it were. 
 
 The Germans attached considerable importance, it would seem, to the examina- 
 tion and appraisement of the fighting qualities of the 77th when they sent their 
 elite raiders down to the tranquil Baccarat front. That they knew the National 
 Army had safely evaded their vaunted submarine barrier, and were actually leaning 
 over the front counter of trench warfare, ready for business, is indubitable. For 
 toward the end of the relief one of their squat observation balloons floated a pennant 
 on which were painted the words: 
 
 Goodby 42nd— Welcome 77 th 
 
 The Germans had spies in Lorraine. Little wonder at that, since during so many 
 years they had dominated Alsace-Lorraine, whose border was just opposite the 
 77th's front. Civilians lived within range of the long distance artillery and even 
 came with passes into the front line villages to pluck vegetables from their truck 
 gardens. The raid of June 24th therefore was not without the collusion of inform- 
 ants inside the 77th's lines. 
 
 Three hours after the attack, almost before the wounded had been gathered 
 into the first aid posts, the people of New York glanced across their breakfast coffee 
 to this bulletin on the first page of their newspapers (this occurred in the hopeful 
 days when the German wireless was as prompt and communicative as a press 
 agent): 
 
 Berlin (via London) June 24 — German troops, in an attack on trenches in 
 the Badonviller region (southeast of Luneville), occupied by French and 
 Americans, inflicted heavy losses and brought back prisoners, according to the 
 official communication from headquarters today. The bulletin reads: 
 
 East of Badonviller shock troops penetrated the Franco-American trenches 
 and inflicted heavy losses. They brought back forty prisoners. 
 
 The raid, which occurred at 3:30 A. M., was preceded by an artillery preparation 
 unequalled by anything the French had ever known on that front. 
 
 Box barrages were put down at two points — Neuviller, where the 307th was 
 holding, and Badonviller, the 3o8th's front. A box barrage is a three-sided curtain 
 of artillery fire, each side to a depth of about 150 yards, and so dense as almost to 
 defy penetration. It aims at preventing reinforcements from the rear joining the 
 hemmed-in troops. The fourth side is the front line itself, which is being attacked. 
 Before the raiders enter the trench objective, they have timed their approach so 
 that a preliminary barrage, hammering upon the section of trench they are to pene- 
 
 in] 
 
trate, may have lifted. The whole operation is like an elaborate man-trap in which 
 the defenders, outnumbered and unaided, are beaten before it snaps its jaws upon 
 them. 
 
 FIRST ACTUAL TOUCH WITH THE BOCHE 
 
 Some importance should be attached to this raid because it was the first hand-to- 
 hand clash of the National Army man and the Boche. With an enemy battalion 
 opposing it and a French platoon on its right wiped out, a single platoon of Yanks 
 at Badonviller showed the German Intelligence Office that Americans knew how 
 to take bitter medicine — and in the taking administer a little themselves. The 
 German communique omitted mention of their own losses. And they were not 
 light. 
 
 The raided platoon, of Company C, 308th, was commanded by Lieut. John V. 
 Flood, a former New York lawyer and a graduate of the first Plattsburg training 
 camp. Only six men of the platoon of forty-eight came through unhurt. 
 
 Out of admiration for the stubborn, yet hopeless fight these men put up, the 
 French awarded the Croix de Guerre to the whole platoon. Their commander was 
 honored in addition with the D. S. C. 
 
 Here follows his description of the raid, in the simple, concise language of the 
 soldier: 
 
 "My recollection of the C. Gs. (Combat Groups) on that sector is that C. G. 9 
 was held by a French platoon of about 28 men. I held C. G. 10 with 48 men and 
 C. G. 11 was garrisoned by about 15 Frenchmen. At 2.30 A. M. I ordered 'stand- 
 to' and went up and down the line once to see that every man was in position. 
 I finished with this inspection at about 2.55. I was sitting in my dugout, with my 
 hands lying listlessly on the table in front of me, when exactly at 3 o'clock there 
 was a terrific explosion, which shook the old dugout. My 'non-coms' immediately 
 gave the gas alarm. It seemed to me that for about ten minutes the Boche sent 
 over gas shells, when they changed to H. E. (high explosive) and shrapnel. 
 
 "Of course, all the men except the sentries took to the dugouts. I decided, how- 
 ever, that it was more dangerous in them than out of them, so I ordered all out to 
 their positions, and made them lie flat in the bottom of the trenches, with the 
 sentries standing watch. 
 
 THE COMMANDER'S TRIBUTE TO BRAVERY 
 
 "The barrage lasted about twenty minutes longer, when the shells suddenly 
 stopped dropping on us and we could hear them going over our heads. It was at 
 this point that the Hun appeared and the men started to greet him. One man, 
 especially, Corporal Patrick Hendricks, who was given the D. S. C, and after- 
 wards killed in action, did wonderful work with his automatic rifle and accounted 
 for a good many of the Germans. 
 
 "I think we would have been all right if they had attacked us only on the front, 
 but evidently the Frenchmen on my right were pretty well torn up. The Germans 
 must have gotten in on them first and then continued against my right flank. Of 
 course, I realized that we were done for, as I could see that they greatly outnum- 
 bered us. But we were there to hold the position to the last man. We did. 
 
 "Finally, they managed to get into the trenches with us, and then the thing had 
 become a hand-to-hand fight — kicking, biting, stabbing, scratching, anything to 
 get the other fellow first. I found myself in a turn in a trench with my sergeant, 
 
 [12] 
 
Frank Wagner, and my runner, Private Dietrich, behind me. Six of the Boches 
 started down the trench towards us, waving their 'potato mashers.' 
 
 "I shot the first two, but the third one, in the meantime, threw his grenade. 
 As .he did, I jumped around the turn and yelled to the others,' Look out!' The 
 grenade hit the wall of the trench behind me and dropped between my feet. I 
 looked down, saw it and jumped, drawing both legs up under me. At that moment 
 it exploded and tore off the right foot about six inches below the knee, the leather 
 of my shoe holding the foot on. On both legs it cut me up pretty well. 
 
 "Fragments of the same grenade hit Wagner in the neck and knee, and Dietrich 
 in the arm and foot. The remaining four Germans rushed on us then, and as we 
 lay stretched out, went through our clothes, taking everything we had. While 
 they were at it a little Italian, Racco Rocco, came up the other end of the trench 
 and started after the four of them with his bayonet. One of them threw a grenade, 
 which exploded under him. He died a few days later. 
 
 "The fighting kept up a little while longer when the Huns evidently thought 
 help was coming up to us, because they suddenly became greatly excited and 
 started back with their booty and prisoners. 
 
 "As nearly as I can make out, we had 14 killed, 16 wounded, 4 of whom died, and 
 12 taken prisoners, one of whom died, and nearly all severely wounded. The men 
 who fought exceedingly well were Sergeant Wagner, Maroney (both D. S. C. 
 men) and Herold (died of wounds); Corporal McKee (died of wounds), Higgins, 
 Hendricks, (D. S. C.) and Privates Dietrich, John Sullivan, Patrick Sullivan and 
 Rocco." 
 
 FIRST REAL TASTE OF POISON GAS 
 
 Historical records in the office of the Chief of Staff at Washington state that dur- 
 ing the raid there was "great activity on the part of enemy artillery, 3,000 shells, 
 210 mm. size, split between high explosives, shrapnel, mustard and phosgene gas, 
 having been sent over between 3 and 7 A. M." 
 
 It was on that morning that the 77th had its first real taste of poison gas. False 
 alarms, inevitable among green troops, had been sounded time and again pre- 
 viously, but this time there was no doubting that the cry of "Wolf!" was genuine. 
 The New Yorkers evidenced the value of their gas discipline, for although phosgene 
 and mustard gas was poured in upon five or six villages only 180 casualties resulted. 
 
 The Germans used three kinds of gas in major quantity — green, blue and yellow 
 cross shells, taking their name from the color of the cross painted on their sides. 
 
 Green cross was an asphyxiant containing phosgene, and a single deep inhalation 
 of it in high concentrations could cause death. One of the cooks of Company B, 
 308th, died from phosgene gassing, because the elastic bands on the facepiece of 
 his mask became entangled over the mouthpiece, and he could not adjust it quickly 
 enough. It was only a difference of a second or two — the difference between 
 breath and death. 
 
 Blue cross, an arsenic compound, causing sneezing, headache and nausea, was 
 used mainly for harrassing. It rarely produced more than temporary discomfort, 
 although one of its advantages, from the enemy's point of view, lay in the fact that 
 it could be mixed with shrapnel or high explosive in the same shell. Its quick 
 detection was thus more difficult, for most gas shells, carrying only a small explosive 
 charge, could be identified by the muffled sound of their burst, or by a peculiar, 
 wabbling whistle, as they somersaulted through the air, due to the shifting of the 
 liquid inside. 
 
 [13] 
 
And a word about mustard gas or yellow cross, perhaps more generally familiar 
 to and misunderstood by the civilian than any other. Mustard gas was Jerry's 
 chef d'oeuvre. It had a threefold sting. If you defeated its lachrymatory and 
 pulmonary "drives" by prompt adjustment and prolonged wear of the mask, it 
 still had a reserve barrage to put down through your clothing upon your skin, 
 especially moist parts. 
 
 Its action was more mechanical than chemical; it was corrosive, or blistering, 
 like a flame. And its persistence was a matter to inspire picturesque vocabularies 
 to matchless heights. Its vapors would cling in the atmosphere for periods ranging 
 from twenty-four hours to seventy-two hours after a "shoot," whereas chlorine or 
 phosgene would be dissipated in from one to four hours. 
 
 Not more than 5 or 6 per cent., however, of all mustard gas casualties became 
 fatalities. Perhaps 15 or 20 per cent, were severe, confining victims to the hospi- 
 tals for three weeks — or three months. Skin burns, against which the mask could 
 not protect, of course, were rarely fatal unless half or more of the body had been 
 affected. 
 
 Mustard's forte consisted in filling the hospitals rather than the cemeteries. It 
 was tactically effective because it took combatants out of the line. One day 
 sixty-seven Tommies made their inevitable tea with water, which was ever elusive 
 in the line, taken from a mustard gas shell crater. Sixty-six were gassed. 
 Before tea was served the sixty-seventh had been sent on a detail. 
 
 NOVICE FIGHTERS LEARN THE GAME 
 
 For the novice fighters of the 77th, the Lorraine front offered many practical 
 lessons other than defensive measures against gas. Almost nightly, patrols were 
 sent out into a spacious No Man's Land to examine the enemy's wire, to lie in 
 ambush for his patrols, or to inspect his front line trench, which showed disrepair in 
 numerous places and was manned only by small scattered groups. 
 
 With similar "petty posts," as they were called, each consisting of about a squad 
 of men, the New Yorkers held their own firing trench. Not infrequently, while a 
 patrol of Yanks, with automatics, trench-knives and bombs ready for action, 
 might be groping noiselessly under the indifferent stars along a stretch of deserted 
 enemy trench, a patrol of Boches would be paying return compliments in the Yankee 
 trench. The fact of their visit would be apparent the following morning from an 
 overturned bench, perhaps, in an unused observation post, or an unexploded 
 "potato masher" that had slipped its moorings from a German's belt. 
 
 And of a score of such mutual visits the total of casualties on both sides would 
 be — nil. Oh, it was beaucoup bon, or to translate freely, pretty soft — was the 
 "battle of Baccarat" by comparison with later experiences. 
 
 Graduated from trench warfare after a course lasting forty-five days — from June 
 17 to August 2 — the 77th was thereafter to engage, exclusively and continuously, 
 in open warfare right up to the armistice. 
 
 ON THROUGH CHATEAU THIERRY TO THE VESLE 
 
 On the latter date, the 37th Division, of the Ohio National Guard, "took over" 
 from the Liberty Division. After three days on the hike, the New Yorkers en- 
 entrained for — they knew not where. With air bombers overhead at one time, 
 dropping their "iron rations" inaccurately, nearly a day and a night were spent 
 travelling toward Paris in foul-smelling French box-cars. In the vicinity of Coul- 
 
 [14] 
 
ommiers, thirty-five miles east of the French capital, the division was transferred 
 from trains to French motor trucks, in an endless string of which the New Yorkers 
 headed north through Chateau Thierry for the Vesle. 
 
 The Chateau Thierry drive of mid-July had spent itself and fresh troops were 
 sorely needed to take up "the torch from failing hands." At the cost of complete 
 devastation to all the countryside, the Marne and Ourcq Rivers had been wrested 
 from the Boche. He was now making a stand — a grim one — on the Vesle river. 
 
 Observation baloons were being shot down by enemy avions almost overhead 
 as the men of the 77th ended, at Fere-en-Tardenois, an eight-hour ride through 
 crumbled villages over shell-marred roads. Fierce fighting had left its black, 
 malodorous imprint everywhere. In the Nesles Wood an officer of the 77th, 
 standing under a tree, heard a drip — drip — drip — on the leaves near his feet. 
 The weather, remarkably enough, had been dry. He looked aloft. Sprawled 
 across a fork of the branches was what had been a Boche sniper. 
 
 On the night of August 11, 191 8, the First and Third Battalions of the 305th 
 Infantry relieved the depleted 4th American Division and the 62d French on a front 
 of nearly four miles, extending from Mont Notre Dame to, but exclusive of, Fismes, 
 along the Vesle. And for four days, be it recorded to the credit of the 305th, 
 that regiment held unaided a position previously occupied by two divisions. 
 
 No conception of the fighting on the Vesle is adequate without an understanding 
 of the difficult nature of the ground. Dignified with the name of a river, the Vesle 
 was really a thirty-five foot sinuous stream, not much deeper than ten or twelve 
 feet, but with sheer banks, in places five feet high. Through a flat-bottomed 
 valley the stream's path kept company with a standard gauge railroad and the 
 main Rheims-Soissons road. 
 
 The Germans occupied dominating ground on the northern ridge at the foot of 
 which the 77th held an indefinite line along the river, north of it at two points, 
 and at two other points south of it. Such was the vantage ground of the Boches 
 that from their heights they actually depressed the muzzles of their light artillery 
 to fire into the American positions. The village of Bazoches was in the hands of 
 the enemy. St. Thibaut, south of the river, was Yankee territory. On the eastern 
 brigade sector — the I54th's — Ville Savoye served as the front-line battalion's P. C. 
 (post of command). In the rear, Chery Chartreuve, La Pres, La Tuillerie, and 
 Chartreuve Farms, Ferme des Dames and Mareuil-en-Dole were various regimental 
 and brigade headquarters, the division P. C. being the last-named place. 
 
 FUNKHOLES CHANGE HANDS 
 
 Over all these villages hostile artillery rained its high explosive, shrapnel and 
 gas from the heights opposite. Air bombers "laid eggs" on the villages. Aviator- 
 machine gunners flew along the lines of the 302d ammunition and ration limbers. 
 The enemy artillery even used Austrian high-velocity field pieces for sniping. 
 Most of the roads were under direct observation, and a single pedestrian or horse- 
 man would draw artillery fire. 
 
 In the hazy front line there were no trenches. No Man's Land — including, at 
 first, the Devil's Castle and the Tannery — was bounded vaguely by the varying 
 successes and failures of raids and counter-attacks. What was a Boche funkhole 
 one night was a Yank's the following night. 
 
 Funkholes are the trenches of open warfare — irregular lines of disconnected nooks 
 in the ground dug by the doughboy individually, or with his "buddy," and just big 
 
 [15] 
 
enough, accordingly, to hold one or two of them. Everyone has read of "digging 
 in." Funkholes are the result of it. And their name has its origin in a favorite 
 British term — funk, or fear. Now, not to side with the polite war correspondents 
 who prefer the word "foxhole," there's no denying that the average intelligent 
 human being lacks some of the poise of the drawing room when the blithe machine 
 gun bullet, the humming bit of shrapnel or the swift shell fragment is zipping close 
 by. And it is at such times, ordinarily, that funkholes are dug. 
 
 In common, frankness, therefore, it is only right to call a spade — a funkhole; 
 for under stress of heavy fire, a spade plus a few hectic minutes of digging equals 
 a 2x3x3 foot funkhole. 
 
 A German spade is preferable, as its spoon is more commodious than the U. S. A. 
 regulation pack shovel. And many New Yorkers tossed away their "sea shore" 
 equipment for the abandoned Boche subway implement, going into the fight with 
 the alien shovel in one hand and a rifle in the other. 
 
 The northern bank of the Vesle railroad cut is still pock-marked, probably, with 
 scores of funkholes. It was along this track that many clashes occurred. When 
 the enemy was forced back bodies of Germans and Americans were found stretched 
 side by side in the only comradeship there could have been between them — that of 
 death. One lad in khaki had fallen in such wise that his head was pillowed on his 
 hands, with his forearms resting evenly along one of the rails, as if he were soul- 
 wearied of it all and waited a more merciful end from some phantom locomotive. 
 
 The most violent death, indeed, must have been grateful compared with the 
 awful torture of incineration in the flames of the liquid fire thrower. It was here 
 that the 77th had its first encounter with that refined contrivance of the bellicose 
 Teuton mind. A detachment from two companies of the 308th were assaulted with 
 fiammenwerfers on the night of August 22, 1918. 
 
 Imagine a stream of blood-red flame, about five feet in diameter, spurting with 
 a roar for thirty yards from its nozzle; add to this the vicious chatter of machine 
 guns, the crash of grenades, the gleam of bayonets in the glare, and you have an 
 idea of the inferno in which the Yanks fought that night. Yet when the flame 
 throwers had burned themselves out shortly — for the portable shoulder tanks do 
 not hold much oil — men of the 308th counter-attacked and took some of the enemy 
 prisoners. At such moments it requires man-sized restraint not to kill in cold blood. 
 
 What more fitting name could have been chosen for this valley where Satan him- 
 self had his abode in the Chateau du Diable, than "The Hell Hole of the Vesle" ? 
 Witness how life was burnt out there in that furnace of withering fire: 
 
 Only two officers out of twenty-six in the Third Battalion of the 305th were 
 left for duty after that unit had been in the line for twenty-four hours. 
 
 In Ville Savoye the major of the Second Battalion, 308th, practically his entire 
 staff" and all of Company H, excepting two men, were severely gassed. 
 
 In the same village the first aid post was set on fire while crowded with wounded, 
 but the blaze was extinguished before gaining much headway by a medical officer 
 and a private of his detachment, both of whom tore off their gas masks to fight the 
 flames — and left off the masks the better to treat the accumulating sufferers. In 
 the end they were gassed, themselves, of course. 
 
 On the night of August 21, while preparations for a relief were under way, a 
 single shell killed four officers and two non-coms, and wounded others, at the 
 mouth of a natural cave that was being used as a dugout. 
 
 One day an officer was calling out final instructions to a runner about to set out 
 
 [16] 
 
from a battalion P. C. when a "whizzbang" almost decapitated the runner, as they 
 talked. 
 
 Another shell landed squarely in a funkhole in which someone recollected having 
 seen an artillery liaison officer. Was the witness sure there had been but one officer 
 there? What of his comrade from the artillery who had come to relieve him? 
 The blackened ground was examined, jagged pieces of flesh were pushed aside and 
 it was found that both officers had been together. Three hands were unearthed. 
 
 VESLE PROPERLY NAMED — "HELL HOLE" 
 
 Such was the Vesle — "the Hell Hole." 
 
 The instances cited could be thrice multiplied and still the story of individual 
 suffering and collective valor would have been left untold. And operations were 
 not confined to a small scale. A night raid, on August 27, was directed against 
 Bazoches, which, with its chateau, was a formidable barrier to an advance. -Com- 
 pany E, supported by Company G, of the 306th was to work its way into the town 
 from three points accompanied by men of the 302nd Engineers, who were to mine 
 and demolish the chateau machine-gun post. 
 
 Just as a whole platoon of Company B of the 308th had disappeared a few days 
 before in an advance on the Tannery, so two platoons, in this assault dropped 
 mysteriously out of existence upon entering Bazoches behind the artillery prepara- 
 tion. 
 
 The flame thrower had been brought into use again, and it may be that the ill- 
 starred platoons perished thus. Charred bodies were found later. They could 
 not be identified. 
 
 A third platoon made progress into the* town and dug in along the railroad 
 tracks, but after two hours was driven from its position by fire from three sides. 
 Only four men and the platoon commander reported back to battalion headquarters. 
 The fourth platoon accomplished its mission, passing through debris-cluttered 
 streets and hurling hand grenades into the houses and cellars, but, lacking liaison 
 with the other three platoons, finally withdrew. 
 
 The Boche, to sum it up, had been encountered in unexpected numbers. His 
 machine gun posts were as numerous as riveters in a shipyard. By the noon of his 
 flares (and the German flare was as much a thing of beauty as of execration) he 
 brought the support company into sharp relief and showered the illuminated target 
 with grenades. 
 
 The raid on Bazoches was a costly one. 
 
 THE "PRIVATES' GENERAL" TAKES COMMAND 
 
 It was at this point that the 77th acquired a commander who was to see it through 
 the loftiest achievements of its career to the armistice — Major-General Robert 
 Alexander. From the training days of Flanders, Major-General George B. Duncan 
 had been in command. 
 
 General Alexander was a veteran of many campaigns, having won his way through 
 all the ranks of the Regular Army, from that of private to colonel, before sailing 
 for France in November, 1917. Four weeks later, then a brigadier-general, he 
 commanded the 41st Division, from which he went to the 32nd, one of the 77th's 
 neighbors on the Vesle. On August 28th, with the rank of major-general, he came 
 to the 77th. His first official act was to dictate an order that put heart and en- 
 thusiasm into the sorely-tried New Yorkers. Having been an enlisted man, General 
 
 [17] 
 
Alexander knew that a few words of commendation from high sources, that personal 
 contact with the man in ranks, that consideration for his welfare would contribute 
 toward building up that unified divisional soul which animates real fighters. And 
 it was alongside of his men in the front line, encouraging them with words of cheer, 
 that he won the D. S. C. 
 
 "Upon taking command of the 77th Division," he wrote, "the undersigned desires ■ 
 to express to the troops of that organization his satisfaction in general terms with 
 the record made by the division in the face of an enemy at least equal in numbers 
 to ourselves, and who has, in addition, the inestimable advantage of four years of 
 war. The division has attacked with vigor and with the aggression requisite to 
 carry its undertakings to a successful conclusion. It has undoubtedly caused more 
 casualties in the ranks of the enemy than it has suffered, and finally it has so im- 
 pressed its personality upon the enemy as to render him extremely cautious in his 
 action in face of us. . . . 
 
 "It is impressed upon all that our actions so far have been most creditable and 
 that we have more than held our own against the veteran troops of our foe. We 
 are better men and we can become better soldiers than our enemies. . . . 
 
 "When the proper time comes, as determined by our chiefs, this division will 
 advance, and will do its part as well as the American division on our right, or the 
 division of our valiant allies on our left. We represent here our country and we 
 are embarked in a sacred cause, to which each and every man of us has pledged 
 his very best effort." 
 
 Today, in the chronological records of the Chief of Staff's Office in Washington, 
 there appears under date of September 4, six days after General Alexander's heart- 
 ening message, this entry: 
 
 "At 5.15 P.M. the 77th Division reports: Patrols along front cross Vesle and force 
 enemy back. One combat patrol as far as La Croix la Motte, between Vauxcere and 
 Bl&nzy. Three battalions across the Vesle." 
 
 Before the 77th Division could be stopped, J]4 miles were once more part of 
 France, and the Boche had been driven across the Aisne with Chemin des Dames at 
 at his back. And this after nearly a month of heartbreaking "holding" — "holding" 
 and nothing more, save death — on the unforgettable Vesle. 
 
 NEW SPIRIT OF VICTORY IS BORN 
 
 Of the exultation of their advance, and of their losses at the Vesle, a new spirit 
 had been born in the 77th — a spirit of high determination and cool courage that 
 was later to inspire the New Yorkers to their victory in the Argonne. 
 
 In the next twelve days — between September 4th and 15th inclusive — against 
 the strong rear guard actions of the Boches, the 77th occupied eleven French 
 villages between the Vesle and the Aisne rivers. Fismes and Fismette had been 
 included in the divisional front; the other shattered villages were Bazoches, Perles, 
 Blanzy, Vauxcere, Merval, Serval, Longueval, Barbonval, and — almost on the 
 Aisne, which paralleled the river — Villers-en-Prayeres. 
 
 New York's Own had begun "hurrying the Hun," as its share in the Oise-Aisne 
 Offensive. 
 
 Thrilling to the thought that this ground over which it moved was its own by 
 right of conquest, the 77th pushed forward under heavy artillery fire, sustaining 
 losses that further taxed its diminished numbers. As an average, few companies 
 
 [18] 
 
had more than two officers, whereas they had started with six, and of men, company 
 ranks that had originally totalled 250 were now thinned out to 150 and even less. 
 
 The 307th and 308th Infantry on the right of the division sector were faced by 
 the Germans on two sides, north and east, for the adjoining division had been less 
 arduous in the advance, thus leaving the flank exposed. Glennes, La Petite Mon- 
 tagne and Revillon witnessed many local engagements of considerable seventy. 
 Once the French forced a way into Glennes, but were promptly driven out. After 
 one assault in front of Revillon, a youthful lieutenant of the 308th, the last of the 
 officers of his company, when ordered into another attack, sent back this message: 
 
 "Send me more men. Only 27 of company left." 
 
 In another combat near Revillon a captain who had once been a Princeton pro- 
 fessor was shot down by machine gun fire after his lieutenant had been killed. One 
 leg and one arm were useless. He ordered himself placed upon a stretcher and with 
 the bearers carrying him up and down the field, directed the attack reclining, until 
 the trench objective had been taken. Nor would he leave his men until ordered 
 back to the dressing station by his superior. Such insuperable courage well merits 
 the Congressional Medal of Honor. And gets it. His name is L. Wardlaw Miles. 
 Five additional similar awards, the highest Washington can give, were accorded 
 the 77th, a record that stands among the foremost of all divisions in the A. E. F. 
 
 A squad of men in Company B, 302nd Field Signal Battalion, were cited in orders 
 for a remarkable feat in liaison work when they relaid a telephone line while under 
 three barrages, from La Grotte, the 307th's advance P.C.,to Blanzy, advance 
 headquarters of the 154th Brigade. The original line had been cut by shell fire in 
 sixteen places. Patched up twice it "went dead" twice. The new line, covering 
 a distance of about three miles, was laid in an hour and three-quarters. Too often 
 the splendid service of the signalman, or "trouble shooter," as he is called, is com- 
 pletely overlooked. 
 
 The 152nd Brigade of Field Artillery made the consolidation of new positions 
 along the Aisne a hazardous job for the enemy. The bark of the "75V was so 
 persistent that one wondered when the poor gunners slept or ate. Frequently, 
 however, the artillerymen would suffer enforced silence — when hostile aviators 
 dropped low over their positions to peek through their camouflage. 
 
 The German fliers had been the bane of the 77th's career. While there was no 
 lack of "archies" — or anti-craft guns — there seemed to be no friendly aviators to 
 go out and repel the inquisitive boche. In the thickest of fire from the "archies" 
 whose explosions dot the sky with innumerable Mercury wands outlined in smoke, 
 the German airmen playfully dove, banked and tail-spinned to safety, as if they 
 were saying to the gunners: "Did you ever see me do this one before?" 
 
 SIXTY-TWO AIRPLANE CALLS IN ONE DAY 
 
 Long since the doughboy had learned that the bugle call for "Attention," or a 
 blast on a platoon leader's whistle meant: "Enemy plane overhead — take cover — 
 all movement ceases!" And he had learned too, that having dug in, it was wise to 
 spread boughs over the fresh earth, if his modest home was to escape aerial observa- 
 tion. The German aviators had a prompt method of telling their artillery just 
 where a Yank position was. And a minute or two later Herr Whizz-Bang with the 
 famiiy would drop in on an unannounced call. A bugler who took pride in his lung 
 power boasted that in a single day he had blown a total of 62 airplane calls. 
 
 After nearly two weeks between the Vesle and the Aisne and just as an elaborate 
 
 [19] 
 
attack had been planned upon the enemy, orders came sending the 8th Italian 
 Division into the line to relieve the New Yorkers. 
 
 The 77th had been in the front line for 92 days. It had been promised a well- 
 earned rest. The Vesle-Aisne fighting had meant 2,200 casualties. And the men 
 went out in the belief that the division was headed south for rest billets and leave 
 or perm, as the poilu abbreviated 'his precious permission. 
 
 Its biggest task, however, still awaited the 77th. In the eyes of authorities at 
 G. H. Q., Alexander's men had already fulfilled their leader's prophecy that being 
 "better men" they could "become better soldiers than our enemies." 
 
 To the former citizens of New York, first class troops now, was to be given the 
 post of honor in the famous Meuse-Argonne Offensive, the real determinant of 
 the war. 
 
 Six hundred and fifty-thousand strong, the Americans attacked on a 20-mile front 
 in this great drive. The Argonne forest, covering a quarter of the total frontage, 
 and constituting the western fortress of the renowned Kriemhilde Stellung Line was 
 assigned to the 77th. Incidentally, the "Liberty Division" was scheduled to pass 
 through the Hindenburg Line on the first day of the attack. Upon the reduction 
 of the Argonne Forest depended largely the success of the whole mammoth opera- 
 tion, for the wilderness was the extreme western pivot on which the other divisions 
 were to sweep north. 
 
 CREDIT TO WHOM CREDIT IS DUE 
 
 The assertion has been made that many divisions fought in the Argonne Forest. 
 This is altogether incorrect, as is clearly shown by General Pershing's official map 
 of the operation. The mistake arises from the fact that all the country thereabouts 
 was called, loosely, "the Argonne," just as the territory adjacent to the Somme 
 River is called "the Somme." Twenty-one divisions, as has been said, took part 
 in the Meuse-Argonne Drive, which was named from its boundaries — the Meuse 
 River on the east and the Argonne Forest on the west, as distinguished from "the 
 Argonne." For two days the 28th Division of Pennsylvanians fought through the 
 eastern edge of the forest to Apremont, which they captured. All credit is theirs for 
 their swift advance. But for twelve days after that, against the most tremendous 
 odds, the 77th pressed on, as it had from the outset, through the church-dark glades 
 of the forest itself. On the left of the 77th was the Fourth French Army. 
 
 Leaving the Aisne on September 15, 191 8, the New Yorkers had made forced 
 night marches half way south to the Marne, where once more they crowded into 
 French camions and raced southeast all night and half a day through Epernay, 
 through Chalons, through Vitry and up into the Argonne Forest to billets south of 
 Ste. Menehould. It seems incredible now that the exhausting trip, for men war- 
 worn from service, can be reviewed in a single sentence. 
 
 During nearly a week the division moved up cautiously at night to the No Man's 
 Land that fronted the Hindenburg Line. The concentration of troops and guns 
 was accomplished with greatest secrecy. Being confined strictly to their barns, 
 out of view of airplanes, the men slept by day and lunched at midnight, while 
 French troops in the reserve positions drew out singing their rollicking "Madelon." 
 These "crazy Americans" were going to attack the Argonne Forest! "Eh, bien!" 
 If it was the martial vogue among Americans to commit heroic, wholesale suicide 
 by hurling themselves frontally against a naturally defended position that had been 
 immovable for nearly four years, fortified lavishly the while, with the best grade 
 
 [20] 
 
o Sedan 
 
 REMILLYO 
 
 BELGIUM 
 
 ST-MENEHOUl-D 
 
German wire and concrete — well, a couple of eh, biens!! It was no poilu funeral. 
 They would seek out "Madelon," who would bring them "something to drink." 
 For, despite her beauty, she was sane — was "Madelon." 
 
 So that the Boche might not be apprised of the relief did he catch a glimpse of 
 a uniform other than the horizon blue, the French remained in the firing trench 
 proper until the historic night of September 25-26. Before leading up their men, 
 American officers reconnoitred the line in French uniforms. 
 
 THE MIGHTY TASK OF SEPTEMBER 26 
 
 Thus it was another relief-attack from which the 77th set out on its vast venture 
 at 5 '.30 on the morning of September 26. And that sort of attack means that having 
 marched miles from the rear after dark the men reach the "jumping off" trench just 
 in time to be kept awake for the remainder of the night by the resounding banging 
 of the artillery. For three hours the 152nd Artillery Brigade, aided by heavy 
 French artillery and guns of the Army Corps, hammered sixteen paths through the 
 dense wire till it seemed that the whole surface of the globe must be quaking with 
 ague. But when the four regiments of infantry — all of which were in the front line 
 on account of the extent of front — clambered "over the top" to follow the leaping 
 barrage, so heavy a fog enshrouded the sea of shell craters that finding the prepared 
 passageways was no easy matter. Contact between advancing elements in that 
 white, clammy blanket was impossible. 
 
 Over ravine-traversed territory whose soil had been blackened by the hot lead 
 of four years the New Yorkers groped, stumbled and clawed their way. The first 
 trench system, testifying to the accurate register of the artillery, was passed with- 
 out opposition, but the jungle was such that at noon, when the earliest machine 
 guns opened up, one battalion commander for a time could account for only five 
 platoons out of his four companies. 
 
 The first prisoners belonged to the Second Landwehr Division, but, in all, the 
 77th was to encounter four additional enemy divisions. The casualties of the open- 
 ing day were comparatively small, and the line had been advanced about two 
 miles. 
 
 On the second day real resistance was met, especially from the inevitable ma- 
 chine guns. After repeated attacks the 305th and 306th took Four De Zube, the 
 Abri St. Louis and St. Hubert's and Barricade pavilions. The latter was an engi- 
 neer dump containing more than #2,000,000 worth of material. And the Yank's 
 line went forward about a mile and a half. Enemy artillery was searching for the 
 attackers, but its range was wild. 
 
 On the third day — it was "over the top" every morning now — the 305th took 
 Abri du Crochet, the 307th, Bagatelle Pavilion. These pavilions were even more 
 inviting than their name implied, being collections of luxurious dugouts and 
 soldatenheim, fitted with blue — tiled bath tubs (inconsiderately broken) and other 
 unbelievable comforts. 
 
 The fighting was increasing in stubbornness as the advance progressed. Ma- 
 chine gun Indian warfare, such as has been described, marked the whole extent of 
 the front. Bayonet and pistol clashes were common. Small parties of Boches 
 with light maxims frequently flanked small units, and every abandoned trench, 
 every innocent-looking clump of bushes might conceal nests that would wait for 
 the invaders to pass and then drop them from the rear. 
 
 [22] 
 
ALL HONOR TO BRAVE COL. SMITH 
 
 On September 28th, the leading battalion of the 308th, commanded by Major 
 Whittlesey, was temporarily cut off by machine gun parties along its line of com- 
 munications. The division suffered no greater individual loss than it did in that 
 of Lt. Col. Fred E. Smith, second in command of the 308th, who gave his life in 
 an effort to reestablish the chain of runners and get ammunition and rations for- 
 ward. He attacked a machine gun party single-handed, first having compelled his 
 detachment to take cover. Badly wounded in the side, the fearless Colonel con- 
 tinued to advance alone upon the enemy, pouring a fire from his automatic at the 
 nest until he was hit again and fell dead. Col. Smith, beloved by every man who 
 know him, is one of the 77th's Medal of Honor heroes. 
 
 On the following day relief was sent forward, and the 308th struck north again. 
 Three companies of the First Battalion, under Major Whittlesey, and three com- 
 panies of the Second Battalion, under Capt. (now Major) George McMurtry, had 
 orders to take an objective along the Binarville-Viergette Road, a little east of 
 Charlevaux Mill. On October 2nd they had won the ground. But troops of 
 another division on their immediate left were several kilometres to their rear. 
 Company K of the 307th, on their right, joined up with them. And when the Ger- 
 mans simply moved in behind them from their exposed left flank the seven com- 
 panies of Yanks settled down to a siege of dauntless defense that will be known 
 through all the days of world history as the stand of the "Lost Battalion." 
 
 Of course that tenacious term is a misnomer. When no amount of "bucking" 
 could break the line confronting the 77th on October 1st orders went out that each 
 assaulting unit would try breaking through individually — regardless of flank sup- 
 port. Once an advance element, like a spearhead, could be flung out into hostile 
 territory, flanks could be swung up to connect with it. And it was really the ex- 
 ploit of the "Lost Battalion" that made possible the straightening out of the 77tfTs 
 line and the subsequent complete capture of the Forest. 
 
 So much for the tactics of it. Everyone knows that for five days, against daily 
 attacks from an enemy on all sides, the half-starved men of the 308th repulsed 
 every desperate onslaught. Everyone knows that when nearly half the 700 be- 
 sieged were casualties, an offer of "honorable surrender" was ignored. But it is 
 not as well known, probably, that as many casualties were suffered in reaching the 
 beleaguered as were sustained inside that rectangle of death. 
 
 One might think that at such a crisis the division reserve troops would be sent 
 to the rescue. But no. 
 
 "This is a family affair," said Brigadier-General Johnson to the officers of the 
 remainder of the 154th, "and, as such, we will handle it ourselves." 
 
 GENERAL JOHNSON LED ATTACKS IN PERSON 
 
 Although a hundred men of a single company went to earth in a few minutes 
 striving to reach their stricken comrades, although in one day five attacks were 
 made upon the Germans — two of them led in person by General Johnson; although 
 assaults followed every day until relief broke through, no outside aid was asked. 
 The 154th Brigade did its own rescuing when men of the 307th, from the right 
 flanks, joined their fellows on the night of October 7th. 
 
 What was happening in the "Lost Battalion's" blood-stained ground during 
 those interminable days is vividly narrated by Capt. William J. Cullen, one of the 
 company commanders, who was awarded the D. S. C. for exposing himself to fire 
 
 M 
 
in order to signal from an open spot to aviators who were trying to drop food within 
 reach of the emaciated defenders. 
 
 "We had left along our march, of course, a line of communications," writes Capt. 
 Cullen, describing the situation on the night of October 2, after their objective 
 had been taken. "Patrols were sent out on our right and left, but found there 
 were no Americans within three kilometers of us. We knew then that our flanks 
 had failed to break through and settled down to wait for them. 
 
 "That night the Boches attacked. We heard them coming up, although we 
 could not see them. The forest was dense and observation difficult. They started 
 the attack'with a heavy concentration of machine gun fire and then, under cover 
 of more machine guns at our rear, they came in close and bombed us with 'potato 
 mashers/ A couple of nervous fingers pulled their triggers from our ranks, but I 
 steadied them until the Boche got sufficiently close to be annoying and then gave 
 the order: 'Commence firing!' The crack of those rifles was certainly music to me. 
 After about ten minutes the Boche retired. 
 
 "The next day they 'rolled up/ or chased in our runner posts, and then we knew 
 that we were completely surrounded. To make sure that he got us and to prevent 
 help from reaching us the enemy during the night wired the hill in our rear and 
 manned the position with a strong garrison of machine gunners. We had no ra- 
 tions now. In fact, on account of the rapidity of our progress, the men had had 
 only one ration for the four preceding days. There was very little of a pleasant 
 nature to look forward to. But there we were. And, our orders being 'to hold to 
 the last man/ there we would stay. 
 
 "Our troops came up from the rear the next day and battled their way to the 
 wire. Those damned machine guns got in their deadly work and the attack failed. 
 We knew, however, that they would keep at it until they reached us and so we sat 
 back and waited. 
 
 "We hadn't waited long when the Boche attacked again. They started with 
 a machine gun barrage on our rear, and supplemented it with a couple of trench 
 mortar batteries, giving us a mighty merry time of it. 
 
 LACK OF FOOD BEGINS TO TELL 
 
 "We were beginning to notice our lack of rations now. We had been drinking 
 water from shell holes, and though we could feel solid substances in it, we were 
 thankful to have even that to drink. The men were restless and were popping 
 constantly out of their meagre shelters on one mission or another. And the Boche 
 was so close that a branch could not be moved without attracting a stream of ma- 
 chine gun bullets. I talked cheerfully with the men and distributed the few cig- 
 arettes that remained. They were stout-hearted fellows, all of them. When I 
 told them to 'Stick to it, boys/ they answered, each post in turn, 'Don't worry 
 about this post. We'll stick, all right.' 
 
 "One of them, Sidney Smith, was shot through the stomach. I told him he 
 could go over to a safer place, near battalion headquarters. He said, 'Why I 
 ain't hurt enough so I can't still shoot this gun.' Another little chap, Miller, 
 crawled out into the open after a sniper on his own initiative. His rifle cracked 
 and he turned his head and said: 'I got him.' But he couldn't get back himself. 
 A Boche sniper got him. 
 
 "The strain was beginning to tell on the men and their eyes took on an abnormal, 
 peculiar bulge.- We smoked dry leaves and ate twigs." 
 
 [24] 
 
After detailing with a humorous touch how he interviewed a German prisoner 
 affecting total indifference the while to a two-hour German artillery strafe that 
 "nearly ruined the whole deatchment" and caused the prisoner to squirm in mighty 
 fear, Capt. Cullen, describes at length one of the five attacks, this time at night, 
 to which the outfit was subjected. 
 
 "We could hear the Boche around us shrieking and trying to intimidate us with 
 their schrecklichkeit. 
 
 " 'We have the Americans just where we want them/ they yelled. They closed 
 in on us. From the direction of his voice the leader was just behind my post of 
 command. He would call out: 'Eitel/ And a voice over to the left would an- 
 swer 'Hier/ Then: 'Adolph/ Another voice now on the front would answer: 
 'Hier/ Then: 'Sind deiner men da?* and the answer: ' Ja, Ja!* Then the son of a 
 gun would shout: i Alle zusammen!* (All together), and thereupon it seemed that 
 the law of gravity had been reversed and everything went up in the air. They 
 simply piled high explosive grenades in on us. Their trench mortars rained their 
 infernal shells. We couldn't see them, of course, due to the heavy brush, and 
 waited for them to rush us. During a lull their leader called out: 'Kamerad, vill 
 you?' 
 
 "He seemed to think that we were ready to surrender. That was about the last 
 straw for me. 'Come in and get us, you blankety-blank-blank!' I yelled at him, 
 using the few cuss words that I knew of his language. 
 
 "Then we opened fire on where we judged they were and gave them hell. That 
 settled that little attack. There was blood all round us the next day, and we knew 
 we got some of them. 
 
 "Airplanes circled above us trying to locate our position. It was a hard job for 
 them, concealed as we were under the trees. One day an aviator came down very 
 low. I jumped out into an open space, and, lying on my back, waved a dirty white 
 towel to him. He signalled: 'Understood/ I was rewarded with a shower of ma- 
 chine gun bullets which chirped all around me. The next day the aviators tried to 
 drop food to us, but we could not reach it. Think of Jerry getting it — chocolate, 
 cigarettes and bully beef! 
 
 "On the morning of October 8th, about I A. M., I was dozing in my bunk hole 
 when I heard a voice calling, 'Lieutenant, Lieutenant!' I thought it was time to 
 repulse another Boche attack. But it was my battalion runner with a little gunny 
 sack containing bread and two cans of bully beef. He brought a message from 
 the Major that our right flank had come up and that a patrol had reached us with 
 a few rations. I opened up the bully beef, took a fork from my mess kit and went 
 around my posts on a tour of inspection. I told the men what had happened and, 
 to prove the truth of what I said — it seemed so incredible — I gave each man a fork- 
 ful of 'bully/ We were ready to go on for another six days then." 
 
 So it was that relief came to the "Lost Battalion" — its whole significance, like 
 the significance of the great moments of life, being epitomized in a very little thing, 
 "a forkful of bully." 
 
 PERSONAL CONGRATULATIONS FROM GENERAL PERSHING 
 
 Lacking sleep, with only a minimum of rations, cold from the continuous rains, 
 reduced still more in number by their unstinted self-sacrifice in rescuing their sur- 
 rounded "buddies," the men of the 77th spurred themselves to the completion of 
 their task — the clearing of the forest. 
 
 [25J 
 
Past the fateful Binarville-Viergette road they pressed into country that was 
 beginning to open up. The same deadly machine gun nests were encountered, 
 the same foot-by-foot fighting was necessary until the enemy fell back from their 
 main line of resistance, crushed in spirit at the square-chinned persistence of these 
 New Yorkers. 
 
 By October ioth, after a gain of several kilometers, the forest was solely Ameri- 
 can. It was a great day for the 77th when General Pershing himself came all the 
 way from Chaumont to visit them. Not that he could see them formally assem- 
 bled, of course, for the fight was still on. But he had come up to General Alexan- 
 der's Boche dugout over the identical entangled ground for which the "Liberty 
 Boys" had paid so dearly. The "C-in-C" himself knew now what it had been 
 like. And word trickled up along the line that the Commander in Chief had said 
 the whole American Army was admiring the 77th for its conquest. 
 
 What were Jerry's chances after that? What if he had thrown in three fresh 
 divisions against them? With the strange sun warm upon them again the division 
 sprang forward more than six miles during October 9th and ioth, occupying the 
 little villages of La Besoqne, Chevieres and Marq. 
 
 On October 12th there was more praise for the 77th in the following commenda- 
 tion: 
 
 "ADVANCED HEADQUARTERS FIRST ARMY CORPS. 
 
 Oct. 12, IQl8. 
 
 From: Commanding General, 1st Army Corps, U. S. 
 To: Commanding General, 77th Division, U. S. 
 Subject: Commendation. 
 
 1. The Corps Commander directs me to inform you that he feels once more 
 during the present operations called upon to express his gratification and appre- 
 ciation of the work of the 77th Division. 
 
 2. This division has been in the line constantly since the night of the 25th of 
 September under circumstances at least as difficult as those which have confronted 
 any other division of the 1st Army. 
 
 3 . In spite of these conditions your command has pushed steadily forward on a 
 line with the foremost, and today, after eighteen days of constant fighting, is still 
 ready to respond to any demand made upon it. 
 
 4. The Corps Commander is proud indeed of such a unit as yours and con- 
 gratulates you on such a command. 
 
 MALIN CRAIG, 
 
 Chief of Staff." 
 
 It must have been on words of encouragement that the doughboys kept going 
 these days. Even in their sore straits there was still another exacting task for 
 them in the attacks on St. Juvin and Grand Pre. But the thing was done somehow. 
 
 The Aire river offered a serious obstacle to both objectives. Swimming, wading 
 and on rafts, troops of the 153rd Brigade left the Aire at their back 
 on October 14th and under heavy artillery fire from heights to the north 
 forced their way into St. Juvin inside of an hour. The Second and Third Battal- 
 ions, 305th, supported the attack of the Second Battalion of the 306th. But it 
 was really a single company — and, at that, a company with less than 30 men left 
 when they invaded the town — which captured the strong point. 
 
 [26] 
 
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 FERE-EN-TAROENOIS 
 
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 KILOMETERS 
 
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 • 77»DM5IOfS • 
 
 • IN • THE.- 
 
 OI5L-AI3NL • OFFENSIVE.- 
 
INFURIATED DOUGHBOY INTIMIPATES SCORE OF GERMANS 
 
 The story is told that a Jew and an Irishman were the first into St. Juvin as 
 scouts. Cautiously, they were proceeding along a village street when from a 
 window a Boche bullet sang past the Irishman's ear. He dropped. The Jew, 
 thinking his partner had been killed, rushed in terrible fury toward the house, 
 grenades ready, shouting: "Out — come out, quick." 
 
 The Irishman, to the amazement of his angry comrade, joined him, and between 
 them filed more than a score of weaponless Germans, headed by a battalion com- 
 mander. 
 
 In a short time the eighteen doughboys who were following the two scouts had 
 rounded up 360 prisoners. The odds had been 18 to 1 against the New Yorkers. 
 Who will venture to express the feeling of the Boche when they learned that fact? 
 
 While the enemy was futilely counter-attacking in St. Juvin on the following 
 day the 154th Brigade took Grand Pre, the 307th flooding in upon it from three 
 sides. The town was mopped up after the German flight and on the same night 
 the 78th relieved the exhausted New Yorkers. 
 
 Now, when they gather around the post-office stove in the years to come and 
 recapture Grand Pre nightly, no 78th Division man will ever concede that the 77th 
 took even a lamp post in the village. Nor will any 77th man, as he bites viciously 
 into another dried apricot, ever admit that the 78th was capable of taking anything 
 but — extreme care. 
 
 The dispute, at this early date, was best settled by a disinterested party in the 
 person of "The Stars and Stripes" historian. This authority states, in effect, that 
 Grand Pre was twice taken on different occasions, first by the 77th, and later by 
 the 78th. Which should make it unnecessary for the postmaster to put in a bill 
 for damages. 
 
 THE CAPTORS OF GRAND PRE 
 
 "The enemy resisted violently and the advance was slow," writes the mediator, 
 of the attack on Grand Pre, "but patrols of the 307th finally got across the river 
 (the Aire) by enfiltration, reached the town by 5:30 in the evening, and had it in 
 possession an hour later. Foot bridges across the river were built after the patrols 
 got over, the whole battalion crossed, and the next day the town proper was organ- 
 ized for defense along its west and north edges, exclusive of the steep hill at the north 
 end on which stand a chateau and park. 
 
 "Under these conditions, with the extreme left in not very complete contact with 
 the right of the French forces down the Aire below Grand Pre, the 77th Division 
 was relieved by the 78th. 
 
 "Moving up from the 1st Corps reserve near Montblainville and Varennes to 
 relieve the 77th Division, the 78th became somewhat confused on unfamiliar roads 
 and did not reach its positions as soon as was expected. The consequence was that 
 the 312th Infantry, relieving elements of the 77th Division in Grand Pre, did not 
 get possession of the whole town, into part of which the Germans returned and 
 were only ejected again after several days of severe. fighting." 
 
 If the officers* mess waxed tactical over the capture of Grand Pre, not so the 
 doughboys' crap circles during the two weeks' breathing spell accorded the 77th 
 in ex-German dugouts, just in back of the line, where they rested, drew equipment 
 and received "replacements" between October 16 and 31. 
 
 For the first time in the division's career in France, some leaves had been granted 
 
 [28] 
 
for Paris and Nice. Then they weie rec'rllod. . :f ?7t!i Front and, Center!" was the 
 command. The American line was to go f inward toward historic Sedan on Novem- 
 ber I, and the old reliable 77th was to "lead all the rest" in the matter of gaining 
 ground during its second long "hitch" in the big offensive. 
 
 CRASHING THROUGH THE KRIEMHILDE STELLUNG 
 
 Once more the risky relief-attack was made, the Liberty Division taking over 
 from the 78th almost the identical line it had left. The artillery preparation was 
 superbly thunderous — two hours of winged hell for the Boche. 
 
 The 153rd Brigade led off against the renowned Kriemhilde Stellung, up a steep 
 hill towards Champigneulle. The resistance on the first day was intensely powerful 
 and little headway was made. November 2, however, saw Champigneulle and four 
 smaller villages in Yankee hands — Verpel, Thenorgues, Harricourt and Bar. The 
 irrepressible doughboy made his jokes about the last of his acquisitions. It was some 
 consolation, he opined, to descend upon a French Bar, even if someone had taken 
 from him a similar privilege in his native land during his absence. 
 
 The Boches were falling back headlong now, and the Yank was nearing the climax 
 of his Hun-hurrying. It was even contemplated sending the infantry forward in 
 motor trucks, but the roads did not permit. 
 
 Through Autruche, Fontenoy and St. Pierremont the 306th sped on November 3, 
 capturing two German batteries — light guns — that could not pull out in time, so 
 fast was the onrush of the doughboy. That blithe soul was now living largely on 
 German cabbage because the rations could not keep up with him. 
 
 On the fourth day of the advance the 154th Brigade "telescoped" the leading 
 brigade on the run — an exceedingly difficult form of relief that effects unchecked 
 progress. The town of Oches was taken that day, marking a total advance of about 
 fifteen miles since the start. 
 
 There was intermittent machine gun resistance and considerable harassing artil- 
 lery fire at all stages of the advance. In justice to the individual German machine 
 gunner it must be said that, generally, he knew how to die. Left behind by his 
 retreating organization on an assignment almost the equivalent of handing him his 
 death warrant, he stayed grimly at his maxim and sold his life as dearly as he could. 
 And this, to give his comrades more time to flee. 
 
 BUSY OCCUPYING SEVENTEEN TOWNS 
 
 Nine miles were added to the division's gain on November 6 after the occupation 
 of Stonne and La Besace. French civilians in these villages had been under Ger- 
 man rule for nearly four years. They had been lined up every morning by the 
 iinteroffizier and marched off to various occupations like serfs. With the advent 
 of the Americans they cried and laughed hysterically, even embracing some of their 
 liberators, much to the latter's extreme confusion. 
 
 By the night of November 6, the 77th was practically at the Meuse, having 
 gone through Flaba, Autrecourt and Haraucourt after stern opposition from artil- 
 lery and machine guns. 
 
 The next day — November 7 — the advance continued through Raucourt, Meuse- 
 la-Angecourt and Remilly. The 77th was now holding the Meuse heights, with 
 Sedan about five miles away and visible in the distance. 
 
 With the clearing of the Argonne Forest, and the whirlwind finish to the Meuse, 
 the New Yorkers had driven north for nearly 38 miles — the record gain for any 
 
 [29] 
 
American division — and seventeen French villages had been restored to pathetically 
 grateful peasants. 
 
 The boys were on tip-toe for the crossing of the river, and patrols of the 305th 
 and 307th did force passages at Villers and Remilly, respectively, under withering 
 fire. The anticipation was that the "watermelon," of which the 77th sang so many 
 centuries earlier at Camp Upton, was really to be eaten "on the Rhine." But when 
 the tidbit was almost at their lips the armistice banished it as forbidden fruit. 
 
 This is not to say that there was disappointment at the termination of hostilities. 
 The "Cease Firing" order, however, had no such hilarious aftermath in the front 
 line as it did among the folks at home. On the contrary the armistice found the 
 men of the 77th quiet and deliberative. They were glad that the bloodshed was 
 ended — yes, a thousand times, but contemplative as to the future out of their 
 recent experiences — eager for stabilized peace; eager that their country might see 
 through their own lessoned eyes the error of unpreparedness, and yet fearful of 
 over-preparedness and its blight of militarism. 
 
 Better, more thoughtful, more loyal citizens they are for their warring — the men 
 of the 77th. And whereas New York City sent forth a heterogeneous mass, she 
 has welcomed back a unified class, annealed like tested steel in the fires that burn 
 out impurities— the fires that leave the American wholly American. 
 
 NOTE — This booklet, while accurate and complete in its treatment of the 77th Division's career, does 
 not pretend, of course, to set forth the divisional history as elaborately as, nor in the detail of an official 
 history published by the 77th Division Association in a volume of 250 pages, with many maps, illustrations 
 and photographs. The official history is sold for such laudable purposes as providing for dependent 
 families of men killed in France, aiding the disabled to start anew in life and offering a home to such of 
 New York's ex-soldiers as may need it. 
 
 [30] 
 
ARTILLERY OF THE 77TH IN VERSE 
 
 (To the tune of "Home, Boys, Home!") 
 
 Oh, first we went to Baccaat to learn to fight the Huns, 
 And all we did was eat and sleep; we never worked the guns; 
 The Germans never fought by night, they never fought by day- 
 A quiet place to learn to fight was up in Reherrey! 
 
 Home, boys, home, its home we ought to be 
 Home, boys, home, in the land of liberlee 
 For the ash and the oak and the sour apple tree 
 They all grow together up in North A merikeel 
 
 Oh, then we went to Farm des Dames across from old Bazoches, 
 And took up a position for to harass Henry Boche. 
 But Henry shelled us night and day and gassed us in between — 
 As hot a spot was Farm des Dames as any I have seen. 
 
 Then we went across the Vesle and up to Vauxcerc, 
 The doughboys tried to catch the Hun, but he was on his way. 
 Yet when we settled in the town he ranged us to a dot, 
 And every time he wanted to he dropped one on the spot. 
 
 Then the Wops relieved us and we went out south by west 
 And hiked from Fismes to Menehould with never any rest; 
 We took up a position on a hill above Chalade 
 With all the big and little guns the U. S. Army had. 
 
 Then we fought the Argonne, from Harazee to Grandpre, 
 
 And took in Abri Crochet and La Viergette on the way — 
 
 We showed the Hun some fighting and some brand new Yankee tricks, 
 
 Then we handed Heinie's number to an outfit from Camp Dix. 
 
 Next we all were granted leave and hit the trail for Nice, 
 But first we spent a week in Paris dodging the police; 
 Then Pershing planned another drive and called us to the line 
 Because he knew without us" he could never cross the Rhine. 
 
 We started with a mighty push, and soon were in a race — 
 The nags the *Frogs had given us could never stand the pace, 
 So we parked the First Battalion in the city of Verpel 
 And sent the dizzy Second on to give the Dutchmen hell! 
 
 The Second started hell-for-leather riding over France. 
 They tried to catch the infantry but never got a chance; 
 McDougal got a section up and got it damn well hit — 
 And then the Boche decided it was time for them to quit. 
 
 Oh, now the war is over and we'll soon be safe at home, 
 
 All sitting in Bustanoby's and blowing off the foam, 
 
 The Germans fought a dirty war and raised a lot of hell, 
 
 But when they got the Yankee's goat, then they were **S. O. L. 
 
 French . 
 
 Surely "out of luck. 
 
• mo\Lb^Am)mt forest ' H 
 
Gay lord Bros. 
 
 Makers 
 
 Syracuse, N. Y. 
 
 PAT. JAN. 21, 1908 
 
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