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THE 151st FIELD ARTILLERY BRIGADE

THE 151st FIELD ARTILLERY BRIGADE

RICHARD M. RUSSELL

THE CORNHILL COMPANY

BOSTON

TO MY OLD COMRADES

If you find in the pages that follow anything to amuse or interest you and yours, thank Mrs. William S. McNair, Major Swift, Captain Converse and Lieutenant Clement, to whom the author is indebted for the information herein contained.

R. M. R.

THE 151st FIELD ARTILLERY BRIGADE

The 151st Field Artillery Brigade

INTRODUCTION

In writing this brief sketch of the Brigade from its inception to its final mustering out of the service, it has not been my aim to account in any way for all the days and nights which have elapsed during that period. Memories fond or hateful to some of us would not be very interesting to the rest. Looking backward from the point of view of the Brigade as a unit, many of those days were so monotonously alike that an attempt to account for all would lead to idle repetition. Well I realize that every one of them stands for something important in the career of some one man; perhaps his first tour of guard duty, or his first ride, a close call, a bawling out, something accomplished, something learnt. But I have not time, space nor knowledge to write these details. If, however, by my generalities I can so picture our life at Devens and after that this little book will recall to its readers those things I have omitted, it will have served its purpose.

THE 151st BRIGADE

In April, 1917, the United States declared war against Germany. It was no surprise, but what did it mean? For it is one thing to declare war and another to wage it. We had no army and no ships and three thousand miles of ocean lay between the Yankee and the Hun. We would of course lend money to our allies. Would we give them our men? The answer, thank God, was the draft law which put into being the greatest democratic institution of our country,--the National Army.

Early in the fall of 1917, men from every walk of life, from every corner of every state, thronged to the huge, ugly, but business-like cantonments which had grown up, like the mushroom over night. These men, scientifically chosen, for their physique, mentality, character and patriotism, were as diversified in their civil life and occupations as men can be, but they had one thing in common: ignorance of the military. This and the single purpose that brought them there, welded them together. If Germany scorned our declaration of war, she must have sung another tune as she watched us prepare to wage it.

Camp Devens, Massachusetts, was the rendez-vous for New England's Yankees. They were the personnel of the first of the National Army Divisions, the Seventy-Sixth.

The Divisional Artillery was to consist of the 301st, the 302nd, and 303rd regiments, Colonels Brooke, Craig and Conklin respectively commanding. Thus it was that the 151st Field Artillery Brigade was born, and with what promise! Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont and Massachusetts furnished the quota, with many a generation of fighting ancestors behind them and traditions of battles won, not only in war but in every field of human endeavor.

Was it strange then that Major-General William S. McNair, then Brigadier-General, shortly after he took command in December of that year said that he felt as proud as the young mother when she sees her first born take its first four steps?

Those early months found us awkward and nearly as helpless as the infant to which the General referred, but men and officers alike were using this time to advantage; both had to adapt themselves to new ways of thinking and living, and even the language of the army was as strange to us then as was French when we finally got to France.

It was perhaps at this time more than any other, that we had cause to be thankful to the General, Colonels and Lieutenant Colonels for their able and generous assistance in getting the younger officers over those first hurdles. Let us here extend our utmost appreciation to Lieutenant Colonels Rehkopf, Danforth and Stopford whose loss to the Brigade we have had many an occasion to regret. But they like many others of our best were called upon to take bigger jobs where they could be of even greater value to the country all were now serving.

In many respects those days were the hardest of all; everything was strange. For a time, standing in line hour after hour was an interesting novelty and gave the ever-present jester an opportunity to exercise his wit; so with the drills. But human beings, particularly the Yankee variety, adapt themselves quickly to their surroundings. Standing in line a couple of hours for a pair of shoes or a cup of soup ceases eventually to be an interesting novelty. And when the soup so acquired is knocked from your hand by an over zealous companion and soils the uniform you must keep clean, you may perhaps forgive him and laugh; but all that is funny therein is almost sure to occur to your fertile mind and keen sense of humor the first time it happens. Repetition is superfluous.

Being herded together, seeing the same man on either side of you every day and all day, having to do what you are told day and night, has but limited charms for the independent citizen of America. Thoughts were turned, first backward, to the days when we had been individuals instead of a mite of a cog in a great machine, and then forward, with the inevitable question: how long was it all to last? We would have been homesick, desperately so, but there was no time. A bugle broke our sleep when it was still dark. Another summoned us to a formation before it was physically possible to get dressed, from which we were marched to breakfast. A whistle, followed by the First Sergeant's "Fall Out", arrested the first mouthful and told us we would not have time to wash mess kits before policing. Policing was followed by inspection, where the Captain would bawl us out for the condition of those same wretched mess kits. Inspection was followed by physical exercises; physical exercises by foot drill, foot drill by a hike, the hike by mess. In the afternoon we rehearsed the events of the morning. Supper was followed by school, then taps, then bed, then reveille. To-day is a repetition of yesterday, to-morrow will be a repetition of to-day. But to-day we are not going to be bawled out for dirty mess kits, we wash them and are late for policing; the First Sergeant puts us in the kitchen for a week and we learn the meaning of K. P. We are soon repentant and resolve to be on time to formation. This is the school of the Rookie and this is how he learns the impossible. "Take therefore no thought for the morrow, for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

The next quota of men come into camp; we have graduated; they are the rookies; we are the soldiers; we laugh; they look puzzled.

Then came the winter, and what a winter! Arthur Mometer said it was zero hour all the time. Of course he did not know. He was a Rookie, but somehow it didn't make it any warmer nor the snow less deep. We shovelled snow and froze doing it, we had exercises and we froze doing that, we drilled with the same result. Live horses took the place of those ever-to-be-remembered wooden monstrosities. We groomed them and they bit us. We exercised them and they kicked us. But we got hard and we got health and we became soldiers. Individuality was superseded by discipline.

About this time a touch of war and Hun Hellishness was brought home to us. William S. McNair, Colonel of the 6th Field Artillery was promoted in France and ordered to America to command our Brigade. Accordingly he left France on the U. S. S. "Antilles". At about 6.45 in the morning of October 17th a German submarine succeeded in torpedoing his boat. She sank immediately with the loss of about 65 lives. The General was in the water for some three quarters of an hour, when he was taken into a life boat. Six hours later one of the convoy, the Morgan yacht "Corsair" returned from trying to find the submarine and took aboard all the survivors. They returned to France and two weeks later the General again sailed for home on the transport "Tenadores". The "Tenadores" has since been sunk by a mine, but happily for the Brigade it was not on this voyage.

Christmas came and with it the joy of home for a few, but the majority of the men must stay in camp. It was all part of the great task we had undertaken. We accepted it as such. Transportation was not available to move our now vast army to its homes. We made merry, or rather, we did better than that; we pretended to make merry. We sang the songs we had rehearsed for the occasion. It was a holiday. There were no drills. We had time to think. We can be honest now. Our thoughts were not those of the schoolboy on his holiday with his plans for stockings and Christmas tree, dinner and stomach ache. They were far-away thoughts of things, once commonplace and taken for granted, now suddenly and forever dearer than life itself; things which in fact made life worth while. Home, loved, of course, but so much a part of us that we had grown to accept it as a matter of right. But strangely enough our thoughts carried us farther. We found that we were longing for the little individual problems of our daily routine in the past,--problems that had once perplexed and annoyed us we now craved as a hungry man craves food.

So on the range, the officers acquired the theoretical elements of artillery firing. They learnt to figure their data with accuracy and to convey it to their batteries in terse and comprehensive commands. The men in their turn were seeing the purpose of the monotonous daily drills of the six months past and the value of team work. They acquired an intimate knowledge of the pieces they were serving; the delicacy of the mechanism and the consequent necessity for accurate laying. They responded with alacrity to the orders of their superiors, and the guns responded to the slightest touch of the crews. All were alert, smart, prompt,--officers and men alike, fascinated with the possibilities of the game they were rapidly learning to play. Even the details, after months of labor, became proficient at the wig wag, semaphore, buzzer, map-making and sketching; in short, all of those things which we discovered later, played such an important part in winning the war.

So when the government inspectors began to look us over and rumors flew faster, we were not found wanting. The wheels were oiled and the spirit was there.

But here I am rudely stopped by the adjutant of the 301st who says we can't leave Devens without a Horse Show. Of course he is right. It can't be done, although it does seem tough after having oiled the wheels to such perfection. However what must be done shall be done gracefully; so thought Captain Page at the second hurdle where he decided to make the rest of the trip on his ear.

And the horses, too, grasped the spirit. Like many people they enjoyed the show from without the ring better than within it. Some came on the scene with dignity, only to bolt the next minute, not to reappear. Some merely confounded their riders by refusing jumps, while others were unmannered enough to refuse to show. For all that, it was a Horse Show and one of which to be proud.

Since ceremonies are in order, let us not forget the prayer which took place one memorable day on the Parade Ground with the entire Division drawn up for the occasion. Here a horse also figured,--the Division Adjutant's. As the parson began to pray, the horse started to jump and those who were nearest insisted that the adjutant outdid the parson. I will not say, for I could hear the adjutant and I could not hear the parson. This was the last time the Division was together as a unit.

One day toward the end of June a long train was spotted in the quartermaster yards. Trucks were soon busy carrying officers, men and their baggage in that direction. Of course, nobody knew that an advance party of some hundred officers and three hundred men had been secretly ordered to report to the Commanding General, Port of Embarkation, New York, for transportation overseas. On June 27th they sailed on the British liner "Justicia", which was sunk on her return trip. But the American soldier is no fool. He has learnt to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut, to believe about half he sees and nothing he hears. He was more sure now that the Division was about to sail for France than if he had read it in every newspaper in the United States.

In another two weeks rumors were forgotten. On July 10th the Division was ordered overseas. This was fact. The air was charged with excitement, which however found its expression in orderly and untiring hustle and bustle. Men, animals and transportation were all worked overtime, but even balky army trucks seemed to go for once with a will. The labors of the last ten months were not to be in vain. We were to have a chance to practise what we had learnt and perhaps to show the Hun a few tricks of his own game.

The Artillery were the last to leave. It was not a difficult task. We were to receive our materiel in France. Individual equipment only was to accompany the troops, for we had nothing else. The few guns we drilled with were out of date and not used abroad. The 302nd, and 303rd regiments were already motorized on paper, so horses were no longer needed for them, but the 301st must have shed bitter tears for the beautiful animals they had spent so much time and energy to condition and train.

Twenty-eight lieutenants of the 302nd left ahead of their regiment and sailed from Boston on the "Katoomba" which touched at Halifax on its way to Liverpool.

Of that last journey from Devens to Boston on July 15th there is nothing to chronicle. We were again for that brief period of time individuals. Thought and not action crowded the hour. And what a curious collection of thoughts they were. Each was absorbed with the things nearest and dearest, soon to be far away. But there were other, exciting thoughts. We were on our way! What boats were to carry us? The sea! What were we going to accomplish? And that far-away France,--what was it like? And war, what was it like? Would we come back?

The train stopped. "Fall out". There was a scramble for one's possessions, followed by another for our places on the platform. We were marched on board and to our bunks, where we left our belongings and hastened on deck. All was again hustle and excitement. The gang planks were lowered, the hawsers dropped. The whistles were blowing and we were off for France,--off for the war, July 16th, 1918.

Our boat was the "Winifredian". Soon we were absorbed in our surroundings. There were twenty-three ships in our convoy, curious in their camouflage, but then all was strange to most of us, who were not used to ocean liners. And the harbor had its fascinations. Comparatively speaking we were men of leisure. Jest once more asserted itself. Our quarters while not altogether to our taste, like most other things in the army would have to do, since there was no alternative. We turned in and strangely enough we slept.

Then sounded that good old familiar bugle with the good old familiar:

Where were we? Oh yes! On our way to France. We dressed hurriedly and got up on deck. The convoy was still there but not all of it. Four ships had disappeared and various theories were propounded. But just as the official dopster had got them well sunk by a submarine and was counting the casualties, it was announced that they had put into Halifax. Apparently the convoy was too large and unwieldy, so four boats had to drop out, one of which was the "Novara" with the 301st on board. However the other two regiments were still in the convoy and we proceeded on our way. We had boat drill and we wore life preservers, and we got rather bored with both. As for guard duty and setting up exercises they bored us eight months before. Seasickness is preferable to either, and there were a good many of us sick.

While we were sailing merrily across the North Atlantic, the 301st had disembarked at Halifax and was playing with the Canadian troops there and thereabouts. But it was only for a week, when they were again on their way, this time on the "Abinsi".

As the 301st left Canada, the other two regiments landed in England, one at Liverpool, another at Bristol, and Brigade Headquarters at Avonmouth on July 31st.

The next novelty was the English railway carriage or coach, as they call it. It was the latest model limousine with side entrances and compartments. We tried them and landed at Camp Mornhill near Winchester, where we found the twenty-eight officers of the 302nd who had sailed from Boston just ahead of us. A week later the 301st came to Winchester, but they had become somewhat exclusive in Canada and so on August eighth they went to Romsey instead of our camp. Winchester apparently produces a good deal of mud and a lot of rain. At any rate it was not sufficiently alluring to detain us for long. We proceeded to Southampton. "I say does it always rain here?" But before our British friend got around to answering us we were again on the move,--this time to a Channel steamer, and France. So we were really going to France and the war, and not for a tour of the world.

On August 3rd the steamer that took Brigade Headquarters and the 303rd across the English Channel, or La Manche as the French call it, was one of our own,--and hence, a good boat. She used to run between Boston and New York, and her name used to be "The Yale". Than which there is but one better: "The Harvard". The 302nd crossed on her the next day.

The 301st was still about a week behind the rest of the Brigade. They sailed from Southampton on August 14th and also landed at Le Havre.

"So this is Frogland! Look at the frogs,--wooden shoes and all! Even the little children speak French here." But they did not give us time to get acquainted. Again we were off, this time on a French train. They have them like the British, but this one looked like the variety we used to play with as kids, only each car says on the outside "40 Hommes, 8 Chevaux." We knew not what it meant but the stench was indicative.

Two days got us to Bordeaux. We arrived on August 6th and Brigade Headquarters was established on August 7th at Gradignan in a very attractive villa with beautiful grounds. The 301st also established Headquarters at Gradignan, on August 17th, and billeted their men in the village. You will notice that here they were more than a week behind us. They account for this by an aeroplane attack at Rouen. The 302nd was billeted in two little villages, Ville Nave and Pont de la Maye, a few kilometres from Brigade Headquarters. The 301st Ammunition Train was at Cadaujac.

We seemed doomed to lose a regiment. At Havre the 303rd was ordered to Clermont Ferrand for its training.

While the regiments were en route from the United States to France, the Advance Schools Detachment of the Brigade were wandering over Europe. From Liverpool they went to Southampton and Le Havre, then to Le Valdahon near the Swiss border. There they spent a couple of weeks and saw some American artillery training and a few Hun planes. From Le Valdahon the contingent from the 303rd went to Clermont and those of the other two regiments went to Souge, near Bordeaux.

It was about this time that we were informed that we were no longer a part of the 76th Division, but were to be a Brigade of Corps Artillery. It did not cause many tears as the 76th was already doing duty as a replacement division with no chance of going to the front as a unit. Our tables of organization were changed accordingly and we were rapidly equipped for duty in our new capacity. The 303rd regiment was issued G. P. F.s, the famous French 155 m. m. long rifle with a range of about 17,000 metres. The 301st got the world renowned French 75, the best known gun of the war, and the 302nd got American 4.7 rifles about which nothing was known.

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