Chapter II: Part 2

We were not delayed long. Then with Belle Aire Farm behind us, we rapidly deployed and took up our formation in platoon and half platoon columns facing and about one hundred yards from the wire of the main position. The entire command took cover in shell holes, in depressions, behind mounds or clusters of dead weeds ready to spring forward in force at the proper moment. I had time to make sure that all was in readiness as planned and get back to the center. The mist had lifted and enemy machine gunners near the edge of the wood, especially those with nests in trees, were blazing away recklessly.

Promptly at six fifty-five (all watches had been synchronized) our big guns, miles behind us, almost simultaneously began to bark and boom. Then came the shells, a low moaning roar at first, the sound rising in pitch something like a slowly operated steam siren whistle, then increasing in volume and shrillness till it seemed like a mighty tornado coming right at us. The noise was so great and so sudden that it was almost unbearable. Then they began to explode all along, most of them just in front of us. Words are utterly inadequate to describe this awful cataclysm as it felt and seemed to us.

We had figured that the enemy would drop his barrage first in front of Belle Aire Farm. That’s why we had gotten through that position so hastily and it was fortunate that we advanced as far as we did even at the risk of being too close to our own barrage, for almost immediately the dirt and rocks began to fly behind us--not in front of the Belle Aire wire, but right on the position itself. Some one had been telephoning. We were too close to our own barrage, but I knew it would advance in a few minutes, and the enemy barrage was entirely too close behind us. Talk about being between two fires. A curtain of fire from our own artillery just ahead of us and a wall of the most intense and concentrated fire from batteries guarding Metz falling immediately in our rear, the shells passing each other not far above our heads. A few from each side fell short.

To be killed or rendered unconscious is easy, but to have to live through a situation like that right out in the open is beyond all power to describe. Our chances for survival and success hung in the balance, the suspense was maddening. The enemy barrage would soon be lowered in front of the main wire--right where we were. It might be lowered any second. I decided that if he lowered it we would rush into our own barrage rather than stay where we were, for as many of us as possible must get through that wire.

I kept looking at my watch, ready to give the signal that would be relayed along our line. It was six fifty-eight, then finally six fifty-eight and a half; at last it got to be six fifty-nine. If that enemy barrage lowered then, our casualties would be enormous and our chances for success almost gone. It was bad enough as it was. That was the longest minute I ever spent.

Promptly at seven, as scheduled, our barrage jumped and in a few seconds practically all of our shells were falling beyond the wire. This was our time to get through and quickly, if ever. All along the front our boys went for those entanglements. Talk about wire entanglements. They had recently been repaired and strengthened. Most of the wire was the heavy new German type, with barbs an inch and a half long and less than an inch apart. It required heavy two-handed cutters with handles two and a half feet long to cut it. Small cutters were useless for cutting here. The wide belts were not only criss-crossed back and forth in all directions on stakes and on chevaux-de-frise, but woven in every conceivable way as high as a man’s head back among the trees.

There were pits and trenches with wire thrown in loose and in coils covered with light limbs and leaves for men to fall into. We had no tanks. They set off mines, many of which blew holes sixty to seventy feet in diameter. Grenades and bombs were suspended from limbs and in the brush in such a way that stepping on or touching a certain stick or wire would explode them. Machine guns were placed at varying distances back in the wood, some on little camouflaged platforms in trees, some in trenches and some in cement “pill boxes” located so as to sweep and enfilade every section of the wire.

High ranking officers from the rear as well as low ranking ones who swarmed up to visit the place after the armistice were amazed at the strength of the position, and when they saw it at close range the predominant question was, “How did they ever get through?” And they only saw it from the outside edge, for no one was allowed into the wood. It was saturated with gas for days.

The entire Bois Frehaut, which means Frehaut Woods, was wired every few hundred yards in front of trench systems and enfilading machine guns. There were deep rocky ravines, steep hills, large patches of heavy undergrowth filled with wire, traps, mines and pitfalls of every description, also magnificent dugouts and a most complete system of ’phone and signal lines.

The platoons and half platoons went through in single file, strong men in front taking turns at cutting wire and those behind bending back or securing the loose ends as well as possible with the small cutters. There was from a hundred and fifty to two hundred yards interval between detachments. It was impossible for them to see each other after entering the wood, so that until their objectives were reached each outfit to all intents and purposes was an independent command.

Practically every one had penetrated the first or outer entanglements when the enemy laid his barrage right on us. The first men through were going after the machine guns and snipers that were bothering them most, crawling around behind or flanking them, using hand grenades and bayonets, firing with automatic rifles and taking pot shots at those in trees. Being through the first system of wire we could scatter somewhat and take advantage of shell holes, trenches, even hollows.

But how any one lived under that fire is still a mystery to me. Enemy artillery had gotten word by telephone or airplane, probably both, that we were into the wood, and had decided to end us right there. Stones, dirt, shrapnel, limbs and whole trees filled the air. The noise and concussion alone were enough to kill one. Talk about shell shock. The earth swayed and shook and fairly bounced with the awful impact. Flashes of fire, the metallic crack of high explosives, the awful explosions that dug holes fifteen and twenty feet in diameter, the utter and complete pandemonium and the stench of hell, your friends blown to bits, the pieces dropping near--even striking you. If anything can be more terrifying, more nerve-breaking in this world than a concentrated fire from heavies such as that, I am unable to conceive of it. It’s many times worse than the worst thing one can imagine. It can’t be described because there is nothing you have experienced, unless the thing itself, with which to compare it.

There were many guns defending Metz and this was a concentration of heavy caliber fire--we were the only ones advancing just then. After what seemed a lifetime he lowered it still more to the point where our barrage was dropping ahead of us, then it slowly crept back over us to the Belle Aire wire. Several times it passed over us, rather on us, in this combing process, before we reached our goal. Other batteries were shelling our back areas and still others were shelling us promiscuously.

But the boys kept on, taking advantage of any available cover at times, but resuming, silencing machine guns that still were active, bombing dugouts and bayoneting or shooting all the enemy that had lingered too long. Only by special effort did I secure three live Huns.

By nine thirty-five all platoons assigned to the first line, but two, were represented on the line of our objectives. As prearranged this word reached me through runners. The two outfits had been delayed by machine gun nests, but they soon came up. By ten o’clock liaison was fully established, combat groups had been located and were digging in, machine guns and trench mortars were being placed, and in other ways we were getting ready to withstand counter attacks as well as artillery fire, which, if we held, soon would include more gas. I had sent two platoons of the support company to help protect our right flank, which was the eastern edge of the wood.

So I wrote a message, put it into the small aluminum shell on the leg of a pigeon. The man released him and we watched him rise and circle, then head southward with word for the Commanding General fifteen miles back at Division Headquarters in Marbache that Bois Frehaut was ours--all objectives reached, were holding and would continue to hold.

Then I took my staff and Artillery Liaison officers and my runners and went back to a prearranged locality in the edge of the wood and established my permanent headquarters or P. C. in an open shell hole. A few men set to work with spades and picks to shape it up and give it a little level floor space.

A Bosch airplane appeared over the edge of the wood flying low and saw us. He circled a few times and dropped out some signals. In just four minutes by my watch we heard two big shells, one just behind the other, coming right at us. After a few months’ experience you get so you can tell from the sound just about where a shell is going to hit. One of these struck twenty-five yards beyond us, the other almost the same distance to our left. In less than a minute we heard two more coming the same route. One struck twenty yards short, the other not quite so short, but a little to the right. They had the range. The guns were five and a half or six miles away.

After the sixth shot had just missed I ordered everybody out of the hole. They occupied others a short distance away. The airplane, so low that the men were shooting at it with their rifles, noted this scattering, but he evidently noted, too, that I had remained, so the firing continued. I felt a sort of pride about sticking to my headquarters. The thirty-sixth shell fired at it struck right near the edge and covered me up. Oh, yes, I was given energetic assistance in getting out. We cleaned out the hole and resumed business. Now that the airplane had signaled “a hit” and gone, it was as safe as any other place in that locality.

People said it seemed miraculous that with so many big shells fired at it and hitting on all sides in such a small area, each one had failed to hit directly in that big hole. But I was not conceited enough to think that the Huns were firing shells that curved by magic for my special benefit. I had estimated during the “Death March” just before dawn that I had one chance in three of coming through that operation alive and one in twelve of escaping serious wounds or gassing. I believed in God all right, but I did not think then and do not now believe that He was down there taking an active part in that horrible orgy of suffering and destruction. I felt that if anything other than vain humanity was fighting on or with either side it must be his Satanic Majesty. I was not trying to palm off on God the things that be Caesar’s. However--well, that calls for another lecture. But don’t any of you get an idea that I’m trying to belittle true religion. I think it’s the greatest thing by far in the world or accessible to the world today.

This little digression about something besides the battle, I suppose, is the result of a habit I got into in the front lines of thinking when things were unusually dangerous and there was nothing to do but let it work for the time being, of something pleasant and wholly unassociated with the nasty business in hand.

I remember how Lieutenant Stuart, my Battalion Scout Officer (he was half Indian) when we had finished discussing the details of a patrolling expedition he was going to lead in a few minutes--and it took a lot of nerve to prowl around no-man’s land in the dead of night--would pause, then with a broad smile and chuckling, a little, would tell me some trifling story, usually about something that occurred when he was a small child away back in Arizona. Then, still grinning and chuckling, he’d get up and say: “Well, Major, it’s time to pull out. The boys are waiting. See you as soon as I get back.” I never felt right sure he’d come back.

My Adjutant, too, when we’d be waiting for some terrible thing to happen during the night, expecting an assault, shells dropping promiscuously and perhaps a bombing plane buzzing overhead, used to tell some of the most outlandish stories of his experiences while a regular in Hawaii or the Philippines or some place. I suppose all men exposed to real danger had some way of “kidding” themselves along under most any conditions. If they didn’t have they were in a bad way.

Soon after I was resurrected from the shell hole a runner from the right front company (by the way, he was sighted in Division orders and should have had a medal for the way he got to me) stumbled in exhausted, with a note from Green (who, under machine gun fire, had climbed a tree to get a better view) advising me that the enemy was preparing in force to rush our right flank. Two platoons, one from the support, the other from the Reserve Company, and my two remaining reserve machine guns had barely time to reach the spot to which they were ordered when the assault started. By flanking our would-be flankers as they came over a ridge, they saved the day. Several attacks against our front failed to succeed because of well directed fire.

And still the bombardment continued without a pause. It seemed to me that almost all the big guns that side of Metz were firing on Bois Frehaut and the old no-man’s land just behind it. And I learned afterward that they were, for we were the only ones that had taken and were holding any special territory. They had been expecting a drive on Metz for some time and their artillery especially was well prepared. Shrapnel and high explosive contact shells of all sizes fell on all parts of the area. They knew more about the armistice than we did and his artillery seemed to want to do all the damage it could while the war lasted. Just before dark on the tenth he began throwing over great quantities of gas and continued to mix it in all night long. They seemed determined to run us out or exterminate us.

For twenty-eight long hours we advanced and _held_ under a bombardment that in my opinion had not been surpassed if equalled on a similar area held by American troops during a similar length of time. The enemy had allowed the Allies some time before to get as close to Metz as he intended they should get--that was the outside wire of Bois Frehaut. We were not attacking in great force after hours of artillery preparation with almost innumerable big guns supporting us, though what artillery was in action behind us did excellent work. Neither was the enemy fighting a rear guard action while his main forces beat a hasty retreat.

At ten o’clock the night of the tenth I received a copy of orders indicating that a battalion was to enter the western part of the wood during the night and advance on the enemy through my left front company, “G,” at five o’clock next morning. I smiled in my gas mask, for I had watched the efforts of a certain battalion backed by another battalion, to come up into the woods during the afternoon. They got as far as Ferme de Belle Aire--part of them--and at dark withdrew. Very early the morning of the eleventh the “attacking” battalion got within the outer wire of Bois Frehaut. By five A. M. two officers and a handful of men had worked their way as far as the headquarters of a certain “G” Company platoon. Our barrage started on the dot. The two officers, followed by the handful of men, advanced beyond our front line and looked about. One of the officers was promptly wounded, and--well there was no attack.

During that entire twenty-eight hours Signal Outfits from Division Headquarters were trying to get a telephone line up to my P. C. But the wire was always either shot in two or the men were and I had no ’phone until after the armistice. It was almost impossible for runners to get between me and our old front lines behind us, and still more difficult for my runners to get between me and my own Company and Platoon leaders in the woods. But they did it.

All day, all night and up to eleven o’clock next morning it lasted. By midnight the entire wood fairly reeked with gas. No one dared eat or drink because of it. Despite all our precautions and efforts, we were rapidly being wiped out. I have heard of officers and of men and of units--large ones and small ones, white and also colored, that became panic stricken and useless under fire that was feeble and light both in intensity and duration compared to this, but I am ready at any time to testify that twelve hundred and fifty officers and men (colored) _did_ advance and that the command did hold _without showing the faintest symptoms of panic or retreat_.

All of you who were with the Three Hundred and Sixty-fifth Infantry prior to September twenty-third, 1918, know Colonel Vernon A. Caldwell of West Point and the Regular Army. He organized and commanded the Regiment until he was made a Brigadier General and left us on the date named. To him I attribute much of the credit for our success in taking and holding Bois Frehaut. He had taught us “simple and direct means and methods” and had taught us to “think tactics” in a way that proved of inestimable value under the supreme test. For Colonel Caldwell was one of our professional officers who did not have to pose as a “disciplinarian” to get by.

You might like to know about that action from the standpoint of tactics and how it was that many of us survived without permanent injury. It is very interesting. I wish I might explain it in detail. To me it is more interesting from the standpoint of courage, efficiency and unswerving devotion to duty displayed by both officers and men. It was a fitting climax to an enviable battalion record of front line service, and an accomplishment most creditable to the American Army and to its colored soldiers.

I wish I had time to tell you of the many especially glorious deeds of heroism performed by officers and men. I use the word _glorious_, for to me, even that is a weak word to use in describing the heroic actions of a man utterly and deliberately, premeditatedly indifferent to his personal safety and bent solely on duty plus a desire to help and save others. And to me, too, that is the only thing about war, unless it is the fortitude of those left at home in suspense and unselfishly doing all in their power to help, that comes any way near being _glorious_.

If they’d only kill them outright instead of leaving them to suffer and die in agony perhaps hours (even months) later. To see them suffering and be powerless to help them, and to know that many might be saved if it were possible to stop the slaughter long enough to give them proper medical attention. Many men died in Bois Frehaut or afterward who might have been saved, could they have been promptly and properly attended. What a hell of a game for _Christian_ nations to be playing and getting ready to play again, in the Twentieth Century A. D.

One little scene has bobbed up in my memory--the death of an “E” Company Runner. Late on the afternoon of the tenth I left my P. C. to get a view of a certain position. I had gone but a short distance when I stepped on something that attracted by attention. It was a human hand! Near it was a large spot of blood and a trail as though something had been dragged in the general direction of where our First Aid Dressing Station had been before it was blown up. My course lay a little to the right, but I followed the gruesome marks for about fifty yards and there huddled up in a little gulley laid the “E” Company Runner I had sent out with a message for Captain Sanders about two hours before.

Not only was his right arm off at the elbow, but his right side and leg were badly mangled. I thought he was dead, but bent over and put my hand on his forehead. His eyes opened. In them was a wistful, faraway look. I spoke, and with an apparent effort he got them focused, they brightened with recognition, and immediately, almost to my undoing, his body straightened! His right shoulder and the stub of an arm jerked! Utterly helpless, trembling on the very brink of eternity, he had come to “Attention” and had _saluted_ his Major!

Then I noticed he was making a pitiful effort to talk, and in some way, I can’t explain just how, I got the impression that there was something in his pocket he wished to see. I took out a wallet and found what I knew he wanted. It was a post-card photo of a pretty colored girl holding in her arms a dark, smiling baby. Shells were screeching over. Just then one tore the earth nearby and sprinkled us with dirt. I propped his head against my knee and held the picture close to his eyes. A proud, satisfied look came into them, then a calm, tired smile. He seemed looking farther and farther away. Another terrific, bouncing jar and the bloody, mud smeared form relaxed. Another brave comrade had “gone west.”

A little farther on I saw a big private leaning against the splintered trunk of a tree, his bowels all hanging out. No one else was near. He seemed to be in delirium and was crying pitifully like a little child for “Mamma.” When he saw me he stared for an instant, then jumped up and yelled, “Major Ross is with us! Go to it, boys!” and fell over--dead. Then I thought about all I had heard to the effect that you have to treat soldiers like dogs--especially colored ones--to gain discipline and inspire respect. I thanked God I didn’t have to.

I might tell you how that morning during the advance, I happened to be looking at a non-com. section leader a little way to my left when there was a wicked crack and a blinding flash just above and in front of him, and how I saw his headless body--the blood gushing--actually step and lunge forward against a rock. I could tell you about strong men who went raving mad (and were still insane when I last heard) in that horrible turmoil. I could tell for hours about awful things in Bois Frehaut--let alone previous experiences in other places--the days were bad but the long weird nights. They are too gruesome, too sickening to talk about long at a time even here where we’re all safe, rested and well. No wonder the men who actually, personally underwent such suffering won’t talk about it much. But the memory of those awful things, pass it off as they may, is seared deep into their very souls and will haunt them at times until their dying day.

There were people in America and also in France who wore officers’ uniforms and had the time of their lives and there were some who, if there is justice to come, will surely pay for their ridiculous arrogance during and following the war. Militarism is one of the disgusting institutions I fought to help eliminate. Yes, it will be eliminated--and prevented. At a glance just now on the surface, in most nations, things look much as before. The same old gang is in control, but lying and allying, brow beating, scheming a little more than was necessary heretofore. Since the World War (the result of worldly success and money worship) started in 1914, things have happened. For instance, the acceleration of the change in woman’s status. Votes are merely a result of that change. This phase alone, and what goes with it--the new state of sex affairs--_necessitates_ and will help bring about a changing of human viewpoint.

Whether or not certain persons and classes of persons like it, Democracy is in the world to stay, and staying will increase and flourish as the people learn. Reversion for the masses to ignorance, feudalism, slavery is unthinkable--impossible. Is the Almighty God a human fool? Has humanity ever or will it ever get away with the assumption that He is? Think of those fine young victims I mentioned lying in and hanging on the wire in front of Belle Aire Farm.

More important than militarism and war, or than politics, or than how to acquire fortunes, or than anything else is the learning--not just about it--but _how to attain_ righteousness, peace, contentment, true happiness. I put righteousness first for there’ll be none of those things humanity longs for without it. There’ll be plenty of hypocrisy, but not much genuine righteousness until more of us get our minds, our hearts, our aspirations set on something higher than materialism and worldliness. You can not _legislate_ righteousness into the hearts of humanity.

A host of thinking people are beginning to suspicion this to such an extent that they are interested in finding out the truth--the _remedy_. Now there are persons rushing about, others lying in wait to tell you the “truth.” Or they will hand you a pamphlet or sell you a book or refer you to one written by some person who makes great claims or insinuations about having “inside information.” There may be enough truth to it to fool the thoughtless or credulous and it may be insidious enough to worry even the wise. There are several that make startling claims, but none have _yet_ overcome any material laws. There are numerous courses of study and “systems,” not claiming to be Christian or religious, that guarantee to, and no doubt do, help you in business, add to your success, cure your ailments--some of them--and benefit your health.

Almost innumerable panaceas for all ills are advanced. Some of those religionists and uplifters with the “inside information” and “special revelations,” etc., may be sincere and many people may believe whatever it is. The same is true of the Turks and the South Sea Island Head-Hunters.

But in so far as I can find out there never lived on this earth but _one Man_ who taught the things we need to and want to know about--who absolutely lived up to them Himself and who proved them and demonstrated them beyond all peradventure. You will find by honest, careful study, experiment and thought that these things and these alone are _practical_. That Man was born in a stable, died on a cross and left an estate consisting of the clothes He wore. He’s the man who said, “Love your enemies.” “Lay up your treasures in Heaven.” “My Kingdom is not of this world.” “If you love me, keep my commandments or sayings.” “Except a man be born again....” “By their fruits shall ye know them,” etc., etc. And He’s the One Christendom claims to follow.

Fortunately certain men who knew Him personally and others who knew His Apostles personally wrote about Him--what He said and what He _did_. Some of those writings were gotten together and compiled into a book. That book is called “The New Testament.” Now with all due respect and consideration for the motives and intentions of many of those who have since written, some of whom claim or infer “special” or “inside” information, I humbly suggest that the logical, safe, reliable place for each of us to learn about Christ is in the New Testament. Let’s find out whether He really said anything applicable and worth while _now_, whether He meant it, whether He lived it and proved it, and, above all, let us stick to it until we find out _what it was and is_. The world needs it badly--needs it pure and undiluted, unadulterated--needs to know what it is without concessions and without reservations. If the people are smart enough to govern themselves (and I think they are and that they’re improving in that ability right along) they are now at last smart enough to study the New Testament itself by themselves and for themselves. How can any Christian logically object to that?

The only solution for humanity’s problems and difficulties lies in a _correct_ understanding of the teachings of Christ--not some vanity tickling subterfuge. Some persons think they know all about it now. No human is raising the dead or stilling the tempest these days and that “know it all” attitude is the result of fleshly vanity--not knowledge. So let’s start or review, beginning in the primary grade or the kindergarten. Many seem to have started in the post-graduate courses or at least in the senior class. I have a suspicion that selfishness, vanity, swell headedness, worldly pride, material ambition (whether called material or not), and so on, are the direct opposite to Christianity.

I thought I knew a lot about religion, but after they led me out of Bois Frehaut I started in in the primary grade to try to learn about Christianity--so to speak. The world must learn _what it is_, then begin learning to apply it or live it. It will be done. The churches will help. They’ll help or quit. Many of them are about through now. But Christianity as Christ taught it won’t quit. It will soon be the paramount subject of conversation and consideration. The world has reached a stage of material advancement. The people are awake, enlightened and organized to such an extent that things will become unbearable--impossible without it.

I couldn’t very well leave out all mention of Christianity in this lecture, for the things my Battalion fought to help make possible and to bring about in the world are in one sense closely allied to Christianity. There couldn’t be much real Christianity without Democracy and there can’t be any real Democracy without Christianity. I don’t claim to be much of a Christian, but I wish I had time to tell you what I think it is, and why I think so and what _makes_ me think so, and so on. You look into it yourselves. And now we must get out of Bois Frehaut.

Not until ten-thirty o’clock on the morning of November eleventh did I receive orders relative to an armistice. The third runner sent out got through to me with a Division order. I was in direct command of the principal advancing done in attempts on the tenth and eleventh toward Metz and this was the first definite word I had about the armistice. We had heard that such a thing was expected but I supposed it would be several days, maybe weeks, before it went into effect. We knew that German officers had gone through the lines under a flag of truce to meet representatives of the High Allied Command, but we did not know what the result of those parleys had been. Some thought hostilities would not cease for months.

Therefore, imagine our joy in that unbearable shellhole, when we found the war had but _thirty minutes_ to last. Of those with me at the time some shouted for happiness and some stared in amazement fearing it was too good to be true. I sent the word out to my leaders and sat looking at my watch. Artillery fire increased in intensity if any difference and enemy machine gunners elevated their pieces and were spraying the wood with bullets. It would have been hard luck to get hit then. Promptly at eleven o’clock all fire began to lessen and in a few minutes had ceased. The World War had stopped.

Not only our men but the Germans also seemed overjoyed. Soon after the buglers had sounded “cease firing” the Huns rushed out of their positions and our men met them between the lines. They actually shook hands and slapped each others’ backs. They traded trinkets and were holding a veritable reception until our officers succeeded in getting the men back into the lines. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it.

During the afternoon I received word that our Lieutenant-Colonel, commanding the Regiment, together with some members of his staff, had been badly gassed in a dugout at Regimental Headquarters and forced to go to the hospital and that I, being next in rank, was temporarily in command of the Regiment. My face was so swollen that I could see a little only with one eye. My ears had been bleeding and I had to be yelled at to hear. I was scratched and bruised and my voice refused to work. A sort of reaction had set in and I felt weak and sick. We passed a row of dead and pieces of dead and some more dead and finally reached the limousine that had been sent for me.

We were proceeding slowly because of shell holes in the road when one of the men with me said, “There’s a man ahead singing and waving his arms like he’s crazy.” I could see that he was rared back and singing or yelling and every few steps he stopped and waved his arms and executed some strange dance movements. When we overtook him I stopped the car and asked him what was the matter. “Sir--Major,” he said, his eyes beaming, “I--I just can’t praise God enough for letting me come out of that woods alive.”

The outfit was too tired to move far that day. But the next morning the regimental band came to me in a body and asked permission to march up the road a mile or so to meet the Second Battalion, which under my orders was coming to Loisey, where there were comfortable billets, to rest. I walked out into the village square, as Regimental Commander, to welcome my heroic battalion--the battalion that had _earned_ undying fame for itself, its regiment, its brigade, its division and for the American colored race.

Soon I heard the band playing as it never played before and they came into view marching up the main street of the town. There at the head, limping and dirty, was my big senior captain, Sanders. Farther back I could recognize Green, captain of “H,” stocky and ragged, marching abreast of his company guide. Others I noticed, and the absence of others, and many thoughts flashed through my mind as I watched them marching toward me.

Sanders saw me and knew what to do. I never gave many fancy orders, it wasn’t necessary in that outfit. When the middle of the column was opposite he bawled in a hoarse voice--but they, too, knew what to do--“Squads left--March! Battalion--Halt!” Those heels clicked. Their rifles, like one piece, in three clear-cut movements, snapped down to the “order.” Again he yelled, or tried to yell, “Present, arms!” Again two distinct and snappy movements. Sanders faced about standing at salute and there before me at “present arms”--not much larger than one company should be, stood all that was left of my wonderful Second Battalion!--My heroes of Bois Frehaut!

Note: Many were wholly incapacitated for many days, whose names were not turned in in final reports of “casualties.”

I brought them to the “order” and stood spell bound. It was by far the most touching, the most thrilling, the most awe-inspiring ceremony I ever experienced or witnessed. There they stood--covered with mud, stained and spattered with blood, their clothes, what was left of them, torn and ripped to shreds. They looked emaciated--haggard, but about those erect, motionless figures, those big steady eyes, about their whole proud, manly bearing was something of that true nobility of unselfishness and sacrifice that is beyond description.

These men had suffered the tortures of the damned. They had faced all the engines of terror and destruction that fiendish man could invent. They had endured the shriek, the smash, the roar and pandemonium of hell. They had seen their comrades blown to bits or torn and mangled, and choked by gas. They had listened, powerless to help, through long, ghastly hours, to the pitiful, heart-breaking moans of the wounded and dying.

Yes, they had been tried, they had been tested, they had been weighed in the balance, they had been through a fiery crucible--and they were true gold. For many hard, long, weary weeks they had suffered and endured, and all for what they believed to be the preservation of our country, the advancement of Democracy and the betterment of mankind. I stood there looking, thinking--torn and choked by emotion--thrilled with admiration, and a feeling rapidly growing that I would make my soldiers a speech--an oration. But _what_ could I say? How could I say it? What could anyone in my place _say_? After several attempts I moved closer and whispered as loudly as I could, “Officers and men, your Major is proud of his Battalion!”

APPENDIX

History will concern itself as nearly as possible with _facts_. Relative to the World War the world believes and will believe what is stated by those who were in supreme authority and by those whose business it is dispassionately--mercilessly to ascertain and state the truth. Statements or accounts to the contrary, or that do not coincide, are merely ridiculous and can not stand.

Commonplace, every-day occurrences, occurrences that had no unusual bearing on anything of special importance, occurrences that were not exceptional, feats that were not particularly noteworthy from the standpoint of things as a whole, attempts that were not successful or were only partly successful--or if they cannot be logically and adequately proved--no matter how tremendous and how commendable they may be and may seem to those directly concerned--do not interest or convince very many, certainly not the general public--even now, and, of course, never will.

All accounts of American colored soldiers in France lay much stress on the Ninety-second Division’s attack, just preceding the armistice, on the defenses of Metz--conceded to be the most impregnable inland fortress or position in the world. To attack the world’s strongest fortress _means_ something, and if you attain any actual, clear cut, unquestionable success, and if the world knows about it, it means a great deal. Especially in a Democracy is public opinion of importance.

At the time this attack was launched, namely, the morning of November 10th, 1918, the Division had had sufficient experience in the line and was sufficiently well organized and equipped to be taken seriously as a combat Division. But, unfortunately, our activities against the defenses and under the guns of Metz, coming, as they did, immediately preceding the cessation of hostilities, a time when so much of interest and importance was transpiring, received little if any general publicity.

But, imagine my state of mind, having made a lecture to two colored audiences and having told my white friends about the wonderful accomplishments of my Colored Battalion, when I read an Associated Press article sent out from Washington which contained a paragraph in a letter credited to General John J. Pershing, which read as follows: “The Ninety-second Division, astride the Moselle, attacked at 7 a. m., November 10th and at 5 a. m., November 11th, advanced a short distance, but the troops had retired to cover in the face of repeated heavy fire when the commander of the attacking Brigade received information at 7:18 a. m. that an armistice would be effective....” etc.

My friends or any one’s friends reading or hearing of this statement credited to the Commander-in-chief of the American Expeditionary Forces would believe that the colored soldiers of the Ninety-second Division (the only complete colored combat division) had _attempted_ something against the fortifications of Metz but that they had _FAILED_!

It made Bois Frehaut a hoax. It made me a liar. It made any colored citizen a laughing stock who spoke of the great deeds and _accomplishments_ of colored soldiers under the guns of Metz.

Generalizations, even if authentic, are not _convincing_. Sweeping summaries about units differently engaged at different times and places change few opinions. Something specific, complete in itself, _satisfactorily provable to the skeptical_ must be shown, so it seemed up to me to secure and to preserve for the American colored soldier and for the American Negro, the credit for a most exceptional and glorious _achievement_. Immediately I wrote to a member of Congress, Hon. Will R. Wood, sent the extract from the Indianapolis Sunday Star of January 11th, 1920, and also the facts about the Ninety-second Division’s drive toward Metz.

After General Pershing had returned to Washington, following his tour of inspection, and had had the records fully looked into he wrote a letter to Mr. Wood dated March 1st, 1920. Mr. Wood sent the letter to me. General Pershing said that the paragraph as published was incorrect--that what he actually said in his letter was: “The Ninety-second Division, astride the Moselle attacked at 7 a. m., November 10th, and at 5 a. m., November 11th, renewed the attack. The renewed attack started at 5 a. m., November 11th advanced a short distance, but the troops had retired to cover in the face of reported heavy fire....” etc.

Even this statement, while perfectly true as to the attempts to advance on November 11th, gives a general impression of failure on the part of the Division in its advance toward Metz. It does not, however, make it impossible or untrue that the key position, Bois Frehaut, was captured in its entirety on the 10th and _continuously held_ until the armistice went into effect. The holding was really of more importance than the capturing. The orders were “capture and hold” and great emphasis was laid on the “hold.” But General Pershing goes on most fully and justly, as you will note, to state and show that the Second Battalion of the Three Hundred and Sixty-fifth Infantry did _take_ and did _hold_ the Bois Frehaut, and that _this Battalion fully accomplished_ its mission.

The General’s letter was published as part of an article, under the heading, “Pershing Sends Correct Report,” in the Indianapolis Star of March 9th, 1920. It was also copied in other papers. The letter in full follows:

AMERICAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCES

OFFICE OF THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF

March 1, 1920.

My dear Mr. Wood:

I regret that my absence from Washington has delayed this reply to
your letter of January 17th enclosing a letter of January 12th from
Major Ross.

Major Ross quotes a paragraph from a letter written by me as
published in the “Indianapolis Star” and objects to this paragraph as
unjust in so far as his battalion (2nd Battalion, 365th Infantry) is
concerned. As quoted by Major Ross the paragraph to which he objects
reads as follows:

“The 92nd Division, astride the Moselle, attacked at 7 a. m.,
November 10th and at 5 a. m., November 11th, advanced a short
distance, but the troops had retired to cover in the face of repeated
heavy fire when the commander of the attacking Brigade received
information at 7:18 a. m. that an armistice would be effective at
11 a. m. The Brigade Commander reports that he ordered all firing
stopped by 10:45 a. m. and that the firing was so stopped.”

The above quotation is incorrect. The paragraph as actually written
in my letter of November 21st was as follows:

“The 92nd Division, astride the Moselle, attacked at 7 a. m.,
November 10th and at 5 a. m., November 11th, renewed the attack. The
renewed attack started at 5 a. m., November 11th, advanced a short
distance, but the troops had retired to cover in the face of reported
heavy fire when the commander of the attacking Brigade received
information at 7:18 a. m. that an armistice would be effective at
11 a. m. The Brigade Commander reports that he ordered all firing
stopped by 10:45 a. m. and that the firing was so stopped.”

You will note that in the correct paragraph the reference to the
retirement of troops relates solely to the _renewed_ attack started
at 5 a. m., November 11th and does not concern the attack of November
10th. I think a careful examination of Major Ross’s letter shows
that his statements as to the work of his battalion do not assert
that any advance was made by the 2nd Battalion on November 11th.
Examination of the records shows that the 2nd Battalion did take
the Bois Frehaut on November 10th and that this battalion held this
position until the armistice went into effect.

The orders issued by the 183rd Brigade on the evening of November
10th for the operation of November 11th contemplated putting the 1st
Battalion of the 365th into position in the western part of Bois
Frehaut and--“the 2nd Battalion, 365th Infantry will be held in
support in its present position in the Bois Frehaut.” This clearly
shows that the 2nd Battalion, 365th Infantry, was not expected to
attack on November 11th; and taken with other evidence shows that the
2nd Battalion, 365th Infantry, held, on November 11th, the positions
which it had gained on November 10th.

The actual statements made by me in my letter of November 21st were
correct, based on the reports of the several commanders, and I think
that Major Ross will agree that there is nothing in what I have said
that reflects in any way upon the work of the 2nd Battalion, 365th
Infantry. That battalion appears to have done what was expected of
it on November 10th and on November 11th. As shown in the quotation
I have given above from the order issued November 10th for the
operation of November 11th, the 2nd Battalion was in support and was
not in the attacking line on the morning of November 11th.

I am enclosing herewith the papers enclosed with your letter of
January 17th.

Very sincerely,
(Signed) John J. Pershing.

The Honorable Will R. Wood,
House of Representatives,
Washington, D. C.

In view of the general opinion prevailing among American forces in France, and the impression of the American public at large relative to the Ninety-second Division’s drive toward Metz also relative to its experience in the Argonne as represented by the Three Hundred and Sixty-eighth Infantry in the attacking line, it seemed to me advisable to state what the result was of work done by attacking units, other than the Second Battalion of the Three Hundred and Sixty-fifth Infantry, in the advance on Metz fortifications on November 10th and 11th. It is especially well that I mentioned them since General Pershing says in effect (and the General knows and is regarded as an authority) that the Second Battalion, Three Hundred and Sixty-fifth Infantry _fully accomplished_ its mission, and also that attacks made on the 11th “advanced a short distance, but had retired to cover....”

No doubt, before reading my lecture, _some_ were of the opinion that the Ninety-second Division was rushing with irresistible force past and over strong points, regardless of all defenses, sweeping all before it and was only prevented from battering down the walls of the city of Metz itself by the armistice. As nearly every soldier, from General Pershing down, knows and as the final battle line as compared with the line on November 9th clearly proves, such was not the case. Had I indulged in glittering generalities to that effect, had I even inferred it, or had I left an impression that all units concerned, accomplished their missions, that is, succeeded in carrying out their orders, I would lay myself open to serious and just criticism, for as leader of the attack on the key position, which was the central position, it was my business to _know_ what happened on my front and on my flanks. I would be considered untruthful or at least an exaggerator, and all that I have said, if it has any effect at all, would detract from rather than add to the credit due the American colored soldier.

“Scott’s Official History of the American Negro in the World War,” written and compiled by Emmett J. Scott, special assistant to the Secretary of War, contains the general reports, less appendices and details, of the Commander of the Ninety-second Division and of the Commander of the One Hundred and Eighty-third Brigade relative to operations of November 10th and 11th. For your convenience I shall cite pages in Dr. Scott’s work.

I said something to the effect that the battalion of the white division on the left of the 367th’s front attacked, lost about 156 men in a few minutes and retired. I also said that the 367th Infantry on our left--just across the Moselle failed to accomplish its mission.

Page 151, Brigade Report, “At 10:30 a. m. a message from the Division was received that the attack of the 367th Infantry, 184th Brigade had been repulsed (on our left), but that two companies were being sent forward to reinforce their attack.”

Page 159, Division Report, “10 Nov. 9:30 hr.--Attack by 367th Infantry west of Moselle not prosecuted because of failure of 56th Infantry, 7th Division, to capture Preny. The report of the C. O., 367th Infantry at pages 2 and 3 shows the facts and reasons.”

Page 160, Division report, “Inasmuch as the 367th Infantry west of the Moselle made no advance due to the fact that it was necessary that the 7th Division should first capture Preny before an advance was practicable, no report is made here of enemy units engaged west of the Moselle.”

That, I take it, is enough to prove that no success was achieved by units advancing or to advance on our left. It is necessary to prove _that_ for the benefit of only a very few, for the overwhelming majority of Americans (owing to the effort to give all units equal credit and imply that all concerned succeeded) are ignorant, or seriously in doubt whether the 92nd Division or any of its units achieved any real success _anywhere_.

Now let us see about our brigade--the 183rd, which comprised the 365th and 366th infantry and the 350th Machine Gun Battalion. The Brigade report says, latter part of paragraph 2 on page 149, same book, “The object of this attack was to capture and hold the Boise Frehaut and the Bois Voivrotte (Bois Voivrotte is the name of the small wood I spoke of in the lecture, to our right) with the object of advancing the line of observation of the Marbache sector to the northern boundary of these woods.” So our brigade orders were to capture and hold these two woods, and, as we were advancing from the south, the line we were to hold respectively, was the _northern boundary_ of both these woods.

Page 149, paragraph 3 of Brigade report: “The attack was to be made on the Bois Frehaut by the 2nd Bn. 365th Inf., Major Warner A. Ross, commanding. The attack on the Bois Voivrotte was to be made by two platoons, 2nd Bn. 366th Inf. At the zero,” etc.

At the early hour of 8:12, the report says, page 150, a message had been relayed from Division headquarters to Brigade headquarters to the effect that Bois Voivrotte was completely occupied. It was very small compared to the positions the 2nd Bn. 365th Inf. was attacking. And the next entry, as given on page 150, is: “At 9 a. m. a message was received that sharp fighting by machine guns was going on in the Bois Voivrotte and the Bois Frehaut.” This was the case in Bois Frehaut at that time and at 8:30 when I sent that particular message relative to Bois Frehaut by pigeon. Now, the fact that machine gun fighting was going on in Bois Voivrotte means that either the 8:12 message about it being completely occupied was premature or that machine guns had been sent in by the enemy after the platoons of the 2nd Bn. 366th Inf. “completely occupied” it. For if enemy machine gunners were occupying and fighting in the wood it could not be said to be “completely occupied” by our troops.