MEMORIES OF BATTERY "F"

     The great war is won and our duties in the great army of Uncle 
Sam are ended. The time is drawing near when old comrades must part 
and some of us shall never meet again. It is not our aim to 
aggrandize, much less it is to criticise. In this brief thesis, 
intended primarily for those sturdy, independent lads who left their 
homes and professions to answer their country's call, we hope to 
record a few of the many hardships and also some of the pleasant 
experiences while in the service.
     On the afternoon of September 20, 1917, a motley crew of 
Mountaineers from West Virginia were assigned to Battery "F" at Camp 
Lee, Virginia. Then and there the new babe began its varied career. 
Soon these "rookies," along with others who came from Pennsylvania 
and Virginia, perfected the intricacies of squads "east" and "west," 
became efficient in the service of the three-inch piece, mastered the 
science of artillery firing and all the divers accomplishments of an 
artilleryman. After nine months of this strenuous life, which we 
later looked upon as luxurious, we became "hard as tacks" and anxious 
for the fray.
     At one o'clock on the morning of May 24, 1918, the clarion sound 
of "Call to Arms" broke the still night air and the boys arose and 
silently made their heavy packs and at the command, "Forward! March!" 
went staggering into the darkness. After hiking a few miles, feeling 
now like beasts of burden and drenched with perspiration, they came 
tottering into the train. Throwing aside their equipment and dropping 
upon the seats they were soon fast asleep. A few hours later we filed 
aboard the transport America.
     As the sun was going down on the evening of the twenty-sixth we 
embarked upon the vast Atlantic where lurked the dangers of mine, 
tempest and submarine. The voyage was uneventful.  Six meals were 
enjoyed daily - three down, three up. These youthful crusaders 
showed, too, unusual generosity, feeding the fish continuously.   
After fourteen days of violent emotions we landed at Brest, France.
     A few days were spent in this REST (?) Camp. We then entrained 
on what seemed to us a toy railroad. Twenty-four hours of weary 
traveling in this crowded conveyance brought us to that "ville" of 
pleasant memories, Redon.
Then began the daily routine of detail work, equitation and gun 
drill. Here we made our first acquaintance with Mlle. Soixante Quinze 
(the famous French Seventy-five). Memories of the kind and 
considerate treatment received here shall always remain with us and 
of all France this spot will hold a place in our hearts second only 
to that of home, where the equal of "Mamma's" cider, vin and rum can 
nowhere else be found, while in the evenings numerous promenades with 
shy mademoiselles along the banks of the old Canal de Vilaine, trying 
to master the intricacies of the French tongue, when all we could 
"parley" was "Mais, oui, oui" and "Ou, la, la." Although the time 
spent' here was arduous in the extreme, working from early morn till 
late at night, the parting was made with regret. The entire town 
turned out to bid us good-bye, God speed and a safe return.
     Fully equipped with horses and guns we set out on a bright and 
beautiful morning in early August. After four days of travel, 
bivouacking each night on downy beds of thistles with only the stars 
overhead for a covering, we arrived, tired and weary, at the 
Artillery Training Camp at Meucon.
     As to the days spent at Camp de Meucon we shall pass briefly by. 
Our time was spent mostly on the range practicing for the barrages 
which we were destined later to send over. At last, on the morning of 
September 13th, with the weather damp and foggy, we started for the 
front, entraining at Vannes.
     Packed in box car pullmans labeled "40 Hommes and 8 chevaux" we 
began hitting the trail toward the great unknown. With the bugles 
sounding, the notes of "au revoir" we passed through many large 
cities for miles along the valley of the historic Seine - a panorama 
of beautiful vineyards and fertile fields and with the last glimpse 
of the Eiffel Tower, a reminder that civilization was being left 
behind. About fifty hours of traveling brought us to Longeville where 
we detrained, helmets on and gas masks at the "alert," and proceeded 
to camouflage ourselves in a nearby wood. Here we enjoyed a cold bath 
in the creek, the last we were destined to receive for months.  From 
this time our real hardships began. Traveling by night and hiding by 
day, after many weary miles, we reached Camp Gailieni, the main 
echelon. While here we won our first great success, the capture of 
jam." Camping here for two days we started for the front lines.
     Leaving at 9.00 P. M. on the twenty-second and traveling all 
night, daybreak found us still on the road close to the front lines. 
The roads were blocked with traffic, companies of infantry were 
continuously pressing forward, caissons, cannon, tanks, trucks and 
vehicles of all description were hopelessly jammed. A heavy fog was 
on, which concealed the road from enemy observation.  M. P.'s were 
frantically trying to relieve the congestion. Slowly the traffic 
began to move. With everyone doing their best to get off that fatal 
load, Battery "F" moved forward, and eight o'clock found our guns in 
position for the coming drive.
     The battery lay directly behind "Mort Hommes," the famous "Dead 
Man's Hill." Ploughed by continuous shell fire, with not a sign of 
vegetation except a solitary blood-red poppy here and there, its dome 
resembling in some respects a human skull, this hill presented a 
picture of desolation, where in 1916, one million lives were 
sacrificed in less than twenty-four hours in the attempted taking of 
Verdun.  Here the French, with the determined words of "Ils ne 
passeront pas" made their effective stand and compelled the enemy to 
entrench themselves on Hill 281. This position being considered as 
impregnable, the opposing armies lay deadlocked for almost three 
years. It remained now for us to break the lines.
     As early as midnight on the 25th of September, the night of our 
initial attack, the big guns fair to the Tear were sending their "G. 
1. Cans" and "Barrack Bags" roaring over into the enemy lines. One by 
one the guns of smaller calibre took up the chorus of hate. The sky 
was a glaring mass of flame and the sound as of a vast thunderstorm 
rent the air. "Zero hour" was set at 5.30 o'clock. At 5.30 our 75's 
began playing their part and continued until 7.30, when the limbers 
came up and we moved forward in pursuit of the enemy, over an uneven 
road, dodging shell-holes, passing countless numbers of prisoners on 
their way to the rear and even as we looked upon the havoc we had 
wrought we experienced a feeling of exhilaration that the privilege 
of freeing the world of a greedy and cruel oppressor had been given 
to us. Reaching Hill 281, which had but recently been vacated by the 
enemy, we took up our second position in preparation to continue the 
battle.
     Situated here in an open field just behind the brow of the hill 
with the enemy in the valley before us we opened fire upon machine 
gun nests and snipers. The enemy began to retaliate by sending over 
many strong counter-attacks. For days the battle raged, doubtful as 
to the outcome, until the arrival of artillery reinforcements and 
tanks turned the tide once more in our favor and slowly the enemy 
began to retire toward the Meuse.
     Foot by foot the ground was gained, up past the lofty heights of 
Montfaucon, past Septsarges, Nantillois and Romagne.  Pressing 
forward by night and fighting by day through the dense forests of the 
Argonne, drenched with rain, weary, hungry and footsore, our ranks 
greatly depleted by shell fire, sickness and the terrific strain, 
with only one-fourth of our horses remaining, the night of October 
31st found us in the Bois de Rappes.
     Doing the work of an accompanying artillery we experienced a 
night never to be forgotten, being the unwelcome guests to a 
Hallowe'en party of "Jerry's" own devising. Four platoons of 
"doughboys" were used to help place the guns in position, as horses 
could not be taken into the woods. Flares made the surrounding 
country bright as day. The screaming "whiz-bangs" and the suffocating 
fumes of deadly gas filled the air, making it utterly impossible to 
man the guns.  Our lines of communication were cut as fast as laid; 
trees were stripped of their limbs and the sound of bursting shells 
was deafening. How welcome then was the barrage on the morning of the 
1st, which once more started "Jerry" on the way to Berlin.
     That evening found the battery moving from out those shell-torn 
woods, and "the shattered tree trunks standing sentinel o'er the 
graves give fitting testimony of the fierceness of the fight and the 
bravery of the men who died there."
     We continued to advance, stopping but once to fire a few shots 
at the retreating enemy, until on the night of November 3d we reached 
the Bois de Mont.
     As the morning sun rose over the eastern hills the beautiful 
valley of the Meuse lay spread out before us. Just at our feet was 
the little town of Mont, while in the distance lay Mouzay, still in 
possession of the enemy. The puffs of smoke from the opposing 
minnenwerfers could be plainly seen as they fired upon us and the 
shrill scream of the shells pierced the air. Backward, ever backward, 
we forced the enemy until at two o'clock on the morning of November 
10th, after rolling our frozen blankets, we moved forward. On that 
memorable morning we made the long looked for crossing of the Meuse.
     Day broke as we entered Mouzay, just vacated by the enemy, and 
found our infantry still standing with fixed bayonets. Here the freed 
civilians - men, women and children - greeted us with joy and shouts 
of "Vive a l'amerique." Concealed by a dense fog we placed our guns 
in a bean patch just outside the town and opened fire. All that day 
and the following night the town was shelled continuously.
     At nine o'clock on the morning of November 11th news came of the 
signing of the armistice and orders to cease firing. There was no 
general demonstration of joy, as the news seemed too good to be true. 
With a realization, however, of the great truth as the firing ceased 
came visions of home and loved ones waiting for us over there and our 
hearts were filled with thanksgiving to Him who had guided us safely 
through.
     Although less than a month was spent at this place, the time 
seemed interminably long. Back to peace time soldiering with squads 
"east" and "west," the boys began to chirp that worn-out phrase, "We 
want to go home." However, the longest lane must have a turning, and 
on December 3d we turned our faces for the first time in many days 
toward the rear.
     Entraining at Dun-sur-Meuse, we left those one time scenes of 
horror far behind, and those lonely wooden crosses as we sped quickly 
by seemed to stretch out their arms in silent appeal as if to say, 
"Good-bye, good-bye."
     After two days and nights of hard traveling we reached Nuits 
where we detrained. Shouldering our heavy packs we hiked a distance 
of twenty-two kilometers to St. Vinnemer, a village nestling among 
the hills of picturesque old Burgundy where more long months of 
waiting were in store for us.
     The end is now in sight and soon we shall again be pursuing the 
peace time vocations we left when the war clouds broke. For ourselves 
we claim no undue honors. "When duty whispers low 'thou must,' the 
heart replies 'I can.' "
     To those who have paid the supreme sacrifice belongs the greater 
glory. History, perhaps, shall not record your names. Yet you were as 
brave and heroic as any general. Night after night you have kept 
vigilant guard. Hour after hour you have carried ammunition, dug 
trail-holes, manhandled the guns until your very sweat seemed to be 
of blood. You have marched through mud knee deep until every step 
seemed to be your last. You have huddled in your dugouts, in shell 
holes and behind trees through those cold, dark, fearful hours that 
rained shot and shell and death all about you. Your troubled slumber 
has been interrupted to listen to the throb of an enemy plane 
o'erhead and the wicked blast of the bombs as they struck the ground. 
At such times as these you have heard the gas alarm and have lain for 
hours half smothered. You have suffered the pangs of hunger, endured 
untold misery of unwashed body, unkempt clothing and the odious 
"cootie"  - yes, even of injury, gas and death.  All this you have 
done and more, with scarcely a murmur. You have fought and won your 
battle; have lost much - more you have gained. Humanity's debt has 
been paid and you are the honored. We shall not forget.

(Typed by LINDA FLUHARTY.)