HISTORY
of
THE 308th INFANTRY
By
L. Wardlaw Miles
Chapter 2
The Crossing
CHAPTER II
The Crossing
STRAIGHT through the night of April 5th, men toiled making the final
arrangements for departure. Up to almost the last hour, transfers from
and additions to,. the companies, with the entailed paper work, went on
in orderly rooms and at Regimental Headquarters. Then, in the dark, the
companies lined up for the last time before Upton's barracks, which had
been finally policed, and were now left empty of the life which had
filled them for seven months. For the last time in that place each company was called to attention and marched off down
" 5th Avenue." Singing gaily, they proceeded to
the station. Here waited two companies which Captain
Lindley had received from Captain Osborne of the Depot
Brigade to supply the places of any possible deserters.
There proved, however, no necessity to use a single
individual from these companies; the Regiment left
without the loss of one man. In the early daylight the
train was boarded for one last trip to Long Island City.
Crowds lined the ferry slip, scanning the ranks of
khaki-clad men with the hope of obtaining a last word
with some friend or relative. joking with the crowd, the
voyagers boarded the ferry boats and, supplied with
welcome cans of Red Cross coffee, sailed in the morning
sunlight down the river and around the Battery to dock at
North River piers.
The review at
Upton before embarkment
The transports lay at the docks
ready to depart. Loading did not take long.
In two hours the transports Lap-land, Cretic, and
Justicia, with the 1 St, 2nd, and 3rd Battalions
respectively, started down the river. No one was
permitted on deck, and so the last view of the New York
skyline was at best bounded by the limits of a porthole.
In spite of the jealous secrecy, which guarded our
departure, it is possible that some general suspicion may
have been aroused. At any rate, the windows of lower New
York were alive with fluttering handkerchiefs, and the
whistles of all passing boats added their shrill good
wishes. And high overhead in the sun of early spring the
Statue of Liberty looked down on the ships carrying
thousands of men each of whose equipment bore her stamped
image. How many crimes-how many blunders worse than
crimes-are committed in her name! Yet, however faulty our
purpose and our preparation, it was not altogether either
crime or blunder which was sending these thousands so
widely differing in race, fortune, and desires on one
common journey for one common end.
With New York
behind them, the men turned their attention to making
themselves comfortable and inspecting the vessels. Each
had been handed a ticket with his berth number and his
place at mess. Those so unfortunate as to be in the hold
cheerfully admitted that they were S. 0. L., while the
Sergeants who were lucky enough to draw staterooms
listened sympathetically to them. On the Cretic, Major
Budd discovered from the ship's officers that the
Cretic's accommodations limited to 1500 men, would have
to be stretched to take care of the 2032 assigned to his
command. The extremely overcrowded conditions were
cheerfully borne, although running each meal in three
shifts was a distinct hardship on the soldiers. Life
belts, distributed to all, were carried on the person
throughout the entire trip. Like many other objects of
military equipment, they were never put to the use for
which they were designed.
The first night
aboard was for many as unique an experience as the first
night in camp. No lights were permitted to show after
dark, and smoking on deck was prohibited. April 7th
dawned with calm seas and bracing air. Indeed throughout
the whole trip the weather was unusually good for the
season of the year. The decks were thronged by those who
eagerly sought fresh air after the poor ventilation
below. The mess, now under British control, contrasted
with the Upton diet. Meals eaten in the stuffy atmosphere
of the hold were none too appetizing.
On the afternoon of
the 8th we anchored in Halifax Harbor, to remain
twenty-four hours taking on coal and water, and awaiting
the remainder of the convoy. Among the ships joining us
was H. M. S. Queen Victoria with Australian troops
already sixty-eight days at sea. In the harbor
opportunity was seized to practice the life boat drill.
Boats were lowered, and men went down the ropes in
succession to row merrily about the bay, just at sunset
of the 9th a great sounding of whistles warned all to
stand by; anchors were weighed; and the transports swung
into line. Led by the U. S. scout cruiser St. Louis,
flying the American flag, nine huge gray ships,
grotesquely camouflaged, steamed proudly out to sea,
flanked by British and American battleships and craft of
every description. From a British battleship was heard
its band playing in succession Over There and, The Star
Spangled Banner. A little further on a U. S. Marine Band
burst with characteristic national tempo into There'll Be
A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.
Behind, in contrast
to all this music and movement stood the charred ruins
left by the explosion which Q razed Halifax a few months
earlier, and still further back, the bleak snow-covered
hills. But in front-when the breakwater had been passed
and the boats had turned their noses sharply to the
east-in front of us lay "Over There," the yet
unseen and unknown land of which at that hour it was
customary to sing in humorous paraphrase:
"And we won't come back
When it's over over there."
The S.S.
Cretic, with a capacity of 1500 men, transported the 2000
of the 2nd Battalion
2
The voyage was
uneventful. Guard duty, performed day and night, and a
constant watch for submarines broke the monotony.
Although the submarines never appeared on the field of
vision, they formed the chief topic of conversation and
became the subject of many a practical joke. One corporal
is reported to have posted his guard on a pitch black
night and admonished them to keep a sharp lookout for
black buoys. Despite their vigilance none was reported. A
bonafide bounty of one hundred pounds was offered to
anyone sighting a submarine, but in spite of many thrills
from floating barrels and boxes, fortunately it was never
won.
Boat drill was held
twice daily under the strictest discipline. Orders were
issued to shoot any man who violated rules in case the
extreme emergency should arise. The sound of the bugle
might call for an emergency drill at any moment-it
sounded particularly inconveniently for any officer who
happened to be enjoying the luxury of a bath-and
immediately hundreds of men would scramble above decks
and rush hurriedly up and down companionways, each to
find his appointed post and there answer to his name. To
each was assigned a definite duty to perform in order to
facilitate the prompt and orderly lowering of the
lifeboats. Though the lessons which they taught were
never applied, the drills served both as diversion and
discipline.
In addition to the boat drills the chief diversion was
that of music and concerts. On the Cretic, Captain Mills
unearthed a badly mutilated piano from the depths of the
hold and with it did much to relieve the monotony. The
sight of this handsome officer in hip boots flushing the
decks with a hose will never be forgotten by his devoted
men. On Sunday morning, Father Halligan held Mass aboard
the Lapland. An altar was erected on the lower stern
deck. Here in the brilliant sunlight knelt hundreds of
khaki-clad men while the Padre, clad in his bright
vestments, performed his offices, and the candle flames
swayed back and forth in the gentle sea airs.
A few selections
from the 2nd Battalion diary will serve to recall the
voyage:
APRIL 15TH. Reported presence of enemy submarine. Smoke
and cloud bombs dropped overboard from several ships
forming a clouded screen across the rear path of the
convoy. Battle cruiser St. Louis performing a wide detour
to the north sped back under cover of the smoke and cloud
screen but with no report of enemy sub.
APRIL 16TH.
Merchant vessel intercepted, advises that armed convoy is
on its way to meet us.
APRIL 17TH.
Eleventh day out from N. Y. Eighth day from Halifax.
Clear and calm. Cruiser St. Louis has turned back. Left
during night. 5 P.m.-Convoy of eight British torpedo boat
destroyers meet us and accompany us forth-with.
APRIL 18TH.
Wireless report of French merchantman torpedoed, 50
miles to the Southwest.
Thus for ten days the convoy plowed its way across the
Atlantic with the confidence-inspiring St. Louis ever in
the fore. The relative positions of the vessels were
constantly changing, and the men filled in idle moments
by counting the varying numbers of groups, or noting the
suddenly shifted direction which any vessel might at a
moment adopt. Gun drill was held aboard each ship daily.
On the eleventh day, the ever-vigilant submarine watch
observed small specks on the horizon ahead. A fleet of
submarines of course! The rumor spread fast and every
rail was crowded. On the bridge sailors were signaling,
and lights flashed the International Code. As the specks
grew larger, some one with glasses announced that they
flew the Union Jack, and an audible breath of relief
escaped from, the crowd when the approaching craft were
recognized as British destroyers.
A more inspiring
sight cannot be imagined than these small vessels darting
first in one direction and then another. The moderate sea
then running tossed them up and down like bits of cork,
and frequently swept them from bow to stern. In spite of
this they were ever on the alert, quartering back and
forth like bird dogs, with such an evident nose for
danger as to give the onlooker a very comfortable sense
of confidence during the rest of the journey through the
submarine zone.
Land was sighted on
the 19th, as the convoy passed the south coast of
Ireland. Needless to say many a wistful glance was cast
toward those green shores where not a few of the 3o8th
had been born. But soon the Cliffs of Wales loomed up,
the guardian destroyers dropped off, and anchor was
lowered in the River Mersey at Liverpool. An English mist
obscured most of the landscape, but through it rows of
neat dwellings and green lawns could be dimly discerned.
The following morning the vessels docked at Liverpool,
and soon hob-nailed boots were planted again on terra
firma.