HISTORY
OF THE 304th FIELD ARTILLERY
by
James M. Howard
1920
CHAPTER
III
THE VOYAGE TO FRANCE
Sunday, April 21st, was a never-to-be-forgotten day.
Every one had been up most of the night, for there were a
thousand things to be done. Morning came in a downpour of
rain which never let tip for a single moment during the
entire day.
What a dreary spectacle the barracks presented!
Everything movable had been packed, and the hallways were
piled high with barrack bags and wooden boxes. The
dormitories were, stripped of everything except the iron
cots and the inevitable collection of debris which always
accompanies moving. Details of men were busy with brooms.
Others, armed with paint pots and brushes, were marking
the bag age with black letters and with a crude
reproduction in red of the Statue of Liberty, which had
been chosen as the divisional emblem. The clerks in the
orderly rooms were swamped beneath piles of typewritten
sheets from which they must decipher and make innumerable
copies of the sailing lists of men and freight. Guards
were posted, and no one was allowed to leave the barracks
without special permission.
About noon arrived the first of an army of relatives.
They had got wind of the departure of the regiments, and
swarmed down to the camp. Splashing through pools and
wallowing in mud that was ankle deep, they stormed the
barracks where their boys were quartered, and then sat in
the mess-halls with their soldier friends in pairs and
groups the livelong day. Some made brave attempts at
hilarity, and, producing sandwiches and cakes they had
brought from home, made of the occasion a sort of holiday
picnic. Others, especially among the families of the
foreign born, gave way unrestrainedly to their grief and
wept frankly on the shoulders of the sons and sweethearts
to whom they had come to say farewell.
The office of the regimental headquarters was the scene
of a great bustle of preparation. Captain Sullivan, the
Adjutant, brisk and business-like, was the center of a
continuous whirlpool of messengers, clerks, battery
commanders, distraught relatives and telephone calls.
Colonel Briggs, in his inner sanctum, was all on edge
with the pressure and tension of last minute
perplexities; and yet he seemed to have time for
everybody and everything that needed him.
One little incident occurred which was characteristic
both of the day and of the Colonel. About four in the
afternoon a soldier entered headquarters escorting a
frail little woman whose bedraggled appearance told of
her having been floundering, about in the mud and wet of
the camp.
"This lady is looking for her husband," he
said. "She says he's in the 304th, so I brought her
here."
It seemed that she had come to Camp Upton that day for
the first time, expecting. to be met by her husband at
the station. He, as it chanced, had been detained on
important business by his battery commander and had been
unable to go to the train, with the result that his wife,
utterly unfamiliar with the camp, had been tramping
around in the drenching rain from place to place trying
to locate him. She was standing in the sergeant-major's
office when Colonel Briggs, passing through, noticed her.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked.
She told him her story. Evidently she was on the verge of
tears.
"You wait. here," said the Colonel, "and
we'll see what can be done. Sergeant-Major, get a chair,
will you? Or, better still-Chaplain!" he called.
"Yes, sir?"
"Don't you want to let this little lady sit in your
office for a while? I think she will be more comfortable
there. And I wish you would go over to Battery - and tell
the Captain that Mrs. So-and-So is here, and that just as
soon as he can be spared I want her husband to come over.
Her train goes at five-thirty, and they can have until
five o'clock to visit. You might just let them have your
office. It's a little more private than this."
As evening drew on there were many tearful farewells, and
many brave goodbys. By eight o'clock the last visitor had
taken his leave and the men were left to their own
devices. Some of them tried to sleep, but, as may be
imagined, there was little rest to be had, and the night
wore on gloomily enough. The rain, however, which had
continued to pour in torrents all the evening, began to
abate, and by midnight it had ceased altogether.
About 2:30 A. M. on April 22nd the first sergeants'
whistles sounded in the barracks, and the men,
shouldering their heavy packs and rifles, fell in for the
march to the station.
"The entire regiment [writes one man in his diary]
marched down Camp Upton's Fifth Avenue, across Eighth
Street, and past all the old familiar scenes on the way
down to the station where we had so often happily left
for a weekend in the city. There was little or no
confusion at the depot, and soon we were all entrained. .
. . It was a relief to be seated, as the packs were
extremely heavy and the air murky, and we had not had
much sleep of late.
"It was hard to realize that we were bound for
France, and not on our way to New York on pass.
Hicksville, Farmingdale and finally Jamaica brought back
memories of Saturdays that now belonged to the past. On
each railway platform from Jamaica in were clustered
groups of commuters waiting for their morning trains. . .
.
"We finally reached Long Island City at 8:30, the
place I left as a rookie four long, hard months before.
We were hustled on a ferry and soon were swinging out
into the East River. It was a beautiful April morning,
with a slight haze obscuring Manhattan. The sun broke
through, however, and it was an ideal day to have a
farewell trip around the harbor."
As we passed under Brooklyn Bridge, some teamsters,
driving their wagons high overhead, looked down and,
seeing the boat crowded with troops, waved their hats and
cheered lustily. It was the first real send-off we had
had, and many a man felt a lump rise in his throat as he
realized, perhaps for the first time, that we were
actually off for the front, and that back of us were all
the good will and high hopes of the people of America.
Further cheering greeted us as, swinging around the lower
end of Manhattan, we met boatload after boatload of
Jersey commuters on their way to the city. There was no
mistaking who or what we were, and as we cut across the
North River and made straight for the great army
transport docks in Hoboken it seemed absurd to think of
all the elaborate precautions of secrecy with which our
departure was being guarded.
Steaming toward the docks we saw many transports lying
there; but towering above them all loomed the huge
Leviathan. Could it be that this monster of the sea,
wrested from the Germans themselves, was to be the ship
to carry us to France? It seemed too good to be true; and
yet, as soon as we had debarked, we were marched past all
'the other vessels and lined tip on the pier alongside
which stood the giant steamship of the world.
After a tedious wait which seemed in any hours, we filed,
one by one, up the gang-plank and proceeded to our
quarters --the officers to state rooms which had already
been assigned, and the men down into the bowels of the
ship. Those bunks! Crowded together in unbelievable
compactness, the floors about them unswept and untidy,
the air stifling, the narrow passageways a very labyrinth
of complexity, those tiers of bunks appeared to the men
the last word in discomfort. Yet a few hours' work with
brooms and mops did away with the dirt, and, once the
ship was in motion, the ventilation was vastly improved.
Most of our men were quartered away forward, and Colonel
Briggs, realizing the conditions which existed below,
secured permission for them to have the liberty of the
whole forward deck, so that, both before we sailed and
during the entire voyage, they spent most of their time
in the open air. A few men were in the very stern of the
ship, and they, too, were allowed the freedom of the deck
in their vicinity.
There was a day and a half of waiting. Standing on the
decks we could look across the river and see New York.
It was tantalizing to have the city in full view, within
such easy telephoning distance, within only a few
minutes' ride on a ferry boat. Put no one was allowed to
leave the ship, and, of course, in the post cards we were
permitted to send, no mention whatever could be made of
our whereabouts or of the name of the transport.
On Wednesday morning, April 24th, with a movement so
smooth that one could hardly tell the ship was in motion,
the Leviathan glided out into the river and, turning her
nose seaward, started on her course. Let one of the
guards tell the story of the departure as he experienced
it:
"I certainly was fortunate today. I have been placed
on a permanent guard detail for the entire voyage, and my
post is at one of the doorways leading to the deck. As
luck would have it I came on at 6 A. M., just as we were
leaving the pier and swinging out into the river. The
decks were cleared of every one but sailors. With a heart
too full for expression I got what may be my last look at
the town, which is home to me. It was a glorious morning,
clear as crystal, and Battery Park looked unusually
attractive as we glided by. At once I was carried back to
last ' summer and those frequent trips to Coney Island.
How I used to try and place myself in the position of one
leaving- for France and the battle fields! And now at
last I too am on my way to the Great Land Beyond.
I must admit my heart sank a trifle when I thought of all
I'll have to suffer before next I set foot in New York.
But surely it is worth any sacrifice. Far better to
travel three thousand miles to fight the Hun than to some
day have him pounding at our gates. . . . New York and
all that lies behind, you are indeed worth fighting for,
and I'll gladly make any sacrifice, even the supreme one,
in order that you may always enjoy your present peace and
prosperity."
Once out of the harbor, we might come on deck. ,
Speculations were rife as to our destination. Some one
suggested Brest.
"There's not a port in France big enough for this
ship," said the sailors when we asked them. "So
far every trip-has been to Liverpool."
We noticed that, instead of heading eastward along the
ordinary lane of ocean travel, the ship was edging off
toward the south. Presently she swung about and made for
the northeast, and after an hour or two southeast. This
zig-zag course was pursued during the entire voyage, and
it was impossible to gain a hint from the direction of
our progress as to what part of the coast of Europe we
might be headed for.
We were astonished to find no convoy of warships awaiting
us outside Sandy Hook.
"The Leviathan doesn't need any convoy," said
the sailors. "She's too fast to begin with, and
besides, look at those guns!"
Four huge six-inch rifles were mounted on specially built
gundecks forward, and four more aft. A gun crew was
constantly on duty on each deck, the gunner in every case
wearing at all times a telephone receiver strapped to his
head. What with these guards, and with the watch that was
constantly maintained from the bridge, the crows' nests,
and from various points along the upper decks, a
submarine would have had to be wary to get within
striking distance. Moreover, we were informed by the
naval officers that, owing to the enormous size and the
perfect construction of the vessel, two or three
torpedoes would be necessary in order to cause real
danger of sinking. The consequence was that, although the
great ship plowed her way through the waters alone, every
one felt as secure as if crossing the North River on a
ferryboat.
Nevertheless, the most minute precautions were taken to
avoid trouble. First of all, every flashlight, every box
of matches, and every cigarette lighter was required to
be turned in. Any one who wanted to smoke could borrow a
light from one of the sailors. Immediately after sundown
the decks were cleared and the doors and port holes
closed, so that no light could escape. At an early hour
in the evening the lights in the staterooms and cabins,
as well as in the men's quarters below decks, were
extinguished, and the only illumination was the ghastly
and feeble light emitted by a few small incandescent
globes of blue glass.
Every afternoon "abandon ship" drill was held.
At a certain hour the shrill twe-e-e-et of the
boatswain's whistle would be beard in every corridor and
corner of the transport, and a voice would call out in
stentorian tones, "All-hands -abandonship!"
With that, every one would don his life belt and come on
deck. Each officer and man had a certain definite place
to be, convenient either to a life boat or a raft. The
troops (there were more than ten thousand on board) were
assembled by batteries and companies under the direction
of their officers and marched to their proper places.
Each section of the ship was controlled by a naval
officer. They alone wore side arms: no one else, for
obvious reasons, was allowed to carry a pistol. No
attempt was ever made to lower the boats. The whole
object of the drill was to accustom the soldiers to
getting as quickly and as quietly as possible to the
places assigned to them. The first day, the drill was a
riot of confusion; but by the time we reached the real
danger zone the assembly was made in remarkably quick
time and in good order.
Besides our own regiment, there were on board the
Head-quarters Detachment of our 152nd Brigade, the 306th
F. A., the 11th Infantry, about a hundred Red Cross
nurses, and a great many casual troops. The infantry
regiment, having been an old Regular Army regiment, had
what used to be the traditional contempt for any troops
of a different branch of the service from their own. This
attitude, mingled with an all too apparent scorn for the
"damned drafted men," made at first for no
little unpleasant feeling. Even the officers, many of
whom were in the Reserve Corps and, like our own, recent
graduates of training camps, appeared to delight in a
certain discourtesy to the officers of the artillery
which for a time was hard to overcome. But the feeling
wore off as the voyage continued, and both officers and
men learned to have a little more respect for the red hat
cords and boots and spurs. Per-haps they found that it
made little difference to us whether they liked us or
not. At any rate they had to listen on more than one
occasion to our men on their forward deck, or to the
officers outside the saloon after supper, singing,
"We don't give a damn For any old man Who is not in
the artilleree!"
Major Sanders was permanent field officer of the day, and
his days and nights were spent in a ceaseless
perambulating all over the ship. He had guards
everywhere, from the topmost decks to the bilge keel, and
from stem to stern. There were many places to which
soldiers were not allowed access, and it required
constant vigilance to keep men and officers where they
belonged. After dark no one was permitted so much as to
poke his nose outside, and at ten o'clock every officer
was supposed to be in his stateroom. If he were found in
the corridor, an explanation "in writing by
endorsement hereon" was required, and if the
explanation were not satisfactory disciplinary action was
in order. Inasmuch as no lights were permitted in the
staterooms, there was nothing to do but go to bed.
The men, ordered below decks at dark, had no very
palatial places to spend their evenings. They used to
congregate on the lattice-work floors in the hatchways,
and while away the time singing, joking, dancing to the
music of mouth-organs, and trying as best they could to
forget the discomforts of their surroundings.
Of entertainment there was little. The ship boasted a
moving picture machine, which was used every night in the
mess hall; but there were so many thousand troops on
board, and the difficulties of getting from one place to
another were so great, especially after the water-tight
doors were closed between compartments at night, that our
men never had but one chance to go to a show, and few of
them succeeded in getting there even then. But the band
used to play on deck, and sometimes the men would gather
round and sing. Ours was the only regiment on board that
did sing, and a crowd was sure to collect on the upper
decks whenever the music started. On our one Sunday
afternoon on board both Colonel Briggs and Colonel Kelly
were to be seen, each perched on a capstan, right in
amongst the throng of men as they sang "Hail, hail,
the gang's all here," "In the Artillery,"
and "Over hill, over dale." It was a sight
worth remembering.
So great was the crowd on the ship that it was found to
be impossible to feed the men more than twice a day. With
those two meals, the mess hall was busy from morning till
night. The food, however, was excellent, and no
complaints were heard. Getting as little exercise as they
did, the men found two meals quite sufficient, and were
it not for the long waits as the lines filed into the
mess hall they would have been quite content with the
arrangement.
What little exercise they got was in the form of
calisthenics. Every morning each organization marched tip
to the long promenade decks, and there the men, peeling
off their blouses, were put through a short, snappy
physical drill. Once or twice there were some boxing
bouts. Each day, in connection with the exercise, there
was a physical inspection conducted by the surgeons, to
guard against any possible infectious disease. A few of
the men were taken sick on the voyage, but we were
fortunate in not having any serious trouble with illness.
On the whole, the men seemed to enjoy the voyage. One of
them wrote at the time, "Really the spirit of the
fellows is surprising. Of course it is the first trip the
majority of the men have ever had, and they are taking it
in the nature of an outing." This held true even in
the danger zone as we approached the European coast.
"It was difficult to realize [the same writer says]
that we were at last in that much famed war zone, that at
any moment we might be struck by a submarine. Every one
was perfectly calm, and there wasn't the slightest
excitement, only the intensest interest in the doings of
the destroyers."
For, on the seventh day, we had come on deck to find four
destroyers coursing about the ship, two on each side.
They would shoot ahead, and then hang back; then one
would cross over and join the two on the other side, and
presently rush around behind and catch up to its old
place again. This was really the first thing we had had
to look at during the entire trip, and the little war
vessels furnished a diversion that was rather a relief,
for the days were becoming tiresome.
We knew that we could not be far now from our port, and
again men began to speculate as to our probable
destination. On the evening of the seventh day, a group
of them were standing on the deck, getting a last breath
of fresh air. Suddenly they noticed that from above the
bridge, signals were being flashed to the destroyers.
They could not see the tiny ray of light which leaped out
toward the smaller vessels, but they could see the
shutters working. Some of them, trained in visual
signaling, began to watch closely, and they discovered
that the message was being sent in the international
Morse code. Immediately their attention was fixed, and
they caught these words: "O-u-r o-r-d-e-r-s c-a-l-1
f-o-r B-r-e-s-t."
This was repeated three times. Just then the guard came
along and ordered them below, but they had seen enough to
start a thrill of excitement in the sleeping quarters. We
were proceeding direct to France!
The next morning, May 2nd, there was a fog so dense that
those who were on deck early could not even see the
destroyers. Little by little, however, the mists began to
clear, and we caught glimpses of land on both sides. The
news spread quickly and in no time the decks were
crowded. Gradually the sun broke through and dispelled
the fog altogether, and we found ourselves gliding
smoothly in between the beautiful green hills which mark
the entrance to the harbor of Brest.
What a welcome sight that land was! The city itself
nestled at the foot of a hill ahead of us, and all around
were rich green pasture lands and quaint cottages, with
one or two huge windmills and the remains of some ancient
fortifications. The striking thing about it all was the
atmosphere of perfect peace and tranquillity. Could this
be the land that for nearly f our years had been torn by
the ravages of war? Was this the country to which we had
come to fight the Hun?
Strange looking boats were sailing about, and as the ship came to
anchor, several tugs and lighters came alongside. Presently we saw our
baggage being trundled through a door, which had opened down near the
water line and piled on board one of the lighters. Then came the order
for the men to roll their packs and the officers to get their luggage
ready, and shortly after noon the regiment began to crawl down through
the ship, and across a little gang plank to a lighter which lay on the
port side. While we were debarking on one side, the 306th was boarding a
lighter on the other. We were the first artillery
regiments of the National Army to reach France, and
although nothing was said about it at the moment, Colonel
Briggs told us afterward that his one desire was to beat
the 306th ashore, so that ours might be the very first
one to arrive. How he did hustle and crowd the men onto
those narrow decks!
Finally every one was on board, and the lighter moved off
a good ten minutes ahead of the other regiment. The upper
decks of the great Leviathan, towering above us, were
crowded with sailors, soldiers and nurses, waving hats
and handkerchief s. Then the band, which had been
reserved a special place, broke out into music, and to
the strains of "Good-by, Little Girl, Good-by,"
the 304th bade farewell to the splendid ship which had
brought us so safely on our perilous journey. One man was
seen to kiss the tips of his fingers and reach out and
touch the steel side as we moved away, and to say
quietly, "Thank you!" He expressed what we all
felt.
As we neared the shore, the band burst into "La
Marseillaise," which brought cheers from the sailors
on French boats that were lying in the harbor. And
finally, when we pulled into the dock, the soldiers and
stevedores on the shore were brought to attention by the
strains of "The Star-Spangled Banner." There
was a thrill about it all that was new to most of us.
Then the regiment was formed on the street by the pier,
and we began a Long, hard march. The men, softened by
their eight days' confinement in close quarters, were
carrying heavy packs, winter overcoats, rifles, a hundred
rounds of cartridges, and canteens full of water. The
road lay up an exceedingly steep hill through the town.
The sun overhead was hot. But Colonel Briggs had his own
ideas about the good or ill impression made by the
appearance of a regiment, and he ordered the march to be
made at attention, so with the band playing a lively tune
we stepped off briskly and started up the road.
Little boys and girls swarmed about our feet like so many
beetles, running, jumping, shouting, begging for money,
and trying desperately to keep step with the band. Crowds
of people gathered to watch us pass, and for the first
time we were conscious of the utter absence of young men
and the predominance of mourning. There was no hilarity
of enthusiasm, but the faces of the people were earnest,
often almost prayerful. Occasionally a woman would be
seen quietly weeping as she watched the troops go by. It
was a tremendously moving experience. The whole
significance of our being there seemed to dawn on us at
once, and many a man found it hard to choke back the
tears.
Others were troubled less with sentiment than they were
with fatigue. The packs were so heavy, the sun was so
hot, the overcoats were so hopelessly out of place, and
the hill was so long and steep, that after a while men
began to drop out of line and to sit, half exhausted, on
the curl). Every one wished that the Colonel would call a
halt, but he kept on, apparently oblivious to everything
except getting to the top of the hill. One little urchin,
after marching beside him for a minute, reached up and
slipped his hand into that of Colonel Briggs. The latter
looked down and smiled, and went on, leading the
youngster along with him. He was intent, just then, not
on the feelings of the men in his column, but on the
feelings of the French people. He wanted them to know
that here was a regiment, well-behaved and friendly, that
meant business, and he intended that we should march
through Brest as if we had come with a purpose.
At length, the city passed, the column came out on top of
the hill into a road that led through beautiful fields
which were decked out in the full glory of spring. Here,
at last, the welcome order was given: "Halt! Fall
out for fifteen minutes rest." In an instant the
packs roiled off the men's backs like Christian's burden
at the foot of the cross, and every one was presently
stretched out at full length on the ground.
It had been so long since we had seen any grass or
flowers that it seemed as if we must be in heaven. Camp
Upton had been a barren place at best, and when we left
it was hardly out of the grip of a long, hard winter. But
here in France the grass was long and luscious, the trees
had put forth their leaves, the shrubs were in blossom,
and flowers were blooming gayly by the wayside. Little
girls came up to us as we sat resting, and offered us
tight little fistfulls of tiny flowers they had gathered.
The boys were more bold, and promptly asked for
cigarettes.
"Mais tu es bien trop Petit (You are much too
little)," said an officer to a youngster of perhaps
seven years.
"Ah," replied the boy, "C'cst pour mon
pere (it's for my father) !"
The little rascals! They learn to smoke as soon as they
learn -their A B C's.
The rest at an end, packs were shouldered again and the
Regiment resumed its march. After a mile or two on a
level country road, the column turned and proceeded up a
lane toward a large gate, which opened in the middle of a
great stone wall. It was the Pontanezen Barracks, once
used by the soldiers of Napoleon. We marched through the
gate into a great yard where a throng of curious soldiers
gathered about to see who the new arrivals were.
"Loosen up! Give us a tune!" they yelled when
they saw the band.
So the band played as we came to a halt. And then, after
a few moments' wait while the organization commanders
received their instructions, the men were marched to
their sleeping quarters and the officers went to their
tents, and, glad to be for the present at least at the
end of our journey, we prepared for our first night on
French soil.