Sidney D. Light's WWI Diary, Postcards & Letters, 329th Battery Book Accounts

The day we pulled into Brest was one of the three hundred and thirty wet ones they have there every year, but our spirits refused to be dampened as we thought of boarding a home-bound transport next day. We did like fun. We stacked our packs in a long shed, went through another of those marvelous A.E.F. kitchens for some slum, etc., and toot sweet set out for a long grind up the hill to our last overseas camp. The folk back home didn’t need to worry about this camp----it was a Yankee engineering feat par excellence when we hit there whatever it may have been as French mud. But it was not rest camp. Work was going on day and night and our battery furnished its full quota of details. What with being deloused, inspected, rehearsed for the boat entree, etc., we had no time for homesickness.

While at Camp Pontanezan we were scared out of nearly seven years’ growth by reports of the things we could not do or say without landing in a labor battalion. Rumors that we should not say anything against the ancient order of M.P.s or make slighting remarks about frogland were religiously respected.

Finally after the last pack inspection made on the run through the big inspecting mill, the great day came and we trudged silently down to the dock—everyone as shaved and shined up and happy as we could ever recollect having been. There had occurred however one accident that marred the occasion for all of us. Our beloved little Irishman, Jimmie Donnelly, had broken his leg the night before in a friendly little scuffle. We hated to leave him even more than he hated to stay.

We reached the dock before noon and blessed the Red Cross again when they handed up some goodies and a pair of wool socks. The order to load came promptly and we marched out in gangplank formation, calling our first name and rank and initial as we stepped up to that longed-for plank. The boat was only a lighter but we knew we were headed for the Leviathan and there was music in our hearts and on the deck. We boarded the greatest ship in the world shortly before noon. We will not attempt description of her here as she is to be carefully "covered" in another section of this book. Instead we will take up our duties on the boat which were many and laborious. "Army" (Sergeant Leighton F. Armstrong) was put in charge of the Mess hall detail. ("B" Battery was assigned the job of dishing out chow to the 12, 274 men on board.) All this detail had to do was 1. Set up all the tables. 2. Act as ushers and traffic cops. 3. Feed the wounded. 4. Wash the wounded’s dishes. 5. Clean garbage from all the tables after meals and empty same. 8. Put tables away. 9. Scrub their legs. 10. Mop the floor. 11. Scrub the walls and pillars. 12. Keep the port-holes clean. 13. Do the above in the mess hall lobby.

In addition we had sixty men on the provision detail working under Sergeants Doyle and Light, a bunch of "Garbage" men under Sergeant Ed Davy, etc., etc. Hark, we seem to hear those commands: "Take it with you, take it with you!" We can see old Scanlon yet, running around with his megaphone prompting the large army on board to take it with them. There is old Patrick standing there directing Jack to his place or Ikey Kline sending someone for candy on April Fool’s Day. That always smiling, agreeable, little chap, Leon Hall, held sway in the lobby, assisted by Guisbert from Gilford, Shorty Kobel, etc. "Hot stuff coming through, Gangway!" By golly here comes "silent" Moundsville and his sidekick with another ton of garbage. In the kitchen Bolsheviki Lenhardt, hardworking little Flood and Whitey Meyers steaming industriously over the grub.

We went at it all with the old "B" Battery pep and spirit and won new laurels for the organization. The Captain of the ship sent the following report to the Commander General: "It is desired to call attention to the excellent manner in which the messing arrangements have been carried out by the troops now on board. The first meal was handled better than has ever been done heretofore, there being no confusion and the whole system being apparently understood by everyone concerned. The successful way in which this messing has been handled is due to the ability and co-operation fo the Mess Officer (Captain Frazier) and his assistants. Please accept on behalf of the ship our appreciation of the strict attention to duty and earnest co-operation which has brought about this excellent result." By way of information we might state that we made a new record on this trip, feeding 11,000 in 80 minutes, or a man to every half second.

The Chief Steward spoke personally to our men before they left the boat and gave them the sort of puff that makes any kind of hard work worth while.

We were less than six days on the trip, leaving the harbor at Brest March 26th and arriving at Hoboken April 2nd at 11 a.m. Say folks, but that old Statue of Liberty did look good! One of the unfortunate events of the voyage was that our old friend the painter, Charlie Haight, was taken sick and had to be transferred to the hospital.

"B" Battery had to stay on board and clean up the Mess Hall after the rest had disembarked, hand out another meal and then clean up again, but we finally came down that old gangplank of our dreams and marched up the dock for the L.I.Ferry. A the Long Island station we got a special train for Camp Mills. "Shades of the immortal Homer, look at the cars!" says Jay J. Deal. "They’re civilized!" Things did not look familiar when we reached Camp Mills—some modern Aladdin had transformed the sea of tents into a city of neat green barracks—but even the cots without mattresses looked good there.

At 4;15 a.m. the next morning, we were ordered out for another delousing, were fitted with new clothes in spots and went back to a session of liberal passes, augmented chow and the first real rest we’d had in the army. Nevertheless we were all hilariously happy when the two weeks and a day rolled by and we wended our way back to Custer and home in REAL Pullman style. We were asked in Camp Mills if we wanted to parade in Detroit, and just so the folks will know our real reason for refusing we want to say—it was because our love for carrying packs was a thing of the dim past.

But stay, we cannot "fineesh" this history without a word or two about old Dan Hornbeck, the demon battery clerk. Dan went clear through the endless tangle of red tape and detail that was the army with less fuss and furor than any battery clerk we ever saw. He treated every man alike and he survived more questions than Jonah on his return from the whale—always with patience and cheerfulness. By golly, we appreciated Old Dan, too!

SERGEANT A. R. DAW, Battery Editor. Assisted by Deal, Price, Sharick, Light, Herman and Melton.

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