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

But it all blew over finally and then, as Noah once remarked, "The floods came." Glory Hallelujah! what a time we had draining the corrals and keeping the stalls dry. We had a healthy duck pond running under the fence between us and "A" Battery’s corral. That neighbor’s husky mud gang promptly drained it into "F" Battery’s corral and they could not pass it on so were literally flooded out.

After the floods came the mud. The old corral was one of the fanciest seas of mud you ever saw and the entire camp was a mass of sticky "goo." Nothing short of hip boots would have ever kept our feet dry in those days. But the mud passed, as most curses do in the army, and we soon found there were other things besides squads east and west in the {U.S.N.A}. Every day we spent a large part of our time at the stables and after a month’s training became expert "groomers." Our horsemanship instructor, Lieut. Goble, soon convinced us, though, that we were not artillery men until we received our mounted instructions. These had been quite a joke in the past with wooden horses but after several ineffective attempts at mounting "Whiskey Dick" and old "100" we decided that the real horses had the joke on us. After we learned to stick on a horse with the aid of only a blanket and surcingle, we drew some ancient harness and some of the guns which rumor said were used by the Indians about the year 1600. With the aid of this equipment we learned the rudiments of mounted drill.

About this time a Brigade School for non-coms was started and there our battery stars had their first lessons in actual firing. The guns used were American 3-inch light field pieces, and on a cold winter morning the battery was marched out to the range to see the practice. There we heard for the first time the whistle of shells as they passed through the air–a sound which was to become one of our most vivid memories after we had been "over there." Shortly afterward these guns were issued to the regiment and we had considerable firing practice. We found that on account of the ground being so sandy the guns had considerable kick and the gunners were warned not to sit with their eyes too close to the panoramic sight when the piece was fired. Corporal Daw discovered that he would in the future have to make allowances for the length of his nose as he was put out of business for a short while through one miscalculation. Corporal Sullivan also discovered that it was an easy matter to make an error of 100 miles or so deflection. Fortunately it was only an innocent old cow that he killed. The observing party claimed that they were also in considerable danger, but if they were it was not for long for they "sure did run." Even the Colonel decided that safety was more to be considered than dignity.

While we were in Camp Custer we had two division and two brigade reviews, in all of which Battery B showed up to advantage. We were also right in front when it came to sports and our baseball team, under the able leadership of Sergeant Harold A. Klees, always gave a good account of itself. The battery had several leaders in sport events and the results are shown in the sport sections.

The death of Arnulf Gloetsner while at Officers’ Training School was a distinct shock to us all. He was battery clerk previously to entering school and during this time endeared himself to all in Battery B by his courtesy and cheerfulness.

Several of our old men went to Officers’ Training School and of the original sixteen only the following men went right through with us: 1st Sergeant Charles H. Price, sergeants W.A. Gustafson, S.D.Light, and N.I.Balter. To counteract the losses of non-coms some of the privates were promoted and the battery was reorganized by Captain Frazier who instituted classes and spent a lot of time teaching firing data, fire control, etc.

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For more on horses and mules click here 

Another distinction that Battery B can claim is that we were the battery chosen from the 160th F. A. Brigade to represent the artillery of the 85th Division in the Third Liberty Loan parade at Detroit, April 6th, 1918.

Early in February we began working on our horses–grooming and exercising them–and as soon as the fields were dry enough for mounted drill we got them in fine shape and were able to make a first-rate showing. We were drilled every day then and after the aforementioned reviews were picked as the best drilled battery and the one for the Detroit parade. We were all pleased to get the trip for though it meant a lot of work, it would give our friends in Detroit a chance to see just what sort of organization Battery B was.

By the evening of April 5th the harness, equipment and material had all been cleaned and polished up to army standard and was loaded on the cars near the corral. The horses had been groomed almost steadily that day and couldn’t be made to look better. Everyone was interested and wanted things to look their very best.

We got up at 3:00 o’clock the morning of April 6th, ate breakfast and went to the stables where our horses were rarin’ to go. We took them to the remount loading platform and soon were ready to go. We occupied seven cars–three for the stock, two flat cars for material, one baggage care for harness, etc., and one passenger coach for the men.

We left Camp Custer at 6:00 a.m. and arrived in Detroit by 12:00. By 1:00 o’clock we had unloaded, harnessed, hitched in and were on our way to Grindley Field where the units were to assemble. At 2:30 p.m. the parade moved out. Well forward the 310th Trench Mortar Company had a mortar mounted on a truck from which they fired bombs, bursting them in mid-air. Our horses were quite nervous from being in the cars and in a strange place and the bursting bombs put the acme of pep into them. As our turn came to move out (we had to pass through a rather narrow opening to the street) a carriage of the second section collided with a trolley pole, delaying the following carriages long enough to lose perhaps two hundred yards, and when we were free to close up we made a dash down Woodward Avenue to beat any fire department. The sight of galloping horses, carriages bumping over the pavement and street car rails was enough to satisfy any expectations of the crowd which lined the streets.

At Grand Circus Park we were reviewed by Major General Kennedy and "shot" by the movie cameras which were everywhere. The parade went south on Woodward Avenue to Jefferson Avenue and came to a halt at the Third Street railroad yards. Here we unhitched and made ready to go "home." Major Lothrop gave the order that as soon as everything was loaded for the return trip we could be dismissed until 8:30 p.m. We unloaded all the materiel and made it fast to the cars in eighteen minutes which time was a record breaker we were told. We won our dismissal all right and as the greater part of the boys lived in Detroit they had the opportunity to eat dinner and spend a few hours at home. (Some of them didn’t spend all their time at home apparently.) We started back at 9:00 o’clock, arriving in Camp Custer at 2:00 a.m. Before we could sleep we had to unload and care for the horses, so were a tired lot of men when we were dismissed at the barracks.

There wasn’t a blunder made during the whole trip and we were complimented by several of the brigade officers for the snap and military bearing which the men displayed.

Along in June came a new bunch of men and from these recruits our battery was filled to war strength. The process of assimilation was most easy and rapid by this time and the new men were regular soldiers by the middle of July. On the 16th we lined up in front of old 1291 for the last time, slung packs and hiked off down the muddy road. Naturally it was raining. We entrained down below the remount station and just before noon slid silently out of the camp which had come to be such a home to us. (We didn’t realize how much of a home it had been until we hit France.)

This was an excellent trip in spite of the three-to-a-seat regulation. The Red Cross brightened up our trip at several stops and people along the line waved good luck and good-bye. We reached Jersey City the next afternoon, ferried down the river and piled off at Long Island City about supper time. Had it not been for the Red Cross there we would have gone hungry that night. We reached Camp Mills rather late and were promptly assigned to our tents. No one can tell how glad we were to ditch those packs and flop on the cot springs.

Our "quarters" were a bunch of mess tables, fifteen feet long and set perpendicular to the side of the ship and not over a foot apart. Sixteen men to a table–packs had to go wherever we could land them. "Reckon we just mess here," said one buck. "Nope," said another, "look at the flock of hooks up above." Flock was good. The rafters which were new and strong, by necessity it turned out, entertained a literal forest of hooks. They were set facing alternating directions. You get a canvas hammock as we presently discovered and suspend it between two alternate hooks. Everyone else does the same and pretty soon you’re sardined in like Ring Lardner’s traveling rookie. You wonder how you’re ever going to sleep with your head up and your feet ditto, pairs of feet or bodies bumping into you but you do and don’t mind it after a day or so.

That first night out was a wild one. First thing we knew everyone was "doing it," as Lieut. Curtiss said when he did his bit for the fry. Down below, up on deck, everywhere–soldiers and officers with a large misery in their stomachs and a huge desire to die. The British cooking was hard for us to swallow even after we lost the MAL-DE-MER but the bread and New Zealand jam was wonderful and we made out on that.

Max Corrigan started to "drill" his actors on this trip who afterwards toured certain parts of France. The show he and some of his comrades put on {on} the boat was much enjoyed by all. But the thing we enjoyed most of all on the trip was the sight of those old torpedo boat destroyers coming out to meet us. When we awoke on the morning of August 11th it was so foggy we could not see but we could distinctly hear the clanging of fog bells. Glory be! We were in the harbor safe and sound just below Liverpool. Finally the fog lifted and we got under way again for the last stretch up to the dock. An English boy band played snappy Yank tunes while we unloaded.

We hiked across Liverpool to the Central Station and piled into dinky English coaches. That was the first look most of us had had at compartment cars. England’s garden-like landscape was a distinct novelty to us also as we flew over the ground to Southampton. We reached that city about midnight and immediately set out for the British rest camp near there. We needed rest when we arrived there all right but didn’t get much. At 2:00 o’clock the next afternoon we were under way again for our trip across the English Channel. All along the way women and children came out to shake hands with us and wish us God-speed.

After a hot, tiresome wait in the dock shed we loaded on to the U.S.S. Harvard which safely transported us over the most dangerous part of our journey. When we looked out the next morning Le Havre was in sight. We unloaded there and marched about a dozen kilos, more or less, to Rest Camp No. 1. This camp was on the highest point of ground in the neighborhood apparently, as we always went up and never down. It certainly was some job getting there under full pack.

The following day at about 3:00 o’clock we left this camp and hiked back through town to the railroad station where we loaded into French box cars–the "40 Hommes or 8 Chevaux" kind we’d read about. Running on schedule seemed to be something foreign to French railroads, hence a delay of five hours in starting worried them not at all, but at last we were all set (rather part sitting and part standing) and left for a training camp "Somewhere in France." After two days in the cars, during which time we became most intimately acquainted with Corn Willy and canned tomatoes and learned how to sleep on the installment plan, we arrived at a little village in Brittany called Messac. There we were billeted for the next ten days, during which time we had our full quota of close order drill. In addition to this there were classes in signaling, fire control and gunnery which kept us busy until the time came to go into the artillery training camp at Cöetquidan. We then made our packs and started hoofing it once more. That noon we reached MaurP, 13 kilos distant, pitched pup tents and slept like logs until morning, when we started the journey again, arriving at Camp Cöetquidan around noon.

Upon arrival we were assigned to Napoleonic barracks with concrete and dirt floors. The first night or two in them were anything but "downy" ones. A week or so was spent in continuation of the training started at Messac. Then we drew a battery of French 75's and our real training began. We found that much of the training received in Custer was quite different from the French drill regulation, consequently drills and more drills were the order of the day. Twice a week we went on the range for practice in firing signaling, fire control, and camouflage.

September 17th, 1918, will always be remembered as a red letter day in this period of our training. The battery was on the range for firing practice and No.1 gun had been loaded with high explosive shell. The order was given to fire. There was a queer flash at the breech and immediately we sensed that something had gone wrong. It seemed hard to grasp for a second that about two feet of the tube–from the breech forward–had been blown to smithereens. But Corporal Webber, who was gunner, was lying on the ground where he had been thrown by the force of the explosion. Johnson, who was No. 1, was staggering away dazed. Investigation showed that fragments of the tube had gone clear through the caisson wall, tearing several holes in live shells. Nothing short of a miracle kept the whole place from blowing up. Some of the boys recall most vividly the sight of the torn-free breech block rolling back in the dirt. Chief of Section McCarty hurried to Corporal Webber’s aid and found he had been but slightly wounded in the arm by a shell fragment. Johnson suffered nothing worse than a bruised leg. Thanks to "B" Battery’s guardian angel, no other member of the gun crew was injured, although all of them felt the force of the explosion. Collello was No. 2 on this gun crew, Beck was No. 3, Steinke No. 4, and Thackham No. 5.

Shortly we drew more horses–not horses like we had in Custer but old battle-scarred veterans. They did not look so nice but they knew their business which was much more important.

To relieve the tension of training some of the boys used to make occasional trips to Vinegar Hill where they partook of the bottled sunshine of "Sunny France." The night before we went out on the range for regimental firing problem, Bustance went over the hill and while there drank well but not wisely of vin rouge. He was one of the battery drivers and when he got back to the barracks someone asked him what he had done with the "Finucan Valves" belonging to his harness.

Looking very serious, Bustance said that they had not been issued to him. Following fluent advice he went on a search all by himself. Finally, after being "finucanned" all over the regiment, he found the Captain who asked him if he was sick and advised him to go to bed.

While we were here we lost several of our men through sickness. Corporal Adams, Privates Kogelshatz and Swayne were sent to the hospital and did not rejoin the battery before we left France. Lieut. Fuller Gregson, who was the idol of Battery B, left us on a transfer to H.Q. Company. Private Smith was sent to the hospital and while there died of pneumonia. Smith was well liked in the battery and his "Going West" was mourned by all of us.

After eight weeks training at Cöetquidan we were in shape for the front. "B" Battery, incidentally, did its full share to help the 329th make the best qualification record of any American regiment up to that time. On October 22nd, having loaded everything on the caissons and escort wagons, we marched to Guer, transferred the material to flat cars and stowed ourselves in side-door Pullmans for another two-day trip. On October 24th we arrived at Andelot and hiked to Manois, where we stayed four days. It was here that Mess Sergeant Bill Holzer sent out his famous wood detail. They came back with a skinny apple tree which subsequently cost us fifty francs and beaucoup explaining to an irate Frenchman.

Next we marched to Rimaucort where we entrained for Domgermain. We arrived there late at night and considered ourselves lucky to find some empty sand bags on which to sleep. The following night we witnessed an attempted air raid on the hospitals near Domgermain. After several attempts Jerry’s planes were driven off. While here we drew another gun to take the place of the one destroyed by the explosion. A big British Handley Page which alighted near there for gasoline was the subject of much curious gaze.

We left Domgermain in the afternoon and that was the last hike we took in daylight until the armistice was signed. After passing through Toul we struck the main highway leading to the front. We now began to hear the rumble of big guns in the distance and could see flashes of light away on the horizon. After many weary hours of marching we turned off the main road to the left and were just able to make out the word Lagney on the signboard. This was our last night in an inhabited town before reaching the front. We were so footsore and weary that we were mighty glad of a night’s rest, be it in a barn or house, on a bed or on the floor. Lights were now added to the already long list of things we had to do without as they might assist the enemy in locating us. The next evening we continued our march after a very hasty supper.

The road from now on was packed with a constant stream of trucks, autos and ambulances going to and from the front. Along side the road was a narrow-gauge railroad for carrying ammunition up to the lines. On and on we marched through village and hamlet. The night was dark and we could just make out bare walls but we were told that they had once been villages before Hun shell fire wrecked them. Here and there between the villages we could distinguish camouflage erected to protect traffic from enemy observation.

At last the word was passed down that we were to turn off into a field. We were warned to look out for shell holes. In this field we pitched shelter tents and got a few hours sleep. Before turning in we were told that everything would have to be concealed in the woods near by before daylight. Accordingly about 4:00 a.m. we struck tents, hitched in and pulled the material into the woods known as the Bois de Mort Mare.

This day we had an opportunity to explore a little and, as the Germans had only been driven out of these woods a short while before, we found many things of interest—dug-outs made of concrete and steel, ammunition, narrow-gauge tracks running in all directions and also a number of American graves.

On November 2nd in the early morning, Captain Frazier and Corporal Ackerman mounted their horses and set out to reconnoitre for our gun positions. It is needless to say that a thrill went through all of us at the new—for we would soon be taking an active part in the big show. We were kept in touch with the outside world by a Red Cross auto which brought us papers every day, such as the English "Daily Mail" and the Paris edition of the "New York Herald." There papers were distributed free to the boys and it was some treat to get them.

Upon the return of Captain Frazier and Corporal Ackerman the order was given for four gun squads and the battery commanders’ detail to get ready at once as we were to go into position that night. What a night it was, too, dark and damp and dreary! The ground was just a mass of greasy mud and it took all the strength of the men as well as the horses to get the guns and caissons out of the woods. There was Ikey Klein joking as usual and Bustance having a terrible time fixing his horse’s gas mask. "Mess Kit Mike" had all his work cut out, making his hands obey his wishes and his teeth beat a continuous tattoo. The whole outfit was keyed up to concert pitch and that trip will live in our memories as long as memory lasts.

We passed through some heaps of wreckage which had once been towns and here and there could detect evidences of human habitation from slivers of light escaping through cracks in the walls. Finally we came to the ruined town of Thiaucourt. We had to stop and turn around after crossing the wrong bridge and were glad we did as Jerry started dropping shells there not 15 minutes later. At last we were halted in front of what was to be our first gun position. As we stood there we heard a gas alarm and in double quick time had our gas masks on, realizing suddenly that "drill-time" was a thing of the past and that from now on a gas alarm meant business. We also heard the big boche shells, facetiously known as "G.I.Cans," whining by on their way to Thiaucout, where we had been a short time before.

Unless a man has done it himself it is hard to realize what a difficult proposition getting a battery into a new position on a pitch black night is. We sure had our share of difficulties but acting under Captains Frazier’s excellent instructions, and Lieutenant Curtiss’s co-operation, we got located in very reasonable time. Lieutenant Goble gave his personal opinion of the war when one of the teams got angled up in a mass of barbed wire. It took some time to extricate them but they were unhurt and all the damage done was a broken pole on the limber.

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To read Sid's account click here 

To read "One Way Road' click here