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

Most of us had a taste of the sensation of stepping on nothing and finally finding one’s self down in a shell hole or at the bottom of a trench. While the guns were being put into position it was quiet but just after the horses were sent back, both sides started a barrage. At this time Captain Frazier with his assistants were figuring firing data and it was tough sledding keeping their thoughts on the figures and not on the possibility of a Fritzie shell having their name on it. The next morning brought strange and wonderful tales to the remainder of the battery stationed in the woods. One of the horses was reported to have "gone west," either from gas, overwork or heart failure. The firing battery was reported to have been badly gassed and various other calamities were presumed to have occurred, but fortunately everything was O.K. By the next night the gun crews were fairly well set.

The men who were left in the woods acted each night as ammunition carriers—under the command of Lieutenant Goble—and several times came closer to bursting shells than was calculated to be good for the health. Night after night the ammunition detail came up to the guns and were never heard to complain but they were glad to get back to Bouillionville where they had moved from the woods. Every day Corporal Tripp or Corporal Eagling guided up such men as were needed at the guns—camouflage men, telephone men, etc. Every afternoon Fritz would start putting over shells (mostly gas) and frequently our meals were interrupted by gas alarms. The part we played at this position was largely a waiting game which was a great deal harder than being actually engaged in firing, especially with big shells coming over from a distance out of our range.

The gas was the worst thing we had to content with and at first we were all very careful to get our masks on at the first hint of it. Tommy Dale well remembers the rainy day when he sat down by an open can of carbide, put on his gas mask and kept it one for an hour, thinking that acetylene gas was chlorine. About the softest job was Sergeant Ed. Davey’s. Why, ALL he had to do was keep the blooming gas away and see that there were guards out day and night. Those guards of Ed’s were so darned good that we used to sleep with our gas masks on—sometimes.

At this time Dreyfus, Watling, "Pansy" Burns, Nowlen and the ex-Mayor of Jonesville, Deal, were on detached service doing telephone work at the first battalion headquarters. Chas. Herman’s first night at the valley was a corker. We were all in our bunks in an old German bunk-house half way up the hill. The big guns were sending over occasional messages to Fritz, each time shaking the hill. Herman was a little nervous but as the messages were going not coming, he felt reasonably safe, until Fritz began to return the compliment. We would lie there and listen to them whiz over our heads—a-t e-a-s-e—Rest! Soon they began to strike closer and one hit just near enough to throw gravel over our roof. Herman sat up quickly and bang! his head and the ceiling met. Herm was determined to move out but we finally persuaded him to stay in our hotel a while longer.

There is a story told of Sergeant Nate Balter that he was given to making the following remarks (kindly take into consideration that anything like a protracted period of work always rests heavily on Nate’s mind, making him not exactly responsible for what he said): "By golly, I don’t want this job. Never wanted to be sergeant. Going to get the Captain to bust me," etc., etc. Ritter took on some sort of commanding status, for as the shells began to drop around his piece he would say, "All right, boys, two steps to the left, for they will change their deflection that much on the next shot." And everyone would obey him even to Lieutenant Curtiss. Also as they were digging their gun in all were cheered by Rit’s pleasant remarks, "It’s all for our own good, boys." And the picks and shovels would move faster than ever. Ah! here comes a little German up the valley. No, we are wrong; it is only a pair of German boots with "Shorty" Kobel in them. Andie Neubecker with his faithful assistants, Withey, Hamel and Westrom, sure gave us some good meals considering the difficulties under which they worked. The machine gun crews, under Corporals Manchester and Barrett were active most of the time and fired on several enemy aircraft.

Slippery "Whitey" Larkins entirely on his own policed up a German machine gun and fired on an American plane luckily without damage. This same Whitey was the bug who found a boche 77 and came back for a team of horses to bring it in.

We almost neglected to state that it was Gustafson’s gun crew, on No. 4, that fired the first seventy-fiver for B.

It was Thursday night when old Battery B put over a nice little barrage, and it sure did look pretty—the flash of the duns in the dark of twilight, the hurrying figures, the firing punch. Just after this our horses arrived—escorted by the best bunch of drivers who ever drew rein and the battery started moving to its second position. As we crossed the bridge at Thiaucourt Jerry put one over and a fragment struck Larson in the knee. He was in considerable pain but refused to go on the escort wagon until we were outside the town. "This is not a healthy place to stop," he said.

Our second position was about a kilo the other side of Thiaucourt and the guns had to be placed along a road that was in full sight of four enemy observation balloons. All around were badly shelled remnants of battery positions. But here again all went well until the horses had been sent back, when bang! bang! bang! bang! four shells struck at regular intervals just the other side of the road where our men were busily engaged erecting camouflage for the pieces. Guisbert, who was resting for a bit, received a wound in the neck from a piece of shell which cut through the collar of his overcoat. Had it struck a scant two inches further back we would have had another game lad to mourn. The same shell played hob with Jarosz’s pack lying near.

Just in the rear of the guns was a ditch which came in very handy as a ducking place when shells came over. Its presence accounted for the periodic disappearance of several members of the gun crews. After this the shells did not come so close but could be heard tearing the air up all night. The following day, after digging in had been completed, the guns were adjusted on Mont Plasir Farm. In the afternoon we received a few more messages from Fritz but no damage was done. The next few days were quiet—except where the Battery Commander and detail were concerned—and then came the World’s Greatest Event. Here is a good place to put in the Gun squads and different Details as they were lined up at the front.

First Gun Squad—Sgt. Seefeld, chief of section; Corp. Ackerman, gunner; Jasper, No.1; Finucan, No. 2; Hughson, No. 3; Sunday, No. 4; Kelly, No. 5; Vickers; Mackie, Chas.

Second Gun Squad—Stg. Balter, chief of station; Corp. Sullivan, gunner; Little, No 1; Lutton, No. 2; Goldberg, No. 3; Frey, No. 4; Mackie, John, No. 5; Steinke; Moore.

Third Gun Squad—Stg. McCarty, chief of section; Corp. Reiger, gunner; McKinnon, No. 1; Wilson, No. 2; Sanford, No. 3; Nelson, No. 4; Saari, No. 5; Sherwood; Kramer.

Fourth Gun Squad—Stg. Gustafson, chief of section; Corp. Ritter, gunner; Vincent, No. 1; Roszmann, No. 2; Kennedy, Roy, No. 3; Shelton, No. 4; Horton, No. 5; Beck.

Instrument Detail—Ins. Sgt. A. R. Daw, G. H. Larson, C. S. Neithercut.

Machine Gun Crews—Corp. Manchester, Corp. Barrett, Hershberger, Lewis, Bulter, Doolen

Telephone Detail—Tel. Sgt. L.F. Armstrong, Corp. Seward, Corp. Herman, Corp. Hartog, Privates 1st Class Wooster, Hall, Guisbert, Brinkman, Coffman, Kobel, Deal, Watling, Dreyfus, Lee, Dale, Nowlen, Geo. Burns.

Reserve Gun Squads

Fifth Gun Squad—Stg. Davey, chief of section; Corp. Guinner, gunner; Kennedy, D. C., No. 1; Roe, No. 2; Vaughn, No. 3; Paavola, No. 4; Eisenberg, No. 5; Kotlier; Creighton.

Sixth Gun Squad—Sgt. Himmelhoch, chief of section; Corp. Honsinger, gunner; Meyers, No. 1; Nankervis, No. 2; Bruner, No. 3; Patrick, No. 4; McCausey, No 5; Aseltine; Chait.

Seventh Gun Squad—Corp. Sharick, chief of section; Cook, gunner; Webber, No. 1; Jackson, No. 2; Olmstead, No. 3; Lutey, No. 4; Ulshafer, No. 5; Steiner, Galesnik.

Eighth Gun Squad—Pvt. Scanlon, chief of section; McDonald, gunner; Johnson, No. 1; Kneeland, No. 2; Marble, No. 3; Vargo, No. 4, Van Spyker, No. 5; Hawkins, Travers.

 Can you look back to that memorable date and hour and review your thoughts when the sound of guns suddenly stopped and in its place we heard the music of the 55th Band, parading the streets of Bouillionville? Most of the men thought of home, "perhaps" there were a few up at the guns who thought more about getting some hot water for a shave than anything else. After two weeks of getting up at all hours of the day and night the idea of a night’s sleep without interruptions was hard to believe. But on the night of November 11th most of us had one whole night’s sleep. You may believe it or not, but that night it was hard to sleep—it was so deathly still and silent.

About 11:30 p.m., November 12th, the top sergeant came in with the welcome news that everyone was to turn out and go up after the guns. We say welcome news because it was welcomed by about every cuss word in the soldier’s vocabulary, which is quite extensive and fitting for any and all occasions such as this one. The news was received in the same good humor at the guns, where most of the boys had found their first good place to sleep in two weeks. But of course everyone turned out and helped get the guns back to the echelon. We arrived at daybreak, ready for a nice little nap as soon as we had eaten of Sergeant Holtzer’s appetizing breakfast which was waiting for us. But no such luck. We were ordered to pack all our possessions and be ready to hike at 7:30 P.D.Q. Were we downhearted? No!

We left Bouillionville at the specified time and marched all day through miles and miles of fields that were a maze of trenches and barbed wire—Jerry’s old fortifications which he had once thought impregnable but which the doughboys had taken in three days—and at dusk of a beautiful day arrived at the war-torn town of Pont-a-Mousson on the Moselle River. Here we were to spend a three months’ stay that none of us will ever forget; for we had good billets in an old school house which had been closed on account of lack of business and too much of Jerry’s artillery.

The first few days were spent in turning in all the horses and some of the extra equipment and from then on we began to prepare to go HOME—new clothing, shoes, etc., were issued and we felt sure we would be on our way by Christmas. However we soon found that getting home was not the quickest or easiest thing in the world. For a time we were disappointed but this soon disappeared through the simple application of Squads East and West and equal parts of "Right five" and "100 metres more." Also occasional doses of road hikes with packs.

For recreation we had but very little at first except to sit in our rooms and talk or write. But soon the Y.W.C.A. arrived and the Chaplain established a recreation room which was a big help. The Salvation Army was right on the job as usual. Through Captain Frazier’s efforts, we got hold of an old riding hall and were the first to fix this up for indoor games of various sorts. Later we turned the loft of a stable adjoining us into a recreation hall. With such activities—and the additional in and out door sports of hustling wood—we did not have much time to get homesick. We also had the task of helping police up the town; and it was Pont-a-Mousson that our P.G. force first put into effect the well known challenge of the A.E.F. : "Halt! Who’s there?" Answer: "Friend with a bottle of cognac." Command: "Advance, ‘friend,’ and draw the cork." It was here that friend Sullivan tried to shoot down the moon in order to present it to a fair mademoiselle of his acquaintance. It was here also that some of the boys wore the seat of their trousers shiny on the local (it certainly wasn’t a limited) fire department.

Max Corrigan trotted out his troupe of Royal Entertainers after the aforesaid riding hall was turned into a Hippodrome, and cinched the place of Battery "B’s" theatrical troupe as one of the best in the A.E.F. Max had been training his charges ever since the trip over, and from Cöetquidan on, presenting a number of very successful plays and specialties, among them "A Night in Modern Minstrelsy" and "The New Judge." Harry Goldberg, John Jasper, D.C. Kennedy, George O’Jibway, John F. Scanlan, Orville Luft, John A. Schmitt, Floyd Strehl, "Barney" Kobel, Joe Fox, Bernard Ritter, and that whale of a little man, Jimmy Donnelly, were all shining lights. Rya Torrey made some leading "lady" and Max himself starred as director and performer. All these boys deserve credit for their hard work and the "bit" they added to Battery "B’s" fame.

Perhaps the one event that will linger longest in our minds was the Christmas celebration at Pont-a-Mousson. We were able to secure nuts, apples, grapes, cigars and cigarettes to give everyone a good portion, thanks to the Captain and the best little Mess Sergeant of them all, Bill Holzer. The Chaplain, Captain Bowen and Captain Brady were with us at the dinner and it was some feed. All our officers spoke and Captain Brady sang—we’ll never forget that song. Corrigan was there again with his show troupe, among them Mlle. Fatima, and the evening was altogether a happy one.

Shortly after this Captain Frazier was taken ill with appendicitis and was removed to the hospital at Toul for an operation. He came up smiling in Battery "B" style. 1st Lieutenant Sargent was B.C. during part of his absence and 1st Lieutenant Curtiss the rest. About this time also, we acquired two "dove-tails" from Saumur—Sergeant C.M. Eddy, formerly of the 310th Train, and Sergeant Wm. R. Melton, formerly of Battery "A." The latter subsequently became editor of "The Barrage."

First Lieutenant Sargent

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After Christmas came the horses again; and for two weeks we stood to heel and groomed. We even went so far as to give them a bath and a nocturnal hair cut before the memorable trip to Domgermain when we darned near ruined them turning in the guns and equipment. About February 1st a reliable report came that we were soon to start for home. Pistols were kissed goodbye, so were the rubber boots and all surplus equipment was turned in. The horses were taken over for keeps to the 7th Division.

On February 11th all were aroused at an extra early hour by our old friend Colly playing that does-get-em-up tune of his. The night had been exceptionally chilly so shoes, overcoat and hat were about all the clothes necessary to put on. After roll call a few instructions were delivered which ran something like this: 1st. Fall out in five minutes with mess kits for breakfast. 2nd. After breakfast make up rolls. 3rd . Carry mattresses down-stairs, roll them tight and put in a pile with the rest. 4th. Pull fires and clean all stoves. 5th. Clean up all rooms. 6th. Fill canteens with WATER.

Bill’s breakfast was an exceptionally good one and the aforementioned duties were performed with a snap. We took all the stoves possible along with us, left by truck for Drieulard and immediately set up stoves for a long ramble in the box cars. It is reported that "Fat" Morrish was rather fearful the fuel in his car would not last out the journey. So, after some careful investigations he locates a car of what he thought was coal. He {scrouged} several bags of it—without a word from the M.P,s or the French officials—and was not elated when it turned out to be stone.

This trip was the most pleasant one we ever took in box cars in spite of snappy weather: and, after a two-day and two-night ride, we detrained at Besse-sur-Braye. Then we learned there was a nice hike ahead of us. Our packs were to be carried for us, so we made a long roll of your blankets, horseshoed them and made Ecorpain before midnight. Some of the boys with two suits of underwear on found this journey a trifle warm The rations we had brought along were next distributed and we were assigned to our billets—barn lofts or anything. The little village of Ecorpain (called by the boys Ache or Pain) is composed of about 500 souls and is one of the nicest, cleanest little villages that we were in in France. It is about 7 kilos from St. Calais and 28 kilos from Le Mans.

We remained here about five days, going through the usual routine of foot drills, etc., under the command of 1st Lieutenant Curtiss. Captain Frazier had not yet recovered sufficiently from his operation to be back with the battery. Lieutenant Ackert made a generous Town Major with the assistance of Sergeant "Blackie" Daw. Then we moved about 15 kilos to Sarge. 1st Lieutenant Sargent’s conducting speed was just to our liking on this trip. Sarge was a rather sleepy little village located on a railroad and bisected by a river. We all had pretty fair billets here and the French people were certainly nice to us. Thanks to Lieutenant Ackert a number of the men enjoyed French feather beds. In passing we must not forget the bath house which was operated gratis by our old friends, Withey, Alabam Shelton, and Charlie Haight.

It was here that our "Rag" Sergeant, Sid Light, the Saginaw Kid, came perilously near issuing a crop of cooties with some supplies he got. Bill’s adoption of a mess hall was free and easy here as we ate out under the sunny skies which generally rained. On Saturday March 1st we proceeded to St. Calais, billeted there over night and started on with the regiment the next morning for Nuille-le-Jolais. We passed everything on the road this trip, making the 23 kilos in jig time and A-1 shape. Hiking without packs was very nearly a treat. Major Lothrop was in charge of this whole trip, and he sure made it slide easy.

We made Camp D’Auvours, otherwise know as the Belgian Camp, shortly after noon and were quartered in fairly respectable barracks. This was the place where we got our first taste of eating on the fly (those four line mess halls were sure a wonder) and our first glimpse of decent weather. After sundry inspections, we left on the 9th for the Le Mans entraining camp, got a cup of bon hot chocolate and some cookies from the "Y" and entrained in the rain for Brest. The sight of American box cars gave us the idea that maybe we could sleep once in side-door Pullmans. But 53 men to a car brought on the same old nightmare of hobnails in your face, nether extremities over your chest and weighted drowsiness in your feet.

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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