Webmaster's Note: My apologies to Tom for the delay in publishing this story. When I commenced this project early in 2003, Tom was one of a few eager Volunteers to submit an article. Thank You Tom!
The American Meuse-Argonne offensive commenced in the pre-dawn hours of darkness on September 26, 1918. The thunderous bombardment of the German lines began at 0230 hours and infantry divisions of the U.S. 1st Army "jumped off" three hours later.
The fighting spread north along the western bank of the Meuse River valley, between the river and the rugged heights of the Argonne Forest to the west. The Americans had first to fight their way out of the "old battlefields" of the Argonne, Hill 304, and the Mort Homme on Verdun's "Left Bank."
In the latter sector and driving north from Esnes toward Montfaucon, was the US 79th Division, a "National Army" (draftee) division made up of men from Maryland and Pennsylvania. Astride the Montfaucon-Malancourt road, the 79th drove the Germans north over the rolling farmland and wooded hillsides of the region towards the fortified village of Montfaucon.
Hard on the heels of the advancing infantry came artillery, engineer, medical and supply units whose tasks were to support the general advance. A great deal of criticism has been leveled at the Americans for their lack of experience and logistical planning for an offensive of this magnitude conducted over such difficult terrain. Traffic going in both directions, utilizing the same roads, crawled and often stopped altogether. Ammunition and supplies could not be moved forward and the wounded could not be evacuated.
The 1st Pioneer Infantry Regiment--a combat engineer unit--was assigned to the 79th Division's sector. In the first week of the offensive, one company worked to keep a section of country road open, a narrow lane linking the village of Cuisy to the main, north-south, Malancourt-Montfaucon road. Under German artillery fire, these men struggled to clear away wreckage, fill in the shell holes and repair any damage that would obstruct passage of the troops.
After the war, the company commander, Major (formerly Captain) Thomas H. Barber expanded his wartime diary and published his memories under the title, "Along the Road." It is an uncommon book, published in 1924, but the author provides graphic evidence of the transport and logistical difficulties experienced throughout the 1st Army area of advance.
While seeking rations for his isolated commander, Barber recorded the following incident on the afternoon of October 1, 1918:
I began to worry about food again. I had brought back about a day's supply. The mechanics had brought in about one meal, so I only had enough for a lunch and a light supper. The front was very quiet, no shelling; and the [Cuisy] road was in good shape. Things were getting dull. The wagons were not likely to arrive until the next day or the day after. I suddenly remembered that two days before, the Lieutenant who had moved the company forward, had reported that he could not get all the supplies and kitchen equipment on the ration cart, and had left them under a guard of one man. This guard had been completely forgotten! At least I could get half a day's rations there.
By this time it had gotten cloudy; a thick fog had come up, practically preventing any direct artillery practice, and it was damp and cold. I decided it was safe enough to leave the company and that I would amuse myself by going back, see battalion headquarters, give directions about wagons and find out what I could about them.
My own piece of road was open and traffic running fast and smoothly. When I got to the Malincourt [sic]-Montfaucon road, which was the main front-to-rear road, things were very different. It was jammed with ammunition and food trucks going up, and similar trucks filled with wounded going down, all practically at a dead standstill. One driver assured me--I think accurately--that they were not making better speed than one hundred yards an hour and had not been for twenty-four hours. They were still about four miles from Esnes where traffic congestion was relieved.
The wounded were in a deplorable condition; half starved and burning with fever. They had practically no water, only what the drivers could scoop out of the roadside ditches. There was no straw in the trucks, practically no springs, and few blankets or coats for covering. They were bumped along at this incredibly slow pace hour after hour, with no hope of proximate relief. Some of them were screaming, obviously out of their head with fever, and there was a good deal of groaning and yelling. Most of them, however, were behaving pretty well. As I walked along the road it began to rain.
I had gone about a mile when a very wan head looked over the edge of a truck and said, - "Captain, we are in awful trouble here; will you help us?"
I said, - "I will if I can --what's the matter?"
"Oh, there's a man in here that has been dead two days and he is taking up a lot of room and is getting pretty disagreeable. Will you help us get him out?"
He was getting 'very disagreeable' all right; I could tell that from where I was, so I said, "Sure, I will," and stood up on the wheel.
The whole floor of the camion seemed to be about two feet deep with wounded men, - a few 'sitting cases' round the edges and the rest all tangled up together as if they had been thrown in over the side, some of them were unconscious, most of them were semi-conscious. They were covered in spots by filthy blankets and overcoats; in the middle of them was a corpse with his mouth open and turning green. His arms were outstretched, his legs wide apart; he was all tangled up with the living wounded, and stiff as a three-inch plank! Dead and living all stunk.
I about blew my breakfast, but managed to say, - "For the love of Mike, what did they put a stiff in with you for?"
"They didn't -- he died since we started."
"How long ago?"
"Day before yesterday."
I whistled.
I had an awful time getting into the truck without stepping on any one, but finally shuffled my feet down to the floor and got a stance; spent two full minutes getting parts of the corpse from under the living wounded and generally untangled. Then I tried to lift him, and couldn't. Stiffened in that position, he was about as unwieldy as a grand piano and I durst not run the risk of staggering and moving my feet.
I yelled to a passing solder, - "Hey son! Get over the tailboard and help me throw out this stiff!."
He climbed up, recoiled for a minute, got in carefully, took one end of him and I the other. We swung him a couple of times and slung him way over the side of the cart and off the road. He hit the bank (the road ran on a fill) and turned a cartwheel without bending; so stiff he was. We got out and went our ways under a shower of thanks from the wounded.