| Chapter 1 |
Training at Camp Beauregard It was a hot, sunny day, the tenth of June, the year Nineteen Eighteen, that I voluntarily answered the call of my country, which was then plunged into the greatest and most terrific war mankind has ever known. I enlisted at Camp Beauregard, and through the kindness and assistance of a friend of my sister's, Sergeant Whitmel Reed, was assigned to the Intelligence Section, Headquarters Company, 156th Infantry Regiment, 39th Division. A few days after my arrival I was equipped in olive drab, and soon made a full fledged soldier of "Uncle Sam". Camp Beauregard was a hot, dry, dusty place, lying on the outskirts of Alexandria, Louisiana, with a beautiful road winding back through the hills to the city. I remember, all hospitality and pleasures which in any way could be tendered the soldier boys lavishly poured forth from the ever generous-hearted people of Alexandria. Truly their names shall ever live in the bright pages of our memory. We worked hard every day from Reveille at 5:00 a.m. to Retreat at 5:00 p.m.; the work consisting mostly of military sketching, map drawing, visual signalling and military lectures. We also had drilling and a three-weeks' course of throwing "live" grenades and bayonet practice, at times getting so hot that we could wring water from our clothes and leggings. Twice a week we had military problems, and for hours at a time crawled over the pine hills, across stumps and rocks, dragging ourselves into muddy trenches, fashioned somewhat like those in the war regions of France. We were issued regular overalls for this work. I learned to like camp life very well, and as I was tenting with Reed, who was then 1st Sergeant of our Intelligence School, we soon had things going pretty much our way. I liked Reed from the beginning, and as days went by, our friendship grew stronger. Every other week we received a pass and would go up to my home at Derry, often accompanied by Lieut. Farget of the French Army. It was on one of these home trips that I accidentally shot myself in the eye while handling my old 38 pistol. This misfortune caused my immediate return to Camp where I landed in the Base Hospital and remained under treatment for three weeks. I remember mother, my sister and brother, July and Lamy, coming down to see me and how disheartened I felt when they drove off in the car, leaving me alone with my head all bandaged up, in front of that old Base Hospital. Our work of hiking, drilling, wig-wag and semaphore signalling, together with gas-mask drills steadily continued. On one occasion, during a sham battle of "going over the top", with the firing of machine guns, rifles and one-pound cannons and grenades thrown in, we were honored by a large crowd of Alexandrians, who drove out to see the military display. As days went by the boys grew anxious to leave for France, little realizing then what hardships and dangers were awaiting us "over there". On August 6th an official bulletin gave notice that we move on the morning of the ninth. I immediately telegraphed mother to send "Jack' at once, so that I might arrange all my business before leaving, as we were under a strict military quarantine and could leave camp only with a 12-hour pass to Alexandria. How I longed to see mother and home once more! Everything was in excitement. Rumors of all kinds floated around that farewell passes would be issued to some of the boys. I applied for a pass, hoping against hope, when to my great surprise my name was called, which meant, of course, that "Jack" and I were soon boarding "old 23" for Derry. It was some surprise for mother. The next day, Sunday, was quietly spent, my uncle and aunt, and a Jesuit Priest, Rev. Father Barland, dining with us. That evening, as I told all of the folks good-bye, the good Father, with his blessing placed a little gold chain and medal around my neck. I remember, too, it was the first time I saw my mother break down when she realized I was really leaving for over-sea service. Jack drove me up as far as Natchitoches in a roadster which belonged to a friend of mine, the Parish Priest, Rev. Father Brett. Here again, after bidding farewell to relatives and friends, thoughts of "one", coupled with devotion to family and flag, and with dictates of honor proudly prompting me to follow the colors across the seas, I soon left Jack standing upon the platform waving me his last farewell! How I hated to part from him! Ours had always been a strong brotherly love. It was a bright, moonlight night and everything looked so peaceful and quiet as I passed back by the old home, the garden, the orchard, fully realizing it might be the last time I would ever see the old familiar places again. As we pulled out of the depot, I could hear some of the boys yell out: "Good-bye Mat - Give 'em hell!" The last two days at camp we were very busy packing and cleaning up everything. I had just come in from a field inspection when Sergeant Reed informed me that I was wanted in Lieut. McCarthy's tent. Somewhat surprised I walked over to find to my great joy mother and July had come down to say a last farewell. After chatting awhile in the tent I bid them good-bye. Never shall I forget the look of distress on my mother's face, for no one knew but that it would be our last good-bye on earth. As the car drove off, I saluted them as a soldier should, and though my heart was full, I tried hard not to show it for my mother's sake. On the following morning, the 9th of August the shrill sound of the bugle awoke us at dawn. Through the cloudy sky a pale yellow glow of the moon still shone over Beauregard. Dimly outlined like a ghostly camp were hundreds of tents on the hillsides. From these, fully equipped, and ready for roll-call, we fell in line, marching out in unison to the sharp tat-tat-tat of the drum beats, stern in that determination so characteristic of the gallant yanks. We soon entrained in sixteen coaches, and as luck had it I boarded a tourist sleeper, the "Lucerne", and we pulled at 6:15 from old Camp Beauregard, bound for some unknown destination. |