History That Doesn't Suck - 142: The Meuse-Argonne Offensive (pt.1) – “The Lost Battalion”

Episode Date: September 11, 2023

“Our own artillery is dropping a barrage directly on us. For heaven’s sake, stop it.” This is the story of the Meuse-Argonne Offensive’s beginnings. “Tout le monde à la bataille.” So says Ferdinand Foch as the Allies hit the Germans from several pressure points at once. For the Americans, that means fighting between the thick woods of the Argonne Forest and the deep waters of the Meuse River. The region is heavily guarded and a “natural fortress.” The attack will have a high cost – including injured Harlem Hellfighters and a wounded George Patton. But deep in the Argonne Forest, some 550 men have the misfortune of being the only force to succeed in pushing as deep as their demanding commander asks. They’re isolated, alone, and soon, surrounded by the Germans with no food, supplies, or reinforcements coming. Worse still, the rest of the US Army isn’t even sure where they are behind German lines. This is the harrowing tale of the Lost Battalion. ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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The Civil War and Reconstruction was a pivotal era in American history. When a war was fought to save the Union and to free the slaves. And when the work to rebuild the nation after that war was over turned into a struggle to guarantee liberty and justice for all Americans. I'm Tracy and I'm Rich and we want to invite you to join us as we take an in-depth look at this pivotal era in American history. Look for The Civil War and Reconstruction wherever you find your podcasts. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson,

and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller. Each episode is the result of laborious research with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content,

and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for a seven-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com membership, or click the link in the episode notes. It's just past 8 a.m., Wednesday, October 2nd, 1918. We're in northeastern France, one week into the combined Franco-American Meuse-Argonne offensive, and Major Charles Whittlesey, or Galloping Charlie, as the witty, kind-hearted, yet energetic and disciplined 34-year-old New York lawyer turned battalion commander is known, is standing with his men, ready to join the fight already raging in the Argonne Forest. This is no small thing. Let me use the precious moments remaining before the whistle sounds and they charge forward to explain. Charlie commands the 1st Battalion of the 308th Regiment in the

77th Division, aka the Statue of Liberty Division. The division commander is General Robert Alexander, and though a man of action, he's not the strongest leader or strategist. Indeed, his own superior officer, First Corps Commander General Howard Liggett, has actually wondered if Robert's promotion over the Statue of Liberty Division was a clerical error. Be that as it may, the 77th Statue of Liberty division is now positioned to the right of the French, on the far left of the Meuse-Argonne American sector, and this hard-nosed general is determined that his doughboys will drive the Germans back. Damn the costs. For Charlie's battalion, mostly rough-and-tumble

Lower East Side melting-pot New Yorkers, peppered with freshly arrived Westerners to replace their fallen. This means advancing a little less than a mile northward into the thick Argonne forest, up the Charlevoix ravine, taking the main German line, then pushing to the other side of the Charlevoix valley to take a road and railroad on the next ridge. They're to do this today, blindly trusting that the French to their left and the 307th Regiment to their right are keeping pace and not leaving them open to a flanking attack. It's now 8.30am. The whistles blow and galloping Charlie leads his doughboys into the woods. They stay as low as they can, hugging the west side of the ravine toward La Palette

Hill, thankful to find that the trees stop most of the occasional German sniper and machine gun fire coming at them from both sides of the ravine. But eventually, Charlie and his men come to an opening. German bullets fly as seasoned New Yorkers and fresh-faced Westerners alike take cover and return fire. Charlie is no coward, but he loves his men and won't see them slaughtered without cause. He sends word of their predicament back. The message goes up the chain to Colonel Cromwell Stacy of the 308th Battalion, to General Evan Johnson of the 154th Brigade, and finally

to General Robert Alexander. The division commander is unrelenting. He barks a message over the phone for the 154th Brigade's commander. You tell General Johnson that the 154th Brigade is holding back the French on the left and is holding back everything on the right, and that the 154th Brigade must push forward to their objective today. By must, I mean must, and by today, I mean today, and not next week. The message is relayed back to Charlie Whittlesey with one caveat. Colonel Cromwell Stacy gives Charlie permission to cut eastward across the ravine to try the other side. The bespectacled Major answers,

All right, I'll attack, but whether you'll hear from me again, I don't know. It's now about 2 p.m. Joined by Captain George McMurtry and his second battalion, Major Charlie Whittlesey leads their combined forces along the eastern side of the valley floor near Hill 198. A German sniper is holding them up, so Charlie sends Lieutenant Harold Rogers with B Company out to deal with him and an accompanying Bosch machine gun nest. While a few soldiers distract the Germans, the rest of B Company circles around and surprises the machine gunners. The 30-plus Germans, all older reservists, quickly surrender. A small force marches them back to the American lines as Charlie otherwise leads the mixed

forces of the 1st and 2nd Battalions forward. Soon, Charlie's men stumble upon an abandoned German trench. It's overgrown, but was clearly long-held. Is this not the main trench of the Gieselheer line? The line that the Germans intended to hold to the end? What on earth? And what's happening with the French to their left, or the 307th Regiment to their right? No matter. They've yet to go as deep as General Robert Alexander has ordered. Charlie's doughboys next arrive at a marshy green open plain.

There's a small brook crossed by a narrow bridge. Single-filed and broken up, the Americans dash across as German soldiers fire. The Yankees are lucky. Between the distance of the shot and the sunset's diminishing sunlight, most of them make it across. Ascending a steep slope, the 1st and 2nd Battalions soon reach a road. Charlie can hardly believe it. They've suffered about 90 casualties, but they've reached their objective.

Immediately, he orders his doughboys to dig in on the slope below, forming an oval-shaped perimeter. Charlie also sends privates George Newcomb and John Haught to check on the French to their left, while runners relay word back to his superiors that they've surpassed the Germans' Gieselherrlein and reached the road beyond, as ordered. But the two privates don't find the French on the left. They find Germans. John Haught is captured, leaving George Newcomb to return alone with the report that the French aren't there. Meanwhile, as the runner's message makes it back, General Evan Johnson has mixed feelings. He knows that this news will please his demanding division commander, but at the same time,

no other units of the 154th Brigade accomplished their nearly impossible objectives. That means Major Charles Whittlesey's forces aren't only exposed by French failures on their left, but by American failures on their right as well. He sends a battalion from the 307th Regiment to reinforce the Major and calls division headquarters to report the situation. Colonel J.R.R. Haney passes word to General Robert Alexander, then soon calls back. General Alexander says congratulations, but General Evan Johnson isn't of the same mind. Exasperated, he responds to the colonel, I do not consider it a matter for congratulations, but I wish to put him absolutely in possession of the facts.

Those facts are that Major Charles Whittlesey's men are far out ahead of any other American or French forces. And soon, those facts will also include that, of the reinforcements sent from the 307th, only K Company will manage to find them. And that, by morning, the Germans will have completely surrounded the Major and his mixed forces of roughly 550 soldiers. No food, no further reinforcements.

Surrounded. Good God. What hope do these lost doughboys have? The 77th Division will have to act fast if they are to save this lost battalion. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. Today, as the Allies' war-ending 100 days offensive takes the British to Cambrai and the Belgians to Flanders. We are following General Black Jack Pershing's massive, more than 1 million strong American

Expeditionary Force, or the AEF, and its French allies into their last campaign of the Great War. This episode is part one of two of the 47-day long Meuse-Argonne Offensive. It's been a few episodes since we followed the AEF directly, so we'll start by backing up a month and change to review the background on and set the stage for the Americans stepping into the Meuse-Argonne Offensive. Once underway, we'll see hard fighting as we catch up with some familiar faces from past episodes, like Lieutenant Colonel George Patton and, over with the French, Harlem Rattler Horace Pippin. But alas, we won't make it so much as a week into this offensive before we come to the plight of

Major Charles Whittlesey and his mix of companies from the 77th Statue of Liberty Division, which we'll refer to collectively by their soon-to-be nickname, the Lost Battalion. We'll then finish their tale, one of brave men, a brave bird, and immense loss. Well, ready to follow Blackjack and his massive American force into their final campaign and see what becomes of the Lost Battalion? Excellent. Then let's dial the clock back two months and start down this dark path. The path that leads to the Meuse-Argonne offensive. Rewind. In late August 1918, Allied Supreme Commander Ferdinand Fauche wants to try a new strategy, one likely inspired by Britain's Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig. The Frenchman decides that

the Allies will strike the Germans more or less simultaneously and in different spots. His new slogan is, tout le monde à la bataille, that is, everyone to battle. This, he hopes, will break the Second Reich before the year's end. On August 30th, Ferdinand tells General Blackjack Pershing that this new plan means that the recently formed American First Army's upcoming attack on the Samiel salient can't happen. Those doughboys need to go fight in the Argonne forest, and under French leadership, no less. Yeah, you remember this from episode 137. Blackjack is livid. This plan would deny the newly formed U.S. First Army its first real battle and hide their role in the final assault. The enraged American nearly throws a punch, but thankfully, they compromise.

Samiel will happen, but with dialed back goals, after which the Yanks will head to the Argonne Forest, but under American leadership. Look at that. Ferdinand and Black Jack working things out without their fists. Miracles never cease. And so, the First American Army attacks at Saint-Miel on September 12th, and victory is in hand the next day. Black Jack then moves hundreds of thousands of men, their supplies, and 2,000-plus guns 60 miles northward, just past Verdun, across rough terrain in less than two weeks for the Meuse-Argonne offensive. But the rough terrain isn't just a thing along the way. Here's what the Americans are facing on their new, nearly 20 miles long, north-facing front. Starting on the American right, that is, the sector's eastern edge, we have the wild and deep

Meuse River. The Yanks here will fight in its valley. Doughboys in the center will face hills, plateaus, and ridges, all of which provide the Germans great protection at their stronghold of Montfaucon. Continuing west, we come to the Aire River, which is followed by the Aisne River, and between them is the hill-covered, heavily wooded, Argonne Forest. It's a horrific prospect to attack. In the words of Major General Hunter Liggett, quote, the region was a natural fortress, beside which the Virginia wilderness in which Grant and Lee fought was a park, close quote. But the Germans aren't only relying on their natural fortress. They've also constructed a massive defensive line, or Stellung in German, that runs from the North Sea down to Verdun.

The Germans call it the Siegfriedstallung. The Allies call it the Hindenburg Line. We'll use the latter, but the key thing is that the Hindenburg Line, which passes right through this region, isn't a simple line of trenches. Here, it is a miles-deep series of lines supporting four positions, all bearing names from Teutonic lore. So if the Americans break through the first line, they'll still have to deal with the Gieselheer Line,

which, despite the abandoned section we saw Major Charles Willesey find in this episode's opening, is fiercely defended. That is followed by the Krimhilde line and finally the Freya line. French General Philippe Etain estimates that the Americans will break through the Giselaer line and take Montfaucon around Christmas. Yet, despite Philippe's view, all of the challenges we just discussed and the US Air Service operating with only 800 or so aircraft as opposed to the 1,400 that it had at Saint-Miel, Blackjack has a more ambitious goal. He wants to take Montfaucon and press all the way to the Krimhilde Line on the first day.

As his order number 20 states, quote, the advance will be pushed with great vigor, close quote. Damn, okay, Blackjack, but how on earth are you going to do that? Well, despite the Germans' fortified natural fortress, Blackjack does have a few things going for him. One is the element of surprise. The Germans aren't ignorant to the Yankee force amassing here, but they still expect the Americans to push their advantage at Samiel, not strike hard in the Argonne forest. Blackjack also has the numbers. He's striking with nine divisions divided into three corps. On the American left, the balding, mustachioed, and rather rotund Major General Hunter Liggett commands First Corps. His doughboys will work with the French Fourth Army, yet to the left of them, to take the deadly, Bellowood-esque Argonne Forest.

In the center, we have Major General George H. Cameron's Fifth Corps. To them falls the daunting task of taking Montfaucon. A 300-foot rise here gives the Germans well-placed artillery an excellent observation point over the whole American sector, so Blackjack needs this taken out post-haste. Lastly, Major General Robert L. Bullard's 3rd Corps holds the American right and will attack between Montfaucon and the Meuse River. Fresh off of a victory at Saint-Miel, the Yanks are filled with confidence while the Germans

are demoralized. Sounds like the psychological setting is ripe for swift American movement. To quote Blackjack, in my opinion, no other Allied troops had the morale or offensive spirit to overcome successfully the difficulties to be met in the Meuse-Argonne sector. But is Black Jack's confidence well placed? None of the divisions here have even seen combat, apart from the 33rd's Illinoisans, who fought at Saint-Miel. Some men in the 79th Division, part of the V Corps assigned to take Montfaucon,

have only been in uniform for a matter of weeks. Meanwhile, such aggressive posturing might encourage his less strategic generals, say Robert Alexander of the 77th Division, to push too hard. Well, time will tell. At 11.30 p.m. on September 25, 1918, American artillery begins to fire. Soon, an astounding 2,711 guns are blasting away, tearing through more ammo in a few hours than the Union and Confederate armies combined fired in all four years of the Civil War. The sound is overwhelming. Men with the 1st Corps' 129th Field Artillery on Hill 290 temporarily go deaf.

Among them is a 34-year-old captain and future U.S. President, Harry Truman, who says it looks, quote, as though every gun in France was turned loose, close quote. Meanwhile, ace pilot Eddie Rickenbacker is flying over the exploding countryside just before daybreak. He'll later recall that, Through the darkness, the whole western horizon was illuminated with one mass of jagged flashes. At 5.30 a.m., the bombardment gives way to a rolling barrage as doughboys go over the top. Watching is Lieutenant Colonel George Patton, who's just penned a letter to his wife, which opens with, just a word to you before I leave to play a part in what promises to

be the biggest battle of the war or world so far. George might be the commander of the First Corps' First Tank Brigade, but he isn't one for watching. His patience for staying in a command post as his 140 tanks roll forward can only last so long. It's sometime after 10 a.m., September 26, 1918. Lieutenant Colonel George Patton trudges through tank tracks in the forest looking for his men and machines en route to Valren in support of the 35th Division. He's been out here for three hours and has amassed an entourage of some hundred officers and men.

Some want to follow. Others dare not. Pressing forward through the lifting fog, they soon reach the southern edge of the small village of Chepi. And that's when George and his impromptu battalion suddenly face machine gun fire. George yells for everyone to get low and follow him back as he tries to figure out where on earth his tanks went.

It's not long before he gets his answer. They're bottlenecked. A French Schneider got stuck trying to cross between two wide German trenches. George is livid. Why haven't his men jumped into action? Fine, he will. The tank brigade commander braves German bullets, grabs shovels and tools off of the exposed tanks, and puts the Americans and French alike to work digging the

French tank out. As the men work, George and Captain Math English stand above the trench, surveying the land and planning the next move. Lieutenant Paul Edwards yells for them to come down. George responds, Hell with them. They can't hit me. He stays there while the tanks cross, using hand signals to give directions to the deafened crews inside these machines of war. But as the tanks move on, George remains eager for action. He waves his swagger stick overhead, shouting, Let's go get them. Who's who's with me his 100 strong force jumps up and follows the athletic colonel over the crest of the hill in front of them that's when the germans really open up it seems like they were waiting for this exact moment everyone drops to the ground

for cover looking up at the sky george has well he a vision, a vision of his veteran ancestors. In his words, I felt a great desire to run. I was trembling with fear when suddenly I thought of my progenitors and seemed to see them in a cloud over the German lines looking at me. I became calm all at once and saying aloud, it is time for another Patton to die, called for volunteers. Six men answer his call. Already sure of his own death, George jumps up shouting, let's go, let's go. They charge forward and are immediately cut down.

Five of the six volunteers are killed. George is hit in the leg. The lone other survivor, George's orderly, Joseph T. Angelo, drags his wounded commander to safety. On his insistence, George is taken to the 35th Division's headquarters to report on the battle before finally going to the hospital. It's a similar story for day one of the Meuse-Argonne across the American sector.

Doughboys, brave but green, charge forward with mixed results. General Robert Bullard's III Corps on the American right sees the greatest success, covering some six miles between the Meuse River on their right and Mont Faucon on their left. As Robert will later recall, his men advanced, quote, almost as far as we had anticipated, and my corps that day had suffered no great losses, close quote. On the American left, where George Patton just suffered a wound severe enough to take him out on the Corps' far left, the 77th Division's commander, General Robert Alexander, is particularly galled at his New Yorker's slow progress. That brings us to the American center and Blackjack's greatest hope for today,

V Corps' attack on Montfaucon. None of these three divisions have ever seen battle. One division commander, Major General Joseph Kuhn of the 79th, has never led infantry before today. Little surprise then that Montfaucon remains in German hands as the sun sets. The day was so disorganized that German General Max von Gallwitz thinks the attack might be a diversion, with the real attack still coming from Blackjack's more experienced troops over at Saint-Miel. Indeed, the German commander is confident that the coming days here at the Meuse-Argonne will go just as well for the German army. That said, the next day, September 27th, V Corps rallies and takes Montfaucon. Still a bit faster

than General Philippe Pétain's Christmas prediction, but this success makes the Germans realize that Blackjack isn't playing around. Meuse-Argonne is the real attack. The Boche bring in six divisions of reinforcements, slowing the Franco-American offensive and inflicting 45,000 casualties on the Yankees by September 29th. Among the dead and wounded are some Americans fighting under the French flag. Old friends of ours from episode 138. That's right.

I'm talking about the Black New Yorkers of the Old 15th, aka the 369th Infantry, better known as the Harlem Rattlers or Hellfighters. It's about 8 in the morning, September 29th, 1918. Fighting with the French 4th Army to the left of the U.S. 1st Army, the Harlem Rattlers are on their third day of pushing the Germans back in the Argonne Forest. They're succeeding, but at a steep cost. Just this morning, a handsome 30-year-old New Yorker and aspiring artist named Horace Pippen lost half of his platoon to German machine guns. Horace and an unnamed buddy of his are crouched in a shell hole.

They decide to split up, hoping to hit the next German machine gunner from two separate sides. Horace darts out of the shell hole, but just as he does, the German spots him and fires. The Harlem Rattler falls backward into the shell hole, blood gushing from his right arm, shoulder, and a clipped neck. He starts plugging his wounds, and soon soon his buddy, who's now taken out the German gunner, is down in the hole to help. But Horace is too injured to get up. He'll have to wait for a stretcher bear. The two shake hands and Horace is left alone as the battle rages on above and around him. Hours pass. Horace hears soldiers sneaking up on his position. Then one peeps into his hole. It's a Frenchman! Thank God! He calls down to Horace hears soldiers sneaking up on his position. Then one peeps into his hole. It's a Frenchman!

Thank God! He calls down to Horace. Relief at last. But as he speaks, a bullet rips through the back of the blue-clad Poilu's head. He collapses into the hole, right on top of Horace. What a nightmare. The Harlem Rattler is pinned under the bleeding corpse of his would-be savior, and worse still, the weather's turning.

Rainwater begins filling the shell hole. Horace keeps trying to lift the dead Poilu off of him, but it's no use. As night falls and the water rises, he drifts into unconsciousness. By some miracle, two Frenchmen find Horace later that night. They'll pull him to safety, and the next morning, the Harlem Rattler finally sees a doctor.

It will be years before Horace learns how to paint with his left arm, but when he does, he'll create paintings depicting the Great War that art museums around the world will continue to display well into the 21st century. But let's not get ahead of ourselves with such post-war talk. Only a few days in, the American advance in the Meuse-Argonne offensive has been significant. They've far exceeded Philippe

Pétain's projections, pushing the Germans eight miles back to their third position on the Krimhilde line. That said, these doughboys' rookie status is painfully obvious. Blackjack halts most of the attack as he calls in his Samiel veterans to help. But meanwhile, German reinforcements are pouring in. So even as the U.S. First Army renews its advance on October 4th with the new goal of taking the ridge of Romain-sur-Montfaucon, it's clear that the battle ahead will not come easily. But no one knows that better than those few doughboys on the American left who never let up on the advance.

That's especially true for those of the 77th Statue of Liberty Division, now isolated and surrounded by Germans in the deadly Argonne Forest. When Johann Rall received the letter on Christmas Day 1776, he put it away to read later. Maybe he thought it was a season's greeting and wanted to save it for the fireside. But what it actually was, was a warning, delivered to the Hessian colonel, letting him know that General George Washington was crossing the Delaware and would soon attack his forces. The next day, when Raw lost the Battle of Trenton and died from two colonial Boxing Day musket balls, the letter was found, unopened in his vest pocket.

As someone with 15,000 unread emails in his inbox, I feel like there's a lesson there. Oh well, this is The Constant, a history of getting things wrong. I'm Mark Chrysler. Every episode, we look at the bad ideas, mistakes, and accidents that misshaped our world. Find us at constantpodcast.com or wherever you get your podcasts. Was the Sphinx 10,000 years old? Were there serial killers in ancient Greece and Rome? Was the Sphinx 10,000 years old? Were there serial killers in ancient Greece and Rome? What were the lives of transgender, intersex, and non-binary people like in the ancient world?

We're Jen. And Jenny. From Ancient History Fangirl. We tell you true stories and tall tales of the ancient world. Sometimes we do it tipsy. Sometimes we have amazing guests on our show. Historians like Barry Strauss, podcasters like Liv Albert, Mike Duncan, and authors like Joanne Harris and Ben Aronovich. We take you to the top of Hadrian's Wall to watch the Roman

Empire fall at the end of the world. We walk the catacombs beneath the temple of the Feathered Serpent under Teotihuacan. We walk the sacred spirals of the Nazca Lines in search of ancient secrets. And we explore mythology from ancient cultures around the world. Come find us at ancienthistoryfangirl.com or wherever you get your podcasts. We last saw Major Charles Whittlesey and his mix of New Yorkers and rookie Westerners from the 77th Statue of Liberty Division two days ago on Wednesday evening, October 2nd, 1918, as they set up a strong reverse pocket defense in the Charlevoix Valley. They're well nestled in a pocket, as they call this spot on the tree-covered slope, but that hasn't kept them hidden from their foe. German forces surrounded them that same night.

This means no more runners or telephones will carry messages to headquarters. Their only hope for communication is their few carrier pigeons. It also means that when Captain Nelson Holderman of the 307th Regiment arrived with his less than 100-strong K Company early on Thursday morning, October 3rd, they became the last reinforcements Charlie would receive. It's impossible to know their numbers for sure, but K Company likely brings this lost battalion, as they will soon be known, to about 550 men. Now starting their second full day in this pocket, Friday morning, October 4th, the situation has grown worse. Out of first aid supplies, wounded doughboys are now bound with

bandages pulled from the dead, American and German. Food is low. Men are taking rations off of dead Germans, sometimes removing blood-soaked parts of bread to eat the other half. The Yanks can fill their canteens at a slimy brook, but only at night. Otherwise, a Bosch sniper will make sure they never need another sip of water again. Nor has the fighting stopped. The Germans have fired shells, Minenwerfer, and on Thursday, they made two small assaults. Worse still, the doughboys are running low on ammo for their Chauchat machine guns and Springfield rifles alike.

Charlie couldn't be prouder of his men. Despite all of these hardships, not one of them has questioned his order, quote, to hold this position at all costs, no falling back, close quote. Indeed, the stink of death is all over this hillside,

but not once have the men mentioned surrender. Still, the New York lawyer turned army major knows his starving, parched, and wounded men can't hold much longer. As Friday morning wears on, he sends his fifth carrier pigeon. The blunt note reads in part, Men are suffering from hunger

and exposure, and the wounded are in a very bad condition. Cannot support be sent at once. Support is coming, but it's coming in the worst way possible. It's about 2.45, Friday afternoon, October 4th, 1918. Major Charles Whittlesey is making the rounds in his defensive perimeter, the pocket. Those doughboys fit for duty are keeping a sharp eye for the Germans. Others lie deeper in the pocket, enduring their wounds. Few complain. Two days into this ordeal, the men have grown almost accustomed to the hunger and pain.

Suddenly, Charlie's rounds are interrupted by the sound of artillery. American artillery. Thank God! The men clap and cheer as shells decimate the northern slopes of Hill 198 and part of the valley behind them, obviously preparing the way for Yankee reinforcements. They're saved! Wait. Why are those shells jumping up the valley slope?

Up their slope? Shells crash into the pocket. Some men dive for cover. A few wander out of their holes, shell-shocked, while still others, like Sergeant Major Ben Gatica, are blown to bits. Out of flares, Charlie sees but one hope for stopping this misguided artillery, a carrier pigeon. Charlie scribbles out a message.

Our own artillery is dropping a barrage directly on us. For heaven's sake, stop it. He then gives the small note to pigeon handler, Omer Richards. Some historians debate if there are one or two pigeons at this point, but the accepted count is two. According to this version, Omer grabs one, but the terrified bird slips through his nervous fingers and flies away. Omer now reaches for their last pigeon, a veteran of the French lines named Cher Ami, which is French for dear friend. Omer attaches the message to the

gray and white bird, then with a gentle toss, watches as he takes to the sky. But the crashing artillery scares Cher Ami. He quickly lands on a nearby tree branch. Desperate doughboys toss rocks and sticks at the bird. Finally, Omer decides to brave being exposed to the incoming barrage. He climbs the tree to encourage the bird back into the air. It works. Cherami flies off. Just after 3.30 p.m., Cherami flies into pigeon loft number nine. He's covered in blood. A bullet has wounded him in the chest and wing, as well as taken one leg. The message he carries dangles by a few tendons where the appendage used to be. Yet somehow, Charami has not only survived, but still managed to deliver the message.

He's landed only minutes after the 308th's artillery realized their error and stopped the barrage, but don't tell the lost battalion that. They'll always credit Charami with saving their lives, and the bird will be awarded the Croix de Guerre with palm. The friendly fire shelling ends around 4 p.m. 30 of Charlie's men are left dead or wounded, and worse still, the Germans strike immediately thereafter. They do so a second time later that night as well, fighting under the light of flares. But misguided artillery isn't the only American action on October 4th. Let's remember that this is the same day that the American army launches the second

phase of its Meuse-Argonne offensive. Fresh off of yesterday's tussle with Allied Supreme Commander Ferdinand Foch to have the French military take over the U.S. First Corps' fight in the Argonne Forest, a move likely inspired by French Prime Minister Georges Clemenceau. Blackjack launches the 1st American Army's renewed attack at 5.30 in the morning, October 4th. The Germans put up stiff resistance. General Robert Bullard's 3rd Corps on the American right sees slow success as the IV Division pushes one painful mile forward to capture the woods known as Bois de Faye over the next few days. In the American center, the completely reorganized V Corps is unable to

accomplish its reduced objectives and take the central heights of Romagne. And as we know, General Hunter Liggett's First Corps is having all kinds of trouble on the American left in the Argonne Forest, but there is some good news over there as well. The beaten 35th Division has just rotated out. It's replaced by General Charles Summerall's seasoned and skilled First Division, better known as the Big Red One. That same day, October 4th, the Big Red One's That same day, October 4th, the Big Red One's hardened doughboys drive up the east side of the Argonne Forest on the Aire River's east bank

to hit two formidable positions, one being Montreux-Beauwood, the other being Montreux-Gagne, also known as Hill 240. This veteran division gains more ground than any other today, moving a mile and a half forward. But the

casualties are steep. More than 2,000 men from the Big Red One are wounded or dead by the day's end. Their sacrifice has major ramifications for the lost battalion. Fighting on to achieve their ultimate objectives the next day, October 5th, the Big Red One has successfully flanked the Agon Forest. This success convinces First Corps, General Hunter Liggett to send his reserve, the 82nd Division, westward through the Argonne to hit the Germans from behind. This he hopes will force the Germans from the woods and thus save the lost battalion. It's a bold move. So bold that Hunter's staff put up significant opposition as this will risk

exposing the First Corps' flank to a counterattack. But Hunter knows he has to act. Not only does he want to save Major Charlie Whittlesey and his men, but the newspapers have picked up the story and the Lost Battalion has become a symbol to Americans back home. They cannot be captured or killed at this point. Hunter must save them. In the meanwhile, the U.S. Air Service is trying its damnedest as well. It's just before noon, Sunday, October 6th, 1918. We're at the Remy Kour Aerodrome, where the handsome, wisped mustache-wearing 28-year-old pilot,

Lieutenant Harold Guttler, is just getting out of his plane. But oh, is he frustrated. Like others of the 50th Arrow Squadron, he spent the morning flying low, hoping to spy Major Charles Whittlesey and the lost battalion. It's been a bust though. Between thick fog and the dense woods of the Argonne, it's like looking for a needle in a haystack. Who knows if those boxes of rations they're dropping are even close to the right place. Meanwhile, their planes are taking quite a few German bullets. Harold's observer, a 24-year-old second lieutenant from Kansas named Erwin Bleckley, counts 40 bullet holes in their aircraft alone.

Ah, but they can't give up. The thought of those 500-plus men starving now for half a week 40 bullet holes in their aircraft alone. Ah, but they can't give up. The thought of those 500 plus men starving now for half a week, shelled out, lacking medical attention. It's horrific. They have to get back up in the air. Flying in a borrowed DH-4 Liberty biplane that afternoon, Harold and Erwin find it far easier to scan the

trees for the lost battalion now that the fog is cleared. Unfortunately, that means the Germans are finding it easier to get their low-flying aircraft in their sights too. Harold swerves, climbs, and dives as German machine guns on the ground target them. Meanwhile, Erwin returns fire at a Bosch machine gun nest on a ridge below. He wipes it out. Harold turns around for another pass, for one more attempt to find the lost battalion. But as he does, a German bullet tears through the plane and hits Erwin. Oh, and it's bad. Harold swerves back toward the base, hoping Erwin can hang in there until they can get to a hospital. But the enemy fire

doesn't stop and this time bullet goes right through harold's head he's dead instantly the plane lurches then glides all while getting riddled with still more bullets until it crashes in the french sector erwin is still alive but not for long Of the 14 pilots and 15 observers from the 50th Arrow Squadron that look for the lost battalion, Harold and Erwin are the only ones to die. Both will receive the Medal of Honor posthumously, but valiant as their efforts are, none of the 50th's flyboys will make a successful drop or find Charlie Whittlesey and his men. Back on the ground that same Sunday, October 6th, 1st Corps Commander General Hunter Liggett is readying the 82nd to make its dangerous advance into the Argonne. Or at least, he's readying the

Reserve Division's one regiment that's close enough to get into action immediately, the 328th Infantry. Guides from the Big Red One will accompany them when they set out tomorrow morning, Monday, October 7th. But amid the weekend's fighting, doughboys across the American sector continue to suffer through the hardships of war. Newly added to V Corps in the American Center, the hard-fighting 3rd Rock of the Marne Division, so named as we know from episode 136 for its unyielding stand at the Second Battle of the Marne, is assigned to take hills 250 and 253 while pushing toward the heights of the Romagnon. They're torn to shreds, stepping over the bodies of their fallen brothers in arms as the fight goes back and forth.

On the American right, the men of Third Corps' Fourth Division have indeed taken the Bois de Thé, but now they're bulging into the German line. That's right, you know the term for this from past episodes. They've formed a salient, and their orders are to hold. They do, but being so exposed, the Germans' observant artillery on the heights of the Meuse keep them hemmed in while German aircraft drop bombs and gas. Colonel Frederick Wise will

never forget seeing the remnants of his 59th Regiment coming out of the woods with their eyes oozing fluid and led by, quote, one man who could see a little in front, leading the others, totally blinded, who held on to little sticks, extending from hand to hand to guide them. Close quote. It's a heartbreaking scene, much like the haunting scene that John Singer Sargent's future oil on canvas, titled Gassed, will depict after he paints it next year.

But whether blind, burnt, shot, or sliced up, the fight for the fourth salient leaves wounded young men crying out in English and German for water, their mother, or even that final rest others lying beside them now have. Death. This is the living hell of the Musa-Gun. Napoleon Bonaparte rose from obscurity to become the most powerful and significant figure in modern history. Over 200 years after his death, people are still debating his legacy. He was a man of contradictions, a tyrant and a reformer, a liberator and an oppressor, a revolutionary and a reactionary.

His biography reads like a novel, and his influence is almost beyond measure. I'm Everett Rummage, host of the Age of Napoleon podcast, and every month I delve into the turbulent life and times of one of the greatest characters in history, and explore the world that shaped him in all its glory and tragedy. It's a story of great battles and campaigns, political intrigue, and massive social and economic change, but it's also a story about people, populated with remarkable characters. I hope you'll join me as I examine this fascinating era of history. Find The Age of Napoleon wherever you get your podcasts.

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as even the uninjured lack the strength to bury the dead. They've taken every bit of food, weaponry, and ammo from every attacking German they've killed. The soldiers' morale and hope is as low as their ammo. Even still, Major Charlie Whittlesey is determined to do something. As the sun rises, the Major sends a lieutenant with three other men out to try and make contact with the American army.

It's not long before that lieutenant is back with the only other survivor. Not to be deterred, Charlie asks for recommendations for another to try to get through the German lines. Captain Nelson Holderman suggests a young veteran who's far more capable than his small and emaciated

stature might suggest. A Jewish immigrant who came to the United States to flee the anti-Semitism of Russian-ruled Poland, Abraham Krodoshinsky. Along with him, another man is chosen to accompany Abe. Historical records will later recall only that he is, quote-unquote, an Irish fella. All identifiable aspects of a third man who goes with these two will later fade from memory, but he very well may have represented yet another ethnicity or religion and spoken English as a second language. Allegedly, the diverse New Yorkers of the 77th Statue of Liberty Division hail from 50 different national backgrounds and speak 43 different languages. The three men set out,

first making their way down the slope and toward the swamp below. They then come to 30 feet of open ground. German machine guns open fire as the trio split up and dash forward. The two unnamed men double back to the pocket, reporting to Major Charlie Whittlesey that it's impossible to get through. As for Abe, they don't know what happened to him and assume he was hit. Desperately, Charlie asks for volunteers for a third attempt, and two additional men, Stanislav Khodoshinsky and Clifford Brown, head out. Another group of four leave the pocket as well, but without permission. They hope to find some of those relief packages

the U.S. Air Service has been dropping outside the perimeter. Emile Peterson starts the search, but soon the party grows to seven or eight. They include barely 18-year-old Lowell Hollingshead, a Paiute man from Nevada named Robert Dodd, and from New York's Chinatown, Private Henry Chin. They make it a little ways through a thicket until Robert, who's become their de facto leader, tells them to halt. Seconds later, German machine guns rip through the small group. Half of these doughboys, including Robert and Henry, are dead.

Meanwhile, the Germans take the survivors captive. Among them is young Lowell Hollingshead, the newly taken prisoner of war who played a curious role that afternoon. It's 4 p.m., Monday, October 7th, 1918. Major Charles Whittlesey's starved doughboys hold their ground in the pocket as best they can, anticipating that today's second German assault will come soon. Many wonder if they even have the strength to repel the Bosch again. Just then, they hear something. Looking out into the thick forest, they see a white banner, the flag of truce.

But it's not in German hands. It's carried by a man from H Company, one of those captured while searching for a misdirected airdrop package. It's Private Lowell Hollingshead. Blindfolded, the wounded 18-year-old Private carefully limps into the pocket, flag in hand, while leaning on an ornate German cane. He also bears a message from the German forces intelligence officer, Lieutenant Heinrich Plintz.

Captain George McMurtry fumes. He begins ripping into the injured private for leaving the pocket without permission, but Major Charles Whittlesey soon interjects. George, let's look at that letter. Written in the intelligence officer's impressive but still imperfect English, the letter describes Lowell as an honorable fellow doing honor to his fatherland, but insists it would be quite useless to resist anymore in view of the present conditions. Your wounded man can be heard over here in the German lines. The letter further asks Charlie to raise this white flag and surrender.

As he reads it over, George, who was once a rough rider with Theodore Roosevelt in the Spanish-American War, is elated. He turns to Charlie. We've got him licked, or they wouldn't have sent this. While Charlie doesn't tell the Germans to go to hell, as is often claimed, the Major agrees with the Captain. As the news spreads throughout the pocket, the starving, frail doughboys find new strength. They won't fly that white flag. There will be no surrender. After 30 minutes of silence from the Americans, the Germans realize that is indeed the case.

And so, they strike harder than ever. Grenades fly, rifles crack, and the liquid fire of flamethrowers streaks across the woods. But the doughboys dig deep. Fueled by a new hope and pure adrenaline, the wounded load guns as their likewise starved brothers in arms return fire. With the handle of a potato masher grenade stuck in his back, Captain George McMurtry keeps the men's panic at bay as the flamethrowers approach. It's a wasted German

effort. The flamethrowers can't get close enough to do any damage, and soon Sergeant James Carroll puts a bullet right between the eyes of the flamethrower's squadron leader. Desperate to root out these Americans, this Americana nest, as they call it, the Germans send in their elite stormtroopers. But the Yankee machine gunners answer in kind, and amazingly, the Bosch is again forced to retreat. Once more, the lost battalion has fended off the Germans. But Charlie knows they can't handle another attack. That was their last stand. Help must come before the night is through, or they're done for. Thankfully, General Hunter Liggett's gambit to send forces from the 82nd Division to flank the

Germans in the Argonne is paying off. As a result, German leaders are realizing their position in these thick woods is too exposed. Despite that last attack on the lost battalion, the Boche are beating a hasty retreat, withdrawing a full five miles. That means the 77th Statue of Liberty Division can resume its attack northward. Among the 77th's advancing forces this evening is Lieutenant Frederick A. Tillman, now leading B Company of the 307th Infantry toward Charlevoix Road. They mop up a few lingering Germans, then come across a truly foul odor. Following his nose, Frederick falls into a hole. He lands on a man inside. Another figure soon emerges, thrusting out a bayonet. The lieutenant dodges and shouts at this doughboy,

what's the matter with you? I'm looking for Major Whittlesey. The man answers angrily. I don't give a damn who you are and what you want. You just step on my buddy again and I'll kill you. Frederick appreciates the situation. This man is in survival mode. He replies, you're relieved and we'll have food up for you right away.

Now it sinks in. The soldier apologizes and reassures his barely still living buddy. See? We're relieved. You're going to be all right. Elsewhere, the Polish-born soldier sent for help and thought dead. Abe Khodushinsky has found another American patrol, as have the last two men sent for help. Stanislaw Kazzakowski and Clifford Brown. Yes, the lost battalion soldier so carefully guarding the frail life of his buddy is correct. Their hellish ordeal is over. It's about 7 p.m. Monday, October 7th, 1918. Major Charles Whittlesey is sitting in a funk hole, better known in future

wars as a foxhole, with Captain George McMurtry. They are, like their men, frail and exhausted. But as the two officers sit, quietly chatting, a soldier approaches. He tells them that an officer with the patrol has entered the pocket on the right and wants to see the commanding officer. Charlie turns to George. I will go up and see just what this is. Walking past the fragments of trees and unburied dead, Charlie approaches a shadowy figure. It's Lieutenant Frederick Tillman. He gives Charlie a small sandwich. The major bites into it with relief. George walks up a moment later to join the conversation, but loses all interest in words when he sees the sandwich in Charlie's hands. The famished captain blurts out, For God's sake, give me a bite of that.

Charlie doesn't take it well when the lieutenant says how happy he is to rescue them. The major can't help but point out that they wouldn't need rescuing if everyone else had done their job back on October 2nd as well. But Galloping Charlie is thrilled to see 60 cans of corned beef for his starving men. It's distributed equally, starting with the wounded. The frail doughboys eat in silence, many savoring every bite. Robert Mason will later recall, I ate it from my hands, covered with blood and dirt. I'll tell the world it tasted like sirloin steak smothered with onions.

The next morning, Tuesday, October 8th, as freshly arrived doughboys bury the dead, in some cases, parts of the dead, Charlie distributes coffee and chow to his frail troops. In the midst of this, a car pulls up the hillside. A well-dressed figure exits the vehicle and shouts around for Major Whittlesey. It's the 77th Statue of Liberty Division Commander, General Robert Alexander. The general is thrilled with Charlie. As they shake hands, he informs the major that he's been promoted to Lieutenant

Colonel. Robert then looks up, taking note of the dense trees around them. He comments, Well, I can see why the airplanes couldn't find this place. Overhearing, a bold private named Philip Sepalia hollers at the division commander. General, the artillery certainly found it. The general snaps back, claiming that friendly fire was French artillery. It wasn't, but Philip won't push it. I bother.

The general is finally arranging for proper medical attention, and that's all that matters now. It's over. Roughly 550 doughboys, or perhaps 700 by some counts, held that pocket on a sloping hill of the Charlevoix Valley. When they left, Major Charles Whittlesea found that less than 50% of them, a mere 252 men, remained healthy enough to be called effectives.

In other words, hundreds of young American men suffered grievous wounds or died on that slope. General Robert Alexander is quick to name himself as their primary savior, though he wants everyone to know that, quote, this command was neither lost nor rescued, close quote. He merely liberated them from their isolated position. Nice try, Rob. If any commanders deserve credit, it's First Corps Commander General Hunter Liggett, who took the gamble of sending the 82nd Division against the German flank. Or the Big Red Ones Commander, General Charles Summerall. It was his men who first opened the way for the 82nd. Neither of these generals take

credit though. In fact, Charles only mourns the 7,000 in his brave 1st Division who were killed or wounded in the action. But for the survivors of the Lost Battalion, it's their unyielding major, Charlie Whittlesey, who's the hero, even if he rejects the title. Coming out of the Charlevoix Valley, reporters swarm Charlie, interrogating him for the whole story, but he's quick to demur, pointing to his doughboys as he answers, don't write about me, just about these men. But his dough boys only point right back at Charlie. They tell the reporters, we held out because he did. Back in the States, the public will agree with both. The major and his whole lost battalion will serve as an example

of heroism, sacrifice, and courage for countless Americans for generations to come. Yet, so few will ever understand the toll this nightmare took on these men. Our brave Major will never shake the demons he picked up in that pocket. A few years from now, while on a ship bound for Havana in 1921, he'll seek the peace he craves by jumping overboard. Charlie Whittlesey will never be seen again. Rest in peace, Major. You deserved better than you got. But even as the beleaguered, worn, and life-drained Lost Battalion is found, the larger Meuse-Argonne offensive of late 1918 goes on,

and it's not looking good for the Americans. Despite First Corps' hard-earned successes in the Argonne Forest, which they'll clear by October 10, 1918, Fifth and Third Corps have been brought to a stop. General Blackjack Pershing will later remember these opening weeks of the Meuse-Argonne as placing, quote, the heaviest strain on the army and on me, close quote. There have been gains, all hard fought, but the plan to smash through the German several lines here has ultimately failed. Indeed, as we enter mid-October 1918, these setbacks appear to give some credence to French Prime Minister Georges Clemenceau's incessant calls for Blackjack to be replaced. For both strategic and political reasons then, the American commander

needs to start winning again, and soon. But as thousands upon thousands of young American men bleed and die under his command, can Blackjack regain the momentum needed to bring this battle, this war, to its close? That's the story. Thank you. Bronwyn Cohen, Carrie Begel, Charles and Shirley Clendenin, Charlie Magis, Chloe Tripp, Christopher Merchant, Christopher Pullman, David DeFazio, David Rifkin, Denki, Durante Spencer, Donald Moore, Donna Marie Jeffcoat, Ellen Stewart, Bernie Lowe, George Sherwood, Gurwith Griffin, Henry Brunges, Jake Gilbreth, James G. Bledsoe, Janie McCreary, Jeff Marks, Jennifer Moods, Jennifer Magnolia, Jeremy Wells, Jessica Poppock, Joe Dovis, John Frugal-Dougal, John Boovey, John Keller, John Oliveros, John Ridlavich, John Schaefer, John Sheff, Jordan Corbett, Joshua Steiner, Thank you. and Zach Jackson.