| | 1ST CL. PVT. EDWARD W. BARRY
85 W. High St., Detroit, Mich.
Inducted June 25. 1918, at Camp Custer.
The Associate Editor is indebted to Sergeant Young for the following side lights on the editor from the viewpoint of a comrade:
On June 25, 1918, Battery B received a raw recruit in the person of Edward W. Barry. On the morning of the 27th we got his number. Yes, he took No. 4 blouse. No. 3 trousers, No. 2 shirt, 8½ EE shoes, 6 7/8 hat. Like most of the boys who came to us in June, we did not get his real number until we arrived in France, but when we came to know him, his number as a good fellow soared high among us all.
Not only was he recognized by the enlisted men as one to be depended upon, but his sterling qualities were recognized by the officers. No, he did not receive any stripes (yes, one gold one for six months’ service abroad) but many of his caliber were worthy of them and Battery B had her share of such fellows in the A. E. F.
The Captain chose him for one of his detail and he was sent to the Liaison School while we were in training at Coetquidan and was finally chosen to act in the capacity of telephone operator, runner and several other missions that needed one of accuracy.
As a soap-box orator he could not be beat. Who of us will forget those lectures that flowed forth from his silvery tongue? He could expound upon most any topic that came up for discussion, be it war, politics, religion, the life and habits of the cootie or other of the lesser sciences.
One of the few things that our comrade Pvt. Barry did not understand was the habits of the horse, or leastwise the army horse. The writer has in mind those days at Coetquidan when all from First Sergeant to the buck of the last squad rear rank were expected to groom by detail. As a maid in waiting on her majesty Maud, he was a failure. To see him standing waiting for the command “Commence Grooming,” with that look of disgust on his face and that attitude “Now what the h— am I going to do next,” was hotter than a five—act vaudeville show.
Our sympathy went out to him when he received the sad message that his brother had made the supreme sacrifice in the Battle of the Marne. With a renewed determination to fight, he vowed he would avenge his brother’s death, and with that spirit of a real soldier, did things that at times looked most impossible.
The Barrys come of fighting stock, which goes back to Revolutionary days. Private Barry’s father was a veteran of the Civil War and the brother referred to was Private John J. Barry, Company A, Sixth Engineers, who was killed in action in the Battle of the Marne on July 15, 1918.
Private Barry had thirty-three relatives in the World War. Besides the brother who lost his life, another serving in the Merchant Marine was incapacitated for life when the steamer Chattahoochce was torpedoed.
The following is an excerpt from a letter to his mother, in which, among other experiences, he describes the work and dangers of a runner, with observations about Fritz:
“A lot of people have an idea that our army went into battle like a bunch of baseball fans. This is a mistake; it was hard, grueling work with no glory. It was human flesh against steel and high explosive; it was lightless, sleepless nights without food, without rest and without a thought of anything else but fight.
"Our battalion was officially in actual battle eleven days and we participated in what is called the Meuse-Argonne offensive, Toul sector, operations on Metz. During eight of those days, when there was a chance to sleep, I could do so with all the noise of shells exploding and the noise of our guns large and small and our own battery—rifle and machine guns never ceased. It is a wonder with me yet that I could so easily waken and assume the duties of a busy switchboard or go forward in the Observation Post and pass the commands down to the Battery.
"Usually, when I was relieved, the Captain would send me out over the field with a message as a runner, and on two occasions I repaired wires, at all times under shell—fire and subject to snipers. I won’t forget my experience on the runners’ job. At first we were in the Puvenelles. Our Battalion Post of Command was one and one—quarter miles back at a right angle. We had taken up our gun positions about one in the morning, separate from the rest of the Battalion. The Captain ordered me to take a message to the Post Command. He had nothing but maps to go by but explained to me the directions. The woods were dense and shell—torn, with broken trunks and limbs lying in every direction, and to top it off it was raining. It was almost impossible for me to see my hand in front of my face. After stumbling along and feeling my way by improvised paths which were lined on either side with wire (the wire was not to guide hut to keep the men from widening as they walked—a slight widening would be a tell-
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tale to the airplanes of troop movements) I finally found the path and was halted four times by passing soldiers, and at the front a fellow wants to holler quick and sharp the word ‘Soldier’ when challenged, for if he doesn’t he’s a dead one. Orders in this particular section were to shoot, irrespective, and trust no one if he fails to answer. Usually, in a situation of this kind, you have your hand on your gun, and one is just as much on the alert as the fellow you see or sense is near you, or have an idea is coming from in front or from the rear.
“After floundering around I came to a crossroad, where I had been directed to turn to the right, and then walk about 1,800 meters, turn to right again, follow wired path up over lull, through barbed wire entanglement, feel for a garbage can, then turn to the left and go forward. I succeeded in getting this far but it was not until I fell into a hole headfirst down an incline of thirty feet that I arrived at the Post Command, which was located in the side of this shell-hole.”
Private Barry was very slight of build and not robust in constitution. On the 9th of November, in the march from the Euvezin Woods, having been practically without sleep for eight days and on low rations, he sank down in three feet of batter-like mud and proceeded to go to sleep, snoring deeply. Major Zimmerman rode up and ordered others to “Get that man out of that mud,” adding that he would run his horse over the fallen private. Barry was roused by Sergeant Reddaway, who relieved him of his pack and got him to his feet. When the Battery halted later on an officer of the Medical Corps, seeing the condition of his clothes, asked him what happened. In the stoicism of men who have received training for endurance in the American army such a happening, while indicating physical suffering, is regarded by all as a joke. So the private replied that he had had a “wallow sleep.”
On the morning of the 11th Private Barry acted as Battalion runner. He also went forward to obtain from commanding officers information as to where horses could he watered and reported back to the Battery commander at the sacrifice position.
At Pont-a-Mousson he was made Battery regimental editor, in which capacity he served throughout the remainder of our time in France.
Few convivial parties worthy of the name were held at which Barry was not present, and the boys will recall some amusing incidents connected with him.
His acquaintance with The Brig on the Macretania is now a matter of General History.
He was transferred from Battery B, at Les Forges, to the Camp Dix detachment to return to America but remained with the regiment, and sailed with the remainder of the 2nd Battalion, 328th under command of Lieuts. Shepherd and Stearns, and 330th F. A., on the steamship Panonia. Much to his dissatisfaction he was transferred to Battery E instead of being returned to his own, and was mustered out at Custer from that Battery April 25. 1919. |