The Hell I Went Through Becoming the Rock of the Marne

The 38th Infantry Regiment of the 3rd Division during the First World War earned the sobriquet of the "Rock of the Marne" for its hard fighting and pivotal role in halting the last German offensive of 1918. First Lieutenant Howard F. Ross, serving in Co. E of the  38^th Infantry, 3^rd Division was in the thickest of the fight on July 15, 1918, suffering a severe wound in his arm while leading a counterattack that evening.  

    "I will say there is no hell equal to the battlefield where you hear the whine of a shell, the shriek of the wounded, their prayers, their curses, the burst of shrapnel, the whistling of bullets, where you see the grotesque shapes or positions the dead are in, bodies with different members missing, a hand here, a leg there, then you have the thoughts of a fatalist. I might add that up to the time I was wounded I had killed four Huns, but that is not half enough to compensate me for the suffering I have undergone," Ross said.

    Lieutenant Ross's description of combat on the first day of the Second Battle of the Marne first saw publication in the August 29, 1918, edition of the Miami Union, a newspaper published in Troy, Ohio. 

This U.S. Army Center of Military History painting by Mal Thompson depicts the 38th Infantry hunkering down in their trenches under intense German shelling on July 15, 1918 near Mezy, France. The Marne River flows to their front beyond the line of barbed wire. "It seemed as hell itself had broken loose," Lieutenant Ross wrote to his father. "Shrapnel, high explosive, and gas shells followed each other in rapid succession. This lasted for about four hours. We put on our gas masks and waited." 

Somewhere in France

July 27, 1918

 My dear father,

          In my present condition I feel like I was on a crowded street car and holding on for dear life to my strap. My left arm from the shoulder to the elbow is supported with a sleeve with four pieces of tape fastened to a hook. This is fastened by means of a series of pulleys and ropes over the top of my bed to a bag of shot. My elbow is taped to another cord and this cord passed over the top of a small upright and is also fastened to another bag of shot. My forearm is taped from elbow to wrist and then a handle has been made for my hand. All of this is fastened to another cord which runs through a group of pulleys to a shot bag. This conglomeration of cords, pulleys, and shot bags answers for splints. It is a new system and from all indications is very practical.

          I suppose you are anxious to know how I happened to be wounded and the circumstances. I cannot go into details but I’ll do the best I can to relate a few incidents of the hell I went through. We had been in our sector for about ten days and everything had been very quiet. On Sunday July 14^th I said to one of the officers that I believed we would see action in a very short time because the Boche had been so still. About 12 o’clock on the same date I was arranging the details for sending warm food to the front-line platoons as it had to go out before daylight.

Upon my return to the post of command in our dugout I told my captain that I was going out to look at a new position on the front line. My first sergeant spoke up and said he wanted to go with me. Just as we stepped out a big shell whizzed by and burst on the other side. That was a warning to hunt cover. We returned to the dugout and it seemed as hell itself had broken loose. Shrapnel, high explosive, and gas shells followed each other in rapid succession. This lasted for about four hours. We put on our gas masks and waited. Twice I sent runners out to get in touch with the front line, twice I started myself and all attempts failed. We were driven back by the terrific barrage.

The terrors of a nighttime German artillery barrage. 

About 4 o’clock the barrage passed over or lifted and I rushed down to the front. The Huns were coming over by the hundreds and we were ready for them. Our resistance was so strong that they could not penetrate my company’s sector. We killed them by the dozen and captured several prisoners including one Prussian lieutenant who thought we were English. He was surprised when he learned that we were Americans. He said, “American very brave, fight hard!”

About 10 a.m. there was a lull in the battle and by 11 a stray shot now and then. I decided I would check up on the company. My captain was gassed, one lieutenant killed, and two severely wounded. Out of the twelve sergeants I had four left for duty. My corporals and privates corresponded in same proportion. Of course, you can see what I was up against, a badly shattered, tired out, hungry company of men. All the wounded that could be moved in daylight were taken care of and I managed by taking two runners with me to bring some food from our mess shack to the men. Posting a lookout, the men turned in for a few moments of needed rest.

Late in the afternoon I received orders to take up a new position at once. We moved out and had almost reached our new position unobserved, at least I thought so until I heard a big shell coming. Everybody hit the dirt and fortunately only one man was wounded. I managed to get the men behind a hedge and then moved them into a deep ravine. The Huns kept pounding away at the hedge all afternoon, but we were safe and of course we were amused to some extent, that is if you care to call it that when high explosives are bursting in a radius of 35-50 yards.

About 7 o’clock a runner came up and said for me to report to the major. I reported and received orders to take my company to a certain position and prepare for a counterattack against the Huns. A guide was furnished me and I soon had my men in the new position. Near this position I found a wounded German and putting my pistol against his head I attempted to make him tell me where his comrades were and their position, but the poor devil was suffering so much from his wound that he did not know anything except to cry for mercy.

Howard Foster Ross
1916 Miami University Graduate

I took a sergeant and crept forward through the heavy undergrowth to reconnoiter my field of fire. I knew there were Germans in front of them because I could hear them talking. It was very light for it was nearly 8 o’clock and it is never dark until 10. I think we advanced about 30 yards in front of our line and halted in a semi-open spot. I was almost erect when I noticed two Germans not 25 yards away coming at me. In my excitement, instead of dropping to earth I stood up straight and shot one with my 45. He dropped in his tracks.

The other Hun shot at me twice, one bullet grazing my body between the left arm and just below the shoulder, the other hitting me squarely below the shoulder in the bicep muscle of my left arm, breaking the bone. The force of the impact turned me around and I fell to the ground. My sergeant killed the other Boche and I managed to creep back to my men. There I gave orders to the two remaining lieutenants and then started on my painful journey to the first aid station.

          I will say there is no hell equal to the battlefield where you hear the whine of a shell, the shriek of the wounded, their prayers, their curses, the burst of shrapnel, the whistling of bullets, where you see the grotesque shapes or positions the dead are in, bodies with different members missing, a hand here, a leg there, then you have the thoughts of a fatalist. I might add that up to the time I was wounded I had killed four Huns, but that is not half enough to compensate me for the suffering I have undergone. At present my arm is slowing improving and from all indications it will be all right in two months.

Ross would not return to action and eventually he would be retired for disability due to this wound. A native of Blanchester, Ohio, after the war he moved west to Oakland, California and worked as an appraiser for U.S. Customs. Ross was active with the Veterans of Foreign Wars and was commander of Donner Post 1942 in Auburn, California. Lieutenant Ross died December 6, 1954, at the age of 61 and is buried at Golden Gate National Cemetery. 

 Source:

Letter from First Lieutenant Howard Foster Ross, Co. E, 38^th Infantry, 3^rd Division, Miami Union (Ohio), August 29, 1918, pg. 8