Duffy's War: Fr. Francis Duffy, Wild Bill Donovan, and the Irish Fighting 69th in World War I

8. “A Willing, Bright, Strong, Clean Lot”

8 “A Willing, Bright, Strong, Clean Lot” 103 “ O rders at last,” Father Duffy exclaimed to his diary on 28 October.1 “It was a welcome change, our move from Camp Mills,” Martin Hogan remembered. He remembered, too, that once under way, the boys lost the restlessness that had pestered them throughout their training days on the Hempstead Plains. “Camp Mills was drudgery, not adventure.”2 Now the Rainbow Division was truly off to war, and once on the high seas there was no turning back. Orders for the division’s departure had the men leaving from the ports of New York, Hoboken, and Montreal, on different dates. Al Ettinger recalled how “Each unit had its own schedule and, without warning, would simply disappear overnight.”3 The first contingent, including division headquarters and the 166th Infantry from Ohio, left on the night of 18 October, with scant training in weaponry and, in many cases, with barely enough uniforms to go around. Winter would soon close in and the soldiers still needed sweaters and mufflers and socks. The boots issued them, as became evident, were of inferior quality. Before leaving, Lt. William Semans went into Hempstead and bought supplies and warm clothing. In his diary entry that night, the Ohioan wrote, “Moved at 3:00 A.M. from Camp Mills to Long Island city by train. Took ferry up to Hoboken. Saw all points of interest along way. Passed under Belle Isle, Williams, Brooklyn bridges and saw the Statue of Liberty for the first time. Embarked on ship Castereus. Sailed from port at 8 P.M. Passed the Statue of Liberty at 8:50. Anchored in the bay.”4 The Division’s Chief of Staff, Douglas MacArthur, sailed on the Covington for St. Nazaire. Part of the voyage was “bleak and 104 DUFFY’S WAR nerve-racking.” There were endless drills, space was cramped, he later reminisced, and because of the threat of attack, at night lights were forbidden. “In a running sea it is a real sensation to grope around decks in the darkness.”5 By the time the entire 165th had cleared out it was near the end of October. Duffy recalled how Maj. William Donovan’s First Battalion “slipped out quietly in the night,” bound for Montreal. He accompanied Donovan’s men to Canada and then returned, to sail a few days later from Hoboken. On the way up he had observed that they were “in gleeful spirit, glad to have the wait over and to be off on the Long Trail.”6 Before the Irish troops left Long Island, families and friends had come to Camp Mills for a last good-bye. A farewell dance took place at the Garden City Hotel. Officers and their wives and sweethearts, wearing scented gloves, held tightly to each other, dancing slowly round and round the crowded ballroom. Before the dance started, Capt. William Kennelly, the dashing millionaire bachelor, addressed them all, especially the lovers to be left behind: We leave you, our friends, with a smile on our faces and joy in our hearts. Music is in our ears, and as we go into battle we shall hear your ringing laughter and fight the harder. Our farewell dance will be our last good-bye. Make it happy as you can for us, and always remember that last dance—‘Send Me Away With a Smile.’ It is a time for rejoicing—not sorrow. We are happy in the thought that before long we have done our duty, licked the Kaiser—and then you can welcome us home with a dance. On with the dance! Strike up the band! It’s our last good-bye! At eleven a bugler strode into the ballroom and blew “Taps.” For a moment confusion came over the dancers, until Col. Charles Hine ordered the orchestra to play “Send Me Away With a Smile.” When the song ended, “Taps” was played again. The throats of the soldiers tightened. Girls cried, dabbing at their eyes. They removed their scented gloves and gave them to their men. And as the soldiers departed the ballroom, they pressed the gloves to their hearts.7 A WILLING, BRIGHT, STRONG, CLEAN LOT 105 The departure of 2nd Lt. Harper Silliman of F Company left his wife, Gertrude Silliman, alone to raise four children. When Harper had told her he was off to join the army she felt abandoned . Both her mother...