The End of The War
That Didn't End All Wars
Edited and Introduced by:
Richard Heppner,
Woodstock Town Historian
Had World War I truly been the "war to end all wars," we would not be celebrating Veterans Day next Tuesday. Instead, as Congress declared in 1926, November 11th would still be called Armistice Day and Americans would pause to remember the "Great War" that ended on the 11th hour of the 11th day in the 11th month of 1918. So too, perhaps, might Woodstockers better remember the names of Louis Harrison and Henry P. Longendyke as the last two sons of Woodstock to ever give their lives to a world gone mad. In addition, we might also have a stronger connection to the words of one-time Woodstock resident Philip Buttrick, who lived to chronicle the last days of that war in a series of letters to family and friends back home.
Phillip Buttrick, was, perhaps, as unlikely a soldier that ever called Woodstock home. A graduate of Yale and an expert on cork forests, Buttrick found himself in 1917 as a member of the American Red Cross stationed in France. Unsatisfied with his work overseeing the construction of barracks, he was eager to join the fight on behalf of France. That desire, his love for the French, and a fear that the war would pass him by combined to lead him to the unique position as an officer in the French army. At the time, however, probably no one was more surprised at the direction his life had taken than Buttrick himself. In a letter to his father dated June 3, 1918 he wrote from France:
"I have gotten some little quiet amusement and surprise out of a mental attitude in which I find myself at times. I seem to be a third person regarding with a degree of detachment the doings of your oldest son. This third person has viewed the ever widening, but alas not always mounting curve of your son's activities Perhaps never has he been more surprised then tonight when he sits down to contemplate the fact that the son which you raised to be a historian and a classical scholar should have turned out first to have been something of a biologist then something of an engineer, and at the age when most men consider that they already see a straight road to the ends they seek, he is entering a military college of a foreign nation to become a professional soldier the same school, by the way, which graduated Napoleon and some of the greatest modern soldiers."
For Buttrick, events would continue to conspire to the extent that he would arrive at a unique vantage point in history as a participant in the last moments of the 20th century's first great war. In the letter that follows, to his friend Martha Kennerly, Buttrick returns to the detached state of the third person to describe his experiences during the last hours of the last day of World War I. Assigned to a unit along the Meuse River, Buttrick, the "Aspirant" of the letter, is witness to some of the last shells to fall on France. Unfortunately, as the names that follow Harrison and Longendyke on the Veterans' Memorial at the Woodstock Cemetery reminds us, he did not, however, bear witness to the end of a war that ended war.
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27 eme Batterie
244 eme d'Artillerie
Secteur Postal 202
November 13, 1918
My dear Martha:
Now that it is over you may be interested in "the dernier jour" (the last day) of the Great War as it took place at one sector of the front.
On the afternoon of November 10, 1918 the Capitaine and the Aspirant of the 2F eme Battery left the shelter of the little wood which concealed their battery in firing position and climbed the hill in front of them in search of an observation post. The day was warm and sunny and a great relief from the cold, rainy weather of the last few weeks. Both men were tired from the strain of marching and constant fighting through a devastated country on (meager) supplies. The battery was in position, just behind the crest which overlooked the Meuse, the last of the river valleys which formed a line of defense for the retreating German Army. In this position, they felt they would remain for some time, probably till spring, when a last powerful overwhelming attack of the combined armies of France, England and America would push the lines forward to the Rhine and end it all.
In a few moments they passed through the reserve line of Anfanterie. They were striving to remove the deeply incrusted mud from their faded uniforms in a line of abandoned German trenches hastily constructed and hardly more than rifle pits. The officer in command informed them that the fantassins (foot soldiers or infantrymen) had crossed the Meuse under cover of the previous night and, finding, no resistance, had established their lines half way up the first slope on the other side.
As they continued their walk forward, the Capitaine remarked: "I begin to believe for the first time that it may soon be over. If we had encountered heavy resistance at the river, it would have indicated that the Boche (an unflattering term for the Germans) intended to make his last stand here as he has no other line of defense short of the Rhine, in which case we would probably have been obliged to wait till spring before attacking seriously so as to repair our railroads, and bring up all our lines of communications."
"Whether it is over at once or not, would you have believed on the 15th of July, mon Capitaine, that inside of four months, you would be hunting an observatoire on the heights above the Meuse?" asked the Aspirant. On that date, the regiment had covered itself with glory when, half wiped out, it had helped withstand the last great German thrust which was to end the war, and finally closed the road to Paris.
"No," said the Capitaine, "Never." "That we should win in the end, I have never doubted, but that it would come before you Americans came in full force, I did not believe."
"Yes, it is evident that you would, sooner or later, have won without us, yet, that we have already helped to bring victory nearer I like to believe. Already, there are two millions of us here and our preparations for the struggle are not yet even complete. We will send 15 million men if necessary."
In a moment, they entered the little pine wood which grew along the edge of the bluff overlooking the river valley. Conversation other than military was at an end as they crept on hands and knees to the edge of the bluff and carefully concealed themselves behind a bush to be out of view of keen eyed Boche sharp shooters on the other side of the river. Below them lay the river flat through which a small river, little more than a trout brook, wound its way. It seemed hardly large enough to justify its name as a great river. On the French side ran a railroad and on the German a broad, tree-lined highway - one of those straight wonderfully graded and paved highways of France. It passed through several little villages, each with its church spire and each with a series of new German barracks built since the last German retreat - but not in the anticipation of the one then taking place. Many of the buildings were decorated with white flags which the Boche had forced the inhabitants to erect to prevent the French from firing on him as he retreated. A bridge, blown up but not quite destroyed, showed where the fantassins had crossed the night before. Their temporary henches or "fox holes" showed along the railroad embankment. The first hill beyond the river was
spotted here and there with little parches of woods but was otherwise bare.
Evidently the Boche was expecting an attack as he kept up a lively barrage of fire in the neighborhood of the ruined bridge. The French in the second line on the near side of the river had no intention of crossing in broad daylight in the face of this barrage. Most of them were sleeping in the sun in their hastily constructed trenches.
After surveying the scene for some moments, the Capitaine remarked: "This will make an excellent post, you may remain here. Make a military sketch of the hills yonder and mark out on the map such points as will make good targets if we attack later in force or have to drop a barrage should the Boche try to drive our infantry back to this side. I will return to the Commandant and see if he wishes us to connect the post with the battery by telephone. If either side attacks this afternoon you may perhaps see the last engagement of the war."
Hardly had the Capitaine left when the French guns in the rear began to thunder and great geysers of rock and earth began to spout up along the crest of the ridge opposite. Abruptly the German fire shifted to the lower slopes where the French line was entrenched and soon a good sized artillery duel was in operation. As the French fire died down, the line of fantassins started to advance to the crest. Immediately the machine guns began to crackle. A machine gun makes a noise like a steel riveting machine. Only to those who have been in battle, a riveting machine will hereafter sound like a machine gun. When the fantassins reached the top of the hill, they were halted and the German fire split - part of it falling on the recently occupied crest, and the rest into the village occupied by civilians along the river. True to his colors to the last, the Boche was venting his spite on the innocent.
Nightfall brought orders to return to the battery. Before dawn, the following morning, a courier handed the officers their mail just as they were waking in their little dog tents. An orderly passed the coffee at the same time. By the gradually lightening sky, they read their mail and sipped their coffee. It was the Aspirant who, glancing at the headlines of his several days old New York Herald, announced: "The armistice must be signed by 11 A.M. Monday. What day is it today?"
"Monday," responded the Capitaine.
"Did not resemble an armistice last night," remarked the Lieutenant who had been up half the night directing a barrage to drive back a final attack of the enemy made on the French lines across the river.
To their left, a battery of "Heavies" was still firing and an occasional long range shell from batteries far in the rear whistled overhead. No, there was yet no sign of suspension of hostilities. A few moments later, the field telephone rang and a message came: "The armistice will commence at 11 A.M. today." And so, in less than four hours it will be over. Yes, the Aspirant had seen part of the last engagement. "We won't fire anymore without orders from the Commandant," said the Capitaine as he crawled out of his blankets to personally pass the good news to his men. Outside, in the cold, misty dawn of a disagreeable day the men of the battery tried to sing the Marseillaise and act as they felt they should on such an occasion. But the weather was against them and the occasion was rather too large. So they busied themselves with ordinary tasks, or crawled back in their blankets. After a while, the sun came out and the officers found time to shave. All morning, the desultory bombardment continued on both sides. At 10:30, the telephone announced the official time. At 10:45, nearly every battery on both sides commenced firing, "les dernier's salvos." The last volleys of the Boche fell on the civilians in the villages of the valley. At 11:00 it had mostly died away when the Capitaine, watch in hand, announced, "C'est fini. Cessez le feu, mettez les cannons en position de route." As the Aspirant ran down the line repeating the already half executed command, a cheer resounded from the valley below as the trumpet of the fantassins which, for more than four years, had called them to battle sounded for the last time "Cessez le feu!" (Cease firing).
Somewhere a military band commenced the Marseillaise, and everyone stood at attention till it ceased playing.
At lunch, the officers toasted "la grande Victoire" with the last bottle of "bon vin" remaining in the "popotte" - reserved for some special occasion, but hardly expected to serve for such a great one.
After lunch an order came to quarter the men in a nearby village, leaving a guard over the guns which remained in position, and the Lieutenant was dispatched to make the necessary arrangements. A long and silent afternoon passed. For more than four years the men had lived, figuratively and mostly literally, under the sound of the guns. The silence grew a little oppressive. They listened always for the cannonade to come and expected, every instant, the familiar call to arms. But the field telephone commanded no barrage-fire, nor gave the coordinates of an enemy machine gun to be put out of action. No aeroplane buzzed overhead and the old alarm call, "Attention! - avian Boche," did not cause a sudden jump for available shelter.
As it was growing dusk, the avant-trains appeared for the baggage. As it was being loaded, the Capitaine remarked to the Aspirant: "Well, it is finished. Are you content?"
"Yes, naturally - and yet it seems hardly just that the final battle should not have been fought on German soil. I do not wish exactly for revenge; yet, to have merely as a punishment a little of Germany devastated as your beautiful France has been would seem entirely in accord with justice. Speaking entirely as an American and, as I believe for most of my countrymen, neither am I content to let it go thus. We did not want to go into this war but the Germans made us. And now that we have put ourselves to much trouble to engage in it, the Boche proves that he is not game and lies down and quits before we get a good crack at him." In the last phrase, the Aspirant unconsciously relapsed into his native language.
"Yes," said the Capitaine, "I quite agree with you in the first part of your statement; and yet, France has suffered so much that probably it would not be worth the extra cost to punish Germany in the way she so richly deserves. The second part of your statement, I do not quite understand your American argot, yet I take it that you mean that the Boche is not of a character to endure "jusqu'au bout," which (is something) we have always known."
"Well the avant-train is ready, you may conduct it to the village and report to the Lieutenant and I will stay here a few moments to see that everything is in order."
"Bon, mon Capitaine," said the Aspirant as he saluted and turned to the waiting conductors and called:
"Premiere Section, Prete (ready)"-
"Prete," responded the Marechal des Logis.
"Deuxieme Section"-
"Prete," responded another Marechal des Logis.
"Garde avous!" commanded the Aspirant.
"A cheval!" and the horseman mounted.
"En avant! Marche!" commanded the Aspirant as he swung into his saddle and the battery commenced its march into a new era.
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End Note: For his service in the French Army, Phillip Buttrick was awarded the Croix de Guerre for acts of bravery in the face of the enemy. Buttrick, who would later reside on Rock City Road with his wife Helen (of Byrdcliffe note) would, during World War II, continue his support for the French. According to local historian Anita Smith (Woodstock History and Hearsay), he was instrumental in the organization of the Woodstock chapter of France Forever; the first such chapter ever begun "by an American rather than by exiled French nationals."
The wartime letters of Phil Buttrick were provided to me by long time friend of Woodstock history, Jane Bromberg. The letters, in their original and transcribed form, are now housed with The Woodstock Historical Society. Mrs. Bromberg also reminded me of other Woodstock/World War I connections, including Dr. James Shotwell and Mary Van Kleek. Van Kleek, who lived on Upper Byrdcliffe Road, according to Bromberg, accompanied President Wilson to the Peace Conference at the end of the War as an advocate for child labor laws. Dr. Shotwell, who would later be recognized for his important work in the creation of the United Nations Charter and the Declaration of Human Rights, would also travel to the Peace Conference with Wilson (and his doomed dream of a League of Nations) as a member of the American delegation.
