Madame George drew herself up in her seat, as if taking umbrage at the thought. “I would not forget,” she said, a quiet dignity infusing every syllable, “that you helped us recover our liberty. History and memory are very important to me.”
* * *
I left Azannes just as the sun was starting to descend. There were still a few hours of light left, I knew, and I wanted to see one more thing before quitting for the evening. I drove to Chaumont-devant-Damvillers and easily found the right tractor road this time. It seemed smoother than it had a year earlier; I even passed a woman walking her dog, heading in the other direction. Soon I spotted the flag, and then the stone marker and the bench. I pulled up, parked and got out of my car. If the woman with the dog had made it this far, there was no sign either of them had been here. Nor anyone else, for that matter. I was entirely alone in the place where the very last man was killed in World War I.
Strange to contemplate that thought: the last man. We focus on firsts—on Jules-André Peugeot, on Albert Mayer, on Gresham, Hay and Enright. On the Wright brothers, Edmund Hillary, Neil Armstrong. But lasts—well, for many situations, most, even, there is no known last; it’s open-ended. And we like it that way. Endings are fraught. They make us think about things, like: What was it all about? Was it worth it? Could it have ended sooner? In the case of the First World War, we know for sure that the answer to that last one, at least, is yes. There was talk of armistice at various times over the course of four years, but nothing came of it. And even when something did, it didn’t, at least not for another seventy-two hours. Historians have calculated that had Foch granted von Winterfeldt’s request of November 8, 1918, for all sides to observe a cease-fire while the terms of the armistice were worked out and signed, some twenty-two thousand casualties would have been prevented all around. Nearly seven thousand men were killed in those last seventy-two hours. A week earlier, I had found the name of one of them, 18-year-old John R. Elliott, written in ink on the wall of an underground chalk mine outside Nanteuil-la-Fosse. A month later, in Sipayik, Maine, just a few miles from the easternmost point in the United States—the spot closest to France—I would stumble upon the grave of Moses W. Neptune, the son of a Passamaquoddy Indian chief, also killed on November 10, 1918. And now I stood on the spot where Henry Gunther of Baltimore, grandson of German immigrants, was killed by a German bullet to the head in the last few seconds of the war. The last man killed. He got a posthumous promotion, a Distinguished Service Cross, and this little marker. All we get is a bunch of big, hard questions that can’t really be answered. But we also get to come here, to this spot, and to the Côté Saint-Germain, and the Butte de Vauquois, and Bois Brûlé, and Fismette, and Mézy, and Belleau Wood, and Rouge Bouquet, and the Chemin des Dames, and Bathelémont; and we get to see it. And seeing it helps us understand, if only a little bit and in ways we can never hope to articulate.
I know I’ve mentioned a lot of beautiful vistas in France since I first told you about this place, but in the end I maintain that it is the finest of all of them, indeed the finest in the country. Every time I come by, I stand and look at it for a long while. At first, I always think: This is the last thing the last man killed in World War I saw. But after a minute or two that thought fades and blends into the scenery, into the gentle hills and sweeping fields and little toy farms, somehow rendering the whole thing even more beautiful to behold. I can’t explain it. And I can’t stare at it for too terribly long before I have to turn away and walk back to the marker, with its words and facts.
That evening as I did so, I noticed that a herd of cows—tan and white, maybe a dozen of them—had assembled along the wire fence that ran behind the stone marker. They stood there, shyly off to one side, and stared at me. “Bonjour, mes amis!” I called out, stepping up to the fence, and they trotted right over.
France.
Appendix
Typical U.S. Army Infantry Units in World War I
Selected Bibliography
103 U.S. Infantry. History of the 103rd Infantry, 1917–1919. Publisher unknown, 1919.
Adler, Julius Ochs. History of the Seventy Seventh Division, August 25th, 1917–November 11th, 1918. New York: W.H. Crawford Co., 1919.
American Battle Monuments Commission. American Armies and Battlefields in Europe. Washington, D.C.: United States Government Printing Office, 1938.
Bliss, Paul Southworth. Victory: History of the 805th Pioneer Infantry, American Expeditionary Forces. St. Paul, Minn.: published by the author, 1919.
Broun, Heywood. The A.E.F.: With General Pershing and the American Forces. New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1918.
Butts, Edmund L. The Keypoint of the Marne and Its Defense by the 30th Infantry. New York: George Banta Publishing Company, 1930.
De Varila, Osborne. The First Shot for Liberty. Philadelphia: John C. Winston, 1918.
Dickman, Joseph T. The Great Crusade: A Narrative of the World War. New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1927.
Dumur, Louis. Le Boucher de Verdun. Paris: Albin Michel, 1921.
Eisenhower, John S.D. Yanks: The Epic Story of the American Army in World War I. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2001.
Garey, E.B., O.O. Ellis, and R.V.D. Magoffin. American Guide Book to France and Its Battlefields. New York: Macmillan, 1920.
Gibbons, Floyd. “And They Thought We Wouldn’t Fight.” New York: George H. Doran, 1918.
Gilbert, Martin. The First World War: A Complete History. New York: Henry Holt, 1994.
Hanson, James W. Roster of Maine in the Military Service of the United States and Allies in the World War, 1917–1919. Augusta, Maine: State Legislature of Maine, 1929.
Hemenway, Frederic V. History of the Third Division, United States Army, in the World War, for the period December 1, 1917, to January 1, 1919. Cologne: M. Dumont Schauberg, 1919.
Keegan, John. The First World War. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1999.
Kenamore, Clare. From Vauquois Hill to Exermont: A History of the Thirty-Fifth Division of the United States Army. St. Louis, Mo.: Guard Publishing Co., 1919.
Lengel, Edward G. Thunder and Flames: Americans in the Crucible of Combat, 1917–1918. Lawrence, Kans.: University Press of Kansas, 2015.
———. To Conquer Hell: The Meuse-Argonne, 1918. New York: Henry Holt, 2008.
Mansuy, Eric, ed. Carnet de guerre de Georges Curien, territorial vosgien. Parçay-sur-Vienne, France: Anovi, 2001.
Meldrum, T. Ben. A History of the 362nd Infantry. Salt Lake City, Utah: The A.L. Scoville Press, 1920.
Moreau-Nélaton, Étienne. Chez nous après les Boches. Paris: H. Laurens, 1919.
Office of the Adjutant General, State of Connecticut. Service Records: Connecticut Men and Women in the Armed Forces of the United States during the World War, 1917–1920. New Haven, Conn.: United Printing Services, 1941.
Palmer, Frederick. America in France. New York: Dodd, Mead, 1918.
———. Our Greatest Battle. New York: Dodd, Mead, 1919.
Pitt, Barrie. 1918: The Last Act. New York: W.W. Norton, 1963.
Reilly, Henry J. Americans All: The Rainbow at War: Official History of the 42nd Rainbow Division in the World War. Columbus, Ohio: F.J. Heer Printing Co., 1936.
Rommel, Erwin. Infanterie Greift An (Infantry Attacks). Potsdam, Germany: L. Voggenreiter, 1937.
Seichepine, Jean-Paul. The First Three Americans to Fall on French Soil. Lunéville, France: Imprimerie Saint-Jacques, 2015.
Sibley, Frank P. With the Yankee Division in France. Boston: Little, Brown, 1919.
Society of the First Division, A.E.F. History of the First Division during the World War, 1917–1919. Philadelphia: John C. Winston Co., 1922.
The Story of the 91st Division. San Mateo, Calif.: 91st Division Publication Committee, 1919.
Strickland, Daniel W. Connecticut Fights: The Story of t
he 102nd Regiment. New Haven, Conn: Quinnipiack Press, 1930.
Taylor, Emerson Gifford. New England in France: 1917–1919, A History of the Twenty-Sixth Division U.S.A. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1920.
Tuchman, Barbara W. The Guns of August. New York: Macmillan, 1962.
Vedovati, Jean. Les Combats dans la Vallée de la Marne. Dormans, France: Cercle Historique et Culturel Dormaniste, 1997.
Wadleigh, Fred Tilton. Milford in the Great War: Memorial Book. Milford, N.H.: Cabinet Press, 1922.
Wooldridge, Jesse W. The Giants of the Marne: A Story of McAlexander and His Regiment. Salt Lake City, Utah: published by the author, 1923.
———. The Rock of the Marne: A Chronological Story of the 38th Regiment, U.S. Infantry. Columbia, S.C.: University Press of South Carolina, 1920.
Acknowledgments
There are an awful lot of people whose contributions were absolutely essential to telling this story, all but one of whom are not me. To start with, there are the people who, with great patience and good cheer and unstinted generosity—no one ever allowed me to pay for anything except my own meals, and some even insisted on feeding me—took time out from their busy lives to play tour guide during my first visit to American World War I sites in 2009 and, in the process, showed me places and things, and told me stories, that dramatically altered the way I viewed and understood that war (and history in general) and educated me about my own heritage as an American. (This just a few years after that whole “freedom fries” business.) In addition to Jean-Paul de Vries (in the Argonne), Gilles Lagin (in the vicinity of Belleau Wood and Château-Thierry) and Patrick Simons (in the Woëvre), there were the superintendents of the four largest American cemeteries from that war: the late Joseph P. (Phil) Rivers (Meuse-Argonne), Jeffrey Aarnio (Oise-Aisne), Bobby Bell (Saint-Mihiel) and David Atkinson (Aisne-Marne). Stan Bissinger (also in the Woëvre), Marie-Christine Garrido (at the museum in Belleau), Georges Bailly (also in the vicinity of Belleau Wood), Dominique Didiot (also at the Meuse-Argonne Cemetery), Nathalie Lebarbier (at Oise-Aisne) and Nadia Ezz-Eddine (at Saint-Mihiel) also helped educate and edify me during that excursion, which would not have been feasible without the support of Karl Schonberg and Val Lehr at St. Lawrence University, where I was then a visiting professor.
When I returned for longer visits in 2014 and again in 2015, I was, once again, the recipient of a tremendous amount of kindness, beneficence and hospitality, some of it bestowed upon me by the same people I had met in 2009, some by people I had never met before and some by people who had not even planned on meeting me, much less showing me around and sharing their knowledge. They include Madame Andrée George, Jean-Pierre Brouillon, Eric Mansuy, Gilles Chauwin, Benoît de Weirdt, Marc Brodin, Jean Vedovati, Christophe Wilvers, Olivier Jacquin, Dominique Lacorde, Harry Rupert, Dénis Hebrard, David and Marian Howard, Jean Marie, Frédéric and Murielle Castier, and Mme. B. Dave Bedford, who replaced Phil Rivers as superintendent at the Meuse-Argonne Cemetery in between my first and second visits, went to great lengths to share his time and expertise; Constant Lebastard, Associate at the Aisne-Marne Cemetery, was extremely helpful, too. Thanks as well to Superintendents Geoffrey Fournier (Oise-Aisne), Mike Coonce (Saint-Mihiel), Christopher Arseneault (Flanders Field), and to Tom Cavaness. Also in France, I am grateful to Serge Husson, Jean-Paul Seichepine, Lillian Pfluke, Damien Perisse, Patrick Julien, Roland Meesters, Valérie Kenny, Yannick Marques, Vicki Corley, Maurice Ravenel, Jacques Krabal, Nicolas Lemmer, Patrick Gielen, Michael Grams, Marie-Christine Garapon, Sarah Dorothy Downing, Pierre Picard, Alain D., Léa Boschiero, Frédéric Plancard, Franck Lallemand, Jean-Luc Kaluzko, Xavier Collin, Bernadette Brodin, Théophile de Weirdt, Anne Ludmann, Meredith Sykes, Bill Graham, Avril Williams, Bénédicte Hebrard and Mlle. Murielle at La Passarelle. Some of these people, like Patrick Simons, Christophe Wilvers, Jean-Paul de Vries, Dominique Lacorde and Harry Rupert, continued to help me with research, maps and photographs long after I had returned to the United States; Eric Mansuy helped me with all that, too, as well as translation. I am grateful to Ingrid Merrill and Fabian Rüger for help with translation, as well.
In 2014, when I decided I needed to go back to France and continue my explorations there, I approached Dean Robinson at the New York Times Magazine to see if that publication might be interested in sending me over; Dean recommended I try the Times’ Travel section, suggesting that they might be able to give me more space. Though I had never written for them before, they were, and they did. Monica Drake, the Travel Editor, commissioned not a single article but a four-part series, and was an enthusiastic supporter throughout the process, from my departure for France to the publication of the fourth and final installment. Deputy Travel Editor Steve Reddicliffe was equally enthusiastic and supportive and, with a deft touch, a good ear and unflagging humor, helped shape all four installments and was (and is) the kind of editor every writer hopes to work with. Thanks also to staff editors Carl Sommers and Florie Stickney.
The American Battle Monuments Commission, which built all those magnificent American cemeteries and monuments, and which does a fantastic job maintaining them, has been a tremendous resource and a steadfast ally throughout this project; in addition to the overseas ABMC employees I mentioned previously, I am grateful to a number of people at headquarters in Arlington, Virginia, including Mike Conley, Tim Nosal, Alec Bennett, Allison Finkelstein and Edwin Fountain. Special thanks to ABMC Secretary Max Cleland, Director of Historical Services Michael Knapp, and Pat Harris, who makes everything run.
Among other things, ABMC furnished me with some of the maps that appear in this book. For the rest, I am greatly indebted to Deidre McCarthy, Chief of the Cultural Resource Geographic Information Systems Facility at the National Park Service; to NPS CRGIS cartographer David Lowe, who rendered them beautifully and in great detail; and to William Kyngesburye and Don Larson of Mapping Specialists who amended and adjusted them for printing.
Also in the United States, I must thank Col. Peter D. Crean, Director of the U.S. Army Heritage and Education Center; Gen. Leonid Kondratiuk and Keith Vezeau of the Massachusetts National Guard; Lieutenant Jonathan Bratten of the Maine National Guard; Yahaira Carballo-Segura at the Connecticut Military Department; Sam Howes at the Maine State Archives; Dr. Paul Herbert and Andrew Woods at the First Division Museum at Cantigny; Dan Dayton of the U.S. World War One Centennial Commission; and Randal Gaulke, Mitchell Yockelson, Fae Houck, Bob Gundersen, Edward Lengel, Oliver Scheer and Christian Zinck.
As always, my agent, Kristine Dahl, supported this book from the very beginning, made it happen, and was a wellspring of sage advice and guidance—not to mention Xanax in human form—throughout the process of writing and editing it. Thanks also to Caroline Eisenmann at ICM, who has always been very helpful. My editor at St. Martin’s, Tim Bartlett, cared deeply about this book from the start, and did a great deal to refine, enhance and generally improve it. Annabella Hochschild provided critical support with grace; Alan Bradshaw calmly, ably and conscientiously guided it through production; and India Cooper did a fine and thorough job copy editing it, thus sparing me all kinds of embarrassment I don’t even want to think about, as did proofreader Jennifer Simington. Thanks also, at St. Martin’s, to Meryl Sussman Levavi and Rob Grom, who made it look so good, and to Joan Higgins, Laura Clark and Lauren Friedlander, whose enthusiastic support and efforts on its behalf I very much appreciate.
Finally, I must express my profound gratitude to a few people who made greatly outsized and utterly indispensable contributions to this work: Monique Seefried, a commissioner on the U.S. World War One Centennial Commission, who seems to know (and be admired by) pretty much everybody, and who gave a lot of thought to the matter of whom I should meet Over There, then put me in touch with every name on her lengthy list; Rob Dalessandro, Chairman of the aforementioned Centennial Commission and Deputy Secretary of the American Battle Monuments Commission, about whom all of that is also true, a
s well as the fact that he either possesses or can quickly lay his hands on any piece of knowledge relating to that war, does not know the words “no” and “can’t,” and quickly and cheerfully fulfilled every request for help I ever made of him (and there were a great many), whether with maps, documents, contacts, photo ideas or travel tips; and Miz B (not to be confused with Mme. B), who ate late and didn’t complain.
This has been the hardest part of the book for me to write, as I know, for certain, that on at least two continents there are people who should be mentioned here but are not: because I failed for some reason to summon their names when the time came to make this list; or—as is the case with the biker who took me to the Château-Thierry American Monument, and the custodian who patiently removed all of those folded and stacked tables and chairs from that vestibule in the nursing home in Montfaucon d’Argonne just so I could get a photo of the plaque the state of Ohio installed there in 1929, and any number of others—because I never knew their names to begin with. If you are one of those people, and by chance you should read this, I hope you will write me—in French, or English, or any other language—at [email protected] and make me feel guilty about it. I am, still, susceptible to that.
Index
The index that appeared in the print version of this title does not match the pages in your e-book. Please use the search function on your e-reading device to search for terms of interest. For your reference, the terms that appear in the print index are listed below.
Abbett, Captain, 209
Adler, Major Julius Ochs, 203–4
Aisne River, 87, 234
Aisne-Marne American Cemetery (Belleau), 105, 107, 131–9
Alsace (region), 12, 34–5, 56, 60–2, 161, 198, 221, 230, 271, 275
German annexation of, 2, 12, 37, 62
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