History of the 305th Field Artillery | Page 3

by the road, so that no one passing could
deny the presence he approached.
Each of these signs bore on a white background in striking black
strokes:
"Headquarters, 305th F. A. N. A."
We stood about staring.
"That's us-the 305th Field Artillery. Are we going to make it big and
successful enough?"
There were at least no visible shirkers, and we had acquired already a
belligerent disposition to stand fast for the rights of the regiment. That
was as it should have been, since we were destined to be among the
first of the combat organizations. There was, moreover, need of such a
spirit.
Take J20, for example. Once you had got a bit of floor space there the
whole world conspired to tear it from you, or, as more convenient, you
from it. Regimental Headquarters had established itself modestly in a
corner of the lower dormitory. Officers of high rank sought sleeping

space, complaining that we were in their way. Brigade Headquarters
sent messengers to measure us broad and long. Commanding officers
and adjutants of various organizations, quartered in the same building
cast in our direction threatening glances. Low-browed hirelings of the
Thompson-Starret Company came, demanding the return of panels of
Upson board and pieces of deformed lumber with which we had
endeavored to barricade ourselves against an eager and conscienceless
world. In spite of everything Regimental Headquarters clung to its
corner until, in late October, it moved to its own building in the 305th
area. Those few weeks in J20, moreover, witnessed our adolescence.
When we tramped across the hill we were, indeed, a regiment.
September 6 was a day that must be recorded noticeably. It saw the first
enlisted personnel of the 305th. His name was Frank Dunbaugh. He
stood at attention before Colonel Doyle, saluting.
"Private Dunbaugh reports as directed."
And behold we were a regiment--officers and man!
We all, I think, felt a call to take out that pleasant young fellow and
give him dismounted drill, simulated standing gun drill, physical
exercise, semaphore, wig-wag, and buzzer; the beginnings of firing
data, and scouting; with, perhaps, in his off moments, a little of
grooming and horse-shoeing, and the theory, at least, of equitation.
But he was a little man, and Division Headquarters tore him from us
before we could really annoy him. An order came down:
Private Frank Dunbaugh is relieved from duty with
the 305th F. A. N. A., and is attached to Division Headquarters," and so
forth.
Paper Work grinned.
For that matter he had plenty to chuckle over already. Headquarters
was aware by now of his portly and increasing figure. General Orders,

Special Orders, Memoranda, and Bulletins were suspended in neat
wads from the wall. Captain Gammell, the regimental adjutant,
threaded his
way among them with haughty ease. At his suggestion, indeed, an
officer brought from Division Headquarters a bundle the size of a small
bale of cotton. We gathered around it, admiring the countless neat
forms it contained, all labelled "A. G. 0., No. so and so."
"What a system!" everybody gasped.
What a system, indeed! But we couldn't dream of all those delicate
forms portended. Captain Gammell distributed them. Colonel Doyle
explained how simple it was to handle them, and we turned again to the
apparently more serious business of getting ready.
Shorn of their sole enlisted personnel the officers with grim
determination pounced upon each other. There was no reasonable drill
ground, but we took ourselves to the stumps and the logs of half cleared
spaces. We drilled each other. We shouted at each other. We abused
each other. How, we asked, would new officers and men take this or
that?
"If you make a rookie laugh it's all off," an officer said after an
exceptionally piercing cry of command.
"Or," another put in dryly, "If you give him the impression you're going
to murder him he won't respond cheerfully enough."
We endeavored, therefore, not to resemble fools or assassins.
Sometimes it was difficult.
Each day now, for a time, Colonel Doyle rescued us from our harsh
treatment of each other. He took us to the slope of Division Hill where
we sat on charred logs and listened to him discourse at length on
various methods of computing firing data, or interpret the Articles of
War and Army Regulations, drawing on his long experience in the
Regular Army.

The activity about us was frequently distracting, unreal, a trifle
prophetic. In the rapping of countless hammers you could fancy the
stutter of machine guns. The fall of heavy timbers was suggestive of
the crash of rifles of our own calibre. At the base of the hill, to give a
more realistic touch of war, lay the encampment of the colored troops
of the 15th New York National Guard.
It should be recalled in passing