The Most Decorated Dog In History (2 page)

A great deal of coffee was consumed and cigarettes smoked as the men stood around the camp braziers waiting for their orders. The winter of 1917–18 was particularly harsh and it was enough for the men to do to wait and keep warm and alive. The mud fields of the Champagne Marne, where they were dug in at the front line, were now frozen solid and this made the task of moving heavy artillery virtually impossible. During the autumn rains, the heavy gun carriages had lodged fast in the mud and many sank taking the horses and the men – who were trying to the last to get the horses free – with them.

When the churned-over earth froze, the hard peaks and deep troughs claimed the transport in a different way, running it aground. Any thaw caused the water to trickle down the sides of the trenches and create a wall and a floor of thick ice overnight. The trenches were just six to eight feet wide and retained whatever fell both day and night: snow, rain, ice – it all lingered there to torment the soldiers. The incredible cold took away any feeling they had in their fingers and toes while the constant thud of artillery deadened any ability to process thoughts.

Here there was no escaping the harshness of the winter and how Conroy saved Stubby from dying from exposure is anyone’s guess. But whatever shelter he created and however many blankets he borrowed, he kept Stubby alive. On 5 February 1918, the 102nd Infantry moved to the front line at the Chemin des Dames, Stubby alongside them. He could have felt in no doubt that he was amongst friends and Conroy was his master.

This was Stubby’s first taste of conflict and he adapted to its noises and smells without a whimper. The almost constant snap of the rifles and roar of the heavy artillery fire did not appear to phase him. Maybe the exposure he had in training was enough to give him confidence. But this time the ammunition was real not dummy. The snip-ers were German crack shots and the exchange of fire between the trenches was capable of taking life – and frequently did.

In March 1918, a change in the weather gave the Germans exactly what they wanted. Months of freezing snow and thick ice meant any chance of a German offensive had been frustrated. Now, with the great melt underway, the German Army focussed its sights on a massive offensive against the British, Canadian, French and American Forces facing them. The spring offensive got underway with everything being thrown at the Allies in an attempt to break them down. At this time, a quarter of a million US soldiers were being sent to fight the war overseas every month. And although many were inexperienced, they made up for it with gallons of sheer enthusiasm. The emphasis was to get as many men as possible overseas so any form of training was short and basic. A rifle and a bayonet were the soldiers’ essentials. And the idea was to get into the war and get it finished as it had already gone on far longer than the Allies expected. But they were about to meet a new enemy – trench gas.

Mustard gas had been in use early on in the war and, discovering how effective it was, the chemical properties were enhanced to add phosgene, chlorine and a mix called yperite to the list of toxic clouds that were released into the trenches. Gas was effective because it was a silent killer. It always achieved the element of surprise. Hardly discernable from the early morning mist, the gas rolled into the trenches, its odour blending with an atmosphere soaked in the stench of cordite. Creeping in, it insidiously attacked the soldiers’ eyes, burnt their skin and had them tearing at their chests to catch a breath of air. Blistered skin, blindness, and the respiratory effects of shrivelled lungs were just some of the problems inflicted by the trench gasses. Crude gas masks were hastily invented with versions for the dogs and horses in the trenches too. But often it was too little too late; the damage had already been done and casualties lay strewn in the trenches, writhing and shouting in pain as the toxic cloud descended on them. The men clung to each other, unable to see a hand before their face. Rescued by the field medics, the men would be led away in lines holding on to each other for support.

Stubby’s sensitive nose was onto the first whiff of chemicals that came anywhere near his trench. At first, Conroy and rest of the men did not know what the dog was trying to tell as he ran up and down the trench barking but, after one experience of not following his warning, they never made the mistake again. One morning, as the early mist clung to the top of the trenches, Stubby awoke with a start. Conroy was by his side, sleeping the sleep of a man weary from the fight. Sniper fire had been heavy during the previous evening and that had followed a bombardment of artillery throughout the day. Sometimes sleep was the only escape. But not this time. Stubby sensed something; he pushed his head up to the sky and leant back. Sniffing the air he began to yelp. When yelping didn’t raise anyone, he began to bark loudly, leaping around Conroy as he slept. Louder and louder Stubby barked. He ran along the trench making enough noise to attract everyone’s attention. He had to wake Conroy before it was too late to put on a gasmask.

‘Hey Stubby, what’s your problem?’ Conroy asked, concered. By this time the dog had buried his head under his blanket but he was still barking the warning. By the time the soldier realized what was going on, Stubby’s whole body was under the blanket. Only his stubby tail was visible. ‘My God, it’s a gas attack,’ shouted Conroy. ‘Stubby, stay …!’

Conroy alerted the men and the gasmasks were deployed. But it was too late for some; the gas had got into their lungs and their eyes. It was a horrid sight to witness. But Stubby had tried to warn them and Conroy was aware of that. His ‘call’ was way ahead of the human warning call of ‘Gas! Gas!’ That call came far too late for many. That day Stubby saved his master and many of the 26th ‘Yankee’ Division and he would save many more over the months to come. No one ever ignored the dog again.

The Americans were eager to fight. The 102nd Infantry had waited three months to put their training into action and in the Battle of Schieprey they had their chance. Here the US met the might of the German Guards renowned for their indomitable strength, and held out to retain the town. It was an enormous challenge for the comparatively inexperienced American Expeditionary Force but there was only one way to overcome them and that was to meet them head on. With Stubby ordered to stay in the trench, the men prepared to stand their ground. They had turned the direction of the battle and now the Germans were withdrawing. Stubby sensed the excitement of the battle and, as if he knew his friends were reaching victory, he leapt onto the top of the trenches jumping about and barking as the Germans and Allies exchanged grenades. Surrounded by explosions, Stubby barked encouragement to the men who were positioned at Dead Man’s Curve on the road outside Schieprey.

‘Stubby, get down from there,’ Conroy shouted when he saw Stubby bounding over the top of the trench. ‘Get down!’ Maybe Stubby hadn’t heard his master over the repeated grenade explosions and when he did, it was too late. A grenade left the hands of a German soldier, aimed at Stubby. The dog didn’t see it coming. As it fell at Stub-by’s feet, it exploded. Fortunately, he was darting away towards Conroy and the blast only glanced his front legs. Conroy saw his dog fall and ran in to grab him. Taking him in his arms, he laid him down on the dog’s makeshift bed and then carried on with the fight. Once over and the enemy put on the run, Conroy collected Stubby in his arms and sought out the medic.

The field hospitals were always brimming and there was no end to the stream of casualties. All of the injuries inflicted were a reflection of the ferocity of the ammunition and equipment being used. The First World War was fought with twentieth-century technology but nineteenth-century tactics; the result was the death of millions. By the end of 1917, the battles were still fought between trenches with a no-man’s-land bridging the space between them but the necessities of war had resulted in a number of crucial developments: field telephone systems, wireless communication, armoured cars, tanks and then aircraft. At the outbreak of war in 1914, the heavy artillery on the front line consisted of canons. By 1917, this had developed into a combination of automatic rifles, mortars, machine guns and ‘big’ guns such as Big Bertha and the Germans’ Paris Gun. On the ground, the tank and the flame thrower cut ghastly scars into the earth. The tank could not outrun the horse but it could crush anything in its path. The flame thrower could either wipe out its operator (if not handled carefully) or the occupants of an entire trench in the most efficient and horrific way. At sea, submarines lay in wait for the opportunity to dominate the waves. In the air, Zeppelins and the first fighter planes made a tentative step into the theatre of war. And back on the ground, infantry formations were reorganized too. Companies of a hundred men were unwieldy: squads of ten or so men under the command of a junior NCO were preferred. Lessons were being learnt and approaches refined but this only increased the death toll. In the four months of the Battle of the Somme (July to November 1916), history recorded 1.5 million casualties. It was only one of the bloodiest of the Great War.

There was never a respite from the treatment of the injured and sick so the addition of one dog with shrapnel wounds was no problem. If there was a group of people who understood the value of the mascot dog in the throes of war, it was the medics. Stubby’s injuries landed him a transfer to the Red Cross field hospital for several days. During that time he became their most popular patient. He not only recovered from his own shrapnel wounds but he helped others overcome their pain, fear and anxiety too. He was a great morale boost to the men in the trenches and his presence in the hospital was possibly more valuable to some than medication. Having Stubby’s happy, smiling face and ever-friendly personality on hand in such grim surroundings must have proven to many that a dog really can be man’s best friend.

Returning to the trenches, Stubby was welcomed by his master Private James Robert Conroy and the rest of the 26th ‘Yankee’ Division. The men had not realized how much they could miss their mascot until he was away from them for just a few days. The dog had a wonderful welcome from all his friends and it was just what he needed to settle him back into trench routine and the daily dice with death by bullet, gas, mortar or the new enemy – Spanish influenza. The disease swept through the trenches on both sides and took civilian victims too. The epidemic killed 60,000 Americans alone.

The military onslaught was relentless. It was now May 1918 and there was no sign of a let-up. The German Army was closing in on Paris and considering an early celebration of victory. They did not see the new influx from the US as a threat to their march into the capital. Unfortunately for the Kaiser’s men, the idea of Paris falling to the enemy only strengthened their resolve and they rallied as the Second Battle of the Marne got underway.

The battle became a showcase for all the artillery and chemical weapons the Allies and the Germans had to offer. As each side threw all they had at the opposing side, the trenches were crawling with activity. The snip-ers’ bullets flew and mustard gas was released to deplete the infantry. For a while, the two forces were matched for strength and locked in combat. Day and night the guns pounded incessantly. The orange flashes as the shells hit their target filled the sky until there was nothing but clouds of drifting, grey smoke as far as the eye could see. Through the haze the machine guns rattled and the screams of men falling in agony punctured the air. Stubby was not afraid of the guns but the crazy, confusion of battle caused him to howl in what sounded like anger. As he dashed from one part of the line to another, it was as if his performance was to rouse the troops like a bark of encouragement. He could not take up arms to assist them but what the men wanted was their mascot’s loyalty, cheerfulness and comfort. And they received that in spades.

If Stubby was ever absent from Conroy’s side it would be because he was with a wounded soldier in the field, a corner of the trench or dugout. He had an ability to seek out the injured on a battlefield and instinctively knew that he had to comfort them. Many a dying soldier’s last words were uttered to this loyal dog; words that may never have been spoken or shared with a human companion. He licked their faces and rested his paws on their hands as if to offer a close comfort. And the men reached out for the dog’s warmth and attention. They told him of their loved ones and the things they missed from home. They told him all that flashed before them in their final moments. Dogs will never repeat a secret or admonish a harsh word. For Conroy to share his dog in this was very special and everyone appreciated his generosity of spirit. Conroy had to become accustomed to the fact that, if his dog was missing, he could be sitting in no-man’s-land with another soldier awaiting the arrival of the stretcher bearers. Stubby soon learnt to recognize the ambulance crews and the first aiders and would let out a low bark to alert them to a casualty.

Ironically, the more Stubby became the shared companion of the 26th ‘Yankee’ Division and the heavier the battle became, the stronger the bond between Conroy and his faithful dog grew. Under the strain of battle, there was something that made them feel mutually responsible for each other. What had started as an accidental friendship was now a partnership strengthened by hardship and the pressure to protect was running high. ‘Stubby, stay close now. Don’t wander,’ Conroy was often heard saying. The soldier was afraid the dog would be too far away for him to protect if there was a gas attack and he needed his mask. And he was right to worry. No sooner had the words left his mouth than Conroy felt Stubby shuffling out of his grasp. Stubby could sense something his master could not.

Wrestling free of Conroy’s grasp, Stubby stood square and pushed his head up and back as far as it would go. He sniffed the air. Suddenly he started to bark and run round until he had Conroy’s full attention. Then he started his routine of burying his body under clothing or in stores or whatever was lying about until only his hind-quarters were visible. By now, the men knew exactly what was going on. ‘Gas! Gas! Gas!’ the call went down the line as gasmasks were pulled on before the whiff of mustard gas had a chance to cause any harm to the men. Several minutes later, the morning mist took on a ghostly pallor and picked up pace moving into the dips and gulleys of the trenches. ‘Gas! Gas!’ a runner called, appearing out of the ghostly gloom with the warning that would have been too late for many.