By
Father Patrick R. Dunigan, Chaplain
126th Regiment, 32nd Division
”I cannot read and I cannot write,
Though I strive the livelong day,
For a voice is calling, calling low Your soldier has passed away.
He of the strong and tender soul,
He of the helping hand,
Has sailed away with the boatman pale,
To a fairer, brighter land.
Over thorns in the path of roses rare,
He has passed to the God of might,
Who has greeted him with a father's love,
And placed him at his right."
Colonel
Joseph
B.
Westnedge,
126th
Infantry,
one
of
the
very
few
National
Guard
Colonels
to
command
his
own
Regiment
until
the
last,
was
dead!
His
comrades
wept
as
men
do
who
have
known
too
much
of
the
tragedy
of
war,
wept
silently.
He
had
been
sick
during
the
final
days
of
the
decisive
battle
and
officers
who
knew
him
longest
watched
his
strength
break;
felt
the
pain
as
he
staggered
from
weakness.
The
Regimental
Surgeon
had
urged
him
to
go
back
for
rest
and
treatment.
In
the
stress
of
battle
"Carry
on"
to
the
last
ounce
of
endurance
was
the
order.
The
Colonel
who
had
never
used
the
privileges
of
his
rank,
remained
with
his
men.
On
foot,
on
the
field,
in
the
fight,
he
shared
the
privations
and
dangers
of
the
enlisted
men.
When
blankets
were
scarce
he
slept
cold,
when
food
was
difficult
to
get
he
ate
last
and
least. He knew the enemy position by personal observation before ordering an advance.
"Where's
your
Colonel?"
asked
a
general
officer
inspecting
the
line
one
dark
day
in
the
Argonne.
"Up
ahead."
"Where's
his
headquarters?"
"Up
ahead,"
repeated
the
soldier.
Always
ahead
where
the
cutting
edge
of
the
32nd
Division
bit
deepest
into
the
enemy
resistance
he
led
the
attack.
Corrected
field
reports
on
the
authority
of
Major
General
Haan
credit
the
126th
Infantry
with
breaking
the
last
desperately
defended
enemy
line.
"Colonel
Joe,"
the
knightly
leader,
who
had
written
the
fame
of
his
Regiment
bright
across
the
page
of
his
country's
history,
was
denied
a
grave
among
the
battle
dead
of
his
own
Regiment,
strangers'
hands
had
laid
him
tenderly
to
rest
at
Nantes
and
the
bleeding
heart
of
his
Regiment
mourned
as
children
mourn.
The
giant,
generous
chief
whom
rank
and
success
could
not
spoil,
whose
service
was
unselfish without envy, simple as a child, lives in the hearts of his men.
After
Alsace,
Chateau-Thierry,
and
the
Ourcq
he
led
his
Regiment
to
the
Vesle
River,
then
to
the
victory
at
Juvigny,
where
our
graves
are
most
numerous,
through
the
long
awful
Argonne
until,
believing
that
we
had
been
relieved
for
the
last
time,
he
went
back
to
rest.
The
Armistice
would
conclude
hostilities
in
a
day
or
two,
now
his
work
might
be
delegated
to
another.
We
had
grown
.so
accustomed
to
his
remarkable
endurance,
to
his
unselfish
disregard
of
personal
comfort
and
safety,
that
no
one
considered
his
condition
serious.
To
have
found
his
body
among
the
battle
dead
of
his
Regiment
would
have
caused
no
surprise.
We
remembered
with
pride
that
he
had
been
ordered
to
take
greater
care
of
his
life;
said
General
Haan
"We
cannot
spare
you."
He
smiled
in
answer
and
forgot
about
it.
This
is
perhaps
the
only
order
he
ever
disregarded. His was the soul of a fighting leader.
Senior
officers,
including
John
J.
Pershing
himself,
have
written
their
sympathy
and
appreciation;
his
Country
sent
the
Distinguished
Service
Cross;
France
has
enrolled
him
among
her
heroes
and
sent
the
Cross
of
War
to
his
widow.
French
mothers
have
planted
roses
that
twine
about
the
cross
that
marks
his
grave,
his
grave
in
that
land
of
splendid
romance
and
chivalry.
"Up
to
Heaven's
doorway
floats
a
delicate
cloud
of
bugle
notes
'Peace
to
you'—your
soul
shall
be
where
heroes
are—your
memory
shine as a morning star, brave and dear—shield us here—Farewell."