The True Hero of The Lost Battalion

When bad men combine, the good must associate, else they will fall one by one.

In 1969, Sherman Eger walked through the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C., with his family. As he turned a corner, he saw a stuffed, one-legged pigeon.

He broke down crying.

Eger’s family was shocked. Eger was tough. He was “a man’s man.” He’d been to war, serving as a lieutenant in World War I.

His granddaughter looked up at him and said, “Pappa, why are you crying?”

Grandpa Eger got down on his knee and said, “Because, if it wasn’t for this bird,” he paused and looked at all his children and grandchildren, “none of you would be here right now.”

He then told them the story of Maj. Charles Whittlesey, and the pigeon that saved the lives of 200 men.

Today, when we think of World War I heroes, we think of Sgt. York – a man who captured 132 German soldiers with only nine American troops.

But if you lived in America in 1918, everyone knew the name of Charles Whittlesey.

Whittlesey was a perfect hero: a rural Wisconsin egghead who had just graduated from Harvard law school. He lived the American Dream and ran a highly-successful law practice. Until World War I.

He was drafted into the Army. He embodied the American spirit: smart and tough.

Because of his high test scores, Charles Whittlesey was made a major and placed at the head of 1st Battalion, 308th Infantry Regiment of the 77th Division. Their first mission: push the Germans out of the Argonne Forest.

His battalion was linked up at the flanks by other units from the 77th Division, the 2nd Battalion of the 308th Infantry Regiment and the 368th Infantry Regiment.

Like everything Whittlesey did in life, he was excellent in battle. In fact, he was too good.

In early October 1918, Whittlesey pushed forward into the Argonne Forest and pushed back German troops. They pushed farther and farther. Everything was happening better than planned for the 1st Battalion. That is, until they looked around.

In the early 1900’s the main way to communicate was by “runners.” Men would jump out of the trench and sprint to convey messages to neighboring troops. Maj. Whittlesey sent out two runners. One to the left flank, one to the right. As the runners came out of the trench, they were both immediately shot and killed.

Whittlesey looked around and he realized: They were surrounded by 18 German machine gunners.

It turned out the campaign of Whittlesey’s battalion was so successful they outpaced both of their flanks. The other two units were nearly a mile behind.

For the next six days, the “Lost Battalion” endured hell.

Hundreds of men died. Disease, grenades and the 18 machine guns decimated them.

At one point, gunfire started pouring in from the opposite direction. Quickly, Whittlesey realized it was not a German attack. It was friendly fire from American troops.

With no way to communicate, Whittlesey went to his last hope: carrier pigeons.

Of the nine pigeons brought down into the trenches, only two remained alive.

The pigeoneer pulled one of the remaining two pigeons out. As he lifted it out of the cage, a grenade went off. The pigeon was immediately killed.

At this point, there was one pigeon left. It was a black-and-white checkered pigeon named “Cher Ami,” French for “dear friend.”

He took out Cher Ami and tied a note to his leg: “We are along the road parallel to 276.4. Our own artillery is dropping a barrage directly on us. For heaven’s sake stop it.”

The pigeon flew in the air. Confused by the gunfire, he landed in a tree.

For 30 minutes, the pigeon sat in the tree as friendly fire rained on the battalion.

Finally, Cher Ami saw his opportunity, flew out of the tree and made his way towards the adjoining American troops. Soldiers of the 1st Battalion saw the bird come out of the tree and cheered.

Then the unthinkable happened. Cher Ami was shot down.

All hope was lost: they were surrounded by German soldiers, American troops were killing them and they had no possible way to communicate. It was over.

In this moment of despair, the Germans sent over an American prisoner, blindfolded and carrying a note. It said, “The suffering of your wounded can be heard over in the German lines and we appeal to your human sentiment to stop. A white flag shown by one of your men will show us that you agree with these conditions.”

Maj. Whittlesey read the letter. Paused. At the top of his lungs, he yelled, “GO TO HELL!”

Unbeknownst to Maj. Whittlesey and his troops, Cher Ami was not dead. He had his leg shot off, connected only by a tendon. He was blinded in one eye. He had a bullet through his chest. But he rose up and flew 20 miles, and conveyed the position of the 1st Battalion.

Within hours, the American and French flanks led an offensive against the German troops, and linked back up with the 1st Battalion.

Of the 554 men who went into the trenches with the Lost Battalion, only 194 were rescued.

After the war, Maj. Whittlesey was celebrated as a war hero. He received the Medal of Honor. A year after his arrival home he starred in a hit movie in which he played a national war hero: he portrayed himself.

Cher Ami’s life was saved, and he was brought home to America. The following year, he died. He was so beloved by the troops that he was stuffed, and placed in the Smithsonian.

And while Cher Ami and Maj. Whittlesey were celebrated, the true heroes of that battle have forever gone unrecognized. The real heroes were the men of the 2nd Battalion of the 308th Infantry Regiment and the 368th Infantry Regiment: the flanks that when connected, gave the American troops the strength to take the Argonne Forest.

Edmund Burke encapsulated this truth perfectly. He said, “When bad men combine, the good must associate, else they will fall one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle.”

This is why some of the heroes of Illinois are our friends in Florida, in Texas, in Tennessee who have left. But they continue to support the flanks. They understand the power and the need to associate.

Of the 194 men that the heroes of those two flanking units saved, one was named Lt. Sherman Eger.

Fifty-one years later, he was walking with his family inside the Smithsonian Institution. He saw a pigeon. And he broke down crying.