Читать книгу The Most Decorated Dog In History: Sergeant Stubby - Isabel George, Isabel George - Страница 6

Chapter 1

Sergeant Stubby –

The Most Decorated Dog in History

The elegant lobby of the Hotel Majestic in New York teamed with activity. Honoured to be hosting a reception for homegrown heroes of the First World War, staff had rolled out the red carpet to welcome their distinguished guests. But what was that scruffy looking dog doing there? The staff scurried around and quickly drew lots to decide which one of them was going to tell the veteran soldier, his chest was bristling with medals, that his Bull Terrier was not welcome in the hotel.

The job fell to the manager who glanced down at the elderly looking dog in the unusual leather coat as he announced, ‘I’m sorry, sir, but dogs are not allowed in this hotel.’

It was a pity the manager had not taken a closer look at the dog’s coat. If he had spared a moment he would have seen that it was covered in military honours. If he had bothered to ask, he would have been told that the dog had survived seventeen of the bloodiest battles in the last eighteen months of the war and saved countless lives by detecting the first whiff of the invisible toxic gasses that plagued the trenches and the far-away howl of an approaching shell. Gassed, shelled, shot at and traumatized, Stubby survived it all. A soldier dog suffering as the men were suffering.

Private John Robert Conroy reeled back and gathered his breath, ‘A dog?’ he replied …

The story of Stubby is legendary. He was a not very big stray dog from nowhere, adopted by a young American soldier. They both ended up in the trenches of the Western Front in 1917 and both survived against all the odds. Their story is a testament to devotion and companionship, faith and love.

It all began on the campus of Yale University where the 1st Connecticut Regiment from Hartford area and the 2nd Connecticut Regiment from New Haven had been sent for training ahead of being deployed to France to assist in the war against Germany. The two forces were short of the 1,000 men required to form a regiment and so they were combined to become the 102nd Infantry and part of the 26th ‘Yankee’ Division of Massachusetts. One of the young recruits was John Robert Conroy. Conroy had decided, along with an increasing number of men of his age, that joining the ranks of the United States Army, Navy or its embryonic aviation unit was a duty to their country. By April 1917, when America entered the Great War, as it was known then, these men were to form the backbone of the first deployment of US infantry.

America was at war despite the efforts of its President, Woodrow Wilson, to keep them out of what appeared to be a European conflict. But it was the British Royal Navy’s secret code breaking unit – Cryptanalytic, Room 40 – that broke the German diplomatic code and intercepted a message that the US Government simply could not ignore and that was destined to change the course of the war. The message was a proposal from Berlin to Mexico suggesting that if the US decided to join the war then Mexico should join too but not as her ally but as the Keiser’s ally and that together they should then enlist Japan. Such an alliance would make it impossible for the US to take its eye off its own shores or deploy troops to Europe. The effective slowing of the Allies’ offensive would then give Germany the breathing space it needed to launch a fleet of submarines that could strangle Britain by cutting off valuable supplies. And the payback? If Mexico offered its support then Germany would help reclaim territory lost seventy years before in the Mexican-American War, land that included Texas, North Mexico and Arizona. The deal was there in black and white and once revealed, the Zimmermann Telegram, as it became known, could not be ignored. Wilson may have won his presidency on the strength of his anti-war stance but now he was forced to use this damaging document to build support for and to justify America joining Britain and France against Germany. The President could no longer hold fast to neutrality as a defence. He called for war and on 6 April 1917, the US Congress declared the country’s entry into the Great War.

Although America had not officially participated in the war from its declaration in 1914, many US citizens had joined the war effort in the only ways open to them: they could join a British regiment if they had the appropriate family connections or they could sign up with the French Foreign Legion and use that route to fight with the Allied Forces. The drive to join up increased throughout 1916 and James Robert Conroy was as enthusiastic as the next man to be part of a great victory in Europe and he joined the 26th ‘Yankee’ Division as they set up their encampment and started their training in the vicinity of the Yale Bowl.

When basic training permitted, the recruits were allowed into town in the evening to unwind and have some fun and it was then the young Private Conroy noticed a yellowish dog begging for attention and food. The dog did not have the look of a scared and downtrodden street dog. He was different. Certainly not handsome but obviously full of spirit and character, the dog was mostly American Bull Terrier with maybe a strain of Bulldog thrown in. He had the breed’s determined, jutting jaw and proportionately small, pointed ears. His stout, solid body was covered in short bristled hair which was the shade of wet sand.

Yes, he was a little shabby but he was proud and carried himself well. He had the bearing of an aristocrat who had temporarily fallen on hard times.

‘Hey, Conroy. Do you see that dog over there?’ a fellow recruit said. ‘Have you noticed it’s been following you?’ The young army volunteer had noticed the dog out of the corner of his eye and it seemed that as soon as the soldier appeared the dog did too. In the town, on the sports field or during training at some point, he would be there. Conroy found himself looking out for the dog and sooner or later he always turned up. The dog knew where to find the man and one afternoon he decided he would come and wait for him at the main gates to the camp. Everyone who saw him sitting there so patiently guessed he was waiting for Conroy and sure enough, when the soldier appeared, the dog gave him a crazy welcome. It was the first defining moment in their relationship.

For Conroy, just the sight of the dog sitting waiting for him was enough to prompt a big decision. He was going to adopt the sandy dog, there and then and take him into the camp. It was a bold thing to do as he knew pets were not allowed on site and he had no idea how much longer they would be there before being shipped overseas. He didn’t know if he would be allowed to keep his new friend but he was going to try. He smuggled the dog into the barracks where he made a bed for him under his own bunk. Finding a name for a dog with a stubby tail was easy. Stubby had arrived and Stubby was there to stay. All Conroy had to do was keep him safe and, for the moment, that meant keeping him hidden.

It was lucky for Conroy that his sergeant was a dog lover and intelligent enough to see that Stubby was a huge morale boost to the men. He was furious when he discovered that the dog’s name had been added to the regimental strength but soon realized that it was not worth admonishing the men for doing all they could to protect their unofficial mascot. Instead, the sergeant decided to turn a blind eye to Stubby’s presence and so it was that the mascot dog joined the men in everything they did, including full combat training.

Stubby was exposed to the deafening clout of ammunition and exploding shells. He learnt to drop down and crawl along, his stomach brushing on the ground, as the men did the same beside him. The more he heard the high-pitched whining of the shells, the quicker his reactions became. He was never scared and never ran from Conroy’s side, no matter how loud the battle noise. He very quickly developed a sense for detecting the shells overhead long before the men could hear them. Picking up the distant whine, Stubby would drop down and freeze in this position. Months later, in the trenches of France, this would become a very useful early warning system for his infantry friend and many men had Stubby to thank for saving their lives. But at that moment on the training ground at Yale, the dog’s habit of putting his paws over his ears just before an explosion seemed like nothing more than an amusing party trick.

Stubby had been Conroy’s partner for almost a year when the presidential decree for general mobilization of troops was signed in May 1917. By then Stubby was used to all the bugle calls, drills, marches and routines of camp life. He could even salute. Mimicking the men, he put his right paw up to his eyebrow and each time he did it he impressed his audience. After a year in the company of the 26th ‘Yankee’ Division, Stubby was as much a soldier as any of the men and they recognized him in that way too. There was no way Conroy, or any of the others, was going to leave Stubby behind when they shipped out to Europe so a plan was devised to smuggle the dog onto the truck leaving the camp and then the train to the transport ship, the SS Minnesota, bound for France.

There was no problem getting Stubby past their own sergeant but the transport ship guards would have plenty to say if they discovered a Bull Terrier hidden in some-one’s kit bag. And that was another problem: Stubby was too big to hide in a bag. The best chance the men had of disguising the dog was to make him look like an extra, if very small, human. Under the cover of Conroy’s great-coat, the dog was successfully transferred on board and then into the ship’s coal bin where he spent the first twelve hours of the journey. One of the men watched the door at all times, until Conroy felt they were far enough out to sea to let him out. But he was still careful to keep Stubby under wraps – it was unbearable to even imagine that, given an unsympathetic commanding officer, the men could be ordered to throw their dog overboard. But they were lucky. The officers who did catch a glimpse of Stubby when he took his strolls on deck did nothing to harm him. They could see how valuable the little animal was to the men and right there and then in the confines of the ship he was safe. And although it must have been a very uncomfortable journey for everyone, the men were entertained by Stubby who had acquired a set of soldier’s dog tags made for him by one of the ship’s machinists. It was a gift that told the dog, ‘You’re a soldier now.’

Conroy’s army-issue greatcoat was to come in handy again at the other end of this long journey – to smuggle Stubby off the SS Minnesota. Wrapped like a small person in the long wool coat, Stubby knew instinctively to stay quiet as they were, by no means, home and dry. It was a miracle that Stubby had survived the journey from the US to France, not just because it was fraught with the danger of him being discovered but because of the unhealthy way the men were packed on board the ship.

By the time they reached their final destination, soldiers and dog alike were more than ready to disembark. But, for the men of the 102nd Infantry, their patience needed to last out a little longer until they were on their way to the camp. It was there that Conroy met their commanding officer who took one look at Stubby and asked how on earth the private had gotten this far with a dog all the way from Yale Field, Connecticut. Conroy had nothing to lose now, except the most precious companion he had known so he explained how Stubby had befriended him and become such a very special member of the division. Stubby was happy to salute on command and the CO could see that the dog was well behaved and loyal. As Conroy held his breath, almost expecting the officer to issue an order to abandon the dog, the decision came to make Stubby the mascot of the 102nd Infantry, 26th ‘Yankee’ Division and with that status he would be able to accompany the men into the trenches and see active service at their side. Conroy could not have wished for a better outcome. His relief was almost tangible.