The Victorious Return of the 27th Division
The chilly gale swept across the empty asphalt, carrying with it the faint chill of March 25, 1919, in the late afternoon. The swelling heat from the dense crowd packed the sidewalks so thickly that the cold went unnoticed.
A young newsboy darted through the throng like a weasel, rattling his tin horn. A stack of folded newspapers was tucked under one arm.
“Extra! Extra! New York Times Extra, only two cents!”
His voice rang out, bold and commanding, as he thrust the headline of the evening’s special edition into view.
“New York’s boys are coming home!”
“A victory parade to honor the return of the Twenty-Seventh Division!”
“An estimated million New Yorkers will gather!”
Mabel laughed softly, the sound light and surprised.
Just moments before, the crowd had been rumored to number half a million. Yet the turnout for this triumphant parade was far greater than anyone had expected, and she knew precisely why.
Two years earlier, right after President Wilson had issued his declaration of war against Germany, young men had been swept away by a surge of patriotism and flocked to join the New York State Guard. Those who had been assigned to the Twenty-Seventh Division had sailed for Europe in May.
Now those same men had won the Great War, returned as heroes, and their families waited breathlessly on the streets.
Mabel tilted her head, listening to the distant strains carried on the wind. The faint melody of the military band was growing closer; soon the parade’s leading elements would appear.
Large American flags snapped and fluttered from every building along the route, their stars and stripes catching the afternoon light. From the windows of the tall structures, golden stars dedicated to the fallen were released like confetti, drifting downward in a shimmering shower.
Across the way, in front of the New York Public Library, an official reviewing stand had been erected, packed with dignitaries from market and state alike. At its far end, the figures of Uncle Walter and Aunt Mildred were also visible.
New York Port Collector Walter Darlington stood shoulder to shoulder with other distinguished gentlemen wearing top hats, his status as a patriot who had sent his only son to the frontlines earning him the right to do so. Beside him, Mildred kept her eyes anxiously on the horizon, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief from time to time.
Mabel felt the familiar sting behind her own nose.
When she had been five, her parents had been taken from her in a carriage accident, and Walter and Mildred had raised her as their own. Arthur, two years older, had been like a brother to her.
Last spring, inspired by the same patriotism that had swept others into uniform, he had lied about his age and enlisted at just seventeen. He had left her his favorite best-pocket Kodak camera and a solemn farewell letter declaring he would surely earn a glorious death on the battlefield.
Arthur had been so full of mischief and tenderness. He had shown her how to climb the largest oak in Central Park and had taken the blame for the time she had slipped down the coal-delivery chute until her face was black as pitch.
At the moment she had read Arthur’s name on the list of wounded, the world of the Darlington family had come crashing down around her.
Six months earlier, the Twenty-Seventh Division had been thrown into the final assault on the Hindenburg Line, the decisive blow that had driven the Germans to surrender. Yet in the course of those fierce battles, countless young men had fallen.
After the notification arrived that Arthur was recovering, Mabel had breathed a sigh of relief, but the worry had not vanished until she could see him for herself.
“Mabel, look there!”
Arabella seized the sleeve of Mabel’s jacket and pointed to the mounted detachment advancing in the distance. Behind it, the military band played a stirring march in perfect step with the procession.
Mabel reached into the pocket of her Red Cross apron, which bore the emblem of the organization clearly on her chest, and pulled out her camera to capture the historic moment in a single frame.
“Hold the line, keep the order, and do not push!”
The police, their faces taut with tension, shouted fiercely while waving flags and shoving the enthusiastic crowd behind the barriers.
Mabel was grateful, once again, that she stood inside the fence and could participate directly in the parade.
After tucking the camera back into her pocket, she lifted the basket she had been carrying and stepped to Arabella’s side. Inside the basket were carnations and candies for the marching soldiers.
Separate gifts and letters for Arthur were tucked safely into the pocket of her apron.
Two years earlier, at Spence School, a volunteer unit had been formed in cooperation with the Red Cross to send comfort packages to the front. Arabella Livingston, one year her senior, had taken charge of the unit after sending her fiancé, Second Lieutenant Hunter A. Hamilton, to the battlefield. The next year Mabel had served as deputy and assisted her with great enthusiasm.
Because the war, which had once seemed so distant, had become a family matter since Arthur’s enlistment.
The Red Cross headquarters had arranged for the heads of all female school volunteer units that had served during the war to participate in the official welcome area.
At last Major John F. O’Ryan appeared on horseback at the head of the procession. The roar of the crowd was so deafening it nearly drowned out the band.
The major halted in front of the monument to the fallen, saluting the thousands of young men who had given their lives across the sea and been laid to rest there.
The atmosphere among the crowd grew solemn. Soft sobs rose here and there from those who had lost loved ones.
The mounted officers and band passed, followed by the 105th Infantry Regiment marching in formation.
“Welcome home!”
Mabel and Arabella called out together, handing out the candies and carnations to the soldiers.
At that moment Arabella cried out in a trembling voice.
“Mabel! Look, there he is!”
The 106th Infantry Regiment came into view. Leading the B Company of the First Battalion was Captain Hunter, Arabella’s fiancé. The fact that he had been promoted to major and received a second lieutenant’s commission for his valor on the battlefield was Arabella’s greatest pride.
Arabella withdrew a single red rose she had hidden among the carnations and waved it.
“Captain Hamilton!”
The handsome man with brown hair turned, spotted Arabella, and smiled brightly, saluting in return.
“Welcome home!”
She called out, stepping forward several paces and tossing the rose. The captain caught it deftly, kissed the flower, and tucked it into his left breast pocket.
As he receded into the distance, Arabella smiled with pure happiness, her face blushing like a rose petal, and dabbed at the tears that had begun to fall.
Mabel patted her shoulder, her eyes nevertheless scanning the soldiers passing by.
Since the B Company led by Captain Hamilton had already gone by, the next to appear would be D Company, which included Arthur, and within that the Third Platoon.
The head of the column appeared in the distance. Mabel swallowed hard, her foot tapping anxiously.
The march was far more tightly controlled than she had expected. If Arthur, being only a private, was not stationed at the very edge of the formation, it might be impossible for him to receive the gifts directly.
“Arabella, do you know what rank the officer ahead is?”
Mabel pointed toward the commander of the Third Platoon.
Arabella frowned and examined the insignia on his shoulder.
“Lieutenant.”
Mabel cast a quick glance toward the police. They had no leisure to pay them further attention while controlling the crowd that was pushing and waving flags.
While she hesitated, the Third Platoon drew nearer.
Now or never.
Like Arabella, Mabel stepped forward a few paces and waved a purple iris boutonniere she had painstakingly assembled from flowers in the garden for the purpose of pinning it to Arthur’s uniform.
“Lieutenant!”
A stocky man whose shoulders were one head taller than the soldiers reached toward Mabel. He quickened his stride the moment he saw the Red Cross apron.
His movements were swift and restrained despite his broad frame, setting him apart from the others.
Under the brim of his cap, his cool blue eyes looked down at her.
“What is the matter?”
His voice was dry and curt, carrying a faint French accent.
Her heart began to race with fear the moment she spoke. Mabel lowered her eyes. She had rarely spoken to strange adult men and her tongue felt clumsy.
But her aunt had insisted she try, so she gathered what courage she had and finally spoke, her voice hesitant.
“Excuse me, do you happen to know Private Arthur Darlington?”
“I do.”
He answered immediately and kept his gaze on the soldiers passing by.
Mabel quickly pulled a box from her pocket, telling herself she could not keep him waiting. Inside were the chocolates Arthur loved and letters from the family.
“C-could you please deliver this to Arthur?”
She was his cousin, after all.
The lieutenant accepted the gift with a blank expression.
Mabel exhaled in relief. She had been prepared for a flat refusal, yet the man had been surprisingly kind.
She impulsively held out the iris boutonniere as he turned to leave.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
He paused, glancing down at the flower.