An interesting note about the participation of Americans in World War I was the fact that American service men were organized into segregated units. Black soldiers did not serve in white units and vice-versa. It was quite unlikely for black soldiers to serve in American combat units, serving instead in support functions, such as mess units, supply units, etc. Nevertheless, over 350,000 African Americans served with the American Expeditionary Force on the Western Front.
Although the American command would not allow black soldiers to serve in combat roles, the French had no such compunctions. An American black unit, the 369th Infantry Regiment, known as “The Harlem Hellfighters,” was transferred to fight in the trenches under French command. This led to the heroic actions of Private Henry Johnson, a member of the 369th. Johnson was standing sentry on a spring night in France in 1918 when Germans attacked him and a fellow soldier. With his companion wounded and his own gun jammed, Johnson continued to fight with a bolo knife, holding the line and stopping the Germans from capturing either of them. (L. A. Times, June 3, 2015, http://www.latimes.com/nation/la-na-obama-medal-of-honor-20150602-story.html). Although Johnson was awarded the French Legion of Merit, he received no American recognition, not even the Purple Heart, until President Obama awarded him a posthumous Medal of Honor in June 2015. (Id.)
The 369th Infantry Regiment had its own jazz band that introduced the sounds of American ragtime to Europeans during the World War I. By the end of the war, the 369th Infantry Jazz Band ranked among the greatest bands in the world. One of the band’s songs was “On Patrol In No Man’s Land.” ( https://youtu.be/wpFCuZ-B4j0) (Levin, “Classic Jazz; A Personal View of The Music And The Musicians.”)
What the time? Nine? Fall in line.
All right, boys–now, take it slow.
Are you ready? Steady! Very good, Eddie.
Over the top–let’s go!
Quiet, lie it–else you’ll start a riot.
Keep your proper distance–follow ‘long.
Cover, brother, and when you see me
hover, obey my orders
and you won’t go wrong!There’s a Minenwerfer [German mortar]
coming–look out (bang!). Hear that roar
(bang!)! There’s one more (bang!).
Stand fast–there’s a very light [flare].
Don’t gasp or they’ll find you all right.
Don’t start to bombing with those hand
grenades. (Rat-a-tat-tat-tat.)
There’s a machine gun, holy spades!
Alert, gas! Put on your mask.
Adjust it correctly and hurry up fast.Drop! There’s a rocket from the Boche
[German] barrage.
Down, hug the ground–close as you can!
Don’t stand!
Creep and crawl–follow me, that’s all.
What do you hear? Nothing near.
Don’t fear–all is clear.
That’s the life of a stroll when you take a
patrol out in No Man’s Land. Ain’t it
grand out in No Man’s Land?
The black soldier felt no differently about the war than the white soldier; they both sang songs that reflected disillusionment and the will to survive. Two songs expressed in the ostensible dialect of the southern African American are “Sittin’ in De Cotton” and “Tell Me Now”.
“Sittin’ In De Cotton”
When de cannon balls a singin’ and de mustard gas is low
If I sholey had my ruthers Alabama’s where I’d go.
Sittin’ in de cotton where you won’t give a damn,
Singin’ whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa
Sittin in de cotton where you don’t give a damn,
Singin’ whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa whoa.When I thinks ‘bout de doctors clippin’ off a laig ‘er two,
I’d like to tell dose drafters at de Court House what to do.
Sittin’ in de cotton where you won’t give a damn,
Singin’ whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa
Sittin in de cotton where you don’t give a damn,
Singin’ whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa whoa.Oh, de States is full o’people tellin’ how de war is fit,
But when hit comes to fightin’, never fit a single bit.
Sittin’ in de cotton where you won’t give a damn,
Singin’ whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa
Sittin in de cotton where you don’t give a damn,
Singin’ whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa whoa.Oh, we eats our mess and wonder ef it’s meant fur men ‘er hogs,
An’ when Hiney shoots a bender, we lays down and dies like dogs.
Sittin’ in de cotton where you won’t give a damn,
Singin’ whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa
Sittin in de cotton where you don’t give a damn,
Singin’ whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa whoa.
“Tell Me Now”
I don’t know why I went to war
Tell me, oh, tell me now.
I don’t know why I went to war or
what dese folks are fightin’ for,
Tell me, oh, tell me now.I don’t know what my brown’s a doin’
Tell me, oh, tell me now.
I don’t know what my brown’s a doin’,
With all dose bucks around a wooin’,
Tell me, oh, tell me now.I don’t know why I totes dis gun,
Tell me, oh, tell me now.
I don’t know why I totes did gun,
‘Cause I ain’t got nothin’ ‘gainst de Hun,
Tell me, oh, tell me now.I don’t know why we feeds so pore,
Tell me, oh, tell me now.
I don’t know why we feeds so pore,
When de officer men eats so awful much more,
Tell me, oh, tell me now.I don’t know if I’ll ever git back,
Tell me, oh, tell me now.
I don’t know if I’ll ever git back,
‘Cause de voodoo’s sure God on my track,
Tell me, oh, tell me now.I hopes dey surely is a God,
Tell me, oh, tell me now.
I hopes dey surely is a God,
When de grave digger slaps me in de face wid de sod,
Tell me, oh, tell me now.