PVT James Rexford “Rex” Scowden

PVT James Rexford “Rex” Scowden

Kinzua, Warren County, Pennsylvania, USA
Death 29 Sep 1918 (aged 21)
Departement de l'Aisne, Picardie, France
Burial Smethport, McKean County, Pennsylvania, USA
Plot Sec. 3, Lot 330, Grave 3 Centopath
Memorial ID 26436289 View Source
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Killed in battle. Buried in Somme American Cemetery in France 108th Infantry, Co I


Shot Through Heart In The Drive Which Broke The Hindenburg Line

Hans Benson

Scowden Died Instantly And
Benson Suffered Amputation of Arm

Private James R. Scowden of Company I, 108th Infantry, was killed in action by a machine gun bullet in the drive which broke the Hindenburg line. He was hit in the heart in the morning of the last Sunday of September as he lay in a shell hole with Sergeant Hans A. Benson, who was wounded and afterwards lost his right arm through amputation.
Scowden and Benson were in a shell hole, waiting for the smoke barrage to lift so they could go forward. Suddenly, a German machine gun opened fire. Benson was hit by a dum-dum bullet in the shoulder and it followed down the arm, blowing the member to pieces.
At about the same time, Scowden was hit through the heart, dying instantly. Benson was in the shell hole with the body all day Sunday and all night Sunday night, while a cold rain fell. Olean boys were hit right and left, he wrote.
Scowden was formerly a trainman in the employ of the Pennsylvania Railroad. His home was in Colgrove Pa. He Joined Company I just before it went to the Mexican border. He spent the summer of 1916 on the border, and was later mustered in with the company when war with Germany was declared. He was trained with Company I in Camp Wadsworth, Spartenburg, S.C., last winter and went overseas in May.

Olean Evening Times - November 30, 1918
Turned To Gold

I think the saddest day
That someone ever told
When someone tells a mother
That her blue star turned to gold.
Her head goes up so proudly
While her heart within her dies
She may be choked with sorrow
But she never cries.
She has waited for days on end
For the war to pass
When she could see her son again
And hold him close at last.
Now, the news has come
In words so bleak and cold
Which tells her what she fears;
Her blue star has turned to gold.
~Elbert Cooper~

PFC James R Scowden

World War I Roll of Honor: Cattaraugus County, New York

Soldier, Rest! Thy Warfare o’er
By Sir Walter Scott (1771–1832)

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking:
Dream of battled fields no more,
Days of danger, nights of waking.
In our isle's enchanted hall,
Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,
Fairy strains of music fall,
Every sense in slumber dewing.
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more:
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.

No rude sound shall reach thine ear,
Armour's clang, or war-steed champing,
Trump nor pibroch summon here
Mustering clan, or squadron tramping.
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come
At the day-break from the fallow,
And the bittern sound his drum,
Booming from the sedgy shallow.
Ruder sounds shall none be near,
Guards nor warders challenge here,
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing,
Shouting clans or squadrons stamping.

Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,
While our slumbrous spells assail ye,
Dream not, with the rising sun,
Bugles here shall sound reveillé.
Sleep! the deer is in his den;
Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying;
Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen,
How thy gallant steed lay dying.
Huntsman, rest; thy chase is done,
Think not of the rising sun,
For at dawning to assail ye,
Here no bugles sound reveillé.

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