Dulce et Decorum est pro patria mori
– Horace, Roman lyric poet, 8-12-65 BC to 27-11-8 BC (1)
What does this mean in English?
“It is sweet and proper to die for one’s country.”
The Greek words are inscribed across the Memorial Amphitheater at Arlington National Cemetery (2) in Arlington, Virginia, where thousands upon thousands of U.S. Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines, including those killed in action, are interred. The line evokes the ultimate sacrifice, and for people who fought or had a relative who fought, or of a certain age who remember cultural markers like POW/MIA bracelets (3)—including knowing someone who wore their own father’s name on their bracelet—the line is bittersweet.
But how does any of this relate to the Periodic Table of Death and Mystery? Well, gas masks in the title make it easy to figure out if you are at all interested in The Great War, or the First World War (1914-1918). World War 1 saw the original major use of poison gas in warfare, and gas attacks tallied over 1.3 million total casualties (90,000 dead and 40,000 wounded) as a percentage of the approximately 9 million who died and 20 million were wounded (4), not counting civilians. It was one of the most devastating wars in human history (5) because it was a clash between 20th-century industrialized technology and 19th-century tactics. It was the first modern war fought with mass-produced weaponry, when troops, bombs, cannons, supplies, and food were still transported by horses and horse-drawn and mule-drawn wagons. Animals, not mechanization, bridged the gap between hastily built light railways and the front-line soldiers.
Which begs the question: Horses and mules were just as affected as people with gas attacks. How were the animals used in warfare protected? Just like humans—with jerry-rigged or specially designed gas masks. But protection of animals from poison gas went even further because tens of thousands of dogs were also used in support of the troops on both sides. They were used to pull wagons, as comfort animals, as messengers, and to detect … poison gas.
A dog’s sense of smell is thousands of times greater than a human’s, so they could alert the troops to incoming gas. In fact, a very special dog, Sergeant Stubby of the American Expeditionary Forces, 102 Infantry Regiment, was one of the most decorated animals of WWI (6, 7). He received several of his accommodations because he’d warn the troops of gas attacks by barking and biting the men awake. He even had a specialized gas mask made for him (8). After he died in 1926 at the estimated age of 14, he was mounted and put on display in the Smithsonian Museum, which is … interesting but kinda sorta on point for this museum, amiright? (9) And just FYI, the troops had an even MORE sensitive method of poison gas detection available to them: slugs. These little creatures could detect mustard gas (C₄H₈Cl₂S) (10) at 10-12 parts per million in the air, humans only at 4 parts per million. Slugs would close off their breathing pores and compress themselves, giving a visible indication of distress. Plus, they weren’t harmed by the gas and would go about their merry sluggish lives after the attack passed (11).
Chlorine
But we aren’t here to chat about mustard gas. We’re here to learn about the periodic table element Chlorine (Cl) and how it relates to gas masks and pigeons. First, a little about chlorine, atomic number 17. An eerie green gas (chloros means greenish-yellow in Greek (12)), at room temperature, it is extremely reactive and a strong oxidizing agent because it lacks a single electron in its outermost (valence) electron shell. That means it essentially strips electrons from other elements and compounds due to a very high electron affinity (13). That makes chlorine too reactive to exist as a free element, so on Earth we mostly find it as a chlorine salt, like sodium chloride (NaCl)—table salt—a perfectly delicious molecule when sprinkled on french fries and farmer’s market kettle corn. Sodium Chloride is also collected in vast reservoirs of the Earth’s oceans.
But chlorine gas (Cl2) is MUCH more problematic. Because of its extreme reactivity, it tears electrons from the water to create hydrochloric acid (HCl) and chloric acid (HClO), both extremely poisonous.
H2O + Cl2 ↔️ HCl + HClO
Chlorine gas was a weapon of terror for men and animals who’d been exposed during the war. The green cloud, two and a half times denser than air, creeping over the ground, the distinctive scent of pepper and pineapple, the metallic taste at the back of throats as it slid into foxholes and trenches (14). Exposed skin is burned with the production of acid. Mucosal tissues, including those of the eyes, nose, lips, mouth, and throat, can become severely irritated and potentially dissolve with the production of acid. Breathing in chlorine gas can cause irritation to the respiratory tract, leading to coughing, choking, chest pain, and potentially pulmonary edema in severe cases, and is deadly to unprotected soldiers (15).
So protection was developed: charcoal filtered gas masks for any and all humans and animals, including one of the most important creatures used during the war—pigeons (16). In fact, a pigeon named Cher Ami saved an American Infantry Division in the Argonne Forest—the Lost 77th—in 1918 and received a medal. We’ll come back to that story in a sec. First, a little more about WWI and pigeons.
Specially trained (17) carrier pigeons or “War Pigeons” (18) delivered important military missives over land and sea, and also carried in tanks, aircraft, and ships, because communication methods like radio were incredibly unreliable and even unavailable on the battlefield, particularly in trench warfare. Soldiers would attach coded messages to the pigeons’ legs and release them to fly back to their home coop or loft behind the front lines, carrying vital information to commanders.
How were these vital birds protected against poison gas? If you’re imagining a tiny mask tucked over the head of a bird, that’s a nope. Instead, when gas was detected, the carrier pigeons were moved into a small box fitted with filters that cleansed the air they breathed. Voila. Pigeon gas masks.
But let’s get back to Cher Ami, the hero pigeon …
Because there is a mystery attached to this bird. Cher Ami was one of eight pigeons assigned to the 77th Infantry Division, part of a large battalion of American soldiers led by Major Charles Whittlesey. They were ordered to attack the Germans in the Argonne Forest. But on October 3, 1918, a larger German force surrounded Whittlesey’s 550 men. The Americans, exhausted and low on supplies, fought back against artillery and fierce machine gun fire. But as the hours passed, casualties mounted. Pigeon after pigeon was released with messages pleading for help, but to no avail. The birds were all shot down.
The next day, American planes appeared overhead, but to the division’s horror, they weren’t there to save them because they didn’t realize American troops were still in the forest. The planes dropped bombs, killing even more men. The major quickly wrote a message detailing their location and that they were under American fire. It ended with a desperate plea: “FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE, STOP IT.”
Only two pigeons were left, but the first bird was so frightened it escaped and flew away. It was now up to pigeon Cher Ami. The message was strapped to the bird’s leg … it was released … and immediately shot in the eye. As the bird tumbled toward the ground, it was hit by a second bullet in the chest. Imagine the horror of the surviving soldiers as their last means of help fell.
Suddenly, Cher Ami opened its wings and flew, disappearing through the haze of bullets and smoke. It took the bird twenty minutes to reach headquarters and deliver the message, half-blind and bloodied and missing a leg. But the bombing was stopped, and the remaining men of the 77th were rescued. Only 199 of the original 550 survived.
Cher Ami was treated and recovered, and the French government awarded the bird the Croix de Guerre with palm. The pigeon was flown to the U.S. after the war to a hero’s welcome. It died in 1919, its body donated to the Smithsonian and mounted for display (19).
And the mystery surrounding this bird? No one ever knew if Cher Ami was a cock (male) or a hen (female). So, in 2021, the Smithsonian conducted a DNA test and … It’s a boy!
We started this Periodic Table of Death and Mystery with a line from a Greek poem. Let’s end it with the same line from a British poem, one written by a soldier who served in World War I, and who used it to chronicle the horrors of the war. The poet, Wilfred Owen, was killed in action on November 4th, 1918. World War I ended November 11th, at 11 o’clock, 1918. He was only 25 (20).
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As someone whose father served in Vietnam and whose son serves now, parts of this article were tough to write, and the poem a tough one to read.
Thanks for getting this far.
*
Dulce et Decorum Est
By Wilfred Owen
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer,
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,–
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Tin, Military Logistics, and the Periodic Table of DEATH and Mystery
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