THIS
MAN'S WAR
by
Charles F. Minder
306th Machine Gun Battalion
Company B
JUNE
Sunday, June 2, 1918
DEAR MOM,
Leonard and I just got back from the village. We were
over there tonight at a farmhouse and had a feast of
eggs, potato chips, and wine. These French women make
some extra money by serving meals to the soldiers. There
is something about home cooking which you cannot get in
the army. The army cooks do not know the first thing
about cooking. They get away with it, tho.
Altho it was Sunday, we were routed out this morning
after breakfast, lined up, and marched away to the rifle
range where we spent the morning shooting fifty shots
apiece. I missed church services again, the third in a
row. We were dismissed for the rest of the day and didn't
have to stand for Retreat. Leonard and I spent the
afternoon under a big tree alongside of a wonderful
field. There sure are some wonderful spots around here.
We killed time writing a few letters, studying our French
book, and talking of the good old U.S.A. How I wish we
were back there now!
We saw a bunch of German prisoners being marched back
this afternoon. They looked awfully sloppy. Everything
was stripped from them, no buttons on their coats at all.
The soldiers cut the buttons off all the coats of the
prisoners and keep them for souvenirs. The English
Tommies all have belts just full of buttons of many
different outfits. The German prisoners have only coats
and trousers, and they look like civilians. The only part
of them that looks like a soldier are the feet. They have
army boots on, and the funny little round caps they wear.
Yesterday was a very busy day, and they worked us late so
I never got a chance to write you. I was busy up to nine
o'clock, checking up the equipment and cleaning the
machine gun and my rifle. We had been out on the parade
ground all day getting instruction on sighting and aiming
and lining up a battery of machine guns for barrage
firing. I went over to the Estaminet with Leonard and we
had some nice cold ale, which is a very good drink in
this kind of weather, and especially when you feel tired
out.
It's late so with love to you both from CHARLES.
Monday, June 3, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
Well, I had a great time tonight, riding on a bicycle,
which I borrowed and rode over to Eperleque to the
British Canteen to buy a watch, which the Tommies told me
I could get there. They had sold the last one, so I was
out of luck. My watch stopped suddenly and there is no
place to have it fixed. The ride was great, up and down
the hills. I was all by myself and enjoyed it immensely.
I felt like a kid again riding my own bicycle. We were
paid again this afternoon. I received one hundred and one
francs and fifty centimes and feel like a millionaire,
even though it only is eighteen dollars and twelve cents
in our money.
We were up to the gas school this morning, and we had our
first experience in a gas-shell attack. Every detail was
carried out exactly as it is up on the front line. They
banged empty shells, blew horns, and used rattlers to
give the alarm, just as they do up in the trenches when a
gas-shell explodes. This warns the men to put on their
gas-masks. It sounded just like New Year's Eve on
Broadway. What a noise! This afternoon we were exposed
again on the parade ground, getting some more instruction
on barrage fir-ing and Infantry work. The artillery is at
it hot and heavy at the moment. The Tommies say that it
is about this time that new troops come up to the front
to relieve the old ones. The object of the artillery
barrage is to demoralize them and take all the fight out
of them.
Most of the prisoners coming back recently surrendered
themselves. It must be pretty desperate in the German
Army if there are so many that surrender. When the
Tommies go over the top, they kill all they come in
contact with, they say, and no prisoners are taken. I
swear that it must be a couple of battalions of prisoners
I have seen since we arrived here. They all voluntarily
surrendered, marching over to the English trenches with
their hands high up in the air. They don't shoot these.
Well, Mom dear, it's time to hit the floor, as hard as it
is, it feels good when you're tired. I can sleep on hard
floors now, cobblestones, anything. In fact, I think I
could fall asleep on a tight wire. God bless you.
CHARLES.
Tuesday, June 4, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I just got thru writing a lot of letters. We had quite an
exciting day, and a busy one. This morning they took us
up to the parade ground again. The mules and limbers were
there, and we were instructed in how to load them as
compactly as possible, and also in keeping the equipment
evenly spread out in weight, so that too much wouldn't be
on one side. Our ma-chine guns were there, and they had
us hopping all over the place with their rapid-fire
commands, and we were all perspiring in a short time
because it was so warm.
Right after the noon meal, the Captain formed the company
and announced that tomorrow we leave for the southern
part of France and could have the after-noon off to get
things ready. We were all glad to hear we were going to
get away from this part of the country, and have an
opportunity to see more of France.
The fellows who took a walk away from the Camp were lucky
because, about an hour and a half later, the command,
"Turn out with full packs!" breezed across the
air. The fellows were sore. We made up our packs as
quickly as possible. When the company was formed, the
Captain announced that there was a delay down the line
and we wouldn't leave tomorrow after all but a few days
later.
We stood around a while wondering what was going to
happen next, when the Lieutenant appeared with a nice
broad grin on his face, as much as to say, "Well,
you poor slobs, I've got you where I want you." He
bawled out, "Squads right, forward march!" and
away we went on a hike for three hours. It was hot and
sticky, and the pace that the Lieutenant kept at the head
of the line was awful. We were in misery. The names that
the fellows called that bird aren't fit to write. I
thought a lot, but didn't express myself. That's the
disadvantage of being a Corporal, you've got to act as if
you side with the officers, otherwise you would have no
control over the men at all.
When we got back, I was all in. The fellows who sneaked away earlier had
the laugh on us. I guess the Lieutenant felt like taking a walk, and
didn't want to go alone and talked the Captain into giving us some
exercise. Or maybe it pleases his vanity to be at the head of a mob of
men and know that they have to obey and follow him. I'll bet my hundred
francs right now that he doesn't lead us into the front lines later on
as swiftly as he hiked us this afternoon. These kind of men are all
four-flushers. I've read too many books on the war. They have them in
all armies, loud mouthed and bold back in training camps, and whimpering and meek in the trenches.
I cleaned my rifle earlier this evening. This has to be
done every day. It's best to do it at night and leave a
thin coating of oil on it so the wet air of the night
doesn't rust it. Well, Mother dear, it's getting late so
will close with all my love to you and Mousie. How is she
by the way? Is she going to be promoted? It won't be long
now and school will be out and she'll have a nice long
vacation. How I wish I had been born a little later and
was going to school now instead of being where I am! Good
night, God bless you.
Your boy,
CHARLES.
Wednesday, June 5, 1918
DEAR MOM,
Leonard and I just got back from the Estaminet where we
had our fill of wine again. I guess you must think I'm
becoming a drunkard the way I have been drinking lately.
But, Mother dear, if you could only see what we have to
go thru, for there isn't a day that we don't have some
misery or torture, then you would excuse me, I know. When
we are tired out, a glass of wine or ale braces us up,
and makes us feel better right away. For a little while,
we forget all about the darn army and the war and the
unreasonable officers.
The Tommies get a ration of rum every day, it braces them
up. In our army, we have our canteens filled with rotten
water, full of chloride, or chlorine, I don't know which
it is, but it makes the water taste terrible. You can't
drink it. The chemical's supposed to purify the water.
All over France, the water isn't fit to drink and has to
be purified. It doesn't surprise me at all. The ground is
rotten, I guess, because there have been nothing but
battles all over France from the beginning of history and
lots of blood has been shed. Just think how much blood
has flowed into the ground in this country in the last
four years with the millions of men that have been
fighting here!
I wonder how much longer this war is going to last! It's
just a year ago today that we all had to register in New
York City for the Draft. A lot of things have happened in
one year, I never thought that I would ever be over so
soon, but here I am, right in the midst of it.
This morning we all had to clean our rifles and smear
them up with cosmoline and pack them away, I thought we
were going to keep them for good. I was glad that they
took them away from us as they were too heavy to carry. I
feel sorry for the boys in the Infantry outfits.
From nine to twelve-thirty, we received instructions in
regard to firing data and map reading. This afternoon we
were taken on a long hike with our packs again and didn't
get back until five. We were almost dead. just before we
fell out, we were told to get ready for Retreat with our
rifles. The darn fools had us pack them away this morning
and they were full of cosmoline. There was a mad
scramble, the boxes were opened, everybody grabbed one
and started to clean it. Retreat was at six, an hour
later., and in that time we cleaned the rifles ourselves,
and arranged things in the huts for the inspection of
quarters, and also gulped down some food. How we did it,
I don't know. That's why we went over to the village
after that for some drinks. There is nothing better than
to drown your hard feelings and after the first drink, I
forgot everything. I wonder what's in store for us
tomorrow.
Good night, Mother Dear, God bless you.
CHARLES.
Thursday, June 6, 1918.
DEAR MOTHER,
Well, we left Monecove today, and I guess forever. We'll
never go back there now. We started marching this
afternoon at one and we hit these woods at ten--thirty
tonight. We were walking for eight and a half hours
today, resting five minutes every half hour. At one place
we stopped tonight for an hour and our kitchen fed us the
beef stew, which was cooking all the time we were on the
march. It is quite a novelty. I hope the kitchen sticks
with us everywhere we go. Our limbers are with us, one to
every squad and mules draw them. All our machine guns,
ammunition, and equipment are in the limbers. Back in
1915, I remember seeing moving pictures in New York City
of the German army on march walking across Belgium, and I
remember the rolling kitchens and supply wagons going
along with the troops. That's the way it was with us
today, and my thoughts wandered back to 1915 when I saw
those moving pictures and how, at that time, they
fascinated me, but I never dreamt that some day I would
be doing the same. Strange, isn't it?
I am writing in a pup-tent which I am sharing with
Carlie, one of the fellows in my squad. My candle is
stuck on my helmet and we are stretched out with
raincoats on the ground, and a blanket and overcoats over
us for covering. It doesn't feel bad at all, I guess,
because we are too tired to notice how hard the ground
is. There are woods all around us and our tents are
pitched in between the trees.
This morning at Reveille, the Captain announced that we
would be on our way today, so the whole morning was spent
loading the limbers with our equipment. We turned in our
ammunition and it was packed away. Thank goodness, we
didn't have to carry it today. We sure did work this
morning, and were all played out by noon. They issued us
our iron rations, and strict orders that under no
circumstances were we to touch them until we had received
orders to do so. This consists of hard tack, some bacon,
can of corned beef, coffee, and some sugar.
At one o'clock we left Monecove with three cheers from
the Tommies. We sure did look military all right. It was
a very hot day and I became thirsty and drank a little
too much water, I guess, because before an hour had
passed, I became dreadfully sick and flopped. I didn't
know where I was for a couple of minutes. When my eyes
opened, the company was marching on, and about a half a
city block away, and I was stretched alongside of a ditch
at the side of the road. Captain Campbell rode back on
his horse and bawled me out. "Let me see your
canteen, Corporal," he said. I handed it to him and
it was only two-thirds full. "Weren't you instructed
not to touch this stuff?" he asked. "Yes,
Sir," I answered, "I couldn't help it, my
throat was parched."
The perspiration was pouring from me. It was the hottest
day we have had yet over here and the sun was beating
down on us something awful. "Let me have your
pack," he said. I took it off and he put it over his
shoulders and carried it for me the next hour, walking
himself. In fact, he didn't get on the back of his horse
but very little this afternoon, only when he had to go up
and down the company. I got up and followed along and, at
the next rest period, I was back with my squad. Walking
for an hour without my pack kind of rejuvenated me and I
was all right for the rest of the day.
The Captain did other wonderful things for the fellows. I
saw him give a couple of fellows some water from his own
canteen. He walked his horse instead of riding him, and
that's something that few officers would do. We stopped
at six and ate and it was a good rest. The fellows
suffered awful today. How they stood it is beyond me. The
fellows who have charge of the mules are having an awful
time tying them up over in the woods. They have to take
care of the animals first and then they pitch their
tents. We call them the mule-skinners in the company.
Well, Mom, I
can't mail this letter to you so will have to carry it
along with me and perhaps add on to it each day as I did
coming across on the Karoa. I am anxious to hear from you
about that long letter. How long did it take you to read
it? Well, Mom dear, I know I won't have any trouble
sleeping tonight. Thank goodness, there isn't any
artillery around here. That is, I haven't heard any as
yet. I might be surprised, tho, before daylight. The mules must be obstinate, I hear them hee-hawing over in
the woods and the mule-skinners are using some terrible
language.
CHARLES.
Friday, June 7, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
Today was another terrible day of hiking. We are in a
town called Crequy. We are up in a hayloft of a farmer's
barn stretched out on straw. The fellows are all talking
about cooties and if we don't get them tonight, sleeping
on this straw, we never will. Soldiers have been here
before. This barn has been used for billeting for the
last four years. All the outfits that have been here left
their trade-marks on the wall. There are a great many
French outfits designated on the whitewashed wall, but I
can't make them out. I guess many of them who have slept
here are now sleeping on some battlefield forever.
They woke us up at five-thirty this morning and altho I
was sleeping on the ground, I had trouble in getting up,
it felt so restful. Somebody must have put glue under me.
We ate breakfast, made up our packs, and at
six-forty-five we were on our way. We marched and marched
and, as the morning wore on, it became hotter and hotter.
It was terrible, the sun was so hot. The hard roads
almost burned the soles off the shoes on our feet. Many
of the fellows dropped out today, sat down on the side of
the road and later in the day caught up with the company
again. I was surprised that the officers left them
behind. As they dropped out, the fellows were told how to
follow us and catch up with us later.
I wrote down the names of the towns we marched thru, and
if you can get a good map of France, you can probably
find these towns and know where we hiked. The first town
we hit was Theimbrounne, then Williametz, St. Martin,
Renty, Remeaux, Coupelle, Vielle, and then late this
afternoon we marched into this town called Crequy, where
we are billeted for the night. We washed up at the pump
and then got in line for food, which our rolling kitchen
had been cooking for us on the hike. The third platoon is
billeted in four different barns, one squad in each. The
first and second platoons are in one great big barn. Gus
Weber is bunking in with me tonight. Poor Wilmarth, the
frail lad in our platoon, is very ill tonight with a
fever. He's game to the core. He never complains, and
endured the hardships today as well as the biggest ones
in the company. When a frail kid like him can stand it,
the huskiest fellows have to stick it out, too, otherwise
the fellows kid the life out of them. Weber and I have
spread our shelter -halves over the straw and a blanket
under us and one over. We ought to sleep good tonight.
God bless you.
CHARLES.
Saturday, June 8, 1918
DEAR MOM,
Well Mom, I bet you thought of me today, all right, my
birthday, and now I am twenty-three years old. Gus Weber,
Koehler, and I went over to an estaminet tonight at a
town called Tenears and drank some wine to celebrate. We
are camped right outside of the town. I never slept so
soundly as I did last night. My, but we were tired! They
woke us up at five, and at six--fifteen we marched over
to where the other platoon was billeted and ate our
breakfast. At nine, the day's marching commenced. We
stopped at twelve to eat and rest and then started off
again.
Today we marched throtgh Reausseauville, Caulers, Crepy,
Tilley Capelle, and at four we landed outside of Tenears.
The whole Battalion is camped together and the rows of
tents sure look pretty. There are lots of trees about us
and we are pretty well protected from being seen by
German aviators. It is a most wonderful spot, a canal
runs alongside the Camp.
When we arrived here this afternoon, we pitched our tents
and then were free to do as we pleased. Every-body who
could swim, took off his clothes, and dove into the
canal. Make out it didn't feel good after the two days of
heat and hiking! It was some sight to see the American
Army in its nudity. There were some French peasant girls
over on the other side of the canal, and they just stood
there and looked at us as unconcerned as if we had
bathing suits on. A couple of fellows yelled over to them
and the Captain came along and bawled us out and made
everybody dress. We non-coms got the worst of it. He told
us that we should know better than bathing that way in
broad daylight so near the town, and that we should set a
better example and so forth, but he's a good scout,
because he told us we could swim again later when it
became darker.
Our meal tonight was the best we ever had. The fellows
are all in good spirits and contented this evening. They
forget the misery of the army quickly. Good night,
CHARLES.
Sunday, June 9, 1918
DEAR Mom,
Weber, Bardes, Schlaich, and myself, all boys of German
descent, took a walk over to the town this morning to see
the sights. By the way, we sure have a lot of boys of
German descent in this company. This town has been bombed
from the air in the last four years, some of the houses
smashed to pieces. If there is a chance to get some eggs,
we always take advantage of it, no matter how full we
are. We came to one house where we saw chickens running
around. Schlaich said, "Ali, eggs!" and before
we knew it we were knocking on the door and a sweet
French girl opened it. We smiled and asked in French,
"Pardon, Madamoselle, avey voo des oofs, dey
freit." She laughed out loud at us and didn't seem
to be able to stop. We stood around acting kind of
sheepish and didn't know what to do.
When she got through laughing, she said in perfectly good
old American language, "Why, certainly, boys, come
right in. How many would you like to have?" We were
dumfounded. Well, we had a wonderful feast there, eggs,
potatoes, some wine, champagne, and coffee. We were there
for an hour talking with her. She told us that she has
relatives in Illinois and had lived in America for three
years when she was a young girl, and that's how she
learnt how to talk English. We got back to Camp at
twelve-thirty just in time to eat again.
At three o'clock, we received orders to move, took down
our tents and made up our packs, and at four--thirty we
left. Some fast work! We promised the French girl that we
would be back tonight to eat some more, and I guess she
thinks we were dirty liars because we are now miles away
from Tenears. I bet the poor darling prepared a lot of
food for us tonight. If I only had asked her name, I
could send her a letter of apology. Her last words when
we left her this morning were not to disappoint her.
That's the worst of the army, you don't know where you'll
be from one minute to the next.
We thought sure, on account of this being Sunday, that we
would have the day off. We hiked from four--thirty until
eight-thirty tonight, passing through the towns of Anvin,
Monchy Cayeaux, Santicourt and Wavians, and then landed
in this big field alongside of a forest. We were told not
to pitch tents as we leave tomorrow morning at
three-thirty on a train. It started to rain lightly and
it is no joke sitting out in the rain, so Weber and I
started down the road and hit an English Tank Corps camp.
There were about a hundred Tommies inside the hut that we
walked into and we almost fell over when we saw them. The
air was thick with smoke. When they saw us, they
hollered, "Hello, Yanks!" and dragged us in. We
told them who we were and that the rest of the company
was down the road waiting for the train at three-thirty.
They asked us if we played a piano and I told them that
my buddie did nothing else but. Of all the men in that
hut, where they passed the time away, there wasn't one
that could play the piano decently.
Gus Weber is a diplomat if there ever was one. The first
song he thumped off was, "It's a Long Way to
Tipperary." Well, Mom, it's pretty hard to describe
the scene, everyone of them joined in and sang the
loudest he could. You would think the roof was coming off
of the hut. It brought a lump up in my throat to see the
Tommies put their hearts and souls into that singing. Gus
had to play it over and over again, and how he does play!
Gus played a lot more from some English music they had.
He didn't know what he was playing but he plays anything
at first sight and they all sang. Gus was the hero of the
evening.
At ten the noise had to stop, so we talked, and finally
they went off to sleep and told us we could stay as long
as we wanted to. Two of the fellows took me outside to
the shed while Gus was playing and showed me their tanks.
A crew of eight manages to get inside of them somehow.
How they all get in is beyond me, because the space is so
small. A great big six cylinder engine takes up the most
room. I took advantage of the opportunity to write you,
it's twelve--thirty now and Gus is getting kind of
nervous to get back to the rest of the company. It
doesn't look like I am going to get any sleep tonight, my
eyes are be-ginning to close now, but I must keep them
open. Can you imagine anything more silly than this,
keeping us up to get a train at three-thirty in the
morning? They could just as well have let us sleep and
get it at five-thirty or six. We lose a whole night's
rest. That's the way they do things in the Army. It
stopped raining, thank goodness, we are going to start
back to the company, now.
Good night, Mother dear, God bless you.
Love from
CHARLES.
Monday, June 10, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I am writing this on a freight train. There are
twenty-three of us crowded in it. Straw is spread all
over the floor on which we slept last night. We are
rolling along slowly, to where, we don't know. It's seven
in the evening and we have been riding all day. We
started this morning three-forty-five, leaving from
Wavians. We were all soaking wet from the dew which was
very heavy and moist.
Our kitchen
must have been cooking while we were waiting, for they
surprised us with hot coffee at three A.M. just before we
got on the train. It braced us up. Horses had been in it
before and there was a terrible aroma. Just the same the
fellows spread the straw which was at the station, threw
themselves down on it and fell asleep. I was wide awake,
the train stopped after it left the station for a half
hour, everybody was sawing wood and I just sat there
dreaming until it started again at four-fifteen. I kept
track of the stations we passed when it became light and
noticed we were going back thru the towns we had marched
through the last two days with so much suffering, the
first one I noticed was Renty, then St. Martin,
Williametz, and Theimbrounne. Why we had to march so far
and then ride back past them, I don't know. It got my
goat. I became very tired and fell asleep dur-ing the day
in spite of all the noise and bouncing of the train.
These French freight trains are awful.
The train stopped long enough tonight for us to get something to eat
from our kitchen which is on one of the cars up ahead. They handed us
cans of corned beef and hard tack. That was all we got. We were hungry
and it tasted good. The fellows are playing poker to pass the
time, some are sitting at the door watching the fields go
by, others are resting, and I am over here in the corner
trying to write. This has been terribly monotonous. There
isn't much to -write except to say that I wish I was home
right now.
Love to you and Mousie.
CHARLES.
Wednesday, June 12, 1918
DEAR MOM,
All day yesterday, we just rode and rode. We passed
through Dulans at seven A.M. After having a very restless
night, I couldn't sleep at all, I thought the night would
never end. At eight-twenty we hit Candas and at ten the
first town that we have heard so much of during the war,
it was Amiens. At eleven-thirty we passed through
Calleaux.
We stopped for a few minutes and they passed out some
cans of salmon to us and some more hard tack, which we
ate cold. The fellows managed to get two tin cans which
the hard tack came in, some bricks and some small pieces
of wood and we managed to build a fire right here in the
train and heated the water and dumped some tea leaves in
it which one of the fellows had. Make out that tea didn't
taste good! We all needed something warm in our stomachs.
How we managed it without setting the car on fire is
beyond me. We were all ready to kick it out of the car in
case anything did start to burn.
At one-thirty we passed Poix, at two-fifteen Pouilloy
and, later on, Abancourt. I started to play poker after
that to get my mind off the trip. I lost twelve francs,
but I didn't mind as the card-playing occupied me for a
while. I fell asleep last night at eight on a handful of
straw, I, was so tired, and was dead to the world until
seven this morning. I had a wonderful sleep and never
woke up once. At seven-twenty-five this morning, the
first town we passed was Sauvoy.
I imagine we are traveling south on account of having
been on the train so long. Then came a town called Vold,
Sorcey, Pagney sur Meuse, Fong, and then came a big city
called Toul. Then came Liverdun and then another famous
town since the war, Nancy. It was 10 A.M. then. Then came
a town with a long name, Champigneulles. After that
Jarville la Mongrange, then St. Nicolas. Guess that must
be where Santa Claus hails from. Then came Dombasle du
Mertheau, then Bayon, Chaune, and at last, we reached our
destination at one-fifty. It was a town called Dulache.
When we hopped
off the train, we could hardly move our legs. It's
surprising how a train ride can stiffen you up. In spite
of having only eaten cold meals, the fellows were all in
good spirits. I felt rotten and can't understand how
fellows can feel good, suffering such inconveniences. We
all had to unload the cars and clean them and it wasn't
until three p. m. that we started to hike. We walked
fifty minutes and then rested for ten. At six we stopped
and ate, our rolling kitchen heated up some beans and
with coffee, it tasted good, because it was something
warm. At seven, we started off again and hiked until ten,
making a total of five hours of marching. We cover at
least three miles an hour at the pace we hike, so the
fifteen miles took all the stiffness out of our legs.
We stopped at a square cut into the woods, a beautiful
spot, as much as we can see in the moonlight, and we
pitched our tents. Weber and I are bunking together
tonight. He's fast asleep already and I am writing by
candlelight. It's eleven-fifteen and will close with love
to you and Mousie. I hope you will be able to find all
the French towns on the map, so you can follow our
traveling for the past three days. This sure is a gypsy
life. We sleep anywhere. Thank goodness, it's quiet.
There is no artillery around here to jar our nerves. We
must be miles behind the front somewhere.
Good night, Mother dear.
CHARLES.
DEAR MOTHER, Thursday, June 13, 1918
Well, we had a good day of rest, most of us spent it in
getting cleaned up and looking respectable again. This
morning I enjoyed a rare luxury, considering that I am in
the army. I had breakfast in bed. Good old Dinola, an
Italian member of my squad, a very funny fellow, he is
always making some funny remark to make us laugh, got my
mess-kit while I was sleeping, had it filled with
flap-jacks and syrup and brought it to my tent and woke
me up. I thanked him and felt like a General for the time
being. It was seven and we never had to stand for
Reveille this morning. I guess the officers must have
been all in.
At ten, we were told we could leave the camp for two
hours. Whenever we get a chance to get away from the
company, we go looking for eggs, You sure can get some
fine fresh eggs from these French farmers. Weber, Bardes,
Koehler and I stumbled across a farmhouse and the old
lady there sold us five eggs apiece and some bacon. When
we got back to camp, we made a little fire and I made a
bacon omelet frying it in my mess-kit. I was so full I
passed up the army food and only took bread and coffee.
The Top-Sergeant told us there would be an inspection
this afternoon but didn't tell us what time.
We got everything ready and ourselves cleaned up and had
to wait around all afternoon for the officers to show up.
They are billeted somewhere in a farmhouse. The soldiers
sleep on the ground under their pup-tents. They finally
showed up about four o'clock and looked everybody over.
Nobody was bawled out. The sun beat down on us all day
and I don't think there is any better tonic to make a
fellow feel good than a sun bath. A Small brook runs
alongside of us here and it sure was a very pleasant day
and I enjoyed it, the wonderful scenery and trees and the
babbling brook. I wish we could stay here indefinitely,
it is just like being on a camping trip.
The fellows were allowed to leave camp tonight until
nine. There was no place to go, for we are far out in the
country somewhere. I don't know exactly where but it's
fifteen miles or so from Dulache. In which direction from
Dulache, I also do not know. Some of the fellows are
playing cards, others are writing. It is so restful
around here that very few of the boys left the Camp. We
do enough hiking when we have to, without going out at
evening. Well, I'm glad they gave us this rest today.
Tomorrow they'll make up for it and probably walk the
legs off of us again. I'll mail this letter the first
chance I get.
CHARLES.
Monday, June 17, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I haven't written you since last Thursday, I think, and
must apologize to you for having neglected my duty. We
have been so busy since then, studying night and day,
learning all we can about the new French machine gun
called the Hotchkiss. Back at Upton we had the Colt, up
at Monecove, we had the English Vickers, and now we have
to learn all about this French one. It has been raining
cats and dogs ever since we arrived here. We are in a
village called Fraimbois. Last Friday, they put
fifty-four of us on motor trucks and after five hours
riding, we were dumped off at a city called Luneville and
then we were hiked here. This is a French sector and a
French sergeant who can speak English pretty good has
been instructing us.
We have been soaked ever since we arrived here. It was
the first time that we gave our raincoats a practical
test and they are utterly useless. The rain soaks right
through them. They are no more protection to us than
cheesecloth would be. Our supposed-to-be waterproof shoes
leak like sieves. We have an extra pair of shoes and they
are wet, too. It has been raining so steadily that you
can't get a chance to dry your clothes or shoes. I wish
the sun would come out again.
The only part of this that we have enjoyed are the meals.
The Captain sent Freddie Schlaich along with us to do the
cooking. I don't know where the rest of the company is, I
suppose they'll be along one of these days. These six
squads here now might have to instruct the others later
on. Freddie sure is a magician when it comes to preparing
dishes. How he does it, all alone, for fifty-four men is
a miracle. Were it put to a popular vote, our Mess
Sergeant would lose his job tomorrow, the dirty Greek.
I am now billeted with seventeen others in a barn. We
sleep on straw. It is raining something awful at the
moment. The thunder and lightning are quite severe. It
makes me jump every minute but I'm not complaining
because I'm thinking of the poor devils up on the front
line, it sure must be rotten up there tonight and I'm
thankful that we are in a dry spot.
Six of the fellows are stripped to the waist and are
looking over their woolen undershirts to find the lice
that have been biting them. This barn is lousy with
cooties and we all are lousy with them now since we came
here. I found two on my undershirt earlier this evening.
They are perfectly disgusting and annoying things. When
we catch them, we put them over the candle flame and kill
them. It is quite a picture. These fellows sitting over
candles and looking for lice. The candles cast huge
shadows up on the roof of the barn and we all look like
giants.
Well, Mom, I guess I'll close, I'm tired. I was asleep
once this evening from six-thirty to nine, when Kimberly
awoke me and said I better undress and go to bed
decently. I took advantage of all the lights burning to
write you.
CHARLES.
Tuesday, June 18, 1918.
DEAR MOTHER,
I'm back with the company now and we are billeted in a
town called Baccarat in the barracks occupied by the
French soldiers. The place is just alive with lice and we
are all in for it now. They are something you can't help
getting. The soldiers have been coming back and forth
from the trenches since 1914 and every place that they
have ever stopped at, they leave behind lice for the next
group to get. Almost everybody is busy tonight looking
for them. No more than you kill off the few you find, it
is only a short time after when a new flock of eggs seem
to hatch out and you have dozens more over you. They bite
and annoy you something awful.
When we arrived here tonight at nine on motor trucks, we
ran into the good old 69th Regiment of New York City.
They have been over here for some time and now wear a six
months' service stripe on their arms. It sure did make me
feel good to talk to some of them while they were waiting
to pull out of here. They left to go up on the Somme
front, they said. They are sure going up to a hot sector
and I don't envy them in the least. Many of them will not
come back, you can rest assured of that. They have been
in action already and have had many casualties. They have
been back here resting and filling in the gaps with new
men to get their outfit up to full strength again.
It was great to meet a fellow from your old home town,
even if you didn't know him. One fellow I was talking to
lives at 28th street, the block we used to live in. We
gave them three cheers and they all marched away. It made
me feel sad for a moment and I felt like a civilian
looking on, forgetting that I was in the army myself, all
I could think of was that in a short time many of them
would be food for the cannons, snuffed out in a moment,
maybe. They were all singing and whistling and in such
good spirits, I pitied them. It seems they have no
realization of what's ahead of them. I wish I could feel
so light-hearted about this butchering business of war. I
think it's awful.
I had a good sleep last night and was up bright and
early. The sky was cloudy in the morning but it wasn't
raining, and before noon the sun came out very hot and we
all managed to get dried up again.
We spent the whole morning over at a rifle range shooting
the Hotchkiss and practicing mounting the gun as if we
were going into action. The ground was occupied by the
Germans for two weeks in August Of 1914. Their old gun
emplacements and plenty of shell holes were all over the
place and it made it very realistic of the front line and
made an excellent place for training of troops.
After we ate at noon, we were told to make up our packs
as we would leave at four. When we started to leave, the
whole village turned out. A band of French soldiers came
along from somewhere and lined up in front of our column
of squads. There were only fifty-four of us, six squads.
Why this honor was bestowed on us is beyond me, except
that we might have been mistaken for some other outfit.
We haven't been in the front lines yet and didn't deserve
any such demonstration. When they played our National Air
before starting, we all stood at attention and it's hard
to describe my feelings in writing. Lumps were in my
throat. It felt good to be an American. It didn't help to
destroy my hate for war, however. I never will get over
my feeling of the terrible slaughtering that goes on in
war-time. I hope this will be the last war. Civilization
has advanced too far to keep up this sort of thing. To be
patriotic doesn't mean that we have to go out and destroy
and kill.
They marched us
for an hour to where the trucks were. The French people
cheered us all the way and it was the warmest feeling of
friendship I've seen for some time. We piled on to the
trucks, gave the band a "Viva la France!" and
then started off and rode and rode over bumpy roads and
got a good shaking up. At nine o'clock, we pulled into
this town, which is one real city, if you ask me. The
scenery on the ride was wonderful and I enjoyed the
sunset, which words can't describe.
The fellows sang every song that they ever heard, some of
them harmonizing, and all in all, it wasn't such a bad
ride. They are all turning in to sleep, one by one, we
have straw mattresses on the floor, they are full of
lice, and we have our choice, to either sleep on the hard
floor or on the soft but lice mattresses. Most of them
are sleeping on the mattresses already. I am going to
tackle the hard floor.
CHARLES.
Friday, June 21, 1918
DEAR MOM,
We are in a town called Pexonne. It's eight o'clock and
we are waiting to move on again. We are making one-night
stands now. Yesterday we rested practically all day, and
at nine, started for the hike to this place. They let us
rest today and now we are waiting to move on again. I
guess it's dangerous to move troops up here in the
daytime, as we are pretty close to the front lines.
Weber and I saw the ruins of Jerry's bombardment
yesterday at Baccarat while we took a stroll through the
town for two hours. It was as if an earthquake had hit
it. Many of the French civilians were killed. Of course,
we visited the Y, and in almost every one you can find a
piano. Weber always sits right down and starts to play
and for a while I forget the war and everything. When we
returned, they ordered us to make up our packs. Then we
had to load our limbers. We had new Hotchkiss guns and
ammunition issued to us earlier in the day and it sure
looks like business now. The rumor is we are bound for
the front.
After we ate, we had to clean up the quarters we had
occupied. Our Captain is very strict in cleaning up
places before we leave them. Other outfits leave all
their filth behind them when they go. We haven't hit a
place yet that we didn't have to clean up.
At nine last night we started to march. We thought it
would never end. Before long we were very tired. At
twelve-thirty, we had halted and were resting alongside
of a church in a little village. It was very quiet and
suddenly the bell struck once. It startled us and most of
us jumped. The Lieutenant standing near by brought us
back to serenity by remarking, "That's darn good
shooting Jerry's doing tonight, hit the bull's eye."
We couldn't help laughing, the way he said it.
It started to rain something awful but we had to keep on
marching just the same. There was no shelter anywhere. We
were away out in the country. The lightning flashes
scared the life out of us, they struck so close. Almost
every step we took, our shoes would stick in the mud,
which made the walking all the harder and the packs never
seemed so heavy. It was two when we marched into pexonne.
We were led to a hayloft. How we ever find these places
is beyond me. I dropped on some hay, took off my shoes,
and was dead to the world immediately, and slept until
ten this morning when breakfast was served. There were
millions of bugs and spiders all over the place but they
never disturbed our rest last night.
The Captain wanted another sign made reading
"Company Headquarters." I went over to the Y
near by and luckily they had some paint and I found a
board and lettered it. We loafed and rested all day, and
had a wonderful meal this noon of steak and potatoes.
Where they got the steaks from is a mystery, that's
officers' food. One of the fellows remarked, "I bet
this is horse meat." The French eat horse meat. They
have parts of dead horses hanging in the butcher shop
windows, just like our butchers back home hang parts of
beef and lamb up on the hooks. After he made that remark,
my imagination got the best of me and my stomach turned
upside down and I couldn't eat any more steak. It's funny
how a remark can upset you. Guess I must be
over-sensitive.
One of Jerry's aeroplanes came over this afternoon and we
all ducked for cover so that he wouldn't see us. They
shot at least thirty shells at him but he was traveling
so fast that they couldn't hit him. He must have taken-
some photographs and he turned around and went back to
his own lines. At six, we received orders to make up our
packs and then clean up the place. We smiled at that
because this is about the dirtiest place we have ever
been at. The dirt has been here for years. The Captain
will not come up here so we are leaving it as we found
it.
It's nine now and we are still waiting for orders to turn
out and start off. It isn't raining at the moment but no
stars are out and it looks like we are in for another mud
bath tonight, I thought I'd take advantage of this
opportunity-while we are waiting-to write you. I mailed a
bunch of letters to you from Baccaret yesterday which I
hope you get all right. It was quite an accumulation.
I'll save this one and mail it the first chance I get.
God bless you and Mousie. How is my little sister?
CHARLES.
Saturday, June 22, 1918
DEAR Mom,
Well, your boy is in it now. We are about a mile away
from the German front lines, the closest we have ever
been to them. They call this the reserve line where we
are now. In case anything happens up on the front, we are
here to help them out. We are lucky and have huts so that
we can sleep indoors. That's better than holding a trench
and sleeping out in the open or in a dugout.
Last night we started to march at ten o'clock, and it was
past twelve when we hit our destination, here in the
dense woods. It took half an hour to unload our limbers,
we were slipping and tripping all over the place. On one
slip, I wrenched a muscle of my right leg, which was very
painful but much better tonight.
It was raining when we hit here, and we were tired, wet
and miserable. It was one-thirty before we got to sleep
and they didn't wake us until nine this morning. I heard
the call, "Come and get it!" This means
breakfast is ready. We dress quickly and rush to get on
the line for food. Our toilet is usually attended to
later, food comes first.
This is a wonderful dense forest full of pine trees. The
front line has practically been the same for the past two
years down here. The Germans had all this ground all the
way to Baccarat at one time but were driven back to where
they are now. No doubt they slept in these huts that we
are in now. We cleaned our machine guns, ammunition and
equipment this morning and got everything in order in
case of emergency.
The weather was very unsettled today, one minute the sun
would be shining and the next it would be cloudy. Then it
would drizzle for a little while. Once the sun came out
suddenly and the fellows shouted. We ran to the edge of
the forest. We thought an air battle was on but it turned
out to be the most wonderful rainbow that I have ever
seen. The colors were the most intense ones imaginable.
The fellows were gleefully exclaiming that it was a sign
that the war would soon be over. I hope so, but it looks
doubtful, unless these millions of Yanks coming over now
scare the life out of the Germans.
One of our sergeants whose name is Holmes came back to
the company today without a pack. He lost everything.
When we were up at Monecove, he was sent away to the
English Army on the Somme front for instruction purposes,
and to get some dope on conditions at a lively section.
One morning after he had removed his pack and stood it
against the trench, a German shell came over, made a
direct hit on it and blew it to pieces. There wasn't a
thread of it left and lucky for him, it wasn't on his
back.
This afternoon, we discovered an artillery outfit about a
quarter of a mile away from us. They let loose with a
roar and this forest acts like a sounding board and the
sound of every shot goes echoing along all thru the
forest. When they fire at night, we are going to be out
of luck for sleep, it's a terrible noise when the
artillery starts to fire. It's about the most nerve-
wracking sound there is. This afternoon everybody
received a holster and a Colt automatic pistol. These we
keep until the war is over. We are fully equipped at
last, thank goodness, and we feel a little safer.
I went out into
the woods tonight and gathered a bunch of pine tree
leaves and with the shelter-half over them, I ought to
have a good sleep tonight. The air here in the pine tree
forest does smell good, I wouldn't mind staying here for
a while. God bless you.
CHARLES.
DEAR MOTHER, Sunday, June 23, 1918
We were up at six this morning and had to stand for
Reveille. They are always surprising us in this army. It
was quite a novelty to have a company formation
considering that we are in the reserve lines. The Sabbath
was not kept holy at all. All of the non-coms who were at
Fraimbois had to teach the other half of the company all
about the Hotchkiss gun. So I had my first experience
today in instructing a large group, telling them the
names of all the parts, and showing them how to take the
gun apart and put it together again. I am thinking now
how foolish it was to bring half a company up so close to
the front lines without knowing anything about the
Hotchkiss gun.
While we were at Fraimbois receiving instructions, the
rest of the company spent every day marching to where we
are now. They weren't on a single motor truck. I was
lucky, to escape all that hiking. This afternoon we had
plenty of gas-mask drill. We were told that altho we are
in the reserve line, our training would continue as
usual. We also had to inspect all our ammunition and
clean our guns again this afternoon, which is some job
and keeps us busy and out of mischief.
I had to letter another "Company Headquarters"
sign later in the day, I guess they lost the last one I
made. We are not allowed to leave the vicinity, I had
planned a short walk tonight but was disappointed. The
artillery was very active all last night, there were
plenty of aeroplanes overhead and I didn't sleep well at
all. Carlie, one of the fellows in my squad bad an awful
crop of hair on his head so I had my first experience as
a barber tonight and trimmed him up with a small scissors
and made him look decent again
A small brook
runs past the huts and tonight managed to clean up an
accumulation of dirty clothes I had. I hope the soap will
kill off the eggs of the cooties which some mother cootie
laid there in my underwear. A new crop seems to hatch out
every day and we all have the time of our lives looking
for them.
They sure are annoying things, the way they can bite! The
weather was nice today and we all felt happier. I am very
sleepy and am going to sleep now and hope the artillery
takes a vacation tonight. All my love to you and Mousie.
CHARLES.
Monday, June 24, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
Oh, what a night we had! The bombardment was terrific! It
was the first time that we ever had the German artillery
fire at us, my heart was in my mouth. Aeroplanes were flying overhead.
We were in the pitch-dark huts not daring to light up for fear of detection. The road to
these huts is torn up from the shells they threw over
last night. They are darn good marksmen, if you ask me.
Their target was the ammunition dump of the artillery
outfit. The nearest shell-hole to the dump is only
twenty-five yards away from it. That's pretty good
shooting and if that one shell had been just a little
further over, it would have set all the ammunition on
fire and I know the forest would have started to burn and
we with it. It sure was a narrow escape for us. I get
sick when I think of it and I wish we could get a little
further away from these artillery outfits. They make too
much noise and every time they shoot, I jump.
This morning we instructed the men some more on the new
machine gun and had more gas-mask drill. This noon we all
received our overseas caps and spiral puttees. What a
difference in appearance! The old canvas leggings looked
terrible alongside of these. We sure do look snappy now.
This afternoon devoted to more gun instructing and
gas-mask work.
Tonight I had some more experience in cutting hair, my
victim this time was Selig, a Jewish fellow,, in my
platoon. He's a nice chap and one of the smaller men of
the company, who have stood up so well en-! during all
the hardships of hiking and carrying the, pack as well as
the bigger fellows.
We have about every nationality you can think in my
company. There sure is some mixture, and think it is
about the finest thing in the world for anyone, who like
myself, has always suffered with, race-prejudice, to be
mixed up in an outfit like this. The last six months of
my life in the army, living and" suffering with
these fellows, has done more for me to get rid of
race-prejudice than anything else could" have done.
I am beginning to get a better realization of the
different things I have read and heard on the
"Brotherhood of Men" and "Love your
neighbor as you love yourself." I am beginning to
see more and more how we are all one common herd, ruled
by another class that has more power than we have. We are
told to go and fight and kill and we must go, even tho it
is against our highest sense of right to kill another.
They seem to even mock God, the Father of us all, when
they make His children slaughter one another.
I saw for the first time a number of our own American Red
Cross ambulances come back from the front this afternoon
on the road near here. This sector is held by American
troops and altho I couldn't see in-side the ambulances, I know there
must have been a lot of our boys shot up last night during the bombardment the Germans sent over.
We devoted an
hour tonight in digging a big hole in the ground to dump
in a pile of garbage which another company had left near
our hut. The flies were buzzing around it today. We have
a reputation for cleaning up the mess of other outfits.
It protects us, so I am glad our officers are particular
in that respect. I am very tired tonight and hope I will
be able to sleep.
CHARLES.
Tuesday, June 25, 1918
DFAR MOTHFR,
Tonight I am on guard duty, my shift is the third one and
doesn't go on until twelve o'clock so I am going to write
a little and then try to get some sleep before twelve. I
am very tired, this morning I was awakened at four-by the
Top Sergeant-not of my own accord. He told me the first
platoon was going up the line and that two men of each
squad of the second platoon were to escort them up and
carry ammunition. We dressed in the dark, put on our
helmets and carried our gas-masks upon our chests, ready
for instant use. All grabbed two boxes of ammunition and
away we started.
I don't know how I felt, one minute I was scared to
death, the next minute I was eager for the opportunity to
see the front lines, to see just what it looks like up
there as I have read so much about it. I knew that at
daybreak was the hour that both sides started blazing
away at each other with artillery. We did everything in
the pitch-dark and walked along silently like dumb
animals. The ammunition boxes weigh about eighteen pounds
each and they pulled my hands away from my wrists. They
became heavier and heavier.
We finally reached the communication trench at the edge
of the forest and had to put our gas-masks on because the
air there was thick with mustard gas. That was the spot
where the Germans sent over the barrage yesterday morning
and they certainly did wreck the place. The country was
open at that point and you could look away over to where
the Germans were and see No Man's Land. It was covered
with barbed wire for miles. A single white streak shot up
into the air and burst open into a beautiful white light,
burned for about a minute and then went out. Then a green
sky rocket flew up into the sky. It was a signal for
something and everybody was told to duck and lay low. We
were all nervous and breathing heavily. Nothing happened
so we went on a little way down the trench leading up
further to the front line.
We finally
stopped and placed the ammunition into a dugout and the
fellows of the second platoon started the walk back to
the huts, leaving the first platoon in the lines. They
have the honor of being the first up.
It sure was thrilling up there this morning and I got
quite a kick out of it. I have been very anxious to see
what the front was like. It is exactly as I had mentally
pictured it. I don't know how long the first platoon is
going to stay up but the rumor is that when they come
back, we of the second platoon relieve them. It was seven
o'clock when we got back to the huts and luckily there
was some breakfast left for us. They didn't expect us
back at all and as nobody knew that the first platoon was
going up to the lines, they cooked enough food for the
whole company.
Of course, everybody asked us questions all day about how
it looked up there. They were surprised this morning when
they woke up to find the first platoon gone. The company
looked wrecked. A couple of fellows were kidding the
more timid ones, making it worse than it really was,
telling them that they tripped over dead bodies, and that
No Man's Land was full of skeletons, and that a barrage
came over when we were up there. The funny part was that
they believed it all.
What was left of the company, spent the rest of the day
getting machine gun instruction and more gas-mask work.
At six, we mounted the guard. I am free until twelve and
am going to take a snooze now, My eyes are closing, no
undressing until six tomorrow night when we will be
relieved. Good night.
CHARLES.
Wednesday, June 26, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
At quarter-to-twelve last night, Leonard awakened me to
get my men ready to go on their posts and relieve his
men. It was the first quiet night we have had and I could
have had a good night's rest, undisturbed, but that's my
luck again to be on guard duty. It sure was hard trying
to keep awake and I stood up for the two hours at the
road. I was all alone, everybody else was sleeping in the
camp, with the exception of my men, posted at different
places thru the forest and along the road. It gives me
the creeps to stand like that all alone. I imagine all
kinds of things, every lit-tle sound, even the noise of
the breeze blowing against the trees startles me. I seem
to be on edge.
I was thinking last night of how silly it all is and what
fools we are. It's the poor people, the working people,
who have to go out and fight each other and, besides
enduring physical suffering, we also have to help pay for
it financially. For it's the taxes we pay that furnishes
the money for war. I wished last night that women would
have something to say whether their country should go to
war or not. I think their natural instinct of thrift, if
not their abhorrence of brutality, would sway them to
abolish war. Just think to what good use all this money
spent in the last four years could be used? If it were
equally divided among the needy, poverty would be
unknown.
No one cares a rap about the poor man, they don't even
think of him, they are all too busy storing up their
dollars like misers. But when a war comes along, they put
a uniform on him and make him fight, whether he likes it
or not. I wish some of those patriotic birds would help
you along with a few dollars, so that you wouldn't have
to go to work. I wish now that I had claimed exemption
when they asked me; like a fool I said, "No,"
just because I was too much of a coward to be a
Conscientious Objector. I was afraid of what others would
think of me. I never thought of how you were going to get
along. But never mind, Mother Dear, when I get home
again, I'll work real hard, and you will have it nice and
easy again. That was about all I could think of from
midnight until two while I was on guard duty. I figured
out that I was being punished good and plenty for having
made such a quick decision in my emotion of patriotism. I
have since seen that one can be patriotic without wanting
to go to war and destroy and kill.
It will take years to repair the damage that has already
been done over here, and never in a life-time will those
who have had dear ones killed off be able to forget.
Nothing happened the two hours that I was on guard,
except being scared. I don't like the dark, walking from
one post to another. I tripped a number of times and
twice went sprawling but didn't hurt myself. McGarty and
his men relieved us at two and we hit the hay then, until
quarter of six this morning, when Leonard woke me again
to relieve his men. A heavy barrage was going on further
up the line this morning, they kept firing for over two
hours and I guess a big advance must be on. Being on
guard today had its advantages, for it enabled me to
visit the brook and wash my clothes and also myself and
get rid of some of the cooties which had hatched out
again.
It was a very peaceful four hours I spent while off guard
duty. The forest is very dense and the sunlight peeps
thru in spots. I found a big spot and sat in the sun for
an hour naked from the waist up, it felt good. We were
supposed to be relieved at six tonight but on account of
having received orders this afternoon to make up our
packs as the rest of the company goes up to the line
tonight, we are doing this extra shift from six to eight.
Everybody is ready and waiting to move up as soon as it
gets dark, I suppose. I think there is an advance on the
program. They say this line hasn't moved one inch for the
past two years one way or the other, and it looks like we
are going to do the moving. My men are on their posts
now. It' s seven--thirty, and in a half hour I will bring
them in. I took advantage of this wait to write a few
lines to you. There is no chance of mailing it so will
have to carry it along with me for a while.
CHARLES.
Thursday, June 27, 1918.
DEAR MOTHER,
We are now up in the front line and it sure is exciting.
The Infantry is about a block away in front of us. Then
across No Man's Land is nothing but barbed wire on posts
stuck in the ground and the Germans are somewhere behind
that. As far as you can see are nothing but trenches.
There sure has been a lot of digging going on up here.
They marched us up here about midnight last night. The
whole company is stretched out for about a mile, I should
think, because the nearest machine gun of our company is
about a block away on both sides of us. The gun is in a
big shell-hole with three small trees covering it. To me,
it looks very conspicuous and the Germans must be awfully
dumb if they can see the spot and think that three trees
could fall on one spot like that. It has made me very
uneasy because I am sure it is going to draw their
artillery fire. If shells start dropping around here,
there isn't much shelter anywhere and we'll just be out
of luck.
One man is always at the gun and peeking out looking for
anything suspicious. How the Germans ever found out that
we were coming up last night is a mystery to me. No more
than we had started, they started to bang away with their
artillery but we were lucky for the shells always passed
on over our heads and landed in the forest with a crash.
Had their range been a little bit shorter, they might
have got us. I feel sorry for the poor fellows who have
to walk back for the food. They bring it up in Dixies to
us. It is about the most ungrateful job imaginable and
very dangerous for you never know when you are going to
get hit. Today especially, the Germans kept dropping them
over intermittently practically all day.
The day passed rapidly, there was nothing to do but loaf.
We have to be careful to keep out of sight for the
Germans have men on the look-out also and when they see a
Yank, they start shooting at him. I heard a number of
rifle shots during the day. Whenever you see anything
moving off in the distance, you take a shot at it. It's
been like a holiday up here today, and if there isn't any
more activity here in the future, I'm afraid the war will
continue for another four years.
In one way, I
guess it's best that our first day in the lines was a
peaceful one. We can get used to it gradually, for I know
it isn't going to be as peaceful, like this day was, for
very long. We are sleeping in a shell-hole right under a
big cherry tree tonight out in the open. Guess we won't
have our pup-tents for some time now. As soon as it gets
dark, we are going to dig the gun emplacement just a
little deeper, it's too high now.
I'm terribly hungry and we are waiting for the fellows to
bring us some food. They should have been here an hour
ago and I hope they didn't lose their way. Our artillery
opened up while I was writing and I can see the shells
exploding off in the distance. Well., Mom, guess I'll
close and add some more to it to-morrow.
CHARLES.
Friday, June 28, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
The fellows were lost last night and didn't get up with
the food until ten o'clock. We ate the Dixies clean and
they looked as if a hungry dog had licked them after we
got thru. We were so hungry. They were delayed for about
an hour while a heavy barrage was going over from the
German lines and they had to lie in a ditch alongside of
the road for protection.
About eleven last night, the Lieutenant came up out of
the dark from somewhere and we got the machine gun ready
and placed a spirit level on it, and elevated it to a
certain degree, and then we started to shoot. The bullets
coming out of a machine gun at night make a flash and can
be easily seen by the enemy, so we placed a piece of
burlap up on two sticks stuck into the ground and shot
thru that.
The Lieutenant figured it out so that the bullets would
be falling somewhere back in the German lines about a
mile away. The machine gun was supposed to be trained on
a road somewhere back there. We couldn't see if we hit
anything and just trusted to luck that the bullets were
landing on the road where German soldiers would probably
be walking at the time. He called this "putting over
a machine gun barrage," which is similar to the
artillery barrage. We would shoot about fifty shots and
then elevate the gun a little and then shoot another
fifty. We kept this up for about an hour and the gun
became so hot, you could fry eggs on it.
The German artillery sent over a few shells trying to
locate us but they fell far back into the woods. I figure
they will be on a look-out for us tonight. I fell asleep
for awhile and at three, the sergeant came along and
kicked the soles of my shoes and said, "Get
up!" Everybody has to be up at three and stand-to,
as they call it, ready for action in case the Germans
come over the top. We all watched for an hour and day
broke. It was very mysterious at that hour of the morning
and when daylight broke, we were glad. We took the gun
back to the alternate position the fellows dug last night
nearer to the cherry tree so we will not have to crawl
out in the open during the daytime. We spent the day
digging it deeper under the camouflage we have over the
hole which makes us less conspicuous. If the Germans knew
we were under the camouflage, they would start to shell
us. This seems to be a game of hide and seek.
A German aviator came over this afternoon and started
firing down at the Infantry in the trenches in front of
us. He was only a hundred feet above the earth. The
anti-aircraft guns started to shoot at him, so we started
to open up with our machine gun, too, but nobody brought
him down as he was traveling about a hundred miles an
hour, and before you could get the gun trained on him
again, he was off and back for his own lines. This
morning, we had the surprise of our lives. I am wondering
where the Mess Sergeant got them. He sent up two
soft-boiled eggs for every man and two flap-jacks with
plenty of syrup on them. They sure were good and it was
the best breakfast we have had for some time. The
Sergeant and I made a few corrections on the gun
emplacement this morning and outside of that did nothing
all day but loaf. It was just like being on a picnic
today.
About two o'clock this afternoon, I was so sleepy that I
fell asleep and slept until seven this evening when they
brought up some more chow to us. The right side of my
face was terribly swollen, an insect bit me while I was
asleep this afternoon. My lips are puffed up, too. The
Lieutenant came around and when he saw me opened up his
first-aid kit and he had some mentholated vaseline and
that relieved the pain. It's getting dark rapidly now and
we are waiting for him to return as we do some more
firing tonight. So long, Mother Dear!
CHARLES.
Saturday, June 29, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
The Lieutenant came back about ten last night with the
spirit level and elevated the gun at a certain degree.
Then he turned the gun to the left and I had to go out in
front of it, about ten feet, and stick a branch into the
ground about three feet high. Then he turned the gun to
the right to a certain point, and I stuck an-other branch
into the ground at that point directly in front of the
gun. Then we started to shoot from right to left between
the two branches, and the bullets were supposed to fall
on a crossroad somewhere behind the German lines where
they probably were marching.
The Lieutenant told us that we did a great deal of
damage. How they get this information is beyond me,
unless there are spies behind the German lines who signal
the information over, or, maybe, the airplanes flying
over in the daytime see plenty of ambulances going back.
That's a sign that many German soldiers have been
wounded.
They started to shell us last night, landing a little
closer, they must have an idea where we are. I was glad
when the hour of shooting was over, so we could get back
to the deep trench that we dug that gives us plenty of
protection from shell fragments. At three this morning,
we all got up and stood-to for an hour again but nothing
happened.
The Lieutenant invited himself to sleep alongside of me
last night, and the only thing I hope is that he didn't
catch any of my cooties. After breakfast, he took me
along with him over to the other gun positions so I
would get acquainted with where they were in case of
emergency. I enjoyed the walk as my knees were getting
stiff but I didn't like the idea of expos-ing myself the
way he did. I had to go right along with him. The Germans
surely must have seen us at certain points, where we
walked out in the open, and why they didn't take a shot
at us is beyond me. I was trembling inwardly and he was
walking along as unconcerned as if we were miles behind
the front line. The German front line was only about a
block or two away. All I could do was to pray, which I
did. When I came back to my gun position, I walked back
to the woods, went into them deeply and started walking
rapidly and got back safely.
I cleaned and oiled my pistol this afternoon to keep busy
and also got out my little water-color box and painted a
little landscape sketch and forgot all about the war. It
was a wonderful clear day and very quiet, only once in a
while a shell would go swishing thru the air over our
heads and land somewhere in the distance with a crash.
Otherwise, today was just like be-ing on a vacation to
me. I have been writing while we were waiting for the
food to come up. I see them coming now between the trees
over in the woods so will close and write some more
tomorrow. So long, Mother, Dear.
CHARLES.
Sunday, June 30, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
They brought up stew to us last night, and it sure did
taste good, and I remembered how I used to spurn it back
at Camp Upton. Last night it tasted like chicken, I was
so hungry and lapped it up clean, gravy and all. The
Lieutenant came over later and got the gun trained on a
certain spot and we started firing away. The Germans
finally got wise to where we were, and, very shortly
after we started, a shower of shells came over on us.
While I am writing of it now, I am still trembling and
wondering how in the name of heaven nobody was hit. They
were shells from the German 77 gun. They are about a foot
long and about three inches in diameter, small, but what
noise they make! The French have a similar shell and call
theirs a 75 millimeter, I think. The shells burst all
around us and we all laid flat on the ground until it was
over, and then immediately started in shooting again to
deceive them. We must have fooled them and they elevated
their guns because, after that, the shells dropped
farther back of us into the woods.
I slept for a couple of hours and then stood-to from
three to four watching the sky get lighter and lighter.
This is a very strange experience for me and I haven't
got adjusted to it yet. I, who never used to get up out
of bed until seven-thirty in the morning.
All morning there were plenty of airplanes overhead and
we had to keep out of sight. They were looking for the
machine gunners who have been annoying them so much the
last few nights. There was lots of ammunition wasted
trying to hit one of them, but they fly so fast that it's
almost impossible to get the gun trained onto them. I
suppose they took photographs from the air and probably
are shelling the place tonight but we fooled them,
because we are no longer there, but in another spot
farther over on the right.
We are in an abandoned house, just outside of a village
called Badenwiller, and we sleep indoors tonight on the
floor of one of the rooms. Our gun is mounted outside in
the open field behind the house. Two men are on guard at
the gun all the time. The house is right on the road and
the Germans have the range on it and have hit it a number
of times already. The whole top of it is shot away and
shell-holes are all around the place. It's better than
sleeping out in the open tho, and another advantage is
that we can have a light at night. The windows are
covered with heavy burlap and no light creeps out at all.
I am writing on the floor by the light of a candle stuck
on the top of my helmet.
We all sneaked back into the woods tonight and marched
single file about three feet apart coming over here. We
stopped for a rest and the 308th Infantry was stretched
out along the road, and I found out from one of the
fellows that it was A Company. That's the one my friend
Sumner is in. I haven't seen him since we were at Camp
Upton. So I inquired for him and, unfortunately, at that
moment ' he wasn't there. They had sent him back to
Battalion Headquarters for instructions. He is a runner
for the company. I don't envy him at all, for it is a
very dangerous duty. No matter how much shelling is going
on, runners have to go thru it and deliver messages when
they are ordered. I told the fellows in his outfit to
tell him I was looking for him. Our machine gun company
is attached to his outfit and we support them wherever
they go.
MacGarty and his squad are over in the woods about a
block away, right on the edge of it. I don't know who is
luckier, he out in the open or I in the house which is a
favorite target for the German artillery. it's almost
eleven now and I must close as Dinola and
I are going out to the gun for two hours, then Chorba and
Purcell relieve us. Good night, Mother Dear. God bless
you.
CHARLES.