THIS
MAN'S WAR
by
Charles F. Minder
306th Machine Gun Battalion
Company B
MAY
Wednesday, May 1, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I was up good and early this morning after a good night
of sleep. We all feel fine. They gave us three tickets to
get our three meals today. The meals were good and they
gave us big portions, too. This morning we received our
blue laundry bags, as I call them, the ones we turned in
at Camp Upton before we left, with all our personal
things and extra equipment in them. We had to turn in all
our extra equipment as it would have been impossible to
carry it. We have all we are supposed to have on our
backs now. We put all our personal things back into the
blue bags, and we won't see them again until the war is
over, they told us.
We loafed around the Camp all day taking it easy. There
were so many interesting things to watch. The Chinks
fascinate me very much. They are much better looking than
the Chinese laundrymen we have back home. These fellows
are huskier and healthier looking. Some of them have
tremendous muscles.
At six o'clock we were given permission to leave the Camp
until eight-thirty. We walked around the town and the
time passed altogether too quickly for me. I felt like a
tourist taking in the sights. Ruthie and I went into a
French restaurant and had something to eat and a bottle
of wine apiece. The bottle of wine was only a franc.
That's twenty cents in our money. I gave them an American
dollar bill and got two francs and fifty centimes back in
change. Fifty centimes is equivalent to ten cents in our
money, so the meal and wine cost us fifty cents. The
coffee was good and strong and tasted great. I hope they
let us out again tomorrow night. We would go back there.
Ruthie knows a little French, and the French lessons we
had back at Camp Upton came in handy tonight.
There are a lot of English girls over here in France in
uniform. They are called Waacs. They work for the
government in the camps so as to relieve the men. They
need the men at the front. The girls work on the farms
and shops and everywhere over in England ' as well as
here in France in the camps. Ruthie and I talked to a
couple of them tonight. They are wonderful patriotic
girls. They denounced the girls in England who married
before their husbands left for the front so that they
could get the forty-five shillings a month allowance that
the English government gives to wives having husbands in
the army. They call those girls Swankers. I think, tho,
that the reason these girls were so bitter against them
is because they were never asked to marry, as they were
not attractive at all.
Well, Mom, I guess I'll call it a day. I wouldn't mind
staying here in this Camp for the rest of the war. But I
don't think I would have that much luck. The planes are
very active again over our heads at the moment. Guess
they are going over to do some more i1strafing"
tonight.
Your soldier boy,
CHARLES.
DEAR MOTHER, Thursday, May 2, 1918
We were awakened at six this morning and lined up in
company formation and the roll was called. Everyone was
present. There were no deserters from our company. We
received our three checks for meals today and then
started over for breakfast. At nine O'clock we were lined
up again and started on a five- mile hike to the Gas
House. The scenery on the way was perfectly wonderful.
How I wished I could spend the rest of my days in this
vicinity with a sketch box!
No wonder so many artists come over here to France to
paint. There are so many more paintable subjects than at
home. I suppose there are wonderful places in America to
paint but I doubt if they have the artistic atmosphere as
you find over here. There is a certain old-worldish
environment that can't be found in America. It is this
that holds my interest.
Well, when we got to the Gas House, each one of us was
given a mask which we keep for ourselves from now on.
Every man had to put it on and walk into the house, which
is like a big barn. All the windows are tightly sealed,
and it is filled with poisonous gas. We all had to stay
in there for five minutes to get accustomed to breathing
thru the mouthpiece. The Germans shoot shells full of
this poisonous gas. When the shell bursts, the gas
escapes, and if you breathe this it chokes you and burns
up your windpipe, it is so strong. That is why we have
these masks. The canister in the bag neutralizes the
poisonous gas and it does us no harm. At least, it didn't
today, and we all had to breathe it for five minutes.
They also gave each one of us a steel helmet. The woolen
caps we have been wearing would not give us any
protection from bullets and shell fragments at the front.
They are supposed to bounce off these steel helmets and
protect us from getting any wounds about our heads. They
said that these two things are our best friends and that
we should take good care of them. When we got back to the
Camp, it was a quarter of four and we missed the noonday
meal. They were serving tea to the Tommies at four and I
went over and got some with marmalade and crackers. The
Tommies get their tea every afternoon at four. They would
die, I understand, if they had to do without their
afternoon tea. At five-thirty we ate again, I was still
hungry and ate up all they gave me.
I am tired tonight, I guess from the long hike. We were
given permission to visit the town again but I didn't go
and am taking a good rest instead. I've been watching the
coolies tonight and just sat there looking at them and
listening to their jabber and the flutes they play. It
doesn't sound any more like music to me than cowbells,
and I guess our music would sound about as bad to them.
Everything was so peaceful. It was a balmy spring
evening, and it was hard to believe that only sixty miles
away was the front-line trench where men were taking
shots at each other. Every now and then a bigger flash
and a bigger boom would bring me back to earth. The
artillery never seems to let up. Every shell probably is
adding more and more names to the list of "Killed
and Wounded." This war is like a great big spectacle
and I am one of the actors in it. If you would have told
me a couple of years ago that I would be in it, I would
have smiled. But here I am in uniform with a helmet and a
gas-mask, sixty miles from the front lines. All my love
to you both, God bless you. I miss you,
CHARLES.
Friday, May 3, 1918
DEAR MOM,
We were up bright and early this morning at six. What a
day this has been! It was heavenly. After breakfast we
all took two trips back and forth to the town about a
mile and a half away and left the blue bags at a
warehouse. There they will stay until the war is over.
The six miles of walking helped us to work off our
breakfast, and we ate like fools when noontime came
around. We have some extra equipment and this afternoon
we fooled around making up our packs so that we can get
everything into them. The pack we have to carry now with
all the extras is something brutal. It weighs almost
ninety pounds.
I don't know how the fellows are going to stand it
tomorrow when we leave here for the training camp. The
Captain told us tonight at Retreat that at twelve- thirty
tomorrow, we leave here, and that we should get as much
rest as possible tonight so that we would be fit for the
hike. Some of the lighter fellows are going to drop, I
know. There is one fellow I have in mind, Wilmarth. He
only weighs about one hundred and ten pounds. Imagine him
carrying a ninety-pound pack on his back! They should
have put a frail fellow like him into some kind of an
outfit where he wouldn't have to march and carry a pack.
It's nothing but downright cruelty. I've seen fussy old
women in New York bawling out truck drivers because their
horses were perspiring with heavy loads on the trucks.
The Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals has
these kind of truck drivers arrested, and here in the
Army is a one-hundred-and-ten-pound lad carrying a
ninety-pound pack! I've been watching him, as he is in
the squad in front of me and the way he struggled with
the seventy-pound pack was awful.
That's the way they do things in the Army. I hope our
officers use better judgment when we get into action,
otherwise we'll just be out of luck.
We were allowed to visit the town again tonight from six
to eight-thirty. I looked for Ruthie but couldn't find
him, so I went back alone to the Estaminet, where we were
the other evening. I sat down and ordered Un boutile Van
Rouge. My French must be good because he understood me
all right, and brought me a bottle of red wine. It tasted
so good that' I ordered another and finished that too. By
that time, I was nice and dizzy but not intoxicated, only
and all it cost was two francs. That's forty cents in our
money. I walked it off coming back here to Camp. I will
take a last look at my Chink friends on the other side of
the fence and then go to sleep. Love to you both and God
bless you!
CHARLES.
Saturday, May 4, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We are now billeted in half-round steel huts. They are
about fourteen-feet wide at the bottom, and about seven
feet high in the center. They have wooden floors and are
about twenty-eight feet long. They are like great big
sewer-pipes cut in half with openings at both ends. There
are thirteen of us on each side of the hut. We have no
mattresses and must sleep on the floor tonight. We
consider ourselves lucky, however, for the rest of the
companies are billeted in old French barns and sleep on
straw. They are more liable to get the body lice which
all the soldiers get. The English Tommies told us they
arc called "cooties." All of France is lousy
with them, they said. The men all prefer these corrugated
steel huts to French barns.
The flashes of the guns are terrific tonight and a
bombardment is going on. The ground seems to shake from
the vibration of the big guns. The town ahead of us is
St. Omer, about three miles away. On the other side of
St. Omer, is Ypres, fifteen miles away. That is where the
Germans are now, eighteen miles away. All we have is a
gas-mask and a helmet, no rifle, no revolver, no machine
gun. We have twenty-one bullets and nothing to shoot them
with. If the Germans break thru the lines tonight, we
would just be out of luck. I don't feel any too
comfortable tonight. They must be mad to bring us all up
here so close to the enemy with nothing to protect us.
That's the way they do things in the Army.
Well, we were routed out bright and early this morning,
had breakfast and then started working on our packs. My
pack was terribly heavy and I have very little of
personal things. They don't amount to a pound. We finally
got them all packed and loafed the rest of the morning.
We had a quick bite at noon and at twelve-thirty were on
our way, saying goodbye to the coolies forever. We
marched to Fontinette and left there on a train at three
o'clock. We rode in box-cars this time, no coaches, and
it was quite a novelty to me. I felt like a hobo. These
box-cars are much smaller than our freight trains in
America, and I swear the wheels must have been square,
instead of round, the way that car did bounce and bump.
We sure had a lot of fun over it. It was impossible to
sit down, for you would have been bounced all over the
car. We all crowded around the little doors and took in
the scenery which was beautiful.
We were only on the train thirty-five minutes and were
dumped off at a town called Audruiq. Then we started to
march and march. I thought it would, never end. The pack
became heavier and heavier. All I remember of that
terrible hike were the two rows of poplar trees on each
side of the road. Miles and miles of them, wonderful big
trees. I was suffering too much to enjoy any trees or
scenery. The perspiration just streamed from me. My legs
and back pained terribly, especially my shoulders where
the straps of the pack were. Everybody suffered and the
heat made us more miserable.
It was seven-thirty tonight when we hit these huts. There
are English soldiers near by, and we all were sent over
there to get something to eat. All we got was tea, some
cheese and crackers and marmalade.
The fellows sure ate sore and cursing like troopers. We
are hungry, but there is no chance of getting anything to
eat tonight. I am writing this by the light of a candle
stuck in a bottle and it is flickering all the time. The
artillery fire is shaking everything and making such a
racket that it will be a miracle if I fall asleep
tonight. I am too nervous to sleep and guess I will watch
the artillery flashes until my eyes close themselves.
Good night, Mother Dear, love to you both. God bless you!
CHARLES.
DEAR MOTHER, Sunday, May 5, 1918
It is Sunday but fighting goes on just the same. All day
long, aeroplanes fly overhead. Automobile trucks, some
full of supplies, some full of English soldiers, pass us
on the road. Ambulances come back from the front full of
wounded and empty ones return to the front to get more
wounded. The artillery keeps firing all the time. There
is never a let up. The trucks going up to the front are
all full of young English soldiers. To me they all looked
to be about eighteen years old.
The roads are camouflaged with grotesquely painted
designs on huge pieces of cloth stretched across the
road, and as far as your eyes can see. At some points
they have huge pieces of netting with branches of trees
fastened to them. This is to cover the movement of troops
as they cannot be seen so well by the German aeroplanes.
These planes fly over our heads at least a mile high and
take photographs from the sky. Today we saw them shooting
up in the air at one of them but it was too high up and
they couldn't touch it. These anti-aircraft shells
explode in mid air, a big burst of white smoke. If one of
these explodes near a plane, the shrapnel in the shell
disables the plane and it crashes to earth. These shells
burst almost over our heads today but luckily none of the
shrapnel falling to earth hit anyone. We all try to get
under cover when these things start bursting.
Occasionally a stray shell from the German lines landed
on the fields alongside the road about a mile from here
which we can see very plainly because the country here is
so flat. They are trying to hit the road but it is such a
small target. It is surprising how close they do come to
it, tho. If their range had been about a mile longer, the
shells would have smacked right into us. We are outside
of a little village called Mone-cove.
This morning, the Captain announced that anyone wishing
to attend church could go over to Eperleque where the
Chaplain was attached to the Infantry outfit. So Gus
Weber, Harold Bardes, and myself walked over there about
two and half miles away and attended the service. We got
back at eleven-thirty and ate soon after. I didn't sleep
much at all last night an was dead tired and fell asleep
this afternoon and didn't wake up until six. The
artillery became noisier than ever at that time. The
Tommies tell us that it is at that hour each night that
they "strafe Fritz." They are trying to eat at
that hour and by bombarding them is the way they punish
them. They figure that they have more chance at hitting
more of them at that hour because they are up and about
scrambling for food.
I wrote four letters to my friends tonight and the candle
is getting shorter and shorter. I'm sorry that I didn't
buy more of them when I was back at Calais the other
night. I bought five of them for a franc and sold four of
them, because nobody else thought of buying any. I think
I can get some tomorrow night in Mone-cove. I saw a store
there today but it was closed.
Goodnight, Mom Dear. All my love to you and Mousie.
CHARLES.
Monday, May 6, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We were up at five this morning and, for the first time
since we left Camp Upton, we had to line up and stand for
Reveille. Then we got in line for breakfast. What a line
it was! If a German shell had ever come over at that
time, we would have been cleaned out. It took an hour and
a quarter before I got my mess -kit filled. We are eating
at the Tommies' kitchen, Lord knows where our Greek Mess
Sergeant and his supplies are. I guess he is still
seasick. I haven't seen him for a week. This was another
day of rest. We didn't see anything of the officers all
day. I hope they are trying to get us guns of some kind.
This is the third day here and we haven't got a thing to
shoot with.
I spent the morning washing my dirty clothes in a bucket
and with some cold water from a spring near by. It sure
is tough washing with cold water. Back at Camp, we had
hot water out in the bath house which we made ourselves
with the help of the furnace. How I do miss the old
barrack back at Camp Upton! I used to kick about it but
take it all back now. That was heaven compared to what we
have now. A batch of mail from America arrived this
afternoon, and the Top-Sergeant read off the names. I
waited until the very last one but there was no letter
for me.
Leonard, another corporal of a squad in the platoon am
in, and myself, visited a town called Moulet is
afternoon. We rode back and forth on a lorry. The
distance was about four miles and how they traveled! I
bought some candles and we both had some wine and then
started back. As close as these towns are to the front,
the French people are still living there, the stores are
open, the farmers are busy, and you would never think
that the front lines were only twenty miles away. We saw
a couple of houses that had been hit by bombs dropped
from German aeroplanes. I should say, we saw what was
left of the houses after they were hit. Only the walls
were left standing. It reminded me of pictures I saw of
the San Francisco earthquake years ago.
Luckily, we got back in time to stand for Retreat. The
roll was called and everyone was present or ac-counted
for. The bombardment had been louder than ever tonight
and firing more frequent. Off in the distance, there is a
huge fire, and the flames are leaping way up into the
sky. The fellows say that a German ammunition dump must
have been hit and started the fire. Well, Mom Dear, this
is all too thrilling for words. I guess before long we
will be in the more exciting spots also. Good night, God
bless you both. CHARLES.
Tuesday, May 7, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We were up at five again this morning. It was rain-ing
and made me feel weary. The Lieutenant showed up this
morning, and it was devoted to signaling practice. We
divided up, on half of the men going off at a distance,
and we sent messages back and forth to each other. For
the first half hour, I was lost, but gradually the code
came back to me and I was able to decipher messages
again. it was lucky for me that I wasn't among the first
ones called to send a message. I felt sorry for some of
the fellows. The officer gave them a message to send aid
they couldn't. They forgot all that they learned back at
Camp Upton. You can't blame them because it must be three
weeks since we had our last signal practice. We certainly
have traveled far in the last three weeks.
This afternoon we were taken on a seven-mile hike. The
sky was cloudy and no planes were up so we were safe from
being seen by the enemy. I thought to myself while on the
hike what I would do if suddenly an army of Germans came
charging down on us. We had nothing to defend ourselves
with. I smiled to myself, this outfit is well named
"The Suicide Club." If it isn't suicidal to
take a seven-mile hike in France about eighteen miles
behind the front line with no weapon at all. I'd like to
know what is. It isn't impossible for the Germans to
sweep thru. At the beginning of the war, they swept
across Belgium like a forest fire.
We signed the pay-roll after we got back, this taking
almost an hour. Then came Retreat and we were thru for
the day. The artillery is fairly quiet tonight, only
shooting across shells about every five minutes. I've
been keeping track on my watch. Every five minutes, right
on the second, they send over a salvo to the
"Heinies." How many pieces of artillery there
are I can't tell, but I guess there must be at least a
half a dozen. They all seem to go off about a fraction of
a second apart. If you listen closely enough, you can
hear them occasionally, bursting away off in the distance
in the German lines. I don't know what shells cost, I
should think about fifty dollars apiece. There sure is
some money blown away over here every day.
What an expensive proposition war is! Just think of all
the good that could be done with the money wasted in war!
They could build cities full of houses for poor people
and let them live rent-free for the rest of their lives.
When I think of the poverty there is right in New York
City alone, and then of the money that is spent to carry
on this war over here, it makes me sick. If there only
were a man on this earth who had the moral courage and
power to put a stop to this carnage right now! If the men
who make war, who are responsible for starting it, could
only have heard the groaning of the wounded soldiers in
the ambulances that I heard this evening over on the
road, they might soften a little and become sympathetic
for their fellow-men. It's awful!
I've just been in the dark for about ten minutes. The
alarm was given to put out all lights. A German aeroplane
passed overhead. It is the first one I heard. It has a
very peculiar hum, quite different from the motors of the
planes of the Allies. A guard is on duty all the time. He
bangs an old brass shell every time an enemy plane
approaches. All lights go out and we stay in darkness
until he passes. It was very thrilling. If he had known
we were under him, he would have dropped a bomb on us.
Your soldier son,
CHARLES.
Wednesday, May 8, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
This morning we were up at five again and stood for
Reveille. After breakfast, we had an hour of some
strenuous calisthenics to get us back in shape again. We
thought the exercise would keep up all morning, and just
before we got thru a big automobile truck- we call them
lorries-drew up at the huts. It was full of Vickers
machine guns. This is an English gun. They were
second-hand guns and looked as they had done a great deal
of shooting already. I hope we don't keep these guns
because they are in terrible condition, almost as bad as
the ones we trained with back at Camp Upton. We left
those behind. We spent the rest of the morning cleaning
the guns as well as we could.
This afternoon we had a couple of hours of skirmish work
across the fields here. We were all separated about fifty
feet apart, each squad having a gun, and stretched out
that way about two city-blocks long. We would advance,
set up the tripod, then the man with the gun would
follow, then the ammunition car-rier brought up a box
that the ammunition is supposed to be in. We didn't get
any bullets for the machine guns yet. Then the command
"Fire!" would be given, and we'd insert the
empty belts and go through the motions of firing. This
way we advanced across the field for a half mile. We
turned around and came back again. This is the way we
will have to do it, I suppose, when we get into action.
Mother, I don't like the idea at all. I am utterly
help-less. I don't feel that I am a coward. It isn't
that. I have no desire to harm anyone, I don't want to
kill. I am being forced to do something against my will,
that's what bothers me. They may be our enemies but I
know that many of them are being forced to kill, just as
I am. Remember when we were in Germany when I was a boy,
and how Uncle Franz was forced to do military service for
three years when he was eighteen years old P It's the
blooming militaristic crowd that they ought to make fight
if they are so bloodthirsty. They never come near the
battlefronts, they force the civilians to kill each
other. If there is a God, why doesn't he put a stop to
this, Mother? Surely, even tho he is of "too pure of
eyes to see evil" he must be aware that his children
are slaughtering one another against their wills. Is this
evil force, War, more powerful than God? I can't believe
it, nor can I understand it.
We stood for Retreat tonight and the Captain announced
that I was promoted to Corporal. Funny, but it didn't
mean a thing to me tonight. I would swap General's bars,
if they were on my shoulders, for a civilian suit, to be
able to end this some way and get back to you, Mom,
again.
I took a long
walk all by myself tonight, almost to the forest, about a
half mile across the field from our Camp. The sun was
setting. It was a beautiful sunset. I sat down for a
while and my thoughts wandered back over the years and I
lived my life over again. I watched the flashes of the
big guns and could see them bursting, away off in the
distance. It was getting dark and kind of spooky over at
the forest, so I started back for the huts. It did me
good, for my mind is a little more at ease than it has
been for quite some time. It's just three years ago today
that the Germans sunk We Lusitania, and that is really
what got us into the war. It was an awful thing to sink
that passenger liner with all the civilians aboard. Why
they always make civilians suffer is beyond me! I suppose
they had orders, tho, from their warlords in Berlin and
had to do it. If they hadn't, we would probably never
have gotten into this mess.
The artillery is at it hot and heavy tonight. The candle
flickers from the concussion every time they shoot them
off. Love from
CHARLES.
Thursday, May 9, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
It was a heavenly day. The sun was out in all its glory
and it certainly made me feel good that I was alive. I
thought of the poor devils up at the front. I don't
believe there is a minute of the day that some one of
them isn't being wounded or killed. The birds were
singing all around us, everything was so peaceful and
lovely, and you felt you were on a nice picnic, only the
blooming fire of artillery broke up your illusion every
time they fired.
The aeroplanes fly overhead almost all the time and there
seems to be great activity at the front. This sector, I
understand, is a very vital one. The Germans have been
trying to break thru here for a long time, and they are
being stubbornly resisted by the English Tommies, who are
holding this sector up here on the northern coast of
France-
We all got up at five this morning and stood for Reveille
and then had our breakfast. At seven-thirty some English
sergeants came over, and for the rest of the morning,
they instructed us in firing the Vickers machine gun.
They told us the different names of all the parts, showed
us how to take them apart to clean and oil them. We ate
our lunch sprawled all over the place under the trees and
it sure was good, too good to last, it was just like a
picnic. This afternoon, we had some more machine gun
instruction in loading, firing, and how to correct
stoppages, should they occur. Then came some more
gas-mask instruction. The important part is in getting
them on quickly, and some of the fellows sure do need
plenty of practice. We were lined up for inspection and
then dismissed for the rest of the day.
I wrote some letters to my friends and studied my army
regulations book, which all non-coms should be familiar
with. I took a short stroll this evening with one of the
fellows and then came back here and took it easy. At six,
the artillery opened up and sent a couple of tons of
shells over to the German line. It sure must be
demoralizing to have tons of stuff like that thrown at
you. We haven't had the pleasure of being under artillery
fire as yet, and I am wondering how some of these New
Yorkers are going to stand up under it.
None of us have tasted an egg in months and I myself had
almost forgotten that there was such a thing as an egg.
We had a lot of fun tonight kidding two of the fellows in
this hut. They were over in the village and managed to
buy four eggs from a French farmer. We have nothing to
cook with, so they took their cups from their canteens
and filled them half full with water and held them over
the flame of the candles. It took forty-five minutes to
soft boil the eggs. I never in my life saw such patience.
The joke was when they opened them, for the eggs were
still a little raw, not thoroly cooked, but they ate them
just the same.
We had to put the lights out again for ten minutes and
sit in darkness. A flock of German planes just passed
overhead. They are probably out on a bombing raid again
tonight. They made a terrible noise. There were so many
of them. The searchlights illuminated the sky and the
anti-aircraft guns took shots at them but didn't bring
any down. They fly so high and are out of range. It seems
to me that these planes could bomb the spots where the
searchlights are and wipe them out. I think that's a
pretty rotten job to have in this war, shining a
searchlight up at the sky. It's an invitation to the
German aviators to take a shot at you. I would call that
branch of the service the "Suicide Club," also.
All my love to you and Mousie, God bless you! CHARLES.
Friday, May 10, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
It's ten-thirty and I am in the Guard House, I took my
men out at nine and, at eleven, I bring them in again.
The funny part about this guard is that we are not armed.
We are less than twenty miles from the front-line
trenches. Back in Camp Upton, we used to carry a rifle
with a bayonet on it when we were on guard duty. All we
have here are twenty-one bullets in our belts and nothing
to shoot them with. We are supposed to stop any
suspicious character. Suppose a German spy came along, we
would have to use our fists. If this isn't about the
worst conducted army, I'd like to know which one is. It
just gets my goat. If something doesn't happen soon in
getting us some arms to protect ourselves with, I'm going
to the Captain. I feel sorry for my men out on their
posts. They feel kind of nervous and you can't blame
them.
The weather today was cold and dreary, the sun didn't
peep once. We devoted the whole day on the machine gun
instruction and it became monotonous after a while. We
had trouble trying to keep awake and alert, listening to
the English sergeants. We were paid tonight, the first
time in foreign money. They gave me seventy-eight francs,
which seemed like a lot of money because we are so used
to dollar bills. According to the present rate of
exchange as near as I could figure it out, it's thirteen
dollars and sixty-nine cents in American money. The boys
are all counting their French money, and having an awful
time with it.
I mounted the guard at five tonight and will not be free
until five tomorrow afternoon. The men are all asleep,
and the responsibility of guarding the Camp is on my
shoulders at the moment until eleven. Then I am going to
sleep and, at three in the morning, I take the men out
again to their posts until five. I feel pretty secure
here in the hut, which is the Guard House. The men out on
the posts, I bet, will be glad when I bring them in. I am
going to wake up Corporal Leonard now. He goes on for the
next two hours with his men. So goodnight, Mother Dear.
CHARLES.
Saturday, May 11, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
At three this morning, Corporal McCarthy, who used to be
a policeman in Brooklyn, awakened me. I got my men ready
and we brought his men in. I asked him how he liked being
on guard without any rifles or guns. I'm not going to
write what he said because the language was a little bit
stronger than your ears are accustomed to hearing. We
sewed, slept and read in the Guard House all day and it
was a good rest for us. I painted a little memory sketch
today, the first one in France, to pass the time away.
The company was away on a long hike this afternoon. My
men went on guard again from nine-eleven and three-five.
Then we were dismissed and the new guard came on.
Being on guard is good in one respect, you don't have to
get on line for your feed. We have the preference, and
walk right to the head of the line with our mess-kits.
When we were relieved this morning at five, it was pitch
dark. You couldn't see your hand in front of your face,
and we tripped and fell over everything. In a few
minutes, the artillery opened up some-thing terrible and
didn't let up for an hour. We tried to sleep but couldn't
on account of the noise.
The Tommies went over the top this morning up around
Ypres. This morning, a little later, we saw a long string
of German prisoners come marching back from the front.
They sure were a disheveled and muddy looking lot. They
looked very glum indeed. The Tommies leading them back
looked spick and span and smart looking. It was quite a
contrast. I took a walk to the village tonight to spend
some of my money as it was burning a hole in my pockets.
I bought some more candles and had a bottle of wine at
one of the estaminets, which is still open and carries on
business just the same, even though the front is so
close. They don't seem to mind.
Well, Mom, I'm kind of tired, so will close with love to
you both.
CHARLES.
Sunday, May 12, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
Reveille sounded one hour later than usual this morning.
Either the officers slept an hour longer or, on account
of being Sunday, they let us rest longer. At eight, the
company was lined up and we were marched to Eperleque,
where we all had to take a bath. They had a row of
showers there, and thirty-five of us at a time stripped
and went in. It was some sight in the army there is no
privacy. Thirty-five naked men sure do look funny with
all their different builds and shapes. It was noon when
we got back to the huts and felt much better being
cleaned up.
This afternoon, thank goodness, we received our rifles.
They are the ones the English Tommies use. They were
packed and full of cosmoline and it was some job cleaning
them with just a rag. It was on thick to keep them from
rusting.
It's just a month today since we left dear old Camp
Upton. How I miss it! I took a walk into the village
tonight with Carlie, one of the fellows in my squad, and
we had a couple of bottles of wine, and then came back
here to the huts. It was good. The artillery is banging
away as usual and it gets on your nerves listening to the
explosions all the time. I wonder how the fellows in the
artillery outfits stand it. I imagine the noise must
break their eardrums after a while. Love to you both.
CHARLES.
DEAR MOTHER, Monday, May 13, 1918
We were up at six this morning. They told us that we
would start on a hike at seven with full packs. So while
the others in our hut were at breakfast, I made up my
pack. When the twenty-six men are in here at one time,
there isn't much room to make up a pack. So when mine was
finished, the long line for breakfast was much shorter
and I didn't have to wait. After breakfast, the others
were scrambling about and having an awful time, and I
sat and rested, my pack was finished. Nothing like using
your brains in this army.
The Captain was late so it wasn't until seven-thirty that
we left for the long hike which ended at the gas house
about four miles away. We all put our masks on and
entered, getting our first experience of chlorine gas,
which is a very popular one with the Germans. It is a
very deadly one, they say. The hike was brutal. With the
heavy packs on our backs, we marched up and down hills.
The packs were terribly heavy, and this march today was
for practice to get us used to carrying them. I'm afraid
it's going to break our backs before long. It was eleven
when we got back to the huts. We were all in, but had to
turn out again with our machine guns and we had
setting-up practice until lunch time.
The mail arrived today from America. It was a stack two
feet deep, and it took the Sergeant almost an hour to
call out the names and distribute them this evening. I
received four letters, which were forwarded from Camp
Upton. It's the first mail I've had for a month and it
sure did make me feel good. One letter from you written
on April 12th was among them. That's the day we left Camp
Upton. I sure was mad to read that the dirty dog of a
landlord had raised your rent ten dollars a month. I wish
I was home now. He knows that your two sons are in the
Army. If he had any patriotism at all, you would think he
would pass you up. You have all you can do now to make
things meet. Why didn't you give him an argument, Mother?
If I had him here, I'd walk him right up to the front
lines. He would make a nice target for the Germans to
shoot at, the skunk.
I worked until nine tonight, cleaning my rifle. We
non-coms had to go thru the manual of arms tonight after
we ate so that we can instruct the privates, I guess.
This lasted for a half-hour. The artillery is throwing
them over by the dozens to the Germans tonight and the
racket is awful.
Good night, Mother Dear, thank you for writing. It was
good to see your handwriting again.
CHARLES.
DEAR MOTHER, Tuesday, May 14, 1918
I was getting all ready to write you about an hour ago
when the alarm for an air raid was given, and all the
lights had to go out. Everything was dark instantly. Then
I saw the most wonderful sight I think that I have ever
seen. The whole sky for miles around was illuminated just
like daylight. Sky-rockets and star-shells, just like you
see on a Fourth of July celebration, could be seen
everywhere. You would think there was a midnight pageant
going on. The anti-air-craft guns were shooting all
around us. We could see the red-hot sparks of the
bursting shrapnel very distinctly. Fortunately for Jerry,
as they call the German aviators, the sky was full of
clouds and they got away safely. I saw none falling to
earth. It sure gave us all a scare, because it was so
close.
The English Tommies were kidding us about having
"wind-up." That's what they call it when you
get terribly frightened. Well, it's all over for the
moment but I guess there will be more of this. The
Germans are sending these planes over to try and locate
the positions of the artillery which has been annoying
them so much recently. The whole day was practically all
machine-gun instruction by the English sergeants. It is
getting very boring listening to them talk all day long,
and if it wasn't for their accents, which are very
amusing, we would all have fallen asleep. After they
leave, our fellows all ridicule them and talk with an
English accent and we have lots of fun. Our fellows call
them "Limeys."
This afternoon for an hour we had some exciting
experiences. At gas-mask practice, they threw gas bombs
at us, which exploded about ten feet away. We either had
to get our gas-masks on quickly or get a slight gassing.
These bombs are small, but, just the same, one inhale of
the fumes after the bomb explodes, is enough to gas you.
Needless to say, nobody was gassed, and all records for
getting the thing on over your head were broken this
afternoon. We got them on in eight seconds.
Early this evening, the non-coms went through fifteen
minutes of rifle drill again. What machine-gun outfits
have to do with rifles is beyond me and just a waste of
time. Maybe we are getting this to keep us busy and out
of mischief, I don't know. I wrote some letters tonight
to my friends just before the fireworks started. Good
night.
CHARLES.
DEAR Mom, Wednesday, May 15, 1918
It's eleven, and we just got over another air raid and I
saw the first machine brought down. It must have been
pretty high because, for about two minutes, we watched it
falling to earth in a burst of flame. It caught fire in
mid air and burned all the way on its downward flight. If
the German aviator was strapped in it, he must have been
burnt to death before he hit the ground. It was some
sight! Tonight was a repetition of last night, the usual
fireworks and searchlights. We will be kind of glad to
get away from this sector. One of these nights, it will
be over us and we'll get bombed. All of these planes
carry them. They do a terrible damage when they drop
them. I also hope that our kitchen gets here soon. We
have been eating over at the English kitchen. Their food
is all right for a time, but I wouldn't want it for long.
Corporal Leonard and myself walked over to the village
tonight and we were lucky to get some real cow's milk,
fresh from the cow. I had my canteen filled for a franc.
We saw the French woman milking the cow and walked over
and watched her. I held out my canteen and simply asked
her in French, "Combien?" That means, "How
much?" She answered, "Un franc." That
means one franc. So we both emptied the rotten water out
of our canteens and had them filled with milk. It was
warm, fresh from the cow, and tasted great, the first
milk I tasted since we left the U.S. and the first time
in my life that I ever drank milk fresh from the cow.
What a difference between that and the milk you buy! They
sure must put water or some thinner in it before it gets
to the public.
We get a newspaper here every day from England called the
Daily Mail. I read that the English took the boat
Vindictive over to Ostend Harbor and sunk it there,
blockading the German submarine base. Now they can't get
in or out of the harbor. I saw the Vindictive at a dock
over at Dover when we started the trip across the channel
to France. Now she is sunk. I hope that it will help to
break up the submarine warfare. I don't think there is
anything worse than sinking ships at sea. You haven't a
chance in the world when the ship goes down.
Today was again spent in learning the mechanism of the
Vickers machine gun, with the exception of a half hour of
gas-mask practice, and tonight, after retreat, the rifle
drill again for the non-coms.
Love to you both.
CHARLES.
Saturday, May 18, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I skipped a couple of days in writing, and I hope you
will excuse me because I was in no mood to write. I had a
spell of homesickness and I sure felt blue. The grind of
the daily routine seems to get me, I just can't get my
heart into this war business and I don't think I ever
will. The wounded that came back from the front the last
couple of days made me sick. Everyone was bandaged, some
their legs, some their arms and many were bound up around
the head. The sickening part was the blood-soaked
bandages. It made me shiver, and made me feel like a
coward for a moment. I had desperate thoughts, figuring
how I could get out of this some way.
The English Tommies instructing us tell us what their
soldiers do to get away from the front for a while. Some
of them deliberately cut their hands and bandage a copper
coin over the place for a couple of days until it becomes
infected, and then they are sent back to a hospital.
Others have shot themselves, supposedly accidentally,
while cleaning their rifles. So many of them have shot
themselves in the foot, that now, if anyone really gets a
wound on his foot, he is looked upon as a faker and
accused of having self-wounded himself. They hand out
very severe punishment now in the English Army, even
though the wound is accidental, well, I gradually came to
my senses and realized that, being a non-com, I couldn't
and mustn't think that way. I have to set a good example
for the rest of the men. All I can do is to carry on and
trust in God.
It seems terrible to pray for one's own safety alone, I
include all soldiers in my prayer, the enemy as well as
all of the Allies, but it's foolish, I suppose, because
the wounded still keep coming back. There are so many of
them now, that there aren't enough ambulances and they
use the motor trucks and pile them on. The trucks come
along at almost a snail's pace and yet the wounded men
cry out, "Slower! Don't drive so fast!" Each
pebble you ride over must seem like a rock when you are
wounded. It's simply awful the way they whimper and
groan. A lump was in my throat.
It's eleven-thirty, and I am in the Guard House. My men
are out on their posts from eleven to one. This is our
second shift. We were on earlier in the evening from five
to seven. We go on again from five to seven in the
morning, which sure breaks up the night. But I don't mind
as we will have all day tomorrow to rest up. They have
rifles now for guard duty but no ammunition to shoot.
Some one of these days we might get fully equipped. If
it's like this now, what will it be when we get up on the
front? I bet they'll send us up with machine guns only.
Then there will be mutiny in this outfit. Many are the
fellows who are complaining, and using language that
isn't fit to write. You can't blame them. This company is
sure a tough, hard-boiled one of New York fellows. The
up-state boys are really a fine gentlemanly group.
At ten o'clock tonight, Jerry came over again on a raid,
and things sure were lively while they lasted. The next
town over was bombed, and many were killed, and the
petrol tanks were set on fire. The sky was brightly
illuminated. They need this petrol pretty badly for the
ambulances and lorries. I reckon this is what the Germans
have been after. They have been coming over every night
since we arrived here. This kind of retaliates for the
German ammunition dump we blew up the other night.
This morning, we were marched up to the rifle range,
carrying the machine guns along with us and received our
instructions there. This was a couple of miles hike and
got us used to carrying them. They sure get heavier and
heavier every minute that you carry them. This afternoon
we had some more of it out in the open on the parade
ground near here. They don't seem to use any precaution
in keeping us out of sight. If a German plane ever came
over at that time, we could have been wiped out, as there
was no protection near by at all. We are all placing our
lives in the hands of fools. If it isn't suicidal to
expose men out in the open like they do with us, I'd like
to know what is. Not one of us has a gun to shoot with.
We have the twenty-one bullets in our belts but no
pistols. We have machine guns and rifles and no
ammunition for them, and the enemy is only twenty miles
or so away. The Lord certainly has been good to us so
far. Well, Mom, I've been writing this a little at a
time, then I've been sitting here thinking and dreaming
away, wondering what you are doing at the moment, and
wondering how much longer I'll be in this mess. The time
has flown and it's almost one and will have to awaken Mac
to get his men together to relieve mine, then we sleep
until five, if nothing happens. I hope not because I'm
tired. Goodnight, God bless you.
CHARLES.
DEAR MOTHER, Sunday, May 19, 1918
It was a most wonderful day. The sun was shining all day,
and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was so clear, and
the visibility was so good, that you could have looked
all the way across France if you could have been on a
high enough hill. I wished that I could have been up in a
plane on a day like this. The weather was so lovely that
it must have affected all the soldiers at war because
there was very little shooting going on at all today.
There was just a little intermit-tent fire from the
artillery as a grim reminder that the war was still on.
My men went on guard from five to seven this morning,
eleven to one, and at five this afternoon, we were
dismissed. We go on for two hours and then have four off.
This keeps up for the twenty-four hours we are on.
Last Sunday I missed church service on account of going
to Eperleque for a bath. The rest of the company marched
over there again this morning for their baptism, as they
call it. I couldn't go on account of being on guard, and
of course had to miss church again also. I spent the day
writing and reading a little and admiring the scenery.
Tonight Leonard and I went to the village and filled up
on milk again. The French woman runs her farm all alone.
She told us that she has been alone for two years, that
her husband was killed in 1915, and her two sons are now
at the front. She told us lots more about herself, but
our French is rather limited, and we couldn't understand
everything she said.
With love to you both.
CHARLES.
Monday, May 20, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
Today I had my first sensation of sitting behind a
machine gun and firing it. It was a peculiar feeling. The
gun almost flies off the ground, and you have to place
your two legs firmly on the tripod because it bounces so
much from the vibration. While we were eating breakfast,
a lorry came along and dropped off some boxes of
machine-gun ammunition. We inserted the bullets later on
the long belts. Each belt holds about five-hundred
bullets, I think. We roll them up and place them in the
ammunition boxes to carry. We were ordered to make up our
packs and then, with the guns and ammunition boxes, we
started on the hike for the rifle range. We sure have a
lot to carry. The packs alone were bad enough, now with
guns and ammunition, it is worse yet. We suffered. It was
a warm morning and we were soon wet with perspiration and
feeling very uncomfortable. There is no dropping out for
a rest and, no matter how tired you are, you must carry
on.
The company as a whole made a good showing as marksmen, I
myself was not so good. The targets are five-hundred
yards away. Some of the fellows were over in the pits so
the bullets wouldn't hit them. After one group would
cease firing, they would come out and count the hits on
the target and signal back to us the total. This is the
first time that we actually made use of our signaling
knowledge and it was interesting.
These machine guns shoot awfully fast. You press the trigger and it
keeps on shooting automatically, the belt going in one side of the gun
with the bullets on it and comes out on the other side empty. The brass
part of the bullet is ejected automatically from the belt also. It
shoots about a hundred bullets a minute, I think, and sure must be able
to do a lot of damage. How any soldiers can advance against machine-gun
fire is beyond me! At the beginning of the war, I used to read about the
German soldiers advancing in formation across No Man's land,
and how the English and French machine gunners mowed them
down as if you were cutting down wheat. Today, they don't
send their men over the top like that, but spread them
out. This reduces the casualties. It was murder the way
the German officers used to send their men over.
This afternoon we were over on the wide-open spaces of
the parade ground, and received instruction on the
mechanism of the machine gun. A great many Allies' planes
passed over us but no German planes. Thank goodness! At
sunset, the artillery opened up in all its fury and gave
the Germans their daily evening strafe. The aeroplanes
fly over the lines in the daytime to take photographs and
make observations. Anything that looks suspicious is note
. They find the spot on a map. This information is given
to the artillery officers. They dope out the range and
then start to drop shells in that vicinity. The next day,
they fly over again and take more photographs to see just
what damage was done. This was the kind of work I wanted
to do in this war, take photographs from the air. But I
didn't have any luck or influence to get into the
Aviation at all. It would have been a darn sight better
than this torture
I am going through now. Anything but hiking and carrying
a heavy pack would have suited me.
Leonard and I went over to the village tonight and had
some more milk, and this time we were very lucky to get
four eggs. They are very scarce. We had to pay two francs
for the four of them. That's ten cents apiece in our
money. We opened them and mixed them with the milk and
had an egg-nog without the kick in it. They were
wonderful big eggs, fresh laid today.
The jerrys have been passing by overhead all evening.
It's easy to distinguish them from the Allies' planes on
account of the peculiar drone of their motors. The lights
go out every time they are near. Well, Mom, it's late, so
will say good-night.
CHARLES.
Tuesday, May 21, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
This morning the artillery opened up with a terrible
noise and woke us up and there was no more sleep after
five o'clock. We all knew another attack was on and that
the Tommies had to go over the top again this morning. It
was long after breakfast when the ambulances and lorries
started coming back with wounded men again. -It's an
awful sight and gets on my nerves. I can't stand seeing
anybody suffering. I think instantaneous death is better
than this long drawn out suffering you must endure when
you get wounded. I don't fear death as much as I fear
suffer-ing. These sights make me feel like a dumb animal
ready for slaughter.
I remember, as a boy, I used to go over to the packing
houses over at First Avenue and Forty-fifth Street, and
the way the animals used to look at the men who were
doing the killing was pitiful. They seemed to sense that
they were about to be slaughtered. You could tell by
their expressions and the unearthly cries they emitted
while struggling to get away. They saw the other animals
hanging up around the place being cut open and skinned.
This is the same sort of horror that I feel, and I only
hope and pray that if I have to go in this war, that it
will be instantaneous, I would like to be snuffed out as
quickly as you snuff out a candle. I don't want to linger
and suffer, it's terrible.
Some of the soldiers in the English and French armies,
who have been in it since 1914, have received more than
one wound and after they were well, they sent them back
to the front for more. You would think, after a man was
wounded, he should be exempt from further military duty.
Those who are responsible for this war certainly will
have guilty consciences for the rest of their days. It
will be surprising if they ever rest peacefully again.
The screams of the wounded and dying should haunt them
forever. No punishment is too severe, in my opinion, for
those who start wars.
This morning we were marched to the top of a hill near
our camp, and we were instructed in mounting the gun on
rough and hilly ground. This afternoon we were exposed
again on the parade ground and received more instruction
on the mechanism of the gun. Tonight we were all busy
getting ready for a long hike tomorrow. They gave each
one of us one hundred rounds of ammunition, which we are
to carry along with us tomorrow. I think they are all
going mad. All we can do is fume and curse, but it
doesn't do us any good, except that we can express our
feelings which is better than suppressing them. Well,
Mom, I better quit and get to sleep. That's the best
thing for us, because, while we are unconscious in sleep,
nothing bothers us. Good-night, God bless you.
CHARLES.
Thursday, May 23, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I was so tired when I got back last night from the hike
that I immediately went to sleep and missed writing you.
We left the Camp yesterday morning at eight with packs,
rifles, our gas-masks, and one -hundred rounds of
ammunition strapped around our waists on our belts. It
was some load! How I suffered! We arrived at our
destination at ten, an uphill march all the way. The
village near by was Watten, a beautiful spot, we could
get a view of the country for miles around.
On the way, our field kitchen, with the Mess Sergeant and
his cooks, appeared from nowhere. It was like magic. We
haven't seen him for a long while, and this is the first
time we saw our field kitchen, which is a huge stove on
wheels drawn by a couple of mules. We were marching route
step at the time. You can talk and be out of step when
the command, "Route Step!" is given. We all let
out three cheers for the kitchen, because we will get
some American food from now on, maybe. We ate outdoors
under the trees yesterday noon and last night and it sure
was a pleasant change from the English cooking.
We devoted all of yesterday on machine-gun practice. We
didn't have the English sergeants with us, so our own
sergeants yelled out the different commands. We left
there about seven-thirty last night for the brutal march
back to Camp. I had blisters on both feet last night and
I wasn't the only one. The hundred rounds of ammunition
dragged down on our shoulders something awful, and we
sure were in misery. We were all in when we got back
here. We were up at six this morning and marched back to
the same place as yesterday. It was a little cooler today
and we didn't mind it so much. They also got us back here
earlier tonight.
Some more mail
arrived and I have been answering it tonight. Leonard and
I are now over in the English soldiers' mess hall. There
are tables here and this candle seems to be about the
only light burning in the Camp. Everybody has turned in
they were so tired.
We have been talking to the English soldiers, exchanging
views with them. It was very interesting, and we listened
for almost an hour. One of them has been in it since 1914
and hasn't been wounded yet, and has been back and forth
from the front lines dozens of times. He told us one
story about being in a trench down around Arras.
There was one spot in the trench where a hand of a dead
French soldier protruded from the earth, he said. The man
had either been buried that way or a big shell might have
exploded and buried him alive. Anyway, he said that every
morning the soldiers in that trench used to go up to the
hand, grasp it, and say, "Good morning,
Alphonse!" It became a sort of a superstition in the
company that anyone who failed to shake the hand of
Alphonse each morning, would surely get hit that day. The
most fun they had in that company was with a little
English cockney from London, who was deathly afraid of a
corpse. They used to scare him about being hit if he
didn't shake Alphonse's hand. It wasn't long before he
decided it was better to shake the hand of a corpse than
to get hit. So he used to walk up to the hand without
looking at it and trembling, say "Good morning,
Alphonse!"
One morning as the cockney came forward, and it was
rather dark yet, one of the fellows in his company placed
his cold hand alongside of the corpse and when he grasped
what he thought was Alphonse, the soldier squeezed his
hand and wouldn't let go for a second. The cockney let
out a squawk, jumped up out of the trench and was shot by
a German sniper. The English soldier told us that
afterwards they stopped playing practical jokes in that
company and warned us that we shouldn't either.
Well, Mom, they left us here all alone, so we are going
to blow out their candle and beat it over to our own
huts. God bless you.
CHARLES.
Saturday, May 25, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I missed writing last night because I was in no condition
to write. I was half stewed from drinking too much ale.
Leonard, Brumley, and I went over to the Estaminet, when
we got through last night at eight- thirty. We had a long
day and were thirsty, so drank up sixteen bottles of ale
between the three of us. I had five and felt wonderful
after drinking them. I slept like a child all night.
Yesterday morning, when we got up at six, it was pouring
rain, so we spent the morning in the huts practicing
sighting on the ma-chine gun, and stripping the lock and
gun and putting it together again. At one period, we all
had to take the gun apart blindfolded and put it together
again. When you can do this perfectly, you know the gun
by heart.
At one o'clock, they hiked us to the rifle range,
carrying our machine guns. It had stopped raining, but
there was plenty of mud. We all fired fifty shots apiece
at the targets. We got back here at six amid the roar of
artillery fire. They served our meals to us in Dixies.
They use these to carry hot food up to the soldiers in
the trenches. Each hut got one, and the non-com in each
has to dish it out. This eliminates standing on the long
line. It makes it very uncomfortable on account of the
crowded huts and the men do not like it and grumble.
'Soldiers grumble about everything. After eating, we had
to work on taking the machine gun apart some more, and it
kept us until eight -thirty. We were worked overtime and
the soldiers grumbled some more.
The three of us made a bee-line for the Estaminet after
that, and it's funny how a few drinks makes you forget
all about the Army and its discomforts. The Estaminet was
crowded with English Tommies, and American soldiers, and
they were singing and having a good time in that way.
Once in a while, a Jerry plane would pass. The alarm
would be given and we would have to sit and drink in the
dark for a little while. That's the time they drink up
the other fellow's drink. When the candles are lit again,
some find that empty glasses stand before them. The
old-timers all are holding their glasses in their hands
when the candles light up again.
This morning after breakfast we were marched over to the
parade ground, and were there all morning practicing on
the machine gun. At noon, we thought we might be
dismissed for the afternoon as we used to be at Camp
Upton, but were marched again to the Rifle Range. There
are no regular hours in the Army. I didn't get a chance
to shoot at all today. I was detailed to the pits or
dugouts behind the targets.
It was my first baptism of being under fire. How the
bullets whistled past over our heads! These bullets were
the ones that missed the targets and buried them-selves
in the huge pile of dirt behind the targets. Each group
would shoot fifty shots. Then we would come out and count
how many hit the target, signal the amount back, and then
repair them with white pasters. Then the next group would
shoot. The company sure are rotten shots. The highest
amount that anyone hit the target was twenty-two out of
the fifty. All the other shots landed in the dirt behind
the targets.
It was four when we got back to Camp. Then came Retreat
and Inspection of Quarters and we were free. Tomorrow we
leave on a long hike for a number of days, so we are all
getting things in shape so we can make our packs up
quickly in the morning. Love to you and Mousie.
CHARLES.
Tuesday, May 28, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
The last three days were about the worst that I've had in
the Army. We were away on an imaginary battle, part of
the training, just like it will be later on, I guess. I
didn't have a chance to write at all. We started out
Sunday-morning at seven-thirty. How we ate and got our
packs ready in that time, I don't know. You can do a lot
of things if you have to in the Army. We marched and
marched, and I thought we would drop sure. Everything was
getting heavier and heavier. We passed through Watten and
stopped about two miles on the other side of it.. We must
have covered twelve miles at least. We were right on the
edge of a forest and ate there. Our field kitchen was
with us.
It was a beautiful spot, the sunlight breaking through
the trees forming ever so many decorative spots over the
ground and on us. A beautiful subject to paint, but I
guess those days are over for me, at the present. Then we
marched away- with packs and our machine guns for another
eight miles. We left our packs and guns, a detail was
left to guard them, and we were marched back again to the
kitchen just in time to eat our evening meal. After that,
we were marched back again to where we had left our
packs.
The fellows cursed like troopers. Everybody had sore feet
and we felt miserable. They could just as well have
driven the kitchen up to us. All that marching nearly
killed us.
At nine o'clock, when we thought we were going to sleep,
we started off with our machine guns for maneuvering
practice. At eleven, we had all the guns in emplacements.
Two men were put on guard, watching for the S.O.S signal
all night, two hours on and four off. It was the hardest
and longest day's work we have had in the Army. It was
only an imaginary battle we were supposed to be in, and
for a while, around ten o'clock, it looked like we would
be in a real one. A German plane came over and there was
an Allies' plane up there somewhere, too. They were
firing at each other with red hot bullets. You could
follow the sparks as they shot at one another. You never
saw more crazy dips- and turns and loops than these two
made in. their planes. It was a real air battle and about
the most exciting. thing I have ever seen.
The German plane swooped down low a number of times and passed quite low
over our heads. What a noise it made! We set up our guns quickly, put a
belt of' ammunition in, and were all ready to take a shot at him the
next time he came into range, but after that, he turned and got out of
the rays of the searchlights, and started back for his own lines,
traveling about one thousand miles an hour. The other plane disappeared
also and it was quiet after that. It all happened so quickly that we didn't start to
get "wind-up" until it was all over.
I slept in my pup-tent for the first time, sharing it
with Leonard, from one to six. I was still tired but had
to get up. In a little while one of our limbers came
along loaded with Dixies full of food and hot coffee.
These Dixies are like thermos bottles, and the food keeps
hot in them for a long time. We were hungry and. it sure
did taste good. Our guns were in place and every two
hours the men were relieved. We had all the guns
camouflaged with branches just the way they will have to
be later on. Later, the non-coms of the second platoon
and the lieutenants went scouting for new positions. We
had to move everything over to our flank, about five
hundred yards. We had to take our tents down, roll the
packs and then pitch our tents again in the new
positions.
At noon, half of the company at a time marched down the
road about three miles where the field kitchen was,
having moved up closer to us during the morning. We had a
good lunch and started back to our positions.
At ten o'clock last night, while setting the guns on the
R.O., as they call the target, we received orders to
move, supposing that the enemy had retreated. We had
figured on getting some sleep last night but were
disappointed. We got our tents down quickly and made up
our packs and loaded the guns on the limbers, which they
sent up to us. These are small carts and a mule draws
them. I am glad that we have limbers now. That eliminates
the carrying of the guns and ammunition. We should have
had them long ago.
At eleven-thirty last night, we started to march and I
thought it would just be a short distance. One o'clock
passed, two o'clock, three, and we were still marching.
Every time that we stopped for a rest, I threw myself
down on the ground, pack on my back and all, and fell
asleep. Five minutes later' at the command, "Fall
in!" I would be awake again and stumble on. It was a
terrible grind. I fell asleep instantly every time that
we stopped for a rest. We all suffered something
terrible. Words can't describe the torture. You have to
go through it to understand.
The moon was a full one and shone on us all night. We
would have been a wonderful target had Jerry come over.
At six o'clock this morning, we reached our huts here and
the imaginary battle was over. At six-thirty, we were all
asleep, except the fellows who were put on guard. I felt
sorry for them. They were all in but had to do two hours
of guard duty just the same.
At twelve
today, we were awakened, and ate, and then went back to
sleep again. The sergeants awakened us at three this
afternoon, and we had to clean up all our equipment,
clothing, rifles and machine guns. It was a quarter after
eight tonight before we got through. Leonard and I then
went over to the Estaminet and we drank some aile
tonight. He told me that, when we drew up to the huts
this morning after the hike, I looked as white as a
sheet. I guess I looked as bad as I felt. It was
terrible. If this is the sort of training necessary to
get men into condition for the front lines, they are
crazy. They are just weakening us with this unnecessary
torture. That's all it is, loading men with heavy packs
and rifles and ammunition and then walking them all night
is wrong. They are sap-ping our vitality and later on we
won't be able to stand any hardship at all. My legs pain
terribly and I'd give fifty francs right now for a good
bottle of liniment to rub myself with and kill the pain.
All my love to you and Mousie. God bless you.
CHARLES.
Wednesday, May 29, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We were up at six this morning and felt much better after
having a good sleep. We made up our packs right after
breakfast and then started for the rifle range. We moved
up real close to the targets and everybody fired
twenty-five shots at a distance of fifty yards. Out of
the twenty-five shots, I only hit the target three times.
This is terrible. I don't seem to be able to keep the gun
on the ground. It vibrates too much for me. The best any
of the fellows did was to hit it twelve times out of the
twenty-five. The Lieutenant made some sarcastic remarks
about us not being able to hit the side of a house. I
wonder what they expect of us fellows who were civilians
six months ago and up to last week had never fired a
machine gun!
We were back at the huts at twelve and ate with the
Tommies again. Our kitchen is far away somewhere. This
afternoon we had some more practice in taking the gun
apart and putting it together again. Then we had some
more gas-mask instruction. Before this was over, some of
our fellows came along with a half a dozen mules which
were more dead than alive. They haven't the vitality of
the mules we had back at Camp Upton. Then came about two
hours of instruction in packing our machine guns and
equipment on the backs of the mules, how to distribute
the load evenly, where to tie it, and so forth. The mules
were almost asleep when we got thru with them, and it
took much urging to get them to move.
Tonight, before it got dark, Leonard and I walked over to
the camp of the fellows from Tennessee, the 177th
Infantry. They arrived yesterday. They sure are a wild
and tough bunch. We were in the Estaminet over there,
drinking some wine, and half of them were drunk and
carrying on something awful. They were all drinking
whiskey straight without any chaser at all. They all
seemed to be very much full of fight and can hardly wait
until the time comes for them to go over the top and
"Give the Dutchmen hell," as they were
shouting. What a difference between that bunch and ours!
Our crowd is peaceful. They aren't so blood-thirsty. We
got back here about nine, and the front is quite lively
over here tonight. The artillery is at it hot and heavy.
Good night, Mother dear.
CHARLES.
Thursday, May 30, 1918
DEAR MOM,
Today, being Decoration Day, it was declared a holiday. I
devoted the whole morning to cleaning things and washing
my clothes. Our bath house opened up here today for the
first time, and I had my first real shower since leaving
the U. S. and felt great after it for the rest of the
day. There is nothing better to make you feel good than
getting cleaned up. We were visited by the Major General,
the Brigadier General, and the Colonel of our Division
this morning. They all looked us over very carefully.
They looked highly pleased as everything was spick and
span.
At three-thirty, we were allowed to leave the Camp, being
excused from Retreat, the first time in a long while.
Leonard, Carlie and I went riding on a lorry we picked
up. It was going up toward the front. We soon came to the
big town, St. Omer. This town is closer to the front than
we are. It is a young city and everything was wide open
and business going on as usual. You certainly have to
hand it to these French people sticking around so close
to the front. The town was badly damaged. It must have
been hit thousands of times in the last four years. Many
have been killed but the rest still stick around. While
there, we had a wonderful feast in a restaurant. We had
eight eggs apiece, plates of fried potatoes, and drank
plenty of wine, and some good strong black coffee,
something which we haven't had for ages, it seems. We
walked all around the town and took in all the sights.
We arrived back at Camp at a quarter of ten and,
unfortunately, had to run into the Top-Sergeant, who
bawled us out something awful, asking us "Who the
hell we thought we were?" He was sore because he had
to stick around all day. We had to walk back part of the
way, because we weren't lucky in picking up another
lorry. We were good and tired when we got back. Am going
to sleep now, as I don't know what's ahead for us
tomorrow. They might decide to hike us a hundred miles to
make up for the holiday we had today.
Affectionately,
CHARLES.
DEAR Mom, Friday, May 31, 1918
Had something new this morning after breakfast, we were
marched to the trenches they have near by for training
purposes, and we were instructed in making an
emplacement. With picks and shovels, we dug and dug,
until we had blisters on our hands. At eleven, we were
marched over to the rifle range, leaving the digging
unfinished. We weren't sorry at all. We all fired fifty
shots with the machine guns, twenty shots for ranging
fire, and thirty for application fire. They were all the
same to me. I don't know any more what they mean than you
do. Out of the fifty shots, I hit twenty--eight on the
target, which is the best I've done so far. This
afternoon, they took us up to the range again. The
company shot again and my squad and myself were detailed
to do guard duty up on the road. What for, I don't know.
There was nothing to guard, except to keep anybody from
wandering into the line of fire, and nobody was within
miles of the place.
Company B of
the 304th Machine Gun Battalion was supposed to relieve
us, which they failed to do. I knew enough about army
regulations not to leave a post until properly relieved.
The Captain sent a messenger up to us tonight at seven
and told us to report back to the huts and that I was to
report to him which I did. "Where were you,
Corporal?" he asked me. "On guard detail up at
the range, Sir," I answered. "Why didn't you
return with the rest of the company?" he asked.
"We were never relieved by the 304th as the
Top-Sergeant said we would be." He just said,
"Very good, Corporal, you can go!" I gave him a
snappy salute and then we went over to get some cold
food, which they saved for us.
Tonight, I was
thinking it over that the dirty dog of a Top-Sergeant
framed this up and tried to get me into trouble. Now I
know he has it in for me. I never did a thing to him as
far as I know. These sergeants sure are tough eggs to get
along 'with. I felt sorry for the seven fellows in my
squad, staying on guard so long. I explained it all to
them and they didn't seem to mind. My squad consists of a
fine bunch of fellows and we get along great together. I
never have to tell them to do anything. They do
everything without me even asking them to. We were very
much interested watching the artillery fire tonight up at
the range while waiting to be relieved, so it wasn't so
bad. Good night,
CHARLES.