THIS
MAN'S WAR
by
Charles F. Minder
306th Machine Gun Battalion
Company B
SEPTEMBER
Sunday, September 1, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
The Lieutenant came up last night about eleven, and took
us for a hike over to an abandoned aviation field where
the German planes used to roost a short time ago. Hangars
are all around the great field. We set the guns, and put
up the flash-screens and, after setting the range,
started to shoot away. We would shoot about fifty shots
and then stop for a minute and then another burst. We
kept this up for about an hour, and then returned to our
dugouts. Altho you can't see where the bullets are
falling, this indirect firing does a great deal of
damage. just look how many of our fellows have been hit
by stray bullets! I think more men are hit that way than
at close range. You seldom get right up on top of the
enemy as they used to, at the beginning of the war.
The Germans shell this part of the forest quite often,
because a road leads right past here, and all during the
night, every so often, they sent over a shell or two,
which were a little bit larger than we have been
accustomed to. These shells are called ash-cans. When
they explode, it sounded as if they were as large as
ash-cans. What a noise! Every time that I would be off to
sleep-bang--over would come one, and I would be awake
again. If one ever hits you, it would blow you to pieces.
You would never know what hit you.
We all stood-to from five to six this morning, but
nothing happened. This morning General Johnson came along
on an inspection tour, and he asked me all about my gun
position, where I was firing, and a number of other
questions. He said, "Corporal, have your men police
this place!" I answered, "Yes, sir," and
gave him the snappiest salute he ever saw. There was a
great deal of rubbish and tin cans all around the place
left by the Germans in their hasty retreat. We gathered
it all and buried it in a hole.
I made my dugout deeper and longer today. It's just like
a grave. I don't know what happened to our Mess Sergeant,
but today he opened up his heart and sent us up extra
large portions of roast beef, beans, and potatoes. We
were all starved for a good meal, and today we were
lucky.
I took a walk down the road which is completely covered
by the trees. It's really a road built thru the woods by
the Germans. I visited the other positions further up to
make sure just exactly where they were. One of the other
squads had a New York Times of July 20th, looking as if
the whole 77th Division had been reading it. It told all
about the beginning of the drive, and was very
interesting, and I am becoming familiar now with our
general position and where we are going.
When they brought up the mess tonight in the Dixies,
three letters came along for me, one from you. I sure was
glad to see your handwriting again.
We lost our good old Captain Campbell today forever. We
sure will miss him. He is one of the finest type of men I
ever met. Our Major was promoted, and our Captain is
taking his place and, for the time being, is Acting
Major. Lieutenant Ralph, of C Company, is now Acting
Captain of our company. This "Acting" business
is funny to me. Why don't they promote them right away
and have it over with? Good night, Mother Dear, I will
write some more tomorrow.
CHARLES.
Monday, September 2, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
After stand-to last night, we were taken over to the
aviation field again, and for an hour shot over to the
German lines, shifting our fire this time from left to
right as we shot. It wasn't long when their artillery
started firing over to us and landing away back of us
into the woods. When their artillery opens up, it is a
sign that we are annoying them, and doing some damage,
and the artillery tries to wipe us out. It isn't a very
comfortable feeling, and I felt sorry for the poor devils
we must have been hitting last night.
At one o'clock this morning, after we got back to the
dugout and were trying to get some sleep, a gas alarm was
given, after a couple of tons of shells were dropped up
the road about one hundred yards. It seemed as if they
were right on top of us. The fumes of mustard gas started
to drift down towards us, and we all put on our gas-masks
and kept them on for a couple of hours, till all of the
fumes had passed on.
We stood-to from five to six this morning. Nothing
happened. After breakfast, I fell asleep and made up for
the restless night. The morning was a quiet one, no
shells came over to disturb us. I took a walk over to our
left this afternoon to visit the positions of the first
platoon.
While I was at one of the positions, Sergeant McCarthy
came along and handed me some chevrons, and told me that
I was promoted to Sergeant. I have been Acting Sergeant
for the past two months at a corporal's pay. That's a
good way for Uncle Sam to save money.
Jansen, one of the fellows in my squad, is now Corporal.
He's one of the up-state fellows. They could have knocked
me over with a feather this noon when the Dixie with our
food came up. Every man got a nice big juicy steak,
potatoes, corn and peas. That's what I call officers'
food. They are going to spoil the soldiers. We will
expect it every day. They also sent up some real
cigarettes and some caramel candy for those who don't
smoke. Some of the hard-boiled fellows in this outfit
would rather have a daily issue of rum, as they give to
the English Tommies. The French soldiers get wine issued
to them every day. The American soldier gets water with
chlorine in it. The aeroplanes have been very active
overhead today. The artillery has opened up and has been
firing quite regularly for the past hour. It looks like
an advance is on. The artillery farther up the line on
our left is very active also. Good night.
CHARLES.
DEAR MOTHER, Tuesday, September 3, 1918
Last night a messenger came up after we had stand -to,
and told us to go over to the aviation-field again. We
got there at nine. The Lieutenant placed all the four
guns in position about twenty-five feet apart. It was
pitch-dark, not a star shone in the sky, and you couldn't
see your hand in front of your face. He set the guns and
told us to shoot five strips an hour. Each strip holds
twenty-four bullets. We shot six bullets every three
minutes from nine to twelve. He left us and said to fire
the same amount from three to five in the morning.
We were shooting away, and at eleven-thirty-five the
German artillery rained shell after shell at us. It was
awful! We couldn't see a thing, for it was so dark,
except when the shells exploded. The gun-crew, from the
next position, over on the right, ran over to where we
were. They were panic stricken. I was the senior non-com
and had to quiet them, and it was some job, because I was
scared to death myself. I thought sure it was curtains
for all of us.
No one was hit,
it was a miracle, the shells were dropping all around us,
spattering us with dirt and mud. I ordered the men to
return to their guns and continue firing immediately to
deceive the Germans and make them think that they had the
wrong range. It worked! As soon as we started firing our
machine guns again, the German artillery lifted their
range and started dropping them in back of us, and
further over into the woods.
It was the first time that I was under a real barrage of
shells, and I don't think there is anything any more
demoralizing and terrifying in the world. We all huddled
together over at the edge of the woods. We were all in.
One man was on guard for an hour during the three hours.
Some of them slept. I couldn't, and just lay there awake
and dreaming.
At three, we were all back at the guns, and started
firing away. At four-fifteen, day started to break, and I
was beginning to get worried that we would be discovered.
My orders were to continue shooting until five o'clock.
We hugged the ground as closely as possible, so as to be
as inconspicuous as we could. From quarter -past-four
this morning until five seemed like eternity to me. The
Lieutenant wasn't there but we had to obey his orders.
The Germans must have seen us and why they didn't shoot
at us is something that I do not understand. They must
think that the Americans are crazy to come right out into
the open as we were this morning.
At five, I gave the signal, and we all crawled back to
the forest and started back to our positions. I fell
asleep, and was dead to the world until eight, when
breakfast came up. I was dead tired all morning but
couldn't sleep. At two this afternoon, nine shells
dropped right in on top of us. Pieces of the shells went
thru a couple of overcoats that were hanging on the
trees. It was exciting. We all had our wind up. Some of
us scattered up the road to get away from it. They know
that we are here at the corner of the woods, and have the
range, and I wish we were out of it.
At two-thirty, a half hour later, the Germans sent over
eighteen, twice as many as they had at two o'clock. I
don't know what made me count them each time, but I did,
just the same. This time they wrecked us completely,
almost everything was smashed to pieces. We started
running up the road to get away from under it, and who
should I run plumb into but the Lieutenant. He asked me
where my gas-mask was. I said that it was back at the
dugout. He started bawling me out for running away as I
did, and it sure does look bad for me now. I should have
stuck. I was all on edge. I couldn't help it. We
certainly have had some very narrow escapes from death in
the last twenty-four hours. We are going to stand-to now,
so will close and add some more to this tomorrow.
CHARLES.
Wednesday, Sept. 4, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We were up at four-thirty this morning after a fair
night's rest. It was quiet with the exception of a few
gas-shells coming over Last night about ten. We all put
our gas-masks on and, while we were waiting for the gas
to drift away, I fell asleep, and didn't wake up until
twelve-thirty and then took my mask off. All were
sleeping except the one man guarding the gun. It was
quiet all around, but in the distance you could hear the
faint rumble of artillery fire. It sounded like a thunder
storm, as I used to hear such in the mountains up the
Hudson around West Point, where I used to go camping as a
kid. The fellows told me that a few shells dropped in the
immediate vicinity during the night, but did no damage.
I loafed and
read the morning away. It's rather nice, in a way, to be
up in the lines, because you have nothing to do but loaf.
Back in a rest area the officers always have some
drilling or cleaning to do to keep us from resting. We
get more rest when we are in the lines.
At noon, when the Dixies of food came up, we heard that
the Germans had evacuated the hill, and soon after our
Infantry came up along the road at double-time. They were
all out of breath, and I felt sorry for them. Many of
them will be killed off, and they even have to run to
their deaths. It's funny! They seemed like dumb animals,
afraid, but not knowing what danger they were running
into.
As I looked
into their faces, the men seemed to lack any sign of
intelligence at all. They all looked whipped. They were
going into battle, but nothing at all like what we use to
read about in our histories, where they told us how the
soldiers went into battle with flags flying and with
music playing. There wasn't a sign of anything patriotic
about the way they were going up. It was grim murder and
nothing more.
You go to your
death here in filth and mud, and you suffer to the end
sometimes, alone. Look how we left home, at night, so we
couldn't be seen! We had the parade down Fifth Avenue
before we left, and had a lot of cheering, but that
wasn't patriotism, it was just an emotional outburst of
some people of what they thought was patriotism. ' There
is no glory in this bloody business, not for these poor
devils at the battle front, anyhow. They'll build statues
of the Generals, who are always back in headquarters.
Their names will go down in history.
At three
o'clock, we received orders to make up our packs and get
ready to move up. Our artillery forced the Germans to
retreat, and we have to advance now to catch up with
them. About four o'clock, the road in back of our
position, was alive with auto trucks, Infantry and
ambulances. What twenty-four hours before was the front
line is, at the moment, a back area. It looks like a long
hike ahead of us, the Germans must have retreated back to
Germany. Why our officers weren't here to follow them up
is beyond me. I feel kind of foolish being where I am. We
should be up in the line supporting the Infantry.
Our limbers and
mules came up, and we loaded our ammunition and gun, and
now are waiting for orders to move up. While I was
writing a couple of Dixies of food came up. The Mess
Sergeant probably hasn't heard of the advance yet. We
were lucky to get a good meal, goodness knows when we
will get another one. The road is terribly congested now,
all going up. If there is a crowd like this here, the
front line must be about twenty miles away. So long, I
will add to this tomorrow.
CHARLES.
Thursday, September 5, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We started off at seven last night. The rest of the
squads came along from the left and picked us up, and we
marched along to the other positions, until we had the
whole company together and then kept on walking all
night. There were many times that I thought sure I would
drop. What made it so terrible was that we had to leave
the limbers behind and carry every bit of ammunition and
machine guns all the way. It was some torture!
Instead of
advancing along a road, the Lieutenant led us across
fields, thru small woods, up and down hills. Maybe it was
best to advance that way, rather than on the road, which
was congested, and also being shelled occasionally by the
long-range artillery of the Germans.
As we advanced,
we saw a huge fire that burned almost all night, way off
on the horizon. Whatever was burning, it must have been
awfully hot near by. The Germans evidently set it on fire
before retreating.
When daylight
came, we halted at some German dugouts. It was raining
and we were tired, wet and miserable. We didn't notice
the hunger and thirst. We placed the machine guns in
positions, and arranged a guard for an hour each, and
everybody else flopped and slept until one o'clock. There
were fifteen of us, and we only had two cans of corned
beef and seven packages of hardtack. We were ravenously
hungry, and finished it in no time, not leaving a crumb
be-hind. I heated some water this afternoon to make a
canteen full of coffee. It took me an hour to get it hot
over the thin splinters of wood I used for making a fire.
We had our canteens filled with water this afternoon in
the deserted town of Blanzy over on our left. The Germans
were in it yesterday.
While we were advancing last night, going up one hill and
not looking where I was walking, I stepped on something
and it gave way and caved in. I looked down and found
that my foot had crushed the chest of a dead German. He
was laying on his back, with his pale white face looking
to the sky. He was just a kid of eighteen, and I bet he
was even younger, he was so thin and frail. I bet he
didn't weigh more than a hundred pounds. It was sad to
see a kid like that snuffed out so early in life and made
me sick for the rest of the night. I just stumbled on.
Many a time I felt like dropping out on the wayside, then
I would keep on saying to myself, "Not here, a
little further!" I kept putting it off and before I
knew it, daylight came. We had walked all night. The
fellows looked as white as sheets. It was an awful
strain. And to make it worse we had to carry all our
equipment. The Lieutenant was here and told us that the
machine-gun barrage we put over at the aviation field did
a terrible damage to the Germans. We killed many and
wounded plenty also. They found that out thru observation
work from the aeroplanes. They saw many ambulances going back and forth
behind the German lines. We were complimented for our good work. I
smiled to myself, being complimented for being murderers. If we were
back home and killed a man, we would be electrocuted or hung for it -but
over here, it's perfectly all right. I don't see any difference. If
human life is so cheap, why do they have such long, drawn-out, and
expensive trials, to convict
one man when he commits a murder? For our good work back
at the aviation field, we are being rewarded, he said,
and we are going to have the privilege to put over the
first barrage up here on this line where we are now. It's
time for stand-to, so will close.
CHARLES.
Friday, September 6, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
After stand-to last night, we got the four guns set out
in the open, and put up our flash-screens and started
shooting one clip of twenty-four bullets a minute. We
kept this up for an hour and then quit. The guns were red
hot by that time. One of the guns back-fired for the
first time, and black powder flew into the face of one of
the boys. He was lucky that it didn't fly into his eyes.
About five minutes after we quit firing, the German
artillery opened up, just to let us know they were still
alive, I guess, and they sure did let us have it. Tons
and tons of stuff came over, the ground all around looks
shot to pieces. We hugged the ground, dove into
shell-holes, and just waited until it lifted. We were in
one shell-hole and a great big ash-can exploded about
fifteen feet behind us and we were covered with dirt,
pebbles and rocks, but thank goodness, not a piece of
shell fragment hit any one of us. We heard them drop
further over after a while. Early this morning, when they
sent us up a Dixie full of beans, bread and syrup for
breakfast, we found out that Captain Gillan of D Company
was killed by one of the shells last night, and that
Lieutenant Harris had one arm and one leg blown off, and
a lot of men were wounded and killed.
Our Acting Captain, Lieutenant Ralph, who used to be with
C Company, and has been our Captain for only a couple of
days, was taken to the hospital during the night. He was
wounded on the head by a- shell fragment. When a shell
explodes, the pieces fly everywhere, great big jagged
pieces. When they hit flesh, they tear it to pieces and
make an ugly wound. Sometimes, a big shell exploding will
wound a fellow standing a hundred feet away. The pieces
fly thru the air at express speed. Sometimes soldiers
never know what hit them. It was some night! We only had
one meal yesterday, and what the fifteen of us did to the
beans this morning is a shame. The Dixie was licked
clean. The boys are in pretty good spirits considering
everything and we sure have been lucky so far.
The Germans have eight balloons up, off in the distance
in front of us, and I have been waiting to see one of our
planes go over and shoot some of them down. They
certainly have a lot of nerve. In each one there is an
officer making observations through powerful field
glasses.
We are out in an open field now. It's just like a western
prairie, for miles and miles you can see nothing but tall
wheatfields. It gives us a little protection from being
seen, but not as much shelter as back in the woods. It's
lucky we have two old German dugouts here. They know we
are in them, because they have been sending over an
occasional ash-can all afternoon. They have come pretty
close. It sure is a strain on our nerves, to have these
big fellows exploding all around you.
I spent the afternoon in the dugout reading old letters
and smoking cigarette after cigarette. The army sure
makes you lazy. It's just six-thirty, and we just
finished a wonderful feast of steak, potatoes, tomatoes,
and peas. Wilmarth risked his life bringing that food up
to us in broad daylight, but he didn't think it was doing
much. He kept in the wheat-field all the way after coming
out of the forest. He also delivered an order to make up
our packs as we move out of here tonight. He said we
weren't going back, and I don't see how we can go up much
further, unless they are taking us up in front of the
Infantry again in an outpost position, as they did back
at the railroad tracks. We are about thirty miles north
of that spot now, I should think, after that all night
hike. It's getting late so will close and add more to
this to-morrow. It will be a young book if I don't mail
them soon.
CHARLES.
Saturday, September 7, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
At eight-thirty we started off in single file, carrying
all our equipment, and walked to the other side of the
Village of Blainzy and slept in some abandoned dugouts
until four this morning. It was so black last night, you
couldn't see a thing. At dawn we changed to an old
artillery position once occupied by the French, then by
the Germans when they swept over this sector early this
spring, and now Americans are in it.
The boys are saying that mixing up cooties this way is a
bad thing to do. The cooties that hatch out now will be
more ferocious than ever before. They certainly have been
torturing us the last few weeks. I haven't had my clothes
off in months, it seems, and I am wondering where I am
going to have my next bath. It won't be out in the open,
because it has been getting rather cool lately.
The German artillery that sent so many shells over to us
about two weeks ago, must have been in this position.
There is plenty of their equipment around, and we have
been warned not to touch anything, as the whole place
might be mined and blow us to pieces. We are scared to
death to even breathe and, only for the nice comfortable
dugouts they have here, I would much rather be elsewhere.
During the night, they brought our kitchen up to the
village, and I bet the poor Greek Mess Sergeant wishes he
was back in Brooklyn where his restaurant is. The town is
under shell-fire, and I can't understand why they ever
brought the kitchen up so close. We had three good meals
today, and I hope it keeps up, because I don't think that
there is any more annoying feeling than hunger when you
think of how much there is on this earth to sufficiently
feed everybody. The good Lord has abundantly provided us
with all kinds of food. The fields around us are full of
wheat, enough to make tons of bread. Every one should
always have plenty to eat. It is only recently, since I
have felt the pangs of hunger for the first time in my
life, that I understand the desperation of a hungry man
to steal. The pangs of hunger sure do sting. And when you
are wet and cold as we have been, it's worse.
What makes the soldiers carry on is beyond me. If only
everybody would at this moment lay down arms, leave the
trenches, and stop this slaughtering, and leave the
politicians or those who started this to fight it out
among themselves, it would be wonderful!
At two this afternoon the Germans gave us another taste
of their 77 shells, which we haven't heard for a couple
of days. They dropped all around us, Foster was on guard
at the time, and one shell dropped ten feet away from
him. He was spattered with mud from head to foot and
miraculously escaped injury. It's a terrible strain on
your nerves and, unconsciously, you are continually
rolling cigarettes. I smoke two and three packs of Bull
Durham a day. A shuddering feeling of nausea creeps over
me every time these shells explode near me. I can't help
it.
Every guard but gas guard is given up for tonight. It is
pitch black outside, you can't see your hand in front of
your face. It is raining, and a terribly strong wind is
blowing. I had occasion to visit the other dugout to
arrange the guard for the night, and on my way back the
lightning illumined the way for me. It was very strange.
It even seemed to flash for me as I crossed the ladder
which we use for a bridge over the stream that runs
parallel to the entrance to our dugout.
I am going to snuff out this candle now, and maybe will
be able to get a good night's rest if nothing happens. On
a stormy night like this, you can generally figure that
everything will be quiet, because everybody is trying to
keep dry. It's strange sleeping down in the earth like
this, it makes you feel like you have been buried alive.
So long, Mother Dear! CHARLES.
Sunday, September 8, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
Today was Sunday but no church for us. I wonder what our
chaplains really think down in their hearts of this
bloody business. What would they do if they met a German
chaplain? Shake hands, or start to fight each other?
We all had a good rest last night. A few shells dropped
over on our right, the fellows told me, but I didn't hear
a thing, because we are too far down in the earth. When
the artillery outfits dig a dugout, they dig them deep.
The wind was still blowing strong today. It would rain
one minute, and the next minute the sun would be shining.
It was a real fall day. The Germans were dropping shells
about fifty yards behind us all afternoon. As they
exploded, the ground would shake, and we were all hugging
the dugouts for protection. We just hang around and wait.
We haven't any orders to shoot, all we seem to do is to
wait for food to come up, and sleep.
I saw something that looked like a grave about a hundred
yards over on our left and crawled over to it this
afternoon. It was the wreck of a French aero-plane
brought down by the Germans, on September 2, 1918, just
six days ago. The flyer is buried alongside of the spot
where he fell. His grave is marked by the propeller blade
of his plane made into a cross. One of the wheels, and
the nose of the engine are on the grave. On the propeller
is lettered very crudely in pencil, and in German,
"Here lies a French Aviator, brought down September
2, 1918, Corporal Priess Rogers. May he rest in
peace!" They do pay a great deal of respect to
aviators when they are brought down. I sat there and
looked at the grave for about fifteen minutes, just
dreaming, and wondering what it was all about. A German
shell came over and burst quite near me and brought me to
my senses, and I crawled back to the dugout. They sent up
some beans and prunes tonight, and we just received
orders to get ready to move up. Love to you both.
CHARLES.
Monday, September 9, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I sure was cold last night. How I missed my sweater, and
I wished I had my woolen helmet I left in my blanket
roll. They managed to get some hot coffee and fried bacon
and bread up to us this morning, and that kind of took
the chill out of us. On the way up last night, I stepped
into a shell-hole full of water, and was soaked half way
up to the knees. This morning I hung up the only pair of
socks I have with me and almost got them dry.
There are seven men here in this trench with us who were
wounded last night. First aid was given the poor fellows
after being out in the cold and rain all night. They are
waiting now for it to get dark, so they can carry the
injured back to where the ambulances are. I have been
amazed all day at the wonderful vitality and patience of
these wounded men, two of whom are pretty badly hurt, but
they're been sleeping most of the time. They looked at
one fellow a couple of times, and he looked as if he was
dead, but after a while he opened his eyes and asked for
a smoke.
We have been waiting in this trench all day, and suppose,
as soon as it gets dark, we go on farther. We should be
shot to pieces if we showed our heads above the trench.
How we ever got up as far as this is beyond me. I think
the Lieutenant brought us up a little too far. We are
waiting for it to get dark, and for some one to bring us
some food and tell us what to do. It's starting to rain
again. It looks like we are in for it now. So long,
Mother Dear! I wish I was home.
CHARLES.
Tuesday, September 10, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
They came up about nine last night, with some stew, bread
and hot coffee. It was a life-saver, as we were about all
in. The Red Cross fellows came up also, and took the
wounded Infantry fellows back. After we ate, we waited
until eleven and the Sergeant came along crawling on his
hands and knees and brought us up to this trench which
the Germans were in last week. There is plenty of mud in
it. The trench behind us, which the Infantry evacuated
yesterday, has a foot of water in it and at one spot a
stream is pouring into it with considerable force. We put
a few branches and dirt across the communication trench,
so it doesn't pour into this one. The Infantry alongside
of us have bread but it is soaking wet so we shared ours
with them.
We have our machine gun here, but it is of no earthly use
down here in the trench, and I suppose we are up here to
help the Infantry, in case the Germans decide to come
over on a raid. This morning, they brought us some
coffee, jam, and bread, just before it became light, and
that's all we have had all day. This lying around, not
knowing what to do, is an awful strain. There are all
sorts of rumors that we are going to be relieved but
others that we go up farther. If we only knew!
The German shells were dropping rather close this
afternoon, and the concussion smashed in our trench a
little. It cleared up nicely this evening, and we are
having a beautiful sunset. There are heavy orange and
purple clouds overhead, against an emerald green sky, off
in the distance, and, as I took a peek over the top of
the trench, I saw the wreck of an aeroplane silhouetted
against the sky on the horizon. It was brought down
Sunday, the Infantry fellows told us, and nobody has been
near it to bury the aviator. He is right between the
lines at the moment.
I sure am starved tonight, Mother Dear. I wish I had some
of the food now that I used to refuse to eat when I was a
kid. I guess this is my punishment. I'll eat all the
carrots you'll ever give me in the future. So long, it's
getting dark.
CHARLES.
Wednesday, September 11, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
They managed to get a Dixie full of steak up to us last
night and some rice pudding. We were so hungry that we
didn't mind the combination at all. Later the Sergeant
came up, and took us over to an old artillery position
further over on our right, with nice deep dugouts
alongside which the Germans have been occupying until
recently. They were originally built by the French and
have bunks in them made of wire stretched over posts.
We set the guns last night and put over a barrage from
eleven to twelve, firing a clip of twenty-four shots
every three minutes. We are pretty low on ammunition, and
as soon as it gets dark, will have to send an ammunition
detail back to where the limbers are and bring it up
tonight. That will take almost half the night, so I told
the fellows who are going back to get a little sleep
today. They managed to get three good meals up to us, and
we feel stronger and better, and every man got a box of
matches apiece, something we need badly.
Our Lieutenant came up this afternoon and, from two to
four, lectured to us on indirect firing and gave us some
good pointers, and praised us highly for the good work
that we have been doing. It made me smile' I wished that
it was all over. We are in a rather good position here,
just in front of a small woods, and there is a little
hill in front of us and the Germans can't see us very
well.
Last night our Lieutenant Milliard, having rejoined the
battalion, and placed in charge of Company D, was hit by
shrapnel and taken to the hospital again. I think he was
sent to the hospital when so many of us were gassed up at
Fismes.
The Germans shelled us pretty badly last night. One of
our guns of the other platoon was completely smashed to
smithereens by huge pieces of shell fragments, and a
couple of our fellows were hit and taken back to the
hospital. We are waiting for it to get dark now, as we
are going to put over another barrage tonight. Our
artillery has been sending over a shell or two every few
minutes for the last half hour, and we can hear them
swish by over our heads and land away off in the distance
behind the German lines.
We haven't heard much from our artillery recently, and I
wonder if they are still with us, or if they are having
trouble back there in the mud. We have had plenty of rain
the last few days and, I understand, it affects the
artillery, for they have trouble keeping their ammunition
dry. So long, Mother Dear! We have to stand-to now.
CHARLES.
Thursday, September 12, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
The Lieutenant came over last night about ten, and set
the guns with the compass, and we all started in shooting
a clip of twenty-four shots, every five minutes,
elevating the gun ever so often. The Lieutenant told me
that they received information that the German soldiers
were being relieved last night, and that our firing was
to demoralize the new troops coming in. They must have
spies over in the German lines, and how they get the
information over to us is wonderful. We stopped after
half an hour because the ammunition was so low.
Somehow, I couldn't get to sleep last night, I kept
thinking of the poor devils that we either killed or
wounded with our barrage last night, and how the wounded
must be suffering, and it got on my nerves. I got up
about one this morning and started to smoke some
cigarettes and finally dozed off. Everybody was up at
four this morning, and we left two men at the guns, and
the rest of us started on the long walk back to the
limbers to get some more ammunition. We all brought along
our shelter-halves which have our blankets in them. We'll
be needing them now at night because it is getting cold.
Last night there was a terrific bombardment further up
the line, on our left. It lasted for quite a time. The
Germans must have been driven back some more, and they
are probably drawing back at this point also, because
they have been unusually quiet today.
This afternoon the Lieutenant came up, and we had to get
our flash-screens ready for firing tonight. The
Lieutenant had a prismatic compass with him, and he took
MacCarthy and myself over to our left about fifty yards
on the top of the hill, and by sticking posts into the
ground, marked off the four positions to place the guns
tonight. I had to go out about thirty feet and put up the
posts for the extreme left and right points of firing of
each gun. This was done in broad daylight and we were
under observation. We sure did take an awful chance. The
Germans saw us. We were on the highest point for miles
and miles around. It took almost an hour to do all this
and I was trembling all the time. It was very foolish to
expose ourselves in that way.
The Germans know exactly where this spot is. They can
tell by their maps, and their artillery officers are in
all probability doping out the range from where they are,
and when we start firing they'll put over a barrage and
wipe us all out in a jiffy. That's the way they do it.
They don't shoot at you the first time that they see you.
It's raining now and, we brought the guns into the
dugout. If it stops raining, we are to go out and start
firing when it gets dark. So long, Mother Dear!
CHARLES.
Friday, September 3, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
Friday, the 13th, and nothing has happened so far, so I
don't feel so superstitious any more. It is five months
ago today that we sailed out of good old New York harbor.
Today, we are veterans. We sure have been thru a great
deal, and I wonder how much longer we will be over here.
About two o'clock this afternoon we were visited by a
daring German aviator, who came right down on top of us.
We tired a couple of hundred shots at him, and I'm sure
we must have hit the plane, but we didn't seem to have
hit a vital spot. They fly too fast, and it takes one of
those shells from the anti-aircraft guns to bring one
down. When they explode, hundreds of little lead balls
fly everywhere. They are like hail. He must have taken a
picture and then flew right back to his own lines. As
soon as they see for sure that we are here, they are
going to send over a barrage. I only hope that our
Lieutenant, who so foolishly exposed us yesterday, is
around when they do start to shell. That isn't bravery to
walk around a battlefront in broad daylight, right on the
top of a hill where you can be seen against the sky. I
call it nothing but Insanity. It might cost some lives
before we get away from here.
The platoon sergeant came up this afternoon about four
and took me out to the four positions and we changed two
of them. At seven tonight, while it was still light, all
four gun teams took their positions. Two men from each
squad are to stay at the guns all night, changing every
two hours. The non-coms are all back in the dugouts and
waiting for the barrage signal. Then we are going to
fire. I haven't had my clothes off for two weeks and feel
terribly dirty. The cooties are getting worse and worse,
and I have become tired of trying to get rid of them. No
sooner than you think you have killed the last one, than
the next hour there are a hundred more on you. So long,
Mother Dear.
CHARLES.
Saturday, September 14, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We were all awakened at four o'clock this morning. It was
cold and dreary. At five-fifteen we opened up, firing
five clips a minute. A few minutes later the artillery
all around us opened up. They must have come up during
the night. I swear there were at least fifty of them all
going off at once. What a noise! All sorts of rockets and
fireworks flew up from the front lines, white lights,
burning for a minute. It was a sight that I wouldn't have
missed for anything in the world. It was a real battle,
and, from where we were on top of the hill, we had a
wonderful view for miles. We saw the Infantry leaving the
trenches down below us and starting across No Man's Land.
Every now and then we would see one of them fall and lay
still.
They made the German trenches and jumped down into them.
The German artillery opened up shortly and were dropping
down in front of us, but they were too late, because our
Infantry had already passed on over that area. It was
uncanny, the accuracy of those shells where they landed.
You certainly have to hand it to the Germans. They sure
can get the range on you pretty closely. We had orders to
keep firing until we were told to stop. It was getting
brighter every minute. Off in the distance about five
miles, we saw three German balloons going up for
observation.
At nine o'clock, orders came to cease firing and bring in the guns. Each
gun had fired twenty boxes of ammunition,
and the guns were so hot you could fry eggs over them. We
had three men wounded, McDonough, Henderson and Brock.
The shells were dropping all around us. Henderson was
standing alongside of me when a shell came over our heads
and landed fifteen feet beyond us and exploded.
Usually, when a shell lands, the fragments fly in the
direction that the shell was traveling. This time a huge
piece, about six inches wide, flew back and hit poor
Henderson in the leg halfway up from the knee. It seemed
to have gone clean thru and must have broken the bone. I
felt sorry, he was suffering so. The leg started to swell
and it was as big as an elephant's leg. I sent a man back
to the Medical Corps for a stretcher. It took two hours
to get him back to an ambulance. I helped carry him back
part of the way, and was surprised how heavy a wounded
man can become when you carry him on a stretcher.
We had to stop for a while the Germans started to send
gas-shells over. Henderson was too weak to put his mask
on, so we had to put it on for him. He was groaning thru
the gas-mask. I had then to get the men together and we
had to go back for more ammunition, we shot so much of it
away this morning.
At three o'clock, we received orders to mount the guns in
the same positions again, and shoot eight clips an hour,
raising the elevation of the guns. I was in charge of the
four guns until five when McCarthy relieved me.
I returned to the dugout and found two potatoes, bread,
and coffee, which they saved for me. It was all I have
had to eat today. The excitement made me forget all about
eating. This was one battle today, all right. They
started shooting shells at us which exploded right over
our heads, and the hot shrapnel dropped right down on top
of us. It's a new kind of shell to me, and I am wondering
how they made them explode right over us in the air. We
just received orders to make up our packs, as the
Infantry gained five miles, and we have to move up with
them. I thought I would write a little, while I had the
chance. CHARLES.
Sunday, September 15, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We never moved up last night, and at seven I had to
relieve McCarthy with a fresh gun crew, and we had to
fire until eight-thirty, when we received orders to cease
firing. The harassing-fire was over, and we were glad,
because it was a terrible strain. It was the hardest day
that we had as yet. Our artillery kept firing yesterday
for fourteen hours. The poor Germans must have been shot
to pieces.
We arranged the gas guard for the night, and went to
sleep, and didn't wake up until six o'clock this morning.
German shells were dropping all around us but did no
damage at all. At eight, a Dixie full of bacon and bread
was sent up, and we finished every crumb. I shaved this
morning and felt a little better after it. Funny how a
shave braces you up.
German aeroplanes were flying over us today and tried to
bring down one of our observation balloons in back of us.
Whoever was in it came down in a parachute, and the
anti-aircraft guns opened up and chased the Heinie back
to his own lines. They pulled the balloon down by the
cable to which it is attached.
It was kind of quiet today, as if both sides were
observing the Sabbath with very little shooting going on.
Three Italian officers came up to our position this
afternoon. They spoke very little English, and I got hold
of good old Dinola, and he acted as interpreter. They
were tired and wanted to sleep for a little while. I
brought them into my dugout and the three of them fell
asleep immediately and slept until five, when the Germans
started to throw six-inch shells at us. What a noise they
made! We were all trembling. The Italian officers looked
at each other in surprise. Dinola said to me that they
thought this was a nice quiet front. They have just come
up from Italy and their division is going to take over
this sector, relieving us.
Three Infantry fellows ran up to our dugout. Two of them
were hit by the shell fragments. They were on the way
back for more ammunition, and told us that they drove the
Germans back to the other side of the river where they
are dug in now, and it was going to be some job to get
across. It's called the Ainse River. It is quite wide. We
just got orders to make up our packs and eat our dry
rations, and that we are going to be relieved tonight.
I'm glad we are getting out of this. Maybe I'll be able
to get a bath now!
CHARLES.
Monday, September 16, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We certainly had a long wait last night to be relieved.
The moon was shining all night until two in the morning,
when it sunk behind the hills, and after that it was
pitch-dark. We were all ready to move out, our packs made
up, all equipment ready. We would sleep for an hour and
wait up, and then sleep some more.
At a quarter-after-three this morning, the Italian
Division came up, smoking, laughing and having a good
time. Matches would flare up, until we all became a
little nervous, and all the Italian fellows in our
company started to tell them that the Germans could see
them, and they very cockily asked, "What of
it?" and you couldn't do a thing with them.
We marched back for about an hour, and finally came to
our limbers, which were waiting for us on the road. We
put all our guns and equipment into them. It was a relief
to get rid of the heavy loads. We marched thru towns,
which were in No Man's Land two and three weeks ago. All
kinds of equipment, rifles, barb-wire entanglements, dead
soldiers, new graves, ruins everywhere, all showed signs
of desperate fighting. If a fellow wanted souvenirs of
the war, this was his opportunity, but we were on the
march and couldn't drop out. I passed hundreds of German
helmets.
We marched thru Fismette, Fismes, St. Giles, Courville,
where plenty of heavy fighting had been going on during
the past month. The places all have a sickening smell
about them. Either it is the gas, or the strange smell of
the dead. It seemed to be in the very atmosphere. We were
all getting weaker and weaker, as we had nothing to eat,
but we didn't mind so long as we kept marching away from
the front. We hit a town called Areis le Ponsart, and
thought sure that we were going to stop there and were
quite disappointed when we marched right on thru.
While we were going thru a field, Lieutenant Rice, who has charge of us,
was leading the company and halted it. He pulled out his map and then
started going back again. He isn't very popular with the fellows of our
company. He used to be with C Company, back at Camp Upton, and the
fellows of his company told us they were glad to get rid of him. When he
seemed to be lost, the roughnecks in our company hollered out, "Where
the hell are you taking us?" and "Don't you know where you are going?"
He halted the company and made us stand at
attention and bawled us out. He threatened to
court-martial the entire company if there was another
outburst like that. He marched us to the other side of
the village and made for a woods where some of the other
companies were camped. Our kitchen was there, and we knew
then that we had arrived at our destination.
It was good to get the packs off of our backs. We pitched
our tents and then got something to eat. We rested and
cleaned ourselves up and all our equipment for the rest
of the day. This evening a couple of cases of Murad and
Camel cigarettes were given to me, and I was told to sell
them to the men, three packs of Murads for two francs and
three packs of Camels for one franc. I sold four hundred
and ten francs worth and handed the money over to the
Sergeant. Van Pelt and I are bunking together tonight. We
haven't slept under our tents in a long while. It sure is
nice and peaceful where we are now.
Affectionately,
CHARLES.
DEAR MOTHER, Wednesday, September 18, 1918
I didn't get a chance to write yesterday as we rode all
night on motor lorries, and are miles away from Arcis le
Ponsart and on another front. Yesterday was a wonderful
day. The sun was shining and we all felt fine. At four we
were ordered to strike our tents and make up our packs.
We waited around until eight o'clock, and the company was
assembled and marched out of the woods down to the road.
There were thirty big lorries waiting for the whole
battalion. Twenty men got into each lorry and at
eight-fifteen we started off. I sat up front with the
chauffeur. The moon was shining and it was a beautiful
night for riding. It was too dark to distinguish the
names of the towns on the sign-boards. I kept awake all
night. It started to rain early in the morning.
At daybreak, we passed thru Dormans, Epernay, and
Chalons, then we turned south to Vitry le Francois, then
northeast to Changy, Vanault, Possesse, and about ten
o'clock this morning, we hit our destination, St. Mard
sur le Mont. So if you look up these towns on the map,
you can see just where we have been, and where we are
now.
It was some grind, that ride. We were all in. We were
marched to an orchard, and took off our packs, and I fell
asleep until two o'clock, when they gave us something to
eat. We had to wait until four o'clock when the French
soldiers left the billets. They are going back to the
line. Our whole second platoon is in this one billet.
There are bunks here, upper and lower berths, made out of
wire stretched over posts. We were given permission to
visit the village this evening. I bought a few things and
had my first glass of wine in over a month and then came
back here. I am all in and am going to sleep right away.
CHARLES.
September 22, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I haven't had a chance to write you for a couple of days
because we have been on one of those tortuous hikes
again, and I have lost all track of how far we walked on
account of suffering so much. My feet were blistered
pretty badly. We are all dead tired. We were supposed to
get a long rest and, instead, were rushed over here
outside of a village called Fontaine, just north of St.
Mennehould. We are in a deep forest called the Argonne.
The rumors are that we are going back into the lines
again, back to the noise and hell. The division that was
supposed to come in is so far away that they decided to
move the 77th Division in here. We are the closest
division to this point at the moment. The men are half
dead from fatigue and all are grumbling.
We landed here this morning at five after marching
practically all night by the light of a full moon. It was
very weird-looking and all the shadows in the forest
seemed to be alive. We marched up and down hills. The
roads were terrible, large pieces of stones all the way
which seemed to cut your feet right thru the soles. C
Company of our battalion was ahead of us, and traveling
at a terrific pace.
We had to spend the afternoon cleaning our guns and
ammunition. Tonight we had pot-roast, bread and coffee. I
wish I could get a decent meal somewhere before we go up
on this front. When we go into the lines, the meals are
pretty rotten, mostly cold stuff. Sometimes, we are lucky
that we get any at all. That's all that seems to matter.
We think about nothing but food. It's got so that nobody
worries, or even thinks about who is going to win the
war. We are all wrapped up in ourselves, and becoming
very selfish, a sort of "every man for himself"
attitude. I think this is due to the way officers treat
the men. They don't seem to have any consideration for us
at all. They sup-pose that the best way to handle men is
to treat them like animals. I know that they are wrong.
The men realize it more than the officers think.
We lost Lieutenant Nachazel today. We only have two
officers left now. He became sick and had to go back to
the hospital. It's seven o'clock and everything is ready.
We are moving up farther tonight, so, while we are
waiting, I thought I would write just a few lines to you.
CHARLES.
September 23, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I was put on a loading detail last night, when twelve of
us were left behind while the rest of the company went
ahead. It was raining steadily until midnight and we were
lucky that we had shelter and didn't get very wet. The
304th Machine Gun Battalion have little Ford trucks, and
as they came along we would unload their guns and
ammunition and put them in the shed, and then load our
own equipment on to the trucks and they would take them
up farther where the company was. It was a
quarter-after-four this morning when the truck to take my
equipment came along. We loaded it all and started off.
Wilmarth was with me, he's the gamest kid in the company.
How he sticks is a mystery. I never saw such vitality in
such a frail person. It's remarkable, for he's nothing
but skin and bones. We all are thin as rails. We haven't
been getting regular meals and have lost lots of sleep.
There is nothing to do tho, but carry on. What for, I
don't know. It isn't going to make any difference to me
who wins this war, I won't get anything out of it. All I
hope is that I get my job back when I get home. But I
have my doubts. I don't think I'll be able to draw any
more. My hands are as big as hams, and clumsy and rough.
I'll have to learn to do something else for a living when
I get back. I wish they had placed me in some branch of
the service where I could have taken care of my hands.
But what do they care about me if I ever draw again or
not? No one seems to care about us now that they have us.
There was a captain of a company back at Upton who used
to holler at his men, "We've got you where we want
you, and we are going to do with you what we want
to!" If there ever was a bully, it was him. They
seemed to despise us because we were drafted. I tried to
enlist but was refused, and just before the draft, you
couldn't get into anything for a while.
The roads up to
the supply dump were terribly muddy and we had some time,
for the wheels of the truck went down to the hub a couple
of times, but with the help of the Infantry, who were
coming up this morning at the same time, we pushed it out
each time. The road was awfully crowded. Many soldiers
were coming back on different details, guess it looks
like a real big advance is on, the way I used to read
about.
We piled the stuff under a shed in a quaint little garden
planted by the French soldiers. There were huts all
around the place built out of logs. This line here in the
forest has been like this since 1916. The whole line thru
the forest is a sunken city. The dug-outs are immense.
They have electric lights in them, and comfortable bunks,
and the walls are papered. They have been fighting this
war in a deluxe manner at this point.
We slept this morning until twelve o'clock, and nobody
disturbed us. At four o'clock, we got our guns and
marched up to this trench where we are now. Everybody
carried up two boxes of ammunition. Harris, a fellow from
out west, who was sent up to us to fill up the company,
is sharing a piece of sheet-metal with me which is a
pretty good shelter. We are going to sleep under it.
This position, where we are now, is between the trenches in some big
shell-holes. Our gun is mounted but we have no orders at all. I suppose
we are to shoot only when we see the whites of the Germans' eyes. The
underbrush is so thick right here, that you wouldn't be able to see them
until they were on top of you. Of all positions to place a machine gun.
It's a joke. We don't know where we are, where our Infantry is, where our Company Headquarters
is, nothing but that the Germans are somewhere in front
of us. We were brought up here in broad daylight by the
Sergeant an hour ago.
One of the corporals, Davy, shot himself today when
cleaning his pistol. If any more shoot themselves, we'll
be wiped out. It's getting dark, and it doesn't look like
we are going to get anything to eat tonight. Love to you
both.
CHARLES.
Tuesday, September 24,1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I slept until five this morning, when we all were
awakened by the most terrific noise that I have heard for
some time. An artillery outfit must have moved in about
fifty yards away from us during the night and started
firing this morning. It lasted for about a half an hour.
We were told that this was a quiet front. It was, but no
more!
We found out that the Germans sent three waves over this
morning, and that the French troops, who are in these
lines, drove them back each time. When I heard our own
artillery so close to us, I knew we must be a mile at
least behind the line. We were scared stiff. We thought
sure we would be in for a shelling from the Germans. They
always try to locate an artillery outfit, and then they
start a duel with each other. I figured that the shells
always seem to fall about fifty yards short, and it was
just about fifty yards that we were in front of them this
morning.
We were moved up further this afternoon, and now are in a
deep dugout about twenty feet under the earth. We have
bunks down here and, outside of the dampness, it is
ideal. We spent the morning cleaning and oiling the gun
and at eleven the sun came out again for the first time
in three days.
I took advantage this afternoon of the spare time and
took off everything above my waist and started
slaughtering the cooties. I killed about five generations
of them-the great big great-great-grandfather cooties,
which have three stripes on them--the fellows, jokingly,
call them sergeants-then, the grandfather cooties, they
seem to have two stripes-they are the corporals-and all
the way down to the baby cooties, it's a shame to kill
them off, but we have to do it, because if we let them
live, in two or three days they will be as big as
grandfather cooties. And how they do bite and annoy you!
The fellows who get wounded must suffer something awfully
when the cooties start bothering them.
I went back with the ration detail this afternoon to our
kitchen, which is about a kilo back of us, and who should
I meet on the way but Paulie Scneck, who I used to go to
the Madison Square Church House with, and haven't seen
for nine years. Of all places to meet some one who knows
you, over in France in the Argonne forest!
I found out that the barrage that went over this morning
by our artillery was the first one in this vicinity in
two years. I don't know what good a machine gun is going
to do in this forest. The trees are too thick, and the
underbrush is so bad at some spots that you would' think
you were in a jungle.
The Sergeant came up this afternoon and brought us over
here to this trench, with these nice deep dug-outs, not
like the officers have, but better than sleeping out in
the open. I froze last night.
I stole some eggplants and carrots this afternoon, when I
went back on the ration detail, and fried them in my
mess-kit tonight down in the dugout over splinters of
wood. I shared them with the rest of the fellows. We were
starved for some vegetables and I know the eggplants and
carrots were for the officers. They always seem to have
the Company Headquarters wherever the kitchen is. You're
sure out of luck if you're not an officer in this war, I
found that out long ago.
We all stood-to this evening and then came down the
dugout. Some of the fellows are playing cards by
candlelight on the bunks. I took the opportunity to
write. It's very fascinating, writing by candlelight. So
long, Mother dear!
CHARLES.
Wednesday, September 25, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I slept very restlessly last night. Every two hours, when
the guard changed, I woke up and couldn't sleep for an
hour after, it seemed. There must be a million cooties in
these dugouts because, after all my careful cleaning
yesterday, I am full of them again. I cleaned my clothes
twice today and still am bothered with them.
I went back with the ration detail again this morning to
get the kinks out of me and brought back bacon, a loaf of
bread for each man to last him all day, and some hot
coffee. I couldn't steal a thing today, everything was
locked up, out of sight. They must have missed the
carrots and eggplants yesterday.
The sun wasn't out at all today, but I was cheered up
this noon when they brought up eleven letters for me, and
another package of good things from the Paris office of
the Dry Goods Economist. I am surprised that the packages
get here. It's surprising that they bother sending
packages to us when we are in the line. It's more
important to bring up ammunition and food, instead of
packages. That should wait until we get back to a rest
area. But that's just an example of the way things are
managed in this Army. I read the eleven letters over and
over again all afternoon. The package disappeared in no
time. There were too many eager mouths around, and I had
to give everyone of them something. The ration detail
brought up some pot-roast, cabbage and coffee tonight.
Our Sergeant Kaneen, who was away at school for a long
time, came back to us today and was placed in charge of
the second platoon. It's time for us to stand-to soon, so
will close until tomorrow.
CHARLES.
Thursday, September 26, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We were told last night that a barrage would start at ten
o'clock that was going to knock the Germans for a row of
pins. It started on the minute, and you can bet there was
no sleeping after that. The noise was terrific, I thought
my eardrums were going to burst a couple of times during
the night. If it was as bad as that for us, it must have
been ten times as bad for the Germans.
This morning at six-thirty, the Sergeant came along and
told us to make up our packs and a separate roll of the
shelter-halves and blanket. This is what is called the
short pack. It makes it lighter, and when we are told to
leave it behind, it's a sign that we are going to be on
the move for a while. It's bloody cold right now, too; I
wish they would let us keep the blanket with us.
We carried all our equipment to the road, then we went
back to the dugout, got our packs and then marched all
the way back to the kitchen and piled all our
shelter-halves in a hut, and then marched back to where
we left our equipment. Our gun carts were there and we
loaded them and then started walking.
On the way we saw a touring car pass us with a captured
German officer in it. He must have been a general to
receive all that attention. Later, we marched passed a
bunch of German soldiers. They were men about forty. They
looked awfully tired. Their cheeks were hollow and their
eyes were sunken. They must have been in it for the past
four years. We halted after a while, and waited for
hours. We began to get hungry and they gave us some
canned salmon and bread.
We saw a squadron of thirty American aeroplanes flying
past over our heads over to the Germans. They were in
battle formation, and the largest group of planes I ever
saw flying at one time. It was a sight to make you feel
great. It was the first time we felt that there were
others fighting the war besides ourselves.
While waiting all afternoon, we saw troops going up and
the wounded coming back. I never saw such congestion on a
road in broad daylight, but it was all right, because we
were pretty well concealed by the hills of dense trees
all thru this forest. We heard a rumor that there is a
gigantic drive going on all the way from the North Sea to
Switzerland.
A company of
engineers, all negroes, came along this afternoon and
started fixing the road just where we had stopped. The
actions and talk of those negroes, made us all roar with
laughter, they were so funny. It wasn't a laughing matter
for them, but to us it was, when some German shells
started to fall very close to us, and the road was
cleared in a few seconds. Where they all disappeared to
so quickly was a mystery.
For the first time I didn't get scared at all. Usually
shell-fire so close starts me trembling. Today, for the
first time, I was cool and am very happy, and hope I will
be as callous from now on as I was this afternoon. It's
no fun having your wind up all the time. A couple of
pieces of shrapnel flew thru the air and hit my thigh and
knee-cap but did not penetrate the skin, or even bruise
it, because all the force of the pieces had been spent.
At nine o'clock tonight, we were led to these huts built
in the side of a hill. At nine-thirty they brought up
some meat, cabbage, and coffee. We all thought we were
going to sleep hungry. There are eighteen of us crowded
in this hut. Some of them are playing cards, some are
reading, some writing. We haven't any blankets with us
and we will just have to lie on the floor, and go to
sleep with our packs for pillows. I'm sleepy from doing
nothing. The marching this morning tired me a little.
Good night.
CHARLES.
Friday, September 27, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
They let us sleep until seven this morning, something I
do not understand, with all the activity on this front.
It looks like business. We were told to go down to where
the limbers were and to unload them. After a mile walk,
we got there, and had them unloaded, when a messenger
came and said, "Never mind!"
We marched back and then they gave us breakfast. How the
boys cursed! If there is anything they do not like it is
to be sent on a fool's errand and then to have it happen
before you have had your breakfast. It was a little bit
too much. They gave us bacon, syrup, bread and coffee. It
was a cold morning and the bacon sure did taste good.
The place where we slept last night was very interesting.
There were three rows of huts built right in the side of
a perpendicular hill, just like the cliff-dwellers used
to have in the antediluvian days. There were troops
galore around the place. We heard rumors that Metz had
been captured, also that the Allies had advanced 25
kilometers north of Verdun. It looks like the Germans are
on the run. We saw about two hundred of them this morning
brought back as prisoners on the other side of the
valley. Many of them looked like kids about eighteen.
There was also a German wireless station located here.
We loafed the morning away, taking it easy. At noon we
were waiting for the detail to return with the food. It
never arrived and we went hungry. This afternoon they let
us alone again to loaf, and I snooped around and took a
little walk and stumbled across Jansen, who used to be
one of our cooks back at Camp Upton, and is now at
Company Headquarters and cooks for the officers. He baked
some apple pies for the officers and invited me to have a
piece. It was still warm, and had just come out of the
oven a little while before. It had plenty of cinnamon in
it, and, believe me, it was worth a thousand dollars, it
tasted so good. I asked him how often he baked for the
officers, and he told me every day. I thought of the poor
devils over in the huts who hadn't had anything to eat
since breakfast. You sure are out of luck if you're not
an officer in this Army.
I stayed with Jansen all afternoon and then walked back
to where the company was. They were still loafing. Nobody
had disturbed them. It wasn't long before the lost mess
detail appeared with some hash, beans, bread and coffee.
Everything was cold. It was the meal we should have
gotten this noon.
Our Lieutenant ordered the men to fall in before they
were even half thru eating. The food was cold. They were
hungry. But as there was so much excitement, they never
finished it. We picked up the equipment and started to
march, up and down hills, thru barb-wire entanglements,
into trenches, and then up on top again. They were the
German trenches only yesterday morning. I never saw such
a labyrinth of trenches since I've been in France. For
miles and miles, nothing but trench after trench, with
heavy doors between the communication trenches, and miles
and miles of barb-wire all over. At some places, it was
absolutely impossible to walk on top at all. We walked
until nine o'clock. Shells started dropping all around
us-word was sent along the line that we could sleep.
Harris and I investigated this deep dugout, which is
about forty feet underground. We came down very
carefully. They warned us that the places might be mined.
There is a foot of water at the bottom. We have two upper
berths and are sleeping on the wire stretched over the
posts. The others are sleeping on the steps farther up. I
wish we had our blankets with us. it's late, so will
close, Mother Dear, and add some more to this tomorrow.
CHARLES.
Saturday, September 28, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I went on gas guard last night from twelve to one.
Everyone was asleep, and I sat up on the top of the
trench and looked out at the great hill in front of me.
The trees and their branches took on strange shapes. It
was very mysterious. I was the only one awake. The
fellows were snoring just as terribly as they did back to
camp. I was thinking of you and just wondering what you
were doing and if I would ever see you again.
I like to be on guard alone in the middle of the night.
It gives me a chance to think. I go back over my whole
life again. This morning I was thinking of my schooldays,
when I was eight. We had a very severe and stern teacher.
I even remembered her name, Miss Bartels. I remembered
that when she hit my open palm with a ruler about ten
times to punish me for laughing in school, I was going to
buy a pistol when I became old enough, and was going to
shoot her. I would let her beat my palm a hundred and ten
times and smile just to be a kid again, and back in
school) with no responsibilities, and no danger of being
killed any minute. It's an awful torture.
At six, I was awakened and went back with the men for
rations. It was a three-mile hike each way, and when we
returned with the bacon, bread and coffee, it was ten
o'clock. It was some job bringing up there food in those
narrow trenches. Every few minutes, a stretcher with a
wounded man would be carried past you. We would have to
drop the Dixies and make, ourselves as thin as possible
while they passed by. We found out that most of the
fellows had been wounded by snipers.
The Germans
have lookout places up in trees and in pill-boxes, and as
soon as they see a soldier, they take, a shot at him. It
certainly is tough going in this mountainous and dense
Argonne forest. I'll be glad when we get out into the
open again.
There have been many sacrificed German machine gunners
left behind, while the others retreated, and they are
doing deadly work. Some of them have chained themselves
to their guns, so they wouldn't run when we advanced.
They knew it would be sure death for them, but they think
so much of their country that they are willing to be
sacrificed in that way. I like to live too much to
volunteer and sacrifice my life in that way. Oh, if I
could get out of this! I don't want to kill anyone.
Just as our evening meal came up, we were ordered to pack
up, so we couldn't eat it and carried it along with us. I
was carrying two boxes of ammunition, and they almost
pulled my arms out, they were so heavy. We hiked about
two more miles farther up. It was some grind! These
trenches were supposed to be impenetrable. But they took
the place. It is called, "The Hindenburg Line."
The Germans retreated out of here, I think, on account of
having been driven back at some point farther up the
line. If they had stayed in here, they would have been
surrounded. No troops in the world could ever have driven
any one out of these trenches. There is too much
barb-wire. We finally came up out of the trenches and
walked along a new road which the engineers made.
It started to rain and we became soaking wet. We put our
raincoats on over our overcoats and the rain soaked thru.
Whoever sold these raincoats to the Government ought to
be shot. If we throw them away, we'll have to pay for
them. Some of the fellows sold theirs to the French
people back in the villages for food and wine.
At last we stopped at a billet in the woods which used to
be the Germans' canteen hut, where they came to buy
things. We ate the cold stew and coffee and bread, and we
are going to sleep on the floor. Thank goodness, we are
inside out of the wet! It's raining very heavily. The
artillery keeps firing just the same. I feel miserable
and cold. At eleven I'm going on gas guard, and will try
to get a little snooze before then.
God bless you.
CHARLES.
Sunday, September 29, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I want to get out of all this mess, it's too terrible. We
were awakened early this morning and started out
immediately with all our equipment. We had Infantry men
helping out to carry our ammunition. It was raining
lightly and everything was mud and we slipped and fell
quite often. We advanced very carefully and slowly up
hill and down hill, looking for the Germans. As soon as
we found them, we were to establish a line. just about
noon bullets started to whizz past our heads. We had
caught up with them.
I glanced over to my right and saw men dropping, over to
the left also. We dropped into a huge shell-hole in front
of us and a little hill in front gave us pretty good
protection. We mounted the gun and got ready for action.
After a five-minute wait, which seemed like five hours,
the Infantry fellows started off again as far as you
could see. We were looking up the hill and, as our
Infantry was advancing, a German uniform stuck up out of
the ground and was directing a gunner at the machine gun
to shoot down the Infantry, which he was doing very
nicely. From the angle where I was, I could see
everything very plainly, as I was almost on his right
flank. The Infantry boys couldn't see the machine gun
nest very well. I opened up our gun and let him have it,
I was so sore at the moment. He was hitting our Infantry'
they were falling one after another. It was terrible! I
had to shoot.
There wasn't any more opposition, and we picked up our
gun and ammunition and started off again keeping up with
the Infantry. I walked up to the machine-gun nest and
there were the two Germans stretched out on their backs.
One of them was unconscious and the other opened his
eyes very weakly as I came up to him and when I looked
into his face, I felt like dying. I had a ghastly fear
that he was Uncle Franz, for he looked like him. I didn't
know what to say or do. I stood there dumb. The others
had gone on. I lifted his head, and blood spurted from
the wound on the side of his neck. I asked him, Sint sie
nicht Franz Barg, von Bremen aus? He opened his eyes very
slowly again and looked at me. He tried to, talk but
couldn't. I didn't know what to do and started to cry.
The man opened his eyes once more and smiled, as I
grasped his hand; then his eyes closed, and he was still.
He gave one slight gasp and passed on. I knelt there for
a little while just dumb. I couldn't think or do
anything. Of course, he was not Uncle Franz, but I kept
thinking of him in the German lines and my cousins there,
too.
An officer came along and started hollering at me:
"What the hell are you doing there? This is no time
for souvenir hunting! Don't you know we are advancing?
Leave those dead Germans alone! Come on!" I gathered
up the ammunition boxes and followed on. I was so
heartsick I couldn't talk. We finally hit a trench and
everybody got into it, the bottom is mud and water, but I
don't mind, I am so tired, wet all the way thru, and feel
miserable.
We sent a detail back for food this morning and they got
back at six tonight with ice-cold pan-cakes, bacon, bread
and coffee; that's all we ate today. We were lucky to get
that. This is about the worst place that we have ever
been in. This day has been like a dream to me, a terrible
nightmare. The German shells are dropping close to us,
according to the wounded and killed I saw today. It
doesn't seem that they are losing. They certainly are
doing some awful damage. Some of the wounded fellows are
going to have a tough time getting found where they fell
in this wilderness today. They might -never get found.
Oh, it's awful when you think of it! I can't write any
more tonight, Mother Dear.
CHARLES.
Monday, September 30 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
The artillery fire has been something awful for the past
two days. Shells are screaming over our heads constantly.
The Germans shell us quite often, and we are continually
hugging the earth, making ourselves as thin as possible.
I feel like a man of fifty, my bones ache so. I went on
gas guard this morning at one. I was supposed to wake up
another one of the fellows at three. We have the gun
mounted right on top of the trench at night, in case any
Germans come over.
It was pitch-dark last night while I was on guard. I
couldn't see my hand in front of me. It started to
drizzle a little and I huddled down close to the gun
under a piece of sheet-metal. I was-looking out in front
of the trench-occasionally a shell would go over and
explode in the distance, and once in a while I heard the
crack of a rifle shot off in the distance-some Infantry
fellow on guard, and shooting as soon as he heard a
suspicious noise.
I was very sleepy and did the most unexcusable thing that
I could possibly do in the Army, and that is to fall
asleep on guard duty. Everybody was asleep and, I was
responsible for them all. The last thing I remembered I
was thinking of home and wondering how soon I would get
back to it. I awoke with a start just a few minutes
before four o'clock, according to the radium dial on my
watch.
I awakened the fellow who was to go on guard after me,
and told him that I felt wide awake, and did an extra
hour for him, so he could get that extra sleep. He
thanked me and took his position at the gun. It sure was
a narrow escape. If I had been caught by an officer, they
could have shot me at sunrise. That's the penalty for
falling asleep on guard duty. I couldn't sleep any more
after that.
I went back with the ration detail at six this morning, a
trip so dangerous just now that nobody is anxious to go.
Four of our men who were sent back for rations yesterday,
Steinbach, Anderson, Lohmann and Norman, were wounded by
shrapnel and went back to the hospital. I don't seem to
be scared any more, and volunteered to go. What if I do
get hit; it might get me out of this mess! I don't want
to kill any more.
When we got to the kitchen, it was ten o'clock. It was an
easy eight miles each way. At ten-thirty, we started back
for the trenches. I carried thirty loaves of bread, each
one weighing two pounds. They were in two burlap bags
tied together, and I threw them over my shoulder. The
march back was up and down hill, through trenches and mud
and water. It was brutal! I didn't mind, because the men
need food, and they like these little round loaves. When
we got back to the company, it was after two o'clock and
I jus dropped. We passed many wounded on the way. The
whole place just stinks with the dead.
I met a soldier of Company A, 308th Infantry, on the way,
and I asked him about Sumner. When we were advancing up
here the other day, I saw a stretcher being pushed into
the top row of an ambulance on the road. The top of the
soldier's head was showing and it was peculiarly shaped
as Sumner's was. I recognized him by the top of his head.
The soldier told me today that he had been hit by a piece
of shrapnel on the back pretty badly and it had
penetrated his lung It sure made me feel bad when I heard
it. I couldn't talk to him the other day, as we were in
formation and marching up. I'm sorry now that I didn't
drop out and say a few words to him.
I fell asleep when I got back and woke up a little while
ago. I was surprised that they let me sleep s long, for
we sure are kept busy either getting ammunition or food
or cleaning the gun-always something to do to keep us
busy. The Germans are shelling u something terrible. I
had to stop writing for a while It's getting pretty dark,
too.
So long, Mother Dear!
CHARLES.