[Letter to His Mother, July 24, 1918, France]
 
France

July 24

Dear Mother,

After the doing's of the last week, all the boys here feel mighty fortunate to be here, 
writing or killing time, instead of being left along the roads or lying in the fields or 
woods, because it was warm, all along the line.  About three weeks ago, we left the front 
at Montdidier, after supper, and marched till about midnight to a little village.  Next 
morning, twenty of us were sent out with two truck loads of portable bath outfits and spent 
the day riding around to various towns.  On the following morning, the whole company set 
out and marched till noon, when we reached another little town everyone nearly used up 
by the heat and heavy packs.  For three days, we just loafed around and then had three more 
of light drills, with two hikes to a stream four miles away, to bathe.  Lord,  

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but that water was cold.  The first time, about thirty of us went, and took the wrong road, 
which tacked on a few more miles.  It began to rain soon after we started but the crowd 
managed to joke about it as we straggled along, and as it stopped after half an hour and 
the stream was located across a fair sized town where there were several chickens to 
whistle at, we got there at last, feeling almost cheerful.  Then it rained again.  Two days 
later, the company went down in a body, with two others, about six hundred in all, and, 
about half way there, went through the hardest shower of the season.  It came down in 
streams for fifteen minutes and by the time we reached the town, the sun was shining as 
brightly as ever.  It's a wonderful country.
Next day, we packed up and cleaned the billets carefully and, after supper, got into trucks 
with seats along the sides

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and rode all night until, at eight o'clock, we reached our new home, within sight of Paris.  
There had been a rumor that we were going to parade in Paris on the 14th and as it was, 
then, the 13th, everything looked good but nothing happened and, on the following afternoon, 
back came the trucks and there was more confusion and good-bye to the quiet night we had 
figured on.  When we got off the trucks next morning, about ten miles from the front, we 
were sleepy and tired out but it would have gone hard with any Germans if they had showed up.  
We camped in a wood for the day, using our reserve rations and, that night, moved to another 
wood where we slept on the ground.  During the night, the kitchens caught up with us and 
rations were brought up in trucks.  About ten o'clock in the morning, we had breakfast, a 
slice of raw

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beef, another of salt pork, some jam and plenty of bread.  I had fine luck with my steak and 
pork.  About two o'clock, the cooks served dinner, slum, coffee and bread and it was 
good, too.  We expected to leave that night and the cooks planned to have supper at eight 
but at seven, the order came to make up light packs and put the blanket rolls in a pile.  
Some one had to stay behind and guard the stuff but two fellows who were picked first, 
wouldn't take the job.  The third man did because he was so short that he always had trouble 
following the company.  The two fellows driving the Ford and the motorcycle went to the 
captain and asked to be relieved but he chased them out.  The cooks wanted to go with the 
company, too, but had no luck.

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At 7.30, we set out toward the trenches but stopped in a courtyard at midnight and lay on 
the grass till daylight but it was too chilly to sleep.  The kitchen (one on wheels) arrived 
about six and the cooks soon had things nearly ready.  Then came the order to fall in.  It 
did seem ridiculous but we all got a piece of bread and some coffee which we drank as we 
walked along.  The French soldiers along the line grinned.  The infantry had gone over the 
top about 4.30, starting the drive, and we soon saw the first prisoners, mostly boys or men 
about forty, and also, the first of the wounded, who were coming back in Fords or bigger 
ambulances.  Most of the less seriously wounded were smiling and chesty, they were so proud 
of their bandages.

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In about an hour, we reached the edge of a deep valley, with a badly battered town at the 
bottom.  The old front line had been at the opposite edge, about a mile across, but had been 
pushed ahead for five miles.  About half way down the hill, we stopped for a couple of 
hours, waiting for orders, then went on and stopped in the town, where the kitchen again met 
up, and, by some miracle, we had dinner.
By one o'clock, about a hundred of us got into trucks and zig-zagged slowly up the opposite 
hill, past more prisoners, some big French tanks and other trucks and wagons.  Those tanks 
look like sure death because only a shell or an accident can stop them, and remind one of a 
chunky motorboat out of the water, something

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like the American tanks.
We worked all the afternoon filling shell-holes along the road and had a highly interesting 
time, as the German guns could never reach back of us.  A few of us stopped near a few trees 
and got busy but at the same time the Germans decided to get the range of these same trees 
because they were the most conspicuous objects on the road for a couple of miles, either 
way.  A shell smashed on the road about 200 yards farther on then another.  We quit work and 
waited a couple of minutes and another landed with a loud whistle and a bang, about half 
the distance away.  We went back along the road to wait awhile and the next few shells 
raised black smoke and dust in a cloud about the trees.  A long column of wagons and 
caissons came along and as the first ones passed the trees, we heard a couple of crashes up 
there

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and the column stopped.  During the afternoon, a column of French cavalry turned off the 
road nearby and formed in a long skirmish line across the fields, afterward going up toward 
the front.  In their blue uniforms, they were a fine target and we could see for miles, on 
account of the level country, but not a shell came near them while they were in sight.  I 
heard that they brought back a couple of guns.  Half a dozen Boche planes dropped suddenly 
out of the clouds and began using their machine guns but were driven off in a few minutes 
by French planes.  We were helped out by some French soldiers, so that no one was overworked 
and, about five o'clock, a big Y.M.C.A. truck came along with a

[Pages 9-12 Missing]

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when we saw at least two dozen six inch German shells stacked up beside our ditch, with the 
fuses already set.  One shell fragment could do the truck.  Our trench was an old gun 
emplacement that the Germans had left the day before and about fifty yards away was another 
with more shells, also set.  It was very quiet during the forenoon and we spent the time 
dozing or looking across the fields to a line of trees on the skyline, about a mile and a 
half away, in front, because they marked a road and the new firing-line was just beyond 
them.  About a mile in front of us, in a hollow, was a small village that the Germans took 
a shot at, once in a while, also, the fields bordering it.  Puffs of black smoke were 
constantly appearing 
 
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near the line of trees and a low cloud of smoke was just visible, quite a distance beyond.  
The batteries behind us were the cause of that.  Early in the afternoon a young lad came 
along from the town and came directly to our trench, and, of course, we sent over a barrage 
of questions about the business up front.  His rifle was slung from his shoulder, with 
bayonet fixed, same as usual, but he certainly tripped over more well-known facts than 
anyone I'd heard but no one paid much attention till he had been gone about five minutes.  
Then two shells whizzed low overhead and burst about fifty yards behind us and a couple of 
minutes later, two more crashed beside a shell-hole where three fellows were laying 

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"I bet that feller gave us away with his bayonet shining in the sun," someone remarked and 
I think there was something in it, at that.  At anyrate, the shells flew over, about two or 
three per minute, for half an hour, up and down our line, in the field in front of us and 
finally, began dropping near the batteries.  Not a 'C' man was hurt, even.  About every 
hour, till evening, a few shells made us duck, but without harming any of the company.  
Something happened beyond the trees, about the middle of the afternoon, because our own guns 
opened up at full speed and dust and smoke rose as high as the treetops.  Several small 
parties of men left the town and went up toward the trees, also, a couple of small objects 
that might have been snails,

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from their speed, or tanks, went up, too.  The black puffs from German shells were dotted 
all along the line of trees and one dark grey spurt shot from the ground, so close to a 
little group of men that I wondered why they didn't drop.  They didn't even hesitate, that 
I could see.
The distance was too great, however, to see much, it was hot as a furnace in that ditch, 
those shells were liable to come anytime, and, besides, I was drowsy from losing so much 
sleep, so I spent most of the time cat-napping till evening.
As soon as it was dark, about nine o'clock, the kitchen was brought down and we had coffee 
and stew to help out the hardtack and corned-beef of dinner.  Then the captain 
announced that all who had to use their reserve rations during the day [must--should be 
underlined-ed.] draw new rations at once 

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and cases of hardtack and 'Willie' were opened.  Then he said that we must draw two more 
packages of hardtack, anyway.  He also said to take along every tool in sight, and a 
sergeant told his own platoon that those who had neither pick nor shovel would have to use 
their bayonets to dig in.  For the last two weeks and, especially, the last three days, we 
had heard all kinds of 'dope'? about 'going over the top' and how certain companies had 
already gone over with the doughboys, so the extra hardtack started a fresh buzz.  Anyway, 
we set out and marched, single file, for over an hour, parallel to the front, with all hands 
on the lookout for stray shovels.  At one place, we stopped for a minute and, as it 
happened,

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near the body of a doughboy, so one of the fellows stepped over for a look. "See if he's got 
a shovel" said the lad in front of me, and he was serious about it, too.  'Digging in' is a 
serious matter, after all.  We finally turned off the road into a field at a place where the 
ground sloped gently toward the lines, about two miles ahead.  Behind us, on the high 
ground, a couple of 70's were banging and about once a minute, a Boche shell passed, on the 
right, and burst near the guns.  We had hardly left the road when we smelled something which 
someone said was shell smoke, so we waited a few moments but it became so strong that we 
were putting on our masks when the lieutenant gave the same order.  After hanging around for 
ten minutes, we were taken back to the top of the hill, to wait for orders, and finally, off 
the road

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about a hundred yards, where we were soon digging shallow holes.  We were interupted several 
times by the old 'rum-rum-rum' and flares, overhead, also, half a dozen 'bangs!' on each of 
three sides but all at a safe distance.  You can imagine how we love them.  The wind blew 
the gas over us, occasionally, but finally died down, and we (five of us) finished our hole 
by scattering wheat-stalks over the fresh earth and went to sleep.  I did sleep, too, with 
a little heap of soft earth for a pillow and the helmet as a kind of shade.  It was eight 
o'clock before I finally sat up for a look around.  A shell would burst about every minute, 
somewhere down the road but not far off.  After awhile, we got our packs on and sat down to 
think over a few new orders.  We were going to support a certain infantry outfit and would 
have to pass through direct shellfire, farther down the road.  If  

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'So-and-So' was killed, the next in rank, etc.  Also, "Don't bunch up."  Most of the fellows 
looked unconcerned as we started and a few managed to find something funny about it.  Some 
fellows dread gas but are not much worried by shells or bullets, others are just the 
opposite.  I'm afraid of shells but that morning I didn't care much about anything.  What 
was the use?  If I was lucky, I'd get it in the arm or leg and have a change of scene for 
awhile.  We were moving in two files, one on each side of the road and in a few minutes, the 
leaders were in the zone where the shells were bursting.  The Boche must have seen us 
because the spurts of dirt and dark-grey smoke shot up every few seconds in the field.  As a 
rule, shells do as much mischief at a hundred yards as at fifty feet 

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because the pieces travel like bullets and, in this case, were dropping at intervals about 
the fields.  I was near the rear end of the line, in the second squad and we were well into 
the shelled spot, when the lines stopped and those ahead sat down.  On the left of the road 
was a high bank, about ten feet, like the one back of the house, so we moved over against 
it.  Down the road, about two hundred yeards, were the only trees in the vicinity and big 
shells kicked up the dirt near them, especially near the road, in flares that were ten feet 
thick at the ground and spread out, twice as high as a man.
Several gas-shells landed

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in the field opposite, as we knew by the way the dirt flew from spots in the field, followed 
by a lazy streak of grey smoke that came out of the hole.  The field opposite was below the 
road-level and on the opposite side rose in a low hill, just like Pat's lot with the bank 
just across the river.  The shells burst in the low hillside opposite and in a line that 
crossed the road a hundred yards behind me, the pieces flying over near us.  The boys down 
near the trees must have had a lively time and a few of them were helped or carried up the 
road during the next hour.  Several of us were sitting with about a foot space between and 
a small piece hit the foot of the second chap on my

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left, not badly.  He went back along the road.  A small lump also hit the ground two feet 
away while a third spent piece glanced off the sole of my shoe and hit the next chap.  No 
damage.  I got busy with my pick going down about a foot and about three foot long.  Just 
for my head and body.  Most of the others were digging, too, as we seemed liable to stay for 
sometime.  The shells would burst far off, down the line and in a few minutes would be 
dropping out in front, and, finally, in the fields behind us.  Then we'd have a little 
quiet.  The sun was pretty hot, so I made the most of our rest and scarcely bothered about 
the shells, as none of them dropped within

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a hundred yards.  But a dozen Boche planes showed up, at last, with machine guns rattling, 
and while they did not try for us, they must have signaled the guns, because the shelling 
began again.  They whizzed over the bank and dropped in the field facing us and in back, 
over the bank.  Then more quiet for a short time, followed by more shells, nearer still, 
especially in the field bordering our bank.  They quit for a few minutes but when they began 
again I knew something was liable to happen.  I could hear the whizz and smash just beyond 
the bank, one shell at a time, nearer and nearer but there was a chance that they would

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hop over the bank, itself, and hit the road, twenty feet away.  Two fellows were laying, 
side by side, in a shallow hole, with their helmets over their faces, their feet only a foot 
from my head.  Two shells crashed just beyond the bank, the pieces tearing past, a few yards 
overhead, with a sound that made me thankful for the high bank.  Then the whizz began again 
and I stiffened.  Smash-- and it was like turning down a lamp, for a moment.  A spot over my 
right ankle stung like fire but I didn't try to move for a few moments.  Almost the first 
thought was to escape the next shell and I looked toward the road for the shell-hole.

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No hole there but a look at the bank showed a big bite thrown out, at the edge.  Five feet 
more would have done us all.  One of the things we've learned is that a shell-hole is seldom 
hit, especially by the next shell, although I've seen a few cases where the edges met.  One 
of the two chaps had run up the road, with a fractured chest and a little hole in his right 
leg, near the hip.  The other chap wasn't touched.  There was a little round hole in my 
leggin, at the sore spot, so I took my rifle and started back for the dressing station, 
about half a mile away.  It was just an emergency station, though, and they told us to keep 
going, to a larger place in a

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big cave.  There was five in the party, by now, either limping or nursing a bad arm and that 
cave was almost two miles farther along.  I'd have walked twenty, I think, to get some 
relief from those shells.  After being dressed and tagged, we set out, walking slowly till a 
Red Cross auto should pick us up.  A Y.M.C.A. Ford met us and the chocolate and smokes 
handed out, helped out beautifully.  A big truck caught up with us and we crowded in, going 
back along the route and, after an hour or more, were put off in a clean-looking town, 
beside a building that must have been an old castle, from it's appearance.  The hospital was 
beside it.  Everyone got a few cigarrettes, some had dinner, and finished with a 'shot,'just

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over the belt-buckle, to prevent blood-poison.  Well, we got another ride in a truck, 
more treats from the Y and the Red Cross, a train ride all night to Paris, and finished with 
a ride in an ambulance, crosstown, to the American Army Hospital, No. 1, at Neuilly 
[(Ner-ye)?].  They fixed me up about noon, with a few cuts and a bandage, and I certainly 
slept, that night, on an army cot with a light mattress and pillow, a real treat.  One of 
the Corps men said it was wonderful, how quiet and cheerful the boys were.  I guess that was 
why I hadn't even thought of such a thing, but he was right.  We left on the following 
morning, on a U.S. hospital train that is a wonder for comfort and at three o'clock, got off 
and had a ride in the dark to this place.  The lights around the station

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and on the auto, were like old times, after so many months of darkness near the front.  The 
hospital here, is in the grounds of a chateau, all the sleeping rooms being small buildings 
of tile and cement, with slate roofs.  There are dozens of them scattered around, light, 
airy affairs with plenty of windows, and single iron beds so soft and springy that I'll have 
to learn, all over again, how to enjoy a little straw on a barn floor.  And there's the 
bread.  We had our last 'homemade' white bread early in January and have lived on French war 
bread since, good solid stuff that doesn't break and waste

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when thrown in a pile.  And the American coffee, and tea, with plenty of milk and sugar, and 
the other 'eats'-- and no reveille or formations or work, except to help clean up around the 
place.  Who wouldn't enjoy the change?  When you get this, I'll be back with the company 
again, but I'll have had this rest, anyway, just for a little hole less than half an inch 
deep.  I sent off a postal, a week ago, but this letter has taken a week to write because 
I'd tackled a bigger contract than I had figured on and I don't like to write, anyway.  I'm 
afraid my mail is going to be snarled up for sometime but I'll get it all, finally.  I wrote 
that

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letter as you advised, just in time, if that shell had only gone a few feet more.  That flag 
with it's one star is fine business but I hope you don't get that nice black armband with 
one gold star.  If things turn out right at last, I ought to get back before young Joe D. 
is called up but I guess it's best to wait awhile, before making plans.  Your loving son,
Rob
P.S. General Pershing was here two days ago, with a party of officers.  He had four stars in 
a row on his shoulder, while others had two or one.  Then there were others with only an 
eagle or a leaf and finally, two silver bars.  I wonder how a buck private would have 
looked, in that outfit.

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After reading this for mistakes, I found [one?] I haven't mentioned the nurses.  Everyone of 
them has a man-sized job and it is disagreeable work, too.  And the poets who grind out the 
sentimental stuff about the wounded heroes and their nurses never got their care from this 
or the other hospital.  And yet, everyone gets along nicely with everyone.
No one would ever think that the crowd, laying around in pajamas and bathrobes on the grass 
or crowding into the movies, were the same who helped chase the Germans two weeks ago.  That 
Corps man was certainly right, even if they are only light cases.

[Transcribed by Lauren Kanne, May 2009]