November 27
DEAR MOTHER
The lid is off, at last we can come out of the trenches and
go over the top in our letters. Old Man Censor has had his whiskers
cut and we can throw the ink from bottle to paper without a worry.
As you know, I jumped from the minor league (American Field
Service) into the major (U. S. Army) on October 1st, 1917. After
taking the leap we were sent to Soissons (Aisne) which was to
be our home for some little time. Soissons was some town! The
Boche had been there before us, but had left a great part of
the city standing. With its hotels, cafés, tea rooms,
stores, and bath house, we led the life of Riley.
Our camp lay just on the edge of the city on the bank of the
Aisne river, and in the camp I had my first lesson in ditch digging,
kitchen policing, drilling, rock breaking, and a few other like
things.
Things went along pretty smooth for us until March 21, when
there came the grand finale as far as Soissons was concerned.
Up to that date we had had a few air raids, which would start
the twins barking and us running for abris. The twins were a
pair of "seventy-fives" in a field right behind camp.
On March 21 things began to pick up. All the morning I had
been hauling rock and more rock, and along towards noon I was
tired, dirty, and didn't much care if school kept or not. I walked
into our barracks and started some water boiling to remove my
rock hauling makeup (as far as I know, that water is still boiling).
Was lying on my bunk when the word came that we were to pack
up our stuff and be ready to move at any moment. It was like
a bolt out of a clear sky. "Be ready to move," and
we thought we were settled for the rest of the war!
It did not take long to roll up my blankets, to dump my stuff
into my barracks bag, and to lug it all down to my truck. Started
to roll my blankets after I got them to the camion, when there
came a whistle, a bang, and a shower of dirt, stones, and twigs.
A shell had landed on the other side of the river. Before I had
time to collect my thoughts there came another whistle. This
time I was under the truck ahead of the bang, ---more dirt, rocks,
and twigs. No wonder they were moving camp! There was a bridge
dead ahead of me, about forty yards away. These two shells had
just missed the end furthest from me, and I could see that if
the bridge was the attraction I didn't want to stick around.
My blankets were still unrolled and I started at them again.
Another whistle, another dive, and this time a regular downpour.
This shell had landed on my side of the river just off the bridge.
Right on its heels came another, and this one saw my exit. I
started for camp on the run, but didn't get far before there
came a bang. The concussion floored me and when I picked myself
together, saw a bunch of the boys gathered around something under
a tree that had been hit.
The something was one of the boys wounded, in the leg. Why
no one else was wounded, or no one killed, is a miracle, as that
shell hit where every one seemed to be. No doubt hitting so high
up the éclat was thrown over our head. The boy who was
wounded is now in the States. His leg is now O. K., but he will
always be lame.
That noon while at lunch two more shells landed in the river,
side of the dining room. It seemed as though they were following
us. Later on when we turned the trucks around, and ran them by
camp away from the bridge, the shells began to land up at that
end. That night, however, the Huns raised their guns and began
to send the shells over our heads towards the railway station.
All that night we would hear the whistle of the shells passing
over head and the bang in the distance of their landing.
The next day we moved out of Soissons onto the "Route
de Paris." We were just outside the city and all night and
most of the day it was bang, bang, bang. The Huns certainly were
throwing the shells into the city, and it didn't make you feel
"in the pink," when you had to go into it for water,
and to the storehouse and railway station for supplies. All the
time we were there it was "beaucoup" work. We carried
a great many troops from one front to another and miles of shells.
In fact it was work from then on.
After a short stay here we carried on to Villa Helon, which
is about two kilometers from Longpont. This town was a gem and
it certainly was tough when we had to leave. The day we left,
May 28, I believe, the town roads were crowded with incoming
and outgoing troops.
We moved at about midnight and the Huns gave us a farewell
in the shape of a bombing. The French were setting up their famous
seventy-five guns in the rear of the chateau as we pulled out.
That wonderful chateau is now, no doubt, a heap of ruins.
Refugees were everywhere. Wagons loaded with their goods,
people on foot, in carts, on bicycles, all moving towards Paris,
crowded the roads.
From Villa Helon we pushed on to Barcy, stopping over night
a couple of times at some towns. Barcy lies just outside the
city of Meaux and is right where France turned the Germans back
in 1914.
While in this town we carried shell after shell to those points
where the heaviest fighting was going on. It was at Chateau-Thierry
that we first saw the American troops in number.
What a changed Chateau-Thierry it was when the Boche were
driven out! It, wasn't as badly shot up as I expected to find
it, but it certainly had been mauled.
From Barcy we moved to Hardivillers. This small town lies
between Breteuil and Crèvecur-le-Grand, not far
from Amiens. In the latter place and beyond, we saw our first
of the British. It was in and around Amiens that bombs were the
thickest. The country was so open that a night convoi was always
an invitation for a bomb. Between Moreuil and Hangest they took
twelve shots at us without a hit. That same night, however, they
got another section and wounded a couple of men and killed another.
Our next stop was Bus, the town of no roofs and German dugouts,
with the nearby woods that sported the German huts. Bus is between
Montdidier and Roye. The former city is the worst shot up of
any that I have seen. It lies on the top of a hill and is just
blown to dust. Not a wall or a tree standing. One could live
in Roye without a great deal of rebuilding, but there are only
walls left. Ham wasn't shot up, but burned. While at Bus my permission
came through and I left the bunch not knowing where I would find
them when I came back.
Port-à-Binson was where I found them. No doubt you
read how the Germans tried to get into Épernay on account
of its being a centre for supplies. Port-à-Binson is not
far from Épernay, lying on the bank of the river Marne.
Here it was I took up the duties of clerk --- something I'll
always remember.
When we moved again it was to Jonchery, between Fismes and
Rheims. While in the Field Service I had often gone through Fismes;
you wouldn't know it now, ruins is no name for it. From there
we rolled on to Malmaison. Here we got the news that the armistice
had been signed. Since leaving that town, we have stopped over
night in a few other villages until we struck here.
This account is more or less a bunch of names. I haven't said
much about the work, which has been carrying shells most of the
time. Nor have I given much dope on some of the excitement that
we have seen. Believe me, we have had a little excitement in
the way of bombs, and once in a while, shells.
I wrote about the Boche and their camouflaged plans. That
took place at Chézy aux Orxois between Chateau-Thierry
and Mareuil sur Ourcq. On that day we were carrying shells and
my car being the last had the fusees. You can see that underneath
my car was no place at all to use as an abris.
I'm enclosing a bit of German propaganda, some of the bunk
that they used to drop from planes. They certainly must have
been in a pipe dream if they expected any one to fall for that
stuff. Their minds work in a queer way.
One of the men who used to work in the atelier when we had
French workmen, came in to see us the other day. He had just
got back from his permission and from seeing his wife and son
who had been prisoners. The Huns had cut the forefinger from
each of his wife's hands. That was mild compared with some of
the other things that they did.
The other night we staged a party. The result is my drawing
of Monsieur Light Wine. Never again.
Rumors are flying about. The latest is that all men will return
to their original companies. That's all right, but what becomes
of the Field Service men? If it's all the same to those higher
up, I'll take home.
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