THE 306TH MACHINE GUN BATTALION THIS MAN'S WAR- BY CHARLES F. MINDER

APRIL

DEAR MOTHER, Friday, April 12, 1918

It is nine o'clock and we are on a train, having just passed New Rochelle, and are headed north, where to, we do not know, except that we are now on the way to France. We came over the Hell Gate Bridge. That was a wonderful thrill. New York looked great, even though it was dark and you couldn't see very far. New York sure made me wonder whether I would ever see it again. The fellows are all singing, Some are playing cards and you would think they were going off on a picnic to have a good time. I wish I could be so light-hearted. Poor fellows, they might as well be as happy as they can, for it will not be long before they will realize that this is a serious mission we are going on. As bad as the food was at the barrack, I missed it tonight on the train, because all we got was some cold salmon out of cans and some bread and butter. We stopped for a little while somewhere in Westchester and some Red Cross women served us hot coffee. This was a lifesaver as we were cold.

We had our first experience in eating out of our mess kits. They are made out of aluminum and, after we are thru eating, we all have to clean them ourselves. This automatically wipes out the Kitchen Police detail from now on.

At two-fifteen this afternoon, we lined up outside, said good-bye to the good old barrack, and the whole Battalion marched off to the station and got on the train. There was something about that march that gave me a thrill. It made me feel like a conquering hero. I guess it's the comradeship with the men that makes you feel that way. We whistled and sang the popular war songs all the way, and some of the fellows haven't stopped yet. The Sergeant just told me that I go on guard duty at eleven and stay on until one. All the corporals have to stand on the platform of the train and see that no private jumps off, or tries to desert. The privates have it easy tonight. I don't think there is going to be any comfortable sleeping tonight. We are in coaches and all have to sit up. It's pretty tough trying to sleep that way unless you are dead tired, and when you wake up, your bones are stiff from the uncomfortable position.

Some of the fellows think they are taking us up to Canada to get on a boat there, to avoid the submarines. But I don't see how that is possible because we are going in the direction of New England. Good night, Mom Dear, all my love to you and Mousie.

Affectionately,

CHARLES.

Saturday, April 13, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We are now on a steamer called the Karoa, an English ship, with a crew of Malays and natives from India.

There are fully two thousand men on board and it is too big a crowd for the size of the ship. There are only twelve showers on board the whole ship and bathing is impossible. The whole 306th Machine Gun Battalion, Headquarters and Medical Corps, are on board, also all of E Company of the 306th Infantry, with their Headquarters Company, Regimental Headquarters and Supply Companies. It is some crowd! I was relieved at one this morning after being on guard for two hours. Most of the fellows were sound asleep and snoring as terribly as ever. The noise of the train drowned them out, however. I slept then until six this morning.

At seven, we arrived at Boston, and immediately detrained and were marched to the Cunard docks. We had a long wait on the dock, for it wasn't until two o'clock that we boarded the boat. The fellows were all ravenously hungry and ate too much of the meal that the English cooks on the ship served us.

The crew of this ship are very interesting to watch, but they are a dirty lot. I don't think they ever bathe. At five o'clock we put off to sea. It's ten o'clock now, and I guess we must be about a hundred miles off the coast somewhere. All the lights on the ship are out. No one is allowed on deck. They are afraid we might be seen by a submarine and sunk, so they are not taking any chances. Well, Mom, I feel I am in the Navy tonight. I have my hammock all ready to hook up and have been waiting until things kind of settle down so that I can get to sleep. I feel all right, not seasick yet. I think the five years of motor boating I did on Long Island Sound did me a lot of good because I have good sea legs.

It's a shame the way we are herded in here. Why, it's worse than the cattle-pens! I hope this is a fast boat and we get over quickly because this is going to be terrible. Well, Mother Dear, I would give anything 'in the world to be home with you right now.

Your soldier sailor boy,

CHARLES.

Sunday, April 14, 1918

DEAR Mom,

We were awakened at seven this morning. I was dead tired because I had such difficulty in falling asleep last night. It must have been between two and three in the morning when I finally dozed off. My mind was wandering something terrible. I've had a dull headache all day and feel seasick.

We had a little excitement this afternoon about five o'clock. The boat suddenly stopped and everyone went to the rail to see what was the matter. A hydroplane was drifting helplessly on our starboard side and there were two aviators in it. One was standing out on the wing waving frantically. When he saw the ship stop, I can just imagine his feelings. In a short time it would have become dark and they would probably have drifted out to sea. They sure were lucky that our ship came along when it did. They were from the fort at Rockaway and their machine had broken down. They drifted alongside and a derrick was lowered to them arid they hooked the plane and hoisted it up on deck.

We were all surprised tonight to see the electrically illuminated ferris wheel at Coney Island. I stayed up until we dropped the anchor. We are somewhere in New York Bay, back to where we started from. Why we took that long ride last night to Boston on the train is beyond me. What a waste of time and expense! But that's the way they do things in the Army. A submarine chaser came alongside, and we lowered the hydroplane and the aviators down to the water and they towed it away.

Yours, as ever,

CHARLES.

Monday, April 15, 1918

DEAR MOM,

We are still anchored in New York harbor. What a temptation to Jump overboard and swim home to you today! We loafed practically the whole day, with the exception of a half-hour physical culture drill up on the deck where the officers are. The soldiers are all down below and are not allowed to go up with the officers. They have a wonderful deck to promenade on up there. All we can do is to walk around the hatches on the front and rear decks. They also made us stand for a physical examination. This broke up the day's monotony. There are a number of other ships anchored here in the harbor and I think they are part of the convoy that we go over in.

We saw a huge dirigible balloon flying over Staten Island this afternoon and it sure did look pretty in the sunshine. They say that the balloon crew can see far out over the ocean to protect us from submarines. The fellows are getting used to the crowded quarters and there were fewer complaints today. The men seem to be in a better state of mind since the sun came out again.

The food on board is terrible. We have a couple of cockney Englishmen cooking for us, and it's a shame that they get away with it, because they cannot cook decently at all. The coffee is served from a big garbage can. There probably never was any garbage in it but when you see them dip the coffee out of it, your stomach turns just the same. The smoking order has been changed. We are allowed to smoke below decks now, but under no circumstances must a light be seen on deck after five o'clock.

Today, the fellows got their cards out and are gambling furiously.

One fellow in the company who is a nut on keeping track of things reminded us that tonight, six years ago, the Titanic sunk on her maiden trip, fifteen hundred and eight people out of the two thousand two hundred and twenty-three passengers drowning. Some of the more sensitive fellows shouted to throw the crape-hanger overboard. It isn't a very pleasant subject to bring up when everyone on board is worried about being sunk by a torpedo from a German submarine. I slept pretty good last night, Mother Dear. The ham-mock wasn't so bad after all. It is beckoning me now so will end this and add some more tomorrow.

Your homesick

CHARLES.

Tuesday, April 16, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We left this morning at a quarter of eleven with fourteen other ships. The Karoa is the flagship of the convoy. We have Brigadier General Wettenmeyer on board with us. This morning we lost another officer from our company. He was ill with appendicitis when we left Camp Upton but pluckily came along just the same. It was more than he could stand, so the submarine chaser NO. 425 took Lieutenant Nachazel and a few sick privates off the ship and took them over to New York, I guess. Lucky fellows, I call them.

We had another physical culture drill up on the officers' deck and another physical inspection. The officers sure have it wonderful up there. They have a nice dining-room and private staterooms, while we soldiers are worse off than steerage passengers. The animals on cattle boats have better quarters than we. When I walk past the place where they are cooking the food for the officers, my mouth waters. This afternoon I saw about fifty chickens all laid out ready to go into an oven. They had them tonight. We had beef stew, mostly flour and water to thicken it. I didn't eat much of it because I didn't like it, and, furthermore, I do not want to overload my stomach, because that is what makes you seasick. Well, I guess you must know by now that we left Camp Upton because you didn't get any letter from me for three or four days.

CHARLES.

DEAR Mom, Wednesday, April 17, 1918

The sea was just a little choppy but nobody is sea-sick as yet. No one has been since that terrible first night on board. The 306th Infantry band was playing for a while today and it sure was great. It was just what we needed to chase the blues away. We had some more calisthenics and physical inspection today and loafed the rest of the time.

The steamer Philadelphia, on our starboard, almost collided with us tonight, coming within one hundred and fifty feet of us. The Captain of our ship put up the starboard light for a moment and the Philadelphia headed off again in a different direction. These fourteen ships in our convoy keep pretty close together, and how they avoid hitting each other is beyond me. At night, you can't see the other ships at all, and this morning when we awoke, even tho it was foggy, they managed to keep together. I hope this keeps up all the way across or we'll be bumping into one an-other.

The moon and stars are out tonight and it looks promising for some good weather. I was up on deck tonight, looking up at them and wished I was living on another planet instead of on this mad world. I was swinging a little last night in my hammock and fell asleep while dreaming of you, Mother Dear.

Your

CHARLES.

Friday, April 19, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

The weather was good and bad today, mostly bad. We had another boat drill today and the usual physical culture drill and physical inspection. Nobody is sick as yet. The Karoa is riding the waves very good tonight, and the sea is a little calmer than it was this afternoon. It is just a week tonight that we left Camp Upton and it seems like a year. How quickly the time passes! We have all been thru something this past week and the worst is yet to come, I think. The ships in the convoy are all staying together nicely and nothing exciting happened today.

The officers had a wonderful looking lot of fish to eat tonight. I saw them as I walked past their kitchen today. They opened a lot of cans of salmon for us, heated it, and poured a lot of thick creamy gravy over it. We were hungry and it tasted good. They served us some rotten English tea tonight and the fellows let out a yell. They want coffee, even though it is served out of a garbage can. Sleepy now so will climb into my hammock. I have a nice quiet spot all by myself over in one corner.

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Saturday, April 20, 1918

We shoved the clock fifty minutes ahead today, according to the ship's clock. A sailor strikes the bell every half-hour so that's the way we tell. There is a sailor up in the lookout on the front mast all the time looking out over the ocean, and if he sees anything that looks suspicious and might be a submarine, he gives the alarm.

One little Italian fellow in our company turned actually yellow today. He is terribly seasick. The surprising part is that we haven't had any big waves as yet. I'll never forget the big waves we ran into the time we all went over to Germany when I was a little boy. At that time, I thought sure the waves would go right over the ship. I still remember that we were all ordered below decks for two days. Do you remember? It was very windy, cloudy and cold today, which made it very unpleasant. I think I will sleep with all my clothes on tonight.

Good night, Mom Dear,

CHARLES.

Monday, April 22, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

Tonight we entered the danger zone and everybody is on edge. We are getting near to the coast of Europe and the German submarines are in this vicinity. The moon is shining brightly and the ships are easily distinguishable, and we make excellent targets for the enemy to shoot at. I can see all the other ships in the convoy tonight and it is a very pretty picture. The farthest one is about two miles away on our port side. I wonder how many men there are on the other ships! They are all larger boats. The one we are on is just a little freight ship. The two thousand men crowd it something awful.

It's wonderful, when you think of it, how we are getting all our soldiers to the other side. The Germans never thought that we would be able to. There are almost a million of us in France now and more coming. When the Germans see this crowd, they are going to drop dead, I think. There aren't so many of them left, you know. I read that they are putting all the kids in the Army as soon as they reach eighteen. Isn't it awful when you think of it? Just think of all the widows there are going to be after the war is over!

At three o'clock all the non-coms were assembled and we had an hour of school and examination on almost everything we have already learned. It's surprising how quickly you can forget. All of us were rusty and the Lieutenant made a remark to the effect that we must do better than that if we want to hold our jobs. I'm still acting corporal, haven't received any chevrons as yet, and am getting the pay of a first-class private only. I'm working cheaply for Uncle Sam. He has lots of expenses, at the moment, so I don't mind, and will help him along a little. I can't ask him for a raise as I would do in civil life.

The gamblers are still playing poker, black-jack, and banker and broker. This boat is another Yukon gambling dive. The smoke is thick from the fellows smoking and the gamblers wager recklessly. The fellow who has been winning so consistently added another hundred and ten dollars to his winnings and now is four hundred and ten dollars to the good. He would have to be in the army for over a year to earn what he has in the last week. Well, Mom, that's about all for today.

Love to you both,

CHARLES.

Thursday, April 25, 1918

DEAR MOM,

We had some calisthenics this morning, and it did us a great deal of good. We did double-time, running on one spot. This kept up for about fifteen minutes, so I guess we ran about two miles, jumping up and down on the one spot.

One of the fellows from upstate, a healthy red-cheeked fellow, by the name of Anderson, rebelled today. He has been complaining about the food a lot. He became so mad that he threw his whole mess kit full of food on the floor. The Top-Sergeant came along and saw it and told him to clean it up. Anderson refused, saying it wasn't fit for dogs, and so forth. The Top-Sergeant left and shortly came back with the Captain of our company. Everybody stood at attention while he bawled us out, telling Anderson that it was downright mutiny to carry on in that way, and that he could be court-martialed for it. Anderson told the Captain that if he could get the same food that they were feeding the officers, there would be no mutiny. Evidently Anderson has been walking past the officers' kitchen, where I have been strolling each day. I saw pies) puddings and steaks, and I told you about the fifty chickens I saw.

The Captain was stumped and couldn't answer for about a half a minute. He is fair and square, and down in his heart, he knew about the different quality of food the men were getting in comparison to the officers. He made Anderson clean up the mess and left. Tonight there was a great difference in our meal, the best we have had since we got on the ship. The cooks went thru a little more trouble and made a farina pudding for us just smothered with a nice vanilla sauce. This is the first dessert we have had on this ship. I am beginning to think that we have been entitled to dessert at every meal, but somebody has been holding back on us. We had a nice piece of roast meat tonight. Up to now, I guess they have been cutting it up and dumping it into a big pot and just making a rotten stew out of it. Slum is the name the fellows give it.

Anderson was all smiles tonight. The fellows were all kidding him and thanking him for having put up the kick. No one else had the nerve to do it. I wish he would have started to boil ten days ago and all the rotten meals we had would have been avoided. Now we are almost over. It pays to kick sometimes. Well, Mom Dear, guess that's all for tonight, will add some more tomorrow.

CHARLES.

Friday, April 26, 1918

DEAR MOTHER)

The sun came out in all its glory today, and life was worth living again. I had a wonderful sunbath this afternoon and kind of dried myself. Four more destroyers joined our convoy this morning, and we are sailing merrily along and have plenty of protection now. I don't think any German submarine will come near us. We still have our life preservers on and haven't got used to them yet; I don't think I ever would. They took all our hammocks away from us this morning, and we thought sure we would land some time today. Here it is ten o'clock, and we are still on the ocean, and I don't know where we are going to sleep tonight! The things they do in this Army! I think they're all crazy. Our packs are all made up, and it is some job to undo them to get our blankets out. No one seems to know what to do. If we unpack them, we might be called in the middle of the night to get off the boat. If they would only tell us that we land tonight sometime, we would know what to do. The officers are well off. It makes no difference to them, because they have private staterooms and bunks in each one of them. There is much more room down below now that they took the hammocks from us, and it will be easier to get out in case of accident.

This afternoon I went up to the front of the ship and looked down at the water and two great big fish were racing along with the ship. They must have been at least five feet long and looked like sharks to me. I became dizzy, looking down at them, and continued on my walking trip back and forth. An hour later I took another look and they were still there racing along with us. The fellows are still playing cards and only stop long enough to eat and sleep. I see a bundle of bags over in the corner and am going to lie down on them and get a little rest.

Good night,

CHARLES.

Saturday, April 27, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

Well, we got over safe and sound. The funny part of it is that we are in the harbor outside of Liverpool, in England. I thought we were going to France and what we are doing way up here is beyond me. It is now twelve. We dropped anchor twenty minutes ago and it looks like we stay here for the night. Our packs are still made up, and I wish they would have let us keep our hammocks so we could sleep decently.

I had a terrible time for sleep last night. I was up a number of times. The fellows were sprawled around everywhere on the hard floor, using their packs for pillows. Some were sitting on the benches at the mess tables with their heads on the table fast asleep. There were four others with me trying to sleep on the bundle of bags. We froze all night. At six o'clock this morning I went up on deck and we were still out on the ocean. We had a physical culture drill this morning. The fellows were half dead from the terrible night. Then we had another physical examination.

This afternoon we lined up and signed the pay-roll. I guess our next pay will be in foreign money. We had the first sight of land this afternoon at three-thirty. How the fellows shouted! Everybody was up on deck. Surely the joy of Columbus, when he saw land, had nothing on us. It was the Holly Head of Wales that we saw. It was just a mass of rocks and looked like Gibraltar. It was spotted with white houses on the orange and purple rocks. It was a wonderful sight with the Philadelphia on our starboard side silhouetted against the mass. The water is called the Irish Sea, and it is well named, for it has a wonderful green color, a light Zinnobar Green. At night it turned to a more milky green. We saw no more land after passing that point until we dropped anchor. We can see the lights of Liverpool very dimly. The boat is steady now and I am glad the trip is over. We changed the time forty-five minutes today, making a total of four and a quarter hours difference from New York time.

The coolie crew brought out some musical instruments tonight and played some weird music. They cook their own food in the stern of the ship and it sure does smell terrible. I don't know how they can eat that kind of food. The smell is enough to knock you over. On this trip they walked about, doing their work barelegged with just a white sheet around their bodies. The soldiers were all bundled up in overcoats and freeking, and these devils didn't seem to mind the cold at all. The English officers of the boat shout at them something terrible. They all speak the India tongue, and it sure is a strange sounding language. I guess it's the bundle of bags over in the corner for me again. Why they ever took those hammocks away from us, I don't understand. Well, Mom, guess I will close this one and perhaps will get a chance to mail it tomorrow.

CHARLES.

Sunday, April 28, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

It's eleven-thirty, and we are on an English train somewhere in England going South. We stopped at a town called Rugby for fifteen minutes at eleven o'clock and some English Red Cross women gave us all some hot coffee. It was a life-saver. We are on a train that has five compartments, holding eight men in each. The doors are on the side of the train, not at the end, like the American trains are. Quite a novelty these trains. This morning, when I went up on deck after another restless night, our ship was away up on the Mersey River, having moved up during the night as the tide rose. All morning we worked, helping in bringing all our supplies out of the hold and placing them on deck. About two o'clock a tug pulled us over to the shore, and we all got off. It did feel good to get on land again.

We were fifteen days on the Karoa. The harbor was very picturesque and interesting. I wish this was a pleasure trip so I could go sightseeing. The dock was fenced in all around and we could see nothing of the town. I was disappointed.

At a quarter to seven this evening, after waiting around on the dock all afternoon, we boarded this train and soon after started on our way. The scenery on the way was beautiful, everything was in bloom. A wonderfully kept hedge is on both sides of the railroad tracks all the way. I swear it must be hundreds of miles long, because we have been riding for almost five hours and the hedge is still here. And what a difference between this and our railroads in America! This is scrupulously clean. There is no junk alongside the tracks in this country. I think I would like to live over here just for the pretty scenery. We also stopped at a place called Creve for a few minutes at nine o'clock. The train is shaking too much for writing, so will close, Mother Dear, and hope I get a chance to mail this soon. These seats are soft, so it won't be so bad sleeping, but it will have to be sitting up. Will add more to this tomorrow.

CHARLES.

Monday, April 29, 1918

DEAR MOM,

At four-thirty this morning, we were awakened by a great deal of noise and shouting. The English conductors of the train were shouting, "Change!" Over in the States, they holler, "All Out! Last Stop!" So we changed. We were lined up, counted off, and started to march over cobblestones. These cobbles must have been on these streets for hundreds of years. It was very interesting marching through the city so early in the morning. Everybody was still asleep. So there was no cheering like we got when we paraded on Fifth Avenue in New York. We finally ended up at a rest camp in the city of Folkestone.

We are billeting in mansions sacrificed by rich people for the soldiers. The Birchfield Mansion is directly opposite us and is crowded with doughboys. This Birchfield must be some English Duke or something from the appearance of his home. There are ten of us in the room I am in. Straw mattresses are on the floor. We each have two blankets and I had a wonderful sleep all afternoon.

This morning after giving us a good breakfast, we were told we could visit the town if we wanted to from nine until eleven. We are enclosed by a six-foot fence al around. As sleepy as we were, all took advantage of the two hours of freedom, and we passed out thru the gate and walked around the town. It was great. What a wonderful little city! I hope to go back here some day and do some sketching. The buildings are all low and old. A wonderful quaint town it is. The English people were all very polite and kind. They sure are glad to see the "Sammies," as they called us.

We had a lot of fun in the stores buying things. The money is different. When we asked how much something cost, they would answer, "Tuppence ha'penny" and "Shilling thripence," or something like that. All the soldiers were bewildered and wanted to know what that was in American money. I have a bunch of English coins now that I got in change when I gave them my American money, which they took gladly. I don't, know exactly what I have now, and I can just imagine how foreigners must feel when they come to the United States.

This city was bombed from the sky recently. A German zeppelin came over one night and dropped bombs on it. You should see some of the houses. One of them was completely cut in half, as if you had taken a knife and sliced it off. Some of the houses were altogether smashed away, nothing left but huge piles of stones. Many people were killed and injured. That's another thing I can't understand, why they have to come over a city like this and drop bombs on the women and children? There are no soldiers here. Why don't they do their fighting at the front? Killing these poor civilians won't get them anywhere. The world is mad, Mother. All the lights go out at nine in this town. The windows are all draped with black cloth. There are a number of searchlights off in the distance tonight illuminating the sky. They are searching for enemy aircraft. I saw my first sight of the battle front tonight across the Channel. The Tommy told me that it was Ypres that we were looking at. Even though it is about thirty miles away, I heard the faint sound of artillery firing and saw the flashes of the guns over here in Folkestone. Mind you, across the Channel from France! We are pretty close to it now. Well, Mother Dear, I guess I'm in for it now. I will close this long letter and mail it to you in the morning. Good night, God bless you. All my love to you and Mousie. How I wish I were with you!

Affectionately,

CHARLES

DEAR MOTHER, Tuesday, April 30, 1918

You'll get a surprise when you get this letter. We are now in a rest camp sixty miles behind the front-line trenches on the north coast of France. We can hear the bombarding going on all the time. Tonight, we can see the flashes of the artillery very plainly. It is all so very interesting. I don't know where to start. It is just like I read about, but when I used to read the war stories a couple of years ago, I never thought that some day I would be in it. And here I am now, a soldier, and I guess there will be just as much adventure ahead of me as the other soldiers went thru who have gone on ahead.

On our right is a camp of Chinese coolies. They sleep in tents and are boarded in by a large fence. They are playing strange music over there, and it sure does sound as if we were somewhere in China. There are all kinds of soldiers in this camp, English Tommies, Canadians, French, and some negro troops from Morocco. Gee, but it's interesting! Lots of activity around here, too. Supplies are piled high. Everybody rushes around real businesslike and it sure does look like war.

I saw a bunch of German prisoners working over at the railroad station. They looked at us American soldiers with surprise. We seemed to interest them a lot. I guess we must have been the first American soldiers they saw. Their expressions seemed to ask, "Where did they come from?" They have always thought, no doubt, that their submarines would keep us away from Europe.

I must tell you about how we got here today. I woke this morning at seven, after having ten hours of good solid sleep and felt bully after it. We all packed up and marched away from the Folkestone rest camp and marched to Shorricliffe near by, and left there on a train at ten-thirty-five. The crowds along the way cheered us and made us feel good. They shouted, "Good luck, Sammies!" Some of the young children hollered after us, "Give 'em. 'ell, Sammies!" They don't sound their h's' and it sure does sound funny to our ears. It made us laugh.

My impression of England was nothing but women, children and old men. The young men and middle-aged ones must either be at the front or have been killed off already. We had a nice ride on the train and arrived at Dover at one-thirty. They gave us a quick bite, and at two-twenty, they put us on boats and we left England. The trip across the Channel was quite rough and a couple of the boys almost got sick again.

We arrived at Calais on the northern coast of France at three-forty. It only took an hour and ten minutes to cross and at exactly four-thirty-five, I stepped on French soil. What a thrill it was! We all feel like veterans and we haven't seen any action as yet. The French people cheered us with great enthusiasm. They feel that we are going to help them win the war, I guess. I saw lots of women with tears streaming down their faces and shouting, "Viva la' Merick!' and a lot of other things in French. I wished I understood French. It was very touching.

The crowd consisted mostly of women and children. The few men whom I saw were old and feeble. They had wonderful smiles on their faces, these old birds. It made you feel like a conquering hero, and we all marched on with chins high and chests up. After a short march through the town, we got to this rest camp and we are in barracks with bags full of straw for mattresses to sleep on the floor. We are going to stay here for a few days, the Lieutenant told us, to recuperate from the ocean trip.

There are dozens of aeroplanes flying overhead all the time. They are real military fighting planes with the insignias on the bottom of them. How I looked up at them and envied them! I tried so hard to get into the Aviation Corps back in the States, but had no luck. I don't know whether I'm better off in this Suicide Club or not.

The English soldiers and the Canadians are all very congenial fellows and it is interesting to listen to the Tommies talk. There are French girls here in the Camp. They attend to the handing out of food and do the cleaning over where we eat. Tonight, they gave us a ticket. We get on line with our mess-kits, hand in the ticket, and they fill it up with food. These checks are counted, I understand, and the bill for each meal is paid by Uncle Sam. Lieutenant Krell lectured to us tonight on hygiene. This I am very much interested in, as I only had one shower bath on board the ship. I haven't had a decent bath for almost two weeks. I smile when I think of how I used to take a bath every morning when I was home. Those days are over.

They gave us a couple of blankets apiece tonight so I am looking forward to another night of good sleep. The Chinks are still playing their flutes or whatever they are. The moon looks pale and yellow and I feel I am in China somewhere. That's the impression it gives me.

The planes above us are still humming away as much as ever. The Tommies told us that the planes are going over the German lines tonight, dozens of them, to "strafe" them. Well, I hope they don't fly over German cities and kill civilians, like they did to the English people over in Folkestone.

With all my love to you and Mousie. When you write me again, address it, 306th Machine Gun Battalion Company B, 77th Division, American Expeditionary Forces. I will get it then., no matter where I am.

From Your soldier boy who misses you,

CHARLES.

MAY

Wednesday, May 1, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

I was up good and early this morning after a good night of sleep. We all feel fine. They gave us three tickets to get our three meals today. The meals were good and they gave us big portions, too. This morning we received our blue laundry bags, as I call them, the ones we turned in at Camp Upton before we left, with all our personal things and extra equipment in them. We had to turn in all our extra equipment as it would have been impossible to carry it. We have all we are supposed to have on our backs now. We put all our personal things back into the blue bags, and we won't see them again until the war is over, they told us.

We loafed around the Camp all day taking it easy. There were so many interesting things to watch. The Chinks fascinate me very much. They are much better looking than the Chinese laundrymen we have back home. These fellows are huskier and healthier looking. Some of them have tremendous muscles.

At six o'clock we were given permission to leave the Camp until eight-thirty. We walked around the town and the time passed altogether too quickly for me. I felt like a tourist taking in the sights. Ruthie and I went into a French restaurant and had something to eat and a bottle of wine apiece. The bottle of wine was only a franc. That's twenty cents in our money. I gave them an American dollar bill and got two francs and fifty centimes back in change. Fifty centimes is equivalent to ten cents in our money, so the meal and wine cost us fifty cents. The coffee was good and strong and tasted great. I hope they let us out again tomorrow night. We would go back there. Ruthie knows a little French, and the French lessons we had back at Camp Upton came in handy tonight.

There are a lot of English girls over here in France in uniform. They are called Waacs. They work for the government in the camps so as to relieve the men. They need the men at the front. The girls work on the farms and shops and everywhere over in England ' as well as here in France in the camps. Ruthie and I talked to a couple of them tonight. They are wonderful patriotic girls. They denounced the girls in England who married before their husbands left for the front so that they could get the forty-five shillings a month allowance that the English government gives to wives having husbands in the army. They call those girls Swankers. I think, tho, that the reason these girls were so bitter against them is because they were never asked to marry, as they were not attractive at all.

Well, Mom, I guess I'll call it a day. I wouldn't mind staying here in this Camp for the rest of the war. But I don't think I would have that much luck. The planes are very active again over our heads at the moment. Guess they are going over to do some more i1strafing" tonight.

Your soldier boy,

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Thursday, May 2, 1918

We were awakened at six this morning and lined up in company formation and the roll was called. Everyone was present. There were no deserters from our company. We received our three checks for meals today and then started over for breakfast. At nine O'clock we were lined up again and started on a five- mile hike to the Gas House. The scenery on the way was perfectly wonderful. How I wished I could spend the rest of my days in this vicinity with a sketch box!

No wonder so many artists come over here to France to paint. There are so many more paintable subjects than at home. I suppose there are wonderful places in America to paint but I doubt if they have the artistic atmosphere as you find over here. There is a certain old-worldish environment that can't be found in America. It is this that holds my interest.

Well, when we got to the Gas House, each one of us was given a mask which we keep for ourselves from now on. Every man had to put it on and walk into the house, which is like a big barn. All the windows are tightly sealed, and it is filled with poisonous gas. We all had to stay in there for five minutes to get accustomed to breathing thru the mouthpiece. The Germans shoot shells full of this poisonous gas. When the shell bursts, the gas escapes, and if you breathe this it chokes you and burns up your windpipe, it is so strong. That is why we have these masks. The canister in the bag neutralizes the poisonous gas and it does us no harm. At least, it didn't today, and we all had to breathe it for five minutes.

They also gave each one of us a steel helmet. The woolen caps we have been wearing would not give us any protection from bullets and shell fragments at the front. They are supposed to bounce off these steel helmets and protect us from getting any wounds about our heads. They said that these two things are our best friends and that we should take good care of them. When we got back to the Camp, it was a quarter of four and we missed the noonday meal. They were serving tea to the Tommies at four and I went over and got some with marmalade and crackers. The Tommies get their tea every afternoon at four. They would die, I understand, if they had to do without their afternoon tea. At five-thirty we ate again, I was still hungry and ate up all they gave me.

I am tired tonight, I guess from the long hike. We were given permission to visit the town again but I didn't go and am taking a good rest instead. I've been watching the coolies tonight and just sat there looking at them and listening to their jabber and the flutes they play. It doesn't sound any more like music to me than cowbells, and I guess our music would sound about as bad to them.

Everything was so peaceful. It was a balmy spring evening, and it was hard to believe that only sixty miles away was the front-line trench where men were taking shots at each other. Every now and then a bigger flash and a bigger boom would bring me back to earth. The artillery never seems to let up. Every shell probably is adding more and more names to the list of "Killed and Wounded." This war is like a great big spectacle and I am one of the actors in it. If you would have told me a couple of years ago that I would be in it, I would have smiled. But here I am in uniform with a helmet and a gas-mask, sixty miles from the front lines. All my love to you both, God bless you. I miss you,

CHARLES.

Friday, May 3, 1918

DEAR MOM,

We were up bright and early this morning at six. What a day this has been! It was heavenly. After breakfast we all took two trips back and forth to the town about a mile and a half away and left the blue bags at a warehouse. There they will stay until the war is over. The six miles of walking helped us to work off our breakfast, and we ate like fools when noontime came around. We have some extra equipment and this afternoon we fooled around making up our packs so that we can get everything into them. The pack we have to carry now with all the extras is something brutal. It weighs almost ninety pounds.

I don't know how the fellows are going to stand it tomorrow when we leave here for the training camp. The Captain told us tonight at Retreat that at twelve- thirty tomorrow, we leave here, and that we should get as much rest as possible tonight so that we would be fit for the hike. Some of the lighter fellows are going to drop, I know. There is one fellow I have in mind, Wilmarth. He only weighs about one hundred and ten pounds. Imagine him carrying a ninety-pound pack on his back! They should have put a frail fellow like him into some kind of an outfit where he wouldn't have to march and carry a pack. It's nothing but downright cruelty. I've seen fussy old women in New York bawling out truck drivers because their horses were perspiring with heavy loads on the trucks. The Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals has these kind of truck drivers arrested, and here in the Army is a one-hundred-and-ten-pound lad carrying a ninety-pound pack! I've been watching him, as he is in the squad in front of me and the way he struggled with the seventy-pound pack was awful.

That's the way they do things in the Army. I hope our officers use better judgment when we get into action, otherwise we'll just be out of luck.

We were allowed to visit the town again tonight from six to eight-thirty. I looked for Ruthie but couldn't find him, so I went back alone to the Estaminet, where we were the other evening. I sat down and ordered Un boutile Van Rouge. My French must be good because he understood me all right, and brought me a bottle of red wine. It tasted so good that' I ordered another and finished that too. By that time, I was nice and dizzy but not intoxicated, only and all it cost was two francs. That's forty cents in our money. I walked it off coming back here to Camp. I will take a last look at my Chink friends on the other side of the fence and then go to sleep. Love to you both and God bless you!

CHARLES.

Saturday, May 4, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We are now billeted in half-round steel huts. They are about fourteen-feet wide at the bottom, and about seven feet high in the center. They have wooden floors and are about twenty-eight feet long. They are like great big sewer-pipes cut in half with openings at both ends. There are thirteen of us on each side of the hut. We have no mattresses and must sleep on the floor tonight. We consider ourselves lucky, however, for the rest of the companies are billeted in old French barns and sleep on straw. They are more liable to get the body lice which all the soldiers get. The English Tommies told us they arc called "cooties." All of France is lousy with them, they said. The men all prefer these corrugated steel huts to French barns.

The flashes of the guns are terrific tonight and a bombardment is going on. The ground seems to shake from the vibration of the big guns. The town ahead of us is St. Omer, about three miles away. On the other side of St. Omer, is Ypres, fifteen miles away. That is where the Germans are now, eighteen miles away. All we have is a gas-mask and a helmet, no rifle, no revolver, no machine gun. We have twenty-one bullets and nothing to shoot them with. If the Germans break thru the lines tonight, we would just be out of luck. I don't feel any too comfortable tonight. They must be mad to bring us all up here so close to the enemy with nothing to protect us. That's the way they do things in the Army.

Well, we were routed out bright and early this morning, had breakfast and then started working on our packs. My pack was terribly heavy and I have very little of personal things. They don't amount to a pound. We finally got them all packed and loafed the rest of the morning. We had a quick bite at noon and at twelve-thirty were on our way, saying goodbye to the coolies forever. We marched to Fontinette and left there on a train at three o'clock. We rode in box-cars this time, no coaches, and it was quite a novelty to me. I felt like a hobo. These box-cars are much smaller than our freight trains in America, and I swear the wheels must have been square, instead of round, the way that car did bounce and bump. We sure had a lot of fun over it. It was impossible to sit down, for you would have been bounced all over the car. We all crowded around the little doors and took in the scenery which was beautiful.

We were only on the train thirty-five minutes and were dumped off at a town called Audruiq. Then we started to march and march. I thought it would, never end. The pack became heavier and heavier. All I remember of that terrible hike were the two rows of poplar trees on each side of the road. Miles and miles of them, wonderful big trees. I was suffering too much to enjoy any trees or scenery. The perspiration just streamed from me. My legs and back pained terribly, especially my shoulders where the straps of the pack were. Everybody suffered and the heat made us more miserable.

It was seven-thirty tonight when we hit these huts. There are English soldiers near by, and we all were sent over there to get something to eat. All we got was tea, some cheese and crackers and marmalade.

The fellows sure ate sore and cursing like troopers. We are hungry, but there is no chance of getting anything to eat tonight. I am writing this by the light of a candle stuck in a bottle and it is flickering all the time. The artillery fire is shaking everything and making such a racket that it will be a miracle if I fall asleep tonight. I am too nervous to sleep and guess I will watch the artillery flashes until my eyes close themselves. Good night, Mother Dear, love to you both. God bless you!

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Sunday, May 5, 1918

It is Sunday but fighting goes on just the same. All day long, aeroplanes fly overhead. Automobile trucks, some full of supplies, some full of English soldiers, pass us on the road. Ambulances come back from the front full of wounded and empty ones return to the front to get more wounded. The artillery keeps firing all the time. There is never a let up. The trucks going up to the front are all full of young English soldiers. To me they all looked to be about eighteen years old.

The roads are camouflaged with grotesquely painted designs on huge pieces of cloth stretched across the road, and as far as your eyes can see. At some points they have huge pieces of netting with branches of trees fastened to them. This is to cover the movement of troops as they cannot be seen so well by the German aeroplanes. These planes fly over our heads at least a mile high and take photographs from the sky. Today we saw them shooting up in the air at one of them but it was too high up and they couldn't touch it. These anti-aircraft shells explode in mid air, a big burst of white smoke. If one of these explodes near a plane, the shrapnel in the shell disables the plane and it crashes to earth. These shells burst almost over our heads today but luckily none of the shrapnel falling to earth hit anyone. We all try to get under cover when these things start bursting.

Occasionally a stray shell from the German lines landed on the fields alongside the road about a mile from here which we can see very plainly because the country here is so flat. They are trying to hit the road but it is such a small target. It is surprising how close they do come to it, tho. If their range had been about a mile longer, the shells would have smacked right into us. We are outside of a little village called Mone-cove.

This morning, the Captain announced that anyone wishing to attend church could go over to Eperleque where the Chaplain was attached to the Infantry outfit. So Gus Weber, Harold Bardes, and myself walked over there about two and half miles away and attended the service. We got back at eleven-thirty and ate soon after. I didn't sleep much at all last night an was dead tired and fell asleep this afternoon and didn't wake up until six. The artillery became noisier than ever at that time. The Tommies tell us that it is at that hour each night that they "strafe Fritz." They are trying to eat at that hour and by bombarding them is the way they punish them. They figure that they have more chance at hitting more of them at that hour because they are up and about scrambling for food.

I wrote four letters to my friends tonight and the candle is getting shorter and shorter. I'm sorry that I didn't buy more of them when I was back at Calais the other night. I bought five of them for a franc and sold four of them, because nobody else thought of buying any. I think I can get some tomorrow night in Mone-cove. I saw a store there today but it was closed.

Goodnight, Mom Dear. All my love to you and Mousie.

CHARLES.

Monday, May 6, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We were up at five this morning and, for the first time since we left Camp Upton, we had to line up and stand for Reveille. Then we got in line for breakfast. What a line it was! If a German shell had ever come over at that time, we would have been cleaned out. It took an hour and a quarter before I got my mess -kit filled. We are eating at the Tommies' kitchen, Lord knows where our Greek Mess Sergeant and his supplies are. I guess he is still seasick. I haven't seen him for a week. This was another day of rest. We didn't see anything of the officers all day. I hope they are trying to get us guns of some kind. This is the third day here and we haven't got a thing to shoot with.

I spent the morning washing my dirty clothes in a bucket and with some cold water from a spring near by. It sure is tough washing with cold water. Back at Camp, we had hot water out in the bath house which we made ourselves with the help of the furnace. How I do miss the old barrack back at Camp Upton! I used to kick about it but take it all back now. That was heaven compared to what we have now. A batch of mail from America arrived this afternoon, and the Top-Sergeant read off the names. I waited until the very last one but there was no letter for me.

Leonard, another corporal of a squad in the platoon am in, and myself, visited a town called Moulet is afternoon. We rode back and forth on a lorry. The distance was about four miles and how they traveled! I bought some candles and we both had some wine and then started back. As close as these towns are to the front, the French people are still living there, the stores are open, the farmers are busy, and you would never think that the front lines were only twenty miles away. We saw a couple of houses that had been hit by bombs dropped from German aeroplanes. I should say, we saw what was left of the houses after they were hit. Only the walls were left standing. It reminded me of pictures I saw of the San Francisco earthquake years ago.

Luckily, we got back in time to stand for Retreat. The roll was called and everyone was present or ac-counted for. The bombardment had been louder than ever tonight and firing more frequent. Off in the distance, there is a huge fire, and the flames are leaping way up into the sky. The fellows say that a German ammunition dump must have been hit and started the fire. Well, Mom Dear, this is all too thrilling for words. I guess before long we will be in the more exciting spots also. Good night, God bless you both. CHARLES.

Tuesday, May 7, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We were up at five again this morning. It was rain-ing and made me feel weary. The Lieutenant showed up this morning, and it was devoted to signaling practice. We divided up, on half of the men going off at a distance, and we sent messages back and forth to each other. For the first half hour, I was lost, but gradually the code came back to me and I was able to decipher messages again. it was lucky for me that I wasn't among the first ones called to send a message. I felt sorry for some of the fellows. The officer gave them a message to send aid they couldn't. They forgot all that they learned back at Camp Upton. You can't blame them because it must be three weeks since we had our last signal practice. We certainly have traveled far in the last three weeks.

This afternoon we were taken on a seven-mile hike. The sky was cloudy and no planes were up so we were safe from being seen by the enemy. I thought to myself while on the hike what I would do if suddenly an army of Germans came charging down on us. We had nothing to defend ourselves with. I smiled to myself, this outfit is well named "The Suicide Club." If it isn't suicidal to take a seven-mile hike in France about eighteen miles behind the front line with no weapon at all. I'd like to know what is. It isn't impossible for the Germans to sweep thru. At the beginning of the war, they swept across Belgium like a forest fire.

We signed the pay-roll after we got back, this taking almost an hour. Then came Retreat and we were thru for the day. The artillery is fairly quiet tonight, only shooting across shells about every five minutes. I've been keeping track on my watch. Every five minutes, right on the second, they send over a salvo to the "Heinies." How many pieces of artillery there are I can't tell, but I guess there must be at least a half a dozen. They all seem to go off about a fraction of a second apart. If you listen closely enough, you can hear them occasionally, bursting away off in the distance in the German lines. I don't know what shells cost, I should think about fifty dollars apiece. There sure is some money blown away over here every day.

What an expensive proposition war is! Just think of all the good that could be done with the money wasted in war! They could build cities full of houses for poor people and let them live rent-free for the rest of their lives. When I think of the poverty there is right in New York City alone, and then of the money that is spent to carry on this war over here, it makes me sick. If there only were a man on this earth who had the moral courage and power to put a stop to this carnage right now! If the men who make war, who are responsible for starting it, could only have heard the groaning of the wounded soldiers in the ambulances that I heard this evening over on the road, they might soften a little and become sympathetic for their fellow-men. It's awful!

I've just been in the dark for about ten minutes. The alarm was given to put out all lights. A German aeroplane passed overhead. It is the first one I heard. It has a very peculiar hum, quite different from the motors of the planes of the Allies. A guard is on duty all the time. He bangs an old brass shell every time an enemy plane approaches. All lights go out and we stay in darkness until he passes. It was very thrilling. If he had known we were under him, he would have dropped a bomb on us.

Your soldier son,

CHARLES.

Wednesday, May 8, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

This morning we were up at five again and stood for Reveille. After breakfast, we had an hour of some strenuous calisthenics to get us back in shape again. We thought the exercise would keep up all morning, and just before we got thru a big automobile truck- we call them lorries-drew up at the huts. It was full of Vickers machine guns. This is an English gun. They were second-hand guns and looked as they had done a great deal of shooting already. I hope we don't keep these guns because they are in terrible condition, almost as bad as the ones we trained with back at Camp Upton. We left those behind. We spent the rest of the morning cleaning the guns as well as we could.

This afternoon we had a couple of hours of skirmish work across the fields here. We were all separated about fifty feet apart, each squad having a gun, and stretched out that way about two city-blocks long. We would advance, set up the tripod, then the man with the gun would follow, then the ammunition car-rier brought up a box that the ammunition is supposed to be in. We didn't get any bullets for the machine guns yet. Then the command "Fire!" would be given, and we'd insert the empty belts and go through the motions of firing. This way we advanced across the field for a half mile. We turned around and came back again. This is the way we will have to do it, I suppose, when we get into action.

Mother, I don't like the idea at all. I am utterly help-less. I don't feel that I am a coward. It isn't that. I have no desire to harm anyone, I don't want to kill. I am being forced to do something against my will, that's what bothers me. They may be our enemies but I know that many of them are being forced to kill, just as I am. Remember when we were in Germany when I was a boy, and how Uncle Franz was forced to do military service for three years when he was eighteen years old P It's the blooming militaristic crowd that they ought to make fight if they are so bloodthirsty. They never come near the battlefronts, they force the civilians to kill each other. If there is a God, why doesn't he put a stop to this, Mother? Surely, even tho he is of "too pure of eyes to see evil" he must be aware that his children are slaughtering one another against their wills. Is this evil force, War, more powerful than God? I can't believe it, nor can I understand it.

We stood for Retreat tonight and the Captain announced that I was promoted to Corporal. Funny, but it didn't mean a thing to me tonight. I would swap General's bars, if they were on my shoulders, for a civilian suit, to be able to end this some way and get back to you, Mom, again.

I took a long walk all by myself tonight, almost to the forest, about a half mile across the field from our Camp. The sun was setting. It was a beautiful sunset. I sat down for a while and my thoughts wandered back over the years and I lived my life over again. I watched the flashes of the big guns and could see them bursting, away off in the distance. It was getting dark and kind of spooky over at the forest, so I started back for the huts. It did me good, for my mind is a little more at ease than it has been for quite some time. It's just three years ago today that the Germans sunk We Lusitania, and that is really what got us into the war. It was an awful thing to sink that passenger liner with all the civilians aboard. Why they always make civilians suffer is beyond me! I suppose they had orders, tho, from their warlords in Berlin and had to do it. If they hadn't, we would probably never have gotten into this mess.

The artillery is at it hot and heavy tonight. The candle flickers from the concussion every time they shoot them off. Love from

CHARLES.

Thursday, May 9, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

It was a heavenly day. The sun was out in all its glory and it certainly made me feel good that I was alive. I thought of the poor devils up at the front. I don't believe there is a minute of the day that some one of them isn't being wounded or killed. The birds were singing all around us, everything was so peaceful and lovely, and you felt you were on a nice picnic, only the blooming fire of artillery broke up your illusion every time they fired.

The aeroplanes fly overhead almost all the time and there seems to be great activity at the front. This sector, I understand, is a very vital one. The Germans have been trying to break thru here for a long time, and they are being stubbornly resisted by the English Tommies, who are holding this sector up here on the northern coast of France-

We all got up at five this morning and stood for Reveille and then had our breakfast. At seven-thirty some English sergeants came over, and for the rest of the morning, they instructed us in firing the Vickers machine gun. They told us the different names of all the parts, showed us how to take them apart to clean and oil them. We ate our lunch sprawled all over the place under the trees and it sure was good, too good to last, it was just like a picnic. This afternoon, we had some more machine gun instruction in loading, firing, and how to correct stoppages, should they occur. Then came some more gas-mask instruction. The important part is in getting them on quickly, and some of the fellows sure do need plenty of practice. We were lined up for inspection and then dismissed for the rest of the day.

I wrote some letters to my friends and studied my army regulations book, which all non-coms should be familiar with. I took a short stroll this evening with one of the fellows and then came back here and took it easy. At six, the artillery opened up and sent a couple of tons of shells over to the German line. It sure must be demoralizing to have tons of stuff like that thrown at you. We haven't had the pleasure of being under artillery fire as yet, and I am wondering how some of these New Yorkers are going to stand up under it.

None of us have tasted an egg in months and I myself had almost forgotten that there was such a thing as an egg. We had a lot of fun tonight kidding two of the fellows in this hut. They were over in the village and managed to buy four eggs from a French farmer. We have nothing to cook with, so they took their cups from their canteens and filled them half full with water and held them over the flame of the candles. It took forty-five minutes to soft boil the eggs. I never in my life saw such patience. The joke was when they opened them, for the eggs were still a little raw, not thoroly cooked, but they ate them just the same.

We had to put the lights out again for ten minutes and sit in darkness. A flock of German planes just passed overhead. They are probably out on a bombing raid again tonight. They made a terrible noise. There were so many of them. The searchlights illuminated the sky and the anti-aircraft guns took shots at them but didn't bring any down. They fly so high and are out of range. It seems to me that these planes could bomb the spots where the searchlights are and wipe them out. I think that's a pretty rotten job to have in this war, shining a searchlight up at the sky. It's an invitation to the German aviators to take a shot at you. I would call that branch of the service the "Suicide Club," also.

All my love to you and Mousie, God bless you! CHARLES.

Friday, May 10, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

It's ten-thirty and I am in the Guard House, I took my men out at nine and, at eleven, I bring them in again. The funny part about this guard is that we are not armed. We are less than twenty miles from the front-line trenches. Back in Camp Upton, we used to carry a rifle with a bayonet on it when we were on guard duty. All we have here are twenty-one bullets in our belts and nothing to shoot them with. We are supposed to stop any suspicious character. Suppose a German spy came along, we would have to use our fists. If this isn't about the worst conducted army, I'd like to know which one is. It just gets my goat. If something doesn't happen soon in getting us some arms to protect ourselves with, I'm going to the Captain. I feel sorry for my men out on their posts. They feel kind of nervous and you can't blame them.

The weather today was cold and dreary, the sun didn't peep once. We devoted the whole day on the machine gun instruction and it became monotonous after a while. We had trouble trying to keep awake and alert, listening to the English sergeants. We were paid tonight, the first time in foreign money. They gave me seventy-eight francs, which seemed like a lot of money because we are so used to dollar bills. According to the present rate of exchange as near as I could figure it out, it's thirteen dollars and sixty-nine cents in American money. The boys are all counting their French money, and having an awful time with it.

I mounted the guard at five tonight and will not be free until five tomorrow afternoon. The men are all asleep, and the responsibility of guarding the Camp is on my shoulders at the moment until eleven. Then I am going to sleep and, at three in the morning, I take the men out again to their posts until five. I feel pretty secure here in the hut, which is the Guard House. The men out on the posts, I bet, will be glad when I bring them in. I am going to wake up Corporal Leonard now. He goes on for the next two hours with his men. So goodnight, Mother Dear.

CHARLES.

Saturday, May 11, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

At three this morning, Corporal McCarthy, who used to be a policeman in Brooklyn, awakened me. I got my men ready and we brought his men in. I asked him how he liked being on guard without any rifles or guns. I'm not going to write what he said because the language was a little bit stronger than your ears are accustomed to hearing. We sewed, slept and read in the Guard House all day and it was a good rest for us. I painted a little memory sketch today, the first one in France, to pass the time away. The company was away on a long hike this afternoon. My men went on guard again from nine-eleven and three-five. Then we were dismissed and the new guard came on.

Being on guard is good in one respect, you don't have to get on line for your feed. We have the preference, and walk right to the head of the line with our mess-kits. When we were relieved this morning at five, it was pitch dark. You couldn't see your hand in front of your face, and we tripped and fell over everything. In a few minutes, the artillery opened up some-thing terrible and didn't let up for an hour. We tried to sleep but couldn't on account of the noise.

The Tommies went over the top this morning up around Ypres. This morning, a little later, we saw a long string of German prisoners come marching back from the front. They sure were a disheveled and muddy looking lot. They looked very glum indeed. The Tommies leading them back looked spick and span and smart looking. It was quite a contrast. I took a walk to the village tonight to spend some of my money as it was burning a hole in my pockets. I bought some more candles and had a bottle of wine at one of the estaminets, which is still open and carries on business just the same, even though the front is so close. They don't seem to mind.

Well, Mom, I'm kind of tired, so will close with love to you both.

CHARLES.

Sunday, May 12, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

Reveille sounded one hour later than usual this morning. Either the officers slept an hour longer or, on account of being Sunday, they let us rest longer. At eight, the company was lined up and we were marched to Eperleque, where we all had to take a bath. They had a row of showers there, and thirty-five of us at a time stripped and went in. It was some sight in the army there is no privacy. Thirty-five naked men sure do look funny with all their different builds and shapes. It was noon when we got back to the huts and felt much better being cleaned up.

This afternoon, thank goodness, we received our rifles. They are the ones the English Tommies use. They were packed and full of cosmoline and it was some job cleaning them with just a rag. It was on thick to keep them from rusting.

It's just a month today since we left dear old Camp Upton. How I miss it! I took a walk into the village tonight with Carlie, one of the fellows in my squad, and we had a couple of bottles of wine, and then came back here to the huts. It was good. The artillery is banging away as usual and it gets on your nerves listening to the explosions all the time. I wonder how the fellows in the artillery outfits stand it. I imagine the noise must break their eardrums after a while. Love to you both.

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Monday, May 13, 1918

We were up at six this morning. They told us that we would start on a hike at seven with full packs. So while the others in our hut were at breakfast, I made up my pack. When the twenty-six men are in here at one time, there isn't much room to make up a pack. So when mine was finished, the long line for breakfast was much shorter and I didn't have to wait. After breakfast, the others were scrambling about and having an awful time, and I sat and rested, my pack was finished. Nothing like using your brains in this army.

The Captain was late so it wasn't until seven-thirty that we left for the long hike which ended at the gas house about four miles away. We all put our masks on and entered, getting our first experience of chlorine gas, which is a very popular one with the Germans. It is a very deadly one, they say. The hike was brutal. With the heavy packs on our backs, we marched up and down hills. The packs were terribly heavy, and this march today was for practice to get us used to carrying them. I'm afraid it's going to break our backs before long. It was eleven when we got back to the huts. We were all in, but had to turn out again with our machine guns and we had setting-up practice until lunch time.

The mail arrived today from America. It was a stack two feet deep, and it took the Sergeant almost an hour to call out the names and distribute them this evening. I received four letters, which were forwarded from Camp Upton. It's the first mail I've had for a month and it sure did make me feel good. One letter from you written on April 12th was among them. That's the day we left Camp Upton. I sure was mad to read that the dirty dog of a landlord had raised your rent ten dollars a month. I wish I was home now. He knows that your two sons are in the Army. If he had any patriotism at all, you would think he would pass you up. You have all you can do now to make things meet. Why didn't you give him an argument, Mother? If I had him here, I'd walk him right up to the front lines. He would make a nice target for the Germans to shoot at, the skunk.

I worked until nine tonight, cleaning my rifle. We non-coms had to go thru the manual of arms tonight after we ate so that we can instruct the privates, I guess. This lasted for a half-hour. The artillery is throwing them over by the dozens to the Germans tonight and the racket is awful.

Good night, Mother Dear, thank you for writing. It was good to see your handwriting again.

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Tuesday, May 14, 1918

I was getting all ready to write you about an hour ago when the alarm for an air raid was given, and all the lights had to go out. Everything was dark instantly. Then I saw the most wonderful sight I think that I have ever seen. The whole sky for miles around was illuminated just like daylight. Sky-rockets and star-shells, just like you see on a Fourth of July celebration, could be seen everywhere. You would think there was a midnight pageant going on. The anti-air-craft guns were shooting all around us. We could see the red-hot sparks of the bursting shrapnel very distinctly. Fortunately for Jerry, as they call the German aviators, the sky was full of clouds and they got away safely. I saw none falling to earth. It sure gave us all a scare, because it was so close.

The English Tommies were kidding us about having "wind-up." That's what they call it when you get terribly frightened. Well, it's all over for the moment but I guess there will be more of this. The Germans are sending these planes over to try and locate the positions of the artillery which has been annoying them so much recently. The whole day was practically all machine-gun instruction by the English sergeants. It is getting very boring listening to them talk all day long, and if it wasn't for their accents, which are very amusing, we would all have fallen asleep. After they leave, our fellows all ridicule them and talk with an English accent and we have lots of fun. Our fellows call them "Limeys."

This afternoon for an hour we had some exciting experiences. At gas-mask practice, they threw gas bombs at us, which exploded about ten feet away. We either had to get our gas-masks on quickly or get a slight gassing. These bombs are small, but, just the same, one inhale of the fumes after the bomb explodes, is enough to gas you. Needless to say, nobody was gassed, and all records for getting the thing on over your head were broken this afternoon. We got them on in eight seconds.

Early this evening, the non-coms went through fifteen minutes of rifle drill again. What machine-gun outfits have to do with rifles is beyond me and just a waste of time. Maybe we are getting this to keep us busy and out of mischief, I don't know. I wrote some letters tonight to my friends just before the fireworks started. Good night.

CHARLES.

DEAR Mom, Wednesday, May 15, 1918

It's eleven, and we just got over another air raid and I saw the first machine brought down. It must have been pretty high because, for about two minutes, we watched it falling to earth in a burst of flame. It caught fire in mid air and burned all the way on its downward flight. If the German aviator was strapped in it, he must have been burnt to death before he hit the ground. It was some sight! Tonight was a repetition of last night, the usual fireworks and searchlights. We will be kind of glad to get away from this sector. One of these nights, it will be over us and we'll get bombed. All of these planes carry them. They do a terrible damage when they drop them. I also hope that our kitchen gets here soon. We have been eating over at the English kitchen. Their food is all right for a time, but I wouldn't want it for long.

Corporal Leonard and myself walked over to the village tonight and we were lucky to get some real cow's milk, fresh from the cow. I had my canteen filled for a franc. We saw the French woman milking the cow and walked over and watched her. I held out my canteen and simply asked her in French, "Combien?" That means, "How much?" She answered, "Un franc." That means one franc. So we both emptied the rotten water out of our canteens and had them filled with milk. It was warm, fresh from the cow, and tasted great, the first milk I tasted since we left the U.S. and the first time in my life that I ever drank milk fresh from the cow. What a difference between that and the milk you buy! They sure must put water or some thinner in it before it gets to the public.

We get a newspaper here every day from England called the Daily Mail. I read that the English took the boat Vindictive over to Ostend Harbor and sunk it there, blockading the German submarine base. Now they can't get in or out of the harbor. I saw the Vindictive at a dock over at Dover when we started the trip across the channel to France. Now she is sunk. I hope that it will help to break up the submarine warfare. I don't think there is anything worse than sinking ships at sea. You haven't a chance in the world when the ship goes down.

Today was again spent in learning the mechanism of the Vickers machine gun, with the exception of a half hour of gas-mask practice, and tonight, after retreat, the rifle drill again for the non-coms.

Love to you both.

CHARLES.

Saturday, May 18, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

I skipped a couple of days in writing, and I hope you will excuse me because I was in no mood to write. I had a spell of homesickness and I sure felt blue. The grind of the daily routine seems to get me, I just can't get my heart into this war business and I don't think I ever will. The wounded that came back from the front the last couple of days made me sick. Everyone was bandaged, some their legs, some their arms and many were bound up around the head. The sickening part was the blood-soaked bandages. It made me shiver, and made me feel like a coward for a moment. I had desperate thoughts, figuring how I could get out of this some way.

The English Tommies instructing us tell us what their soldiers do to get away from the front for a while. Some of them deliberately cut their hands and bandage a copper coin over the place for a couple of days until it becomes infected, and then they are sent back to a hospital. Others have shot themselves, supposedly accidentally, while cleaning their rifles. So many of them have shot themselves in the foot, that now, if anyone really gets a wound on his foot, he is looked upon as a faker and accused of having self-wounded himself. They hand out very severe punishment now in the English Army, even though the wound is accidental, well, I gradually came to my senses and realized that, being a non-com, I couldn't and mustn't think that way. I have to set a good example for the rest of the men. All I can do is to carry on and trust in God.

It seems terrible to pray for one's own safety alone, I include all soldiers in my prayer, the enemy as well as all of the Allies, but it's foolish, I suppose, because the wounded still keep coming back. There are so many of them now, that there aren't enough ambulances and they use the motor trucks and pile them on. The trucks come along at almost a snail's pace and yet the wounded men cry out, "Slower! Don't drive so fast!" Each pebble you ride over must seem like a rock when you are wounded. It's simply awful the way they whimper and groan. A lump was in my throat.

It's eleven-thirty, and I am in the Guard House. My men are out on their posts from eleven to one. This is our second shift. We were on earlier in the evening from five to seven. We go on again from five to seven in the morning, which sure breaks up the night. But I don't mind as we will have all day tomorrow to rest up. They have rifles now for guard duty but no ammunition to shoot. Some one of these days we might get fully equipped. If it's like this now, what will it be when we get up on the front? I bet they'll send us up with machine guns only. Then there will be mutiny in this outfit. Many are the fellows who are complaining, and using language that isn't fit to write. You can't blame them. This company is sure a tough, hard-boiled one of New York fellows. The up-state boys are really a fine gentlemanly group.

At ten o'clock tonight, Jerry came over again on a raid, and things sure were lively while they lasted. The next town over was bombed, and many were killed, and the petrol tanks were set on fire. The sky was brightly illuminated. They need this petrol pretty badly for the ambulances and lorries. I reckon this is what the Germans have been after. They have been coming over every night since we arrived here. This kind of retaliates for the German ammunition dump we blew up the other night.

This morning, we were marched up to the rifle range, carrying the machine guns along with us and received our instructions there. This was a couple of miles hike and got us used to carrying them. They sure get heavier and heavier every minute that you carry them. This afternoon we had some more of it out in the open on the parade ground near here. They don't seem to use any precaution in keeping us out of sight. If a German plane ever came over at that time, we could have been wiped out, as there was no protection near by at all. We are all placing our lives in the hands of fools. If it isn't suicidal to expose men out in the open like they do with us, I'd like to know what is. Not one of us has a gun to shoot with. We have the twenty-one bullets in our belts but no pistols. We have machine guns and rifles and no ammunition for them, and the enemy is only twenty miles or so away. The Lord certainly has been good to us so far. Well, Mom, I've been writing this a little at a time, then I've been sitting here thinking and dreaming away, wondering what you are doing at the moment, and wondering how much longer I'll be in this mess. The time has flown and it's almost one and will have to awaken Mac to get his men together to relieve mine, then we sleep until five, if nothing happens. I hope not because I'm tired. Goodnight, God bless you.

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Sunday, May 19, 1918

It was a most wonderful day. The sun was shining all day, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was so clear, and the visibility was so good, that you could have looked all the way across France if you could have been on a high enough hill. I wished that I could have been up in a plane on a day like this. The weather was so lovely that it must have affected all the soldiers at war because there was very little shooting going on at all today. There was just a little intermit-tent fire from the artillery as a grim reminder that the war was still on. My men went on guard from five to seven this morning, eleven to one, and at five this afternoon, we were dismissed. We go on for two hours and then have four off. This keeps up for the twenty-four hours we are on.

Last Sunday I missed church service on account of going to Eperleque for a bath. The rest of the company marched over there again this morning for their baptism, as they call it. I couldn't go on account of being on guard, and of course had to miss church again also. I spent the day writing and reading a little and admiring the scenery. Tonight Leonard and I went to the village and filled up on milk again. The French woman runs her farm all alone. She told us that she has been alone for two years, that her husband was killed in 1915, and her two sons are now at the front. She told us lots more about herself, but our French is rather limited, and we couldn't understand everything she said.

With love to you both.

CHARLES.

Monday, May 20, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

Today I had my first sensation of sitting behind a machine gun and firing it. It was a peculiar feeling. The gun almost flies off the ground, and you have to place your two legs firmly on the tripod because it bounces so much from the vibration. While we were eating breakfast, a lorry came along and dropped off some boxes of machine-gun ammunition. We inserted the bullets later on the long belts. Each belt holds about five-hundred bullets, I think. We roll them up and place them in the ammunition boxes to carry. We were ordered to make up our packs and then, with the guns and ammunition boxes, we started on the hike for the rifle range. We sure have a lot to carry. The packs alone were bad enough, now with guns and ammunition, it is worse yet. We suffered. It was a warm morning and we were soon wet with perspiration and feeling very uncomfortable. There is no dropping out for a rest and, no matter how tired you are, you must carry on.

The company as a whole made a good showing as marksmen, I myself was not so good. The targets are five-hundred yards away. Some of the fellows were over in the pits so the bullets wouldn't hit them. After one group would cease firing, they would come out and count the hits on the target and signal back to us the total. This is the first time that we actually made use of our signaling knowledge and it was interesting.

These machine guns shoot awfully fast. You press the trigger and it keeps on shooting automatically, the belt going in one side of the gun with the bullets on it and comes out on the other side empty. The brass part of the bullet is ejected automatically from the belt also. It shoots about a hundred bullets a minute, I think, and sure must be able to do a lot of damage. How any soldiers can advance against machine-gun fire is beyond me! At the beginning of the war, I used to read about the German soldiers advancing in formation across No Man's land, and how the English and French machine gunners mowed them down as if you were cutting down wheat. Today, they don't send their men over the top like that, but spread them out. This reduces the casualties. It was murder the way the German officers used to send their men over.

This afternoon we were over on the wide-open spaces of the parade ground, and received instruction on the mechanism of the machine gun. A great many Allies' planes passed over us but no German planes. Thank goodness! At sunset, the artillery opened up in all its fury and gave the Germans their daily evening strafe. The aeroplanes fly over the lines in the daytime to take photographs and make observations. Anything that looks suspicious is note . They find the spot on a map. This information is given to the artillery officers. They dope out the range and then start to drop shells in that vicinity. The next day, they fly over again and take more photographs to see just what damage was done. This was the kind of work I wanted to do in this war, take photographs from the air. But I didn't have any luck or influence to get into the Aviation at all. It would have been a darn sight better than this torture

I am going through now. Anything but hiking and carrying a heavy pack would have suited me.

Leonard and I went over to the village tonight and had some more milk, and this time we were very lucky to get four eggs. They are very scarce. We had to pay two francs for the four of them. That's ten cents apiece in our money. We opened them and mixed them with the milk and had an egg-nog without the kick in it. They were wonderful big eggs, fresh laid today.

The jerrys have been passing by overhead all evening. It's easy to distinguish them from the Allies' planes on account of the peculiar drone of their motors. The lights go out every time they are near. Well, Mom, it's late, so will say good-night.

CHARLES.

Tuesday, May 21, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

This morning the artillery opened up with a terrible noise and woke us up and there was no more sleep after five o'clock. We all knew another attack was on and that the Tommies had to go over the top again this morning. It was long after breakfast when the ambulances and lorries started coming back with wounded men again. -It's an awful sight and gets on my nerves. I can't stand seeing anybody suffering. I think instantaneous death is better than this long drawn out suffering you must endure when you get wounded. I don't fear death as much as I fear suffer-ing. These sights make me feel like a dumb animal ready for slaughter.

I remember, as a boy, I used to go over to the packing houses over at First Avenue and Forty-fifth Street, and the way the animals used to look at the men who were doing the killing was pitiful. They seemed to sense that they were about to be slaughtered. You could tell by their expressions and the unearthly cries they emitted while struggling to get away. They saw the other animals hanging up around the place being cut open and skinned. This is the same sort of horror that I feel, and I only hope and pray that if I have to go in this war, that it will be instantaneous, I would like to be snuffed out as quickly as you snuff out a candle. I don't want to linger and suffer, it's terrible.

Some of the soldiers in the English and French armies, who have been in it since 1914, have received more than one wound and after they were well, they sent them back to the front for more. You would think, after a man was wounded, he should be exempt from further military duty. Those who are responsible for this war certainly will have guilty consciences for the rest of their days. It will be surprising if they ever rest peacefully again. The screams of the wounded and dying should haunt them forever. No punishment is too severe, in my opinion, for those who start wars.

This morning we were marched to the top of a hill near our camp, and we were instructed in mounting the gun on rough and hilly ground. This afternoon we were exposed again on the parade ground and received more instruction on the mechanism of the gun. Tonight we were all busy getting ready for a long hike tomorrow. They gave each one of us one hundred rounds of ammunition, which we are to carry along with us tomorrow. I think they are all going mad. All we can do is fume and curse, but it doesn't do us any good, except that we can express our feelings which is better than suppressing them. Well, Mom, I better quit and get to sleep. That's the best thing for us, because, while we are unconscious in sleep, nothing bothers us. Good-night, God bless you.

CHARLES.

Thursday, May 23, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

I was so tired when I got back last night from the hike that I immediately went to sleep and missed writing you. We left the Camp yesterday morning at eight with packs, rifles, our gas-masks, and one -hundred rounds of ammunition strapped around our waists on our belts. It was some load! How I suffered! We arrived at our destination at ten, an uphill march all the way. The village near by was Watten, a beautiful spot, we could get a view of the country for miles around.

On the way, our field kitchen, with the Mess Sergeant and his cooks, appeared from nowhere. It was like magic. We haven't seen him for a long while, and this is the first time we saw our field kitchen, which is a huge stove on wheels drawn by a couple of mules. We were marching route step at the time. You can talk and be out of step when the command, "Route Step!" is given. We all let out three cheers for the kitchen, because we will get some American food from now on, maybe. We ate outdoors under the trees yesterday noon and last night and it sure was a pleasant change from the English cooking.

We devoted all of yesterday on machine-gun practice. We didn't have the English sergeants with us, so our own sergeants yelled out the different commands. We left there about seven-thirty last night for the brutal march back to Camp. I had blisters on both feet last night and I wasn't the only one. The hundred rounds of ammunition dragged down on our shoulders something awful, and we sure were in misery. We were all in when we got back here. We were up at six this morning and marched back to the same place as yesterday. It was a little cooler today and we didn't mind it so much. They also got us back here earlier tonight.

Some more mail arrived and I have been answering it tonight. Leonard and I are now over in the English soldiers' mess hall. There are tables here and this candle seems to be about the only light burning in the Camp. Everybody has turned in they were so tired.

We have been talking to the English soldiers, exchanging views with them. It was very interesting, and we listened for almost an hour. One of them has been in it since 1914 and hasn't been wounded yet, and has been back and forth from the front lines dozens of times. He told us one story about being in a trench down around Arras.

There was one spot in the trench where a hand of a dead French soldier protruded from the earth, he said. The man had either been buried that way or a big shell might have exploded and buried him alive. Anyway, he said that every morning the soldiers in that trench used to go up to the hand, grasp it, and say, "Good morning, Alphonse!" It became a sort of a superstition in the company that anyone who failed to shake the hand of Alphonse each morning, would surely get hit that day. The most fun they had in that company was with a little English cockney from London, who was deathly afraid of a corpse. They used to scare him about being hit if he didn't shake Alphonse's hand. It wasn't long before he decided it was better to shake the hand of a corpse than to get hit. So he used to walk up to the hand without looking at it and trembling, say "Good morning, Alphonse!"

One morning as the cockney came forward, and it was rather dark yet, one of the fellows in his company placed his cold hand alongside of the corpse and when he grasped what he thought was Alphonse, the soldier squeezed his hand and wouldn't let go for a second. The cockney let out a squawk, jumped up out of the trench and was shot by a German sniper. The English soldier told us that afterwards they stopped playing practical jokes in that company and warned us that we shouldn't either.

Well, Mom, they left us here all alone, so we are going to blow out their candle and beat it over to our own huts. God bless you.

CHARLES.

Saturday, May 25, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

I missed writing last night because I was in no condition to write. I was half stewed from drinking too much ale. Leonard, Brumley, and I went over to the Estaminet, when we got through last night at eight- thirty. We had a long day and were thirsty, so drank up sixteen bottles of ale between the three of us. I had five and felt wonderful after drinking them. I slept like a child all night. Yesterday morning, when we got up at six, it was pouring rain, so we spent the morning in the huts practicing sighting on the ma-chine gun, and stripping the lock and gun and putting it together again. At one period, we all had to take the gun apart blindfolded and put it together again. When you can do this perfectly, you know the gun by heart.

At one o'clock, they hiked us to the rifle range, carrying our machine guns. It had stopped raining, but there was plenty of mud. We all fired fifty shots apiece at the targets. We got back here at six amid the roar of artillery fire. They served our meals to us in Dixies. They use these to carry hot food up to the soldiers in the trenches. Each hut got one, and the non-com in each has to dish it out. This eliminates standing on the long line. It makes it very uncomfortable on account of the crowded huts and the men do not like it and grumble. 'Soldiers grumble about everything. After eating, we had to work on taking the machine gun apart some more, and it kept us until eight -thirty. We were worked overtime and the soldiers grumbled some more.

The three of us made a bee-line for the Estaminet after that, and it's funny how a few drinks makes you forget all about the Army and its discomforts. The Estaminet was crowded with English Tommies, and American soldiers, and they were singing and having a good time in that way. Once in a while, a Jerry plane would pass. The alarm would be given and we would have to sit and drink in the dark for a little while. That's the time they drink up the other fellow's drink. When the candles are lit again, some find that empty glasses stand before them. The old-timers all are holding their glasses in their hands when the candles light up again.

This morning after breakfast we were marched over to the parade ground, and were there all morning practicing on the machine gun. At noon, we thought we might be dismissed for the afternoon as we used to be at Camp Upton, but were marched again to the Rifle Range. There are no regular hours in the Army. I didn't get a chance to shoot at all today. I was detailed to the pits or dugouts behind the targets.

It was my first baptism of being under fire. How the bullets whistled past over our heads! These bullets were the ones that missed the targets and buried them-selves in the huge pile of dirt behind the targets. Each group would shoot fifty shots. Then we would come out and count how many hit the target, signal the amount back, and then repair them with white pasters. Then the next group would shoot. The company sure are rotten shots. The highest amount that anyone hit the target was twenty-two out of the fifty. All the other shots landed in the dirt behind the targets.

It was four when we got back to Camp. Then came Retreat and Inspection of Quarters and we were free. Tomorrow we leave on a long hike for a number of days, so we are all getting things in shape so we can make our packs up quickly in the morning. Love to you and Mousie.

CHARLES.

Tuesday, May 28, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

The last three days were about the worst that I've had in the Army. We were away on an imaginary battle, part of the training, just like it will be later on, I guess. I didn't have a chance to write at all. We started out Sunday-morning at seven-thirty. How we ate and got our packs ready in that time, I don't know. You can do a lot of things if you have to in the Army. We marched and marched, and I thought we would drop sure. Everything was getting heavier and heavier. We passed through Watten and stopped about two miles on the other side of it.. We must have covered twelve miles at least. We were right on the edge of a forest and ate there. Our field kitchen was with us.

It was a beautiful spot, the sunlight breaking through the trees forming ever so many decorative spots over the ground and on us. A beautiful subject to paint, but I guess those days are over for me, at the present. Then we marched away- with packs and our machine guns for another eight miles. We left our packs and guns, a detail was left to guard them, and we were marched back again to the kitchen just in time to eat our evening meal. After that, we were marched back again to where we had left our packs.

The fellows cursed like troopers. Everybody had sore feet and we felt miserable. They could just as well have driven the kitchen up to us. All that marching nearly killed us.

At nine o'clock, when we thought we were going to sleep, we started off with our machine guns for maneuvering practice. At eleven, we had all the guns in emplacements. Two men were put on guard, watching for the S.O.S signal all night, two hours on and four off. It was the hardest and longest day's work we have had in the Army. It was only an imaginary battle we were supposed to be in, and for a while, around ten o'clock, it looked like we would be in a real one. A German plane came over and there was an Allies' plane up there somewhere, too. They were firing at each other with red hot bullets. You could follow the sparks as they shot at one another. You never saw more crazy dips- and turns and loops than these two made in. their planes. It was a real air battle and about the most exciting. thing I have ever seen.

The German plane swooped down low a number of times and passed quite low over our heads. What a noise it made! We set up our guns quickly, put a belt of' ammunition in, and were all ready to take a shot at him the next time he came into range, but after that, he turned and got out of the rays of the searchlights, and started back for his own lines, traveling about one thousand miles an hour. The other plane disappeared also and it was quiet after that. It all happened so quickly that we didn't start to get "wind-up" until it was all over.

I slept in my pup-tent for the first time, sharing it with Leonard, from one to six. I was still tired but had to get up. In a little while one of our limbers came along loaded with Dixies full of food and hot coffee. These Dixies are like thermos bottles, and the food keeps hot in them for a long time. We were hungry and. it sure did taste good. Our guns were in place and every two hours the men were relieved. We had all the guns camouflaged with branches just the way they will have to be later on. Later, the non-coms of the second platoon and the lieutenants went scouting for new positions. We had to move everything over to our flank, about five hundred yards. We had to take our tents down, roll the packs and then pitch our tents again in the new positions.

At noon, half of the company at a time marched down the road about three miles where the field kitchen was, having moved up closer to us during the morning. We had a good lunch and started back to our positions.

At ten o'clock last night, while setting the guns on the R.O., as they call the target, we received orders to move, supposing that the enemy had retreated. We had figured on getting some sleep last night but were disappointed. We got our tents down quickly and made up our packs and loaded the guns on the limbers, which they sent up to us. These are small carts and a mule draws them. I am glad that we have limbers now. That eliminates the carrying of the guns and ammunition. We should have had them long ago.

At eleven-thirty last night, we started to march and I thought it would just be a short distance. One o'clock passed, two o'clock, three, and we were still marching. Every time that we stopped for a rest, I threw myself down on the ground, pack on my back and all, and fell asleep. Five minutes later' at the command, "Fall in!" I would be awake again and stumble on. It was a terrible grind. I fell asleep instantly every time that we stopped for a rest. We all suffered something terrible. Words can't describe the torture. You have to go through it to understand.

The moon was a full one and shone on us all night. We would have been a wonderful target had Jerry come over. At six o'clock this morning, we reached our huts here and the imaginary battle was over. At six-thirty, we were all asleep, except the fellows who were put on guard. I felt sorry for them. They were all in but had to do two hours of guard duty just the same.

At twelve today, we were awakened, and ate, and then went back to sleep again. The sergeants awakened us at three this afternoon, and we had to clean up all our equipment, clothing, rifles and machine guns. It was a quarter after eight tonight before we got through. Leonard and I then went over to the Estaminet and we drank some aile tonight. He told me that, when we drew up to the huts this morning after the hike, I looked as white as a sheet. I guess I looked as bad as I felt. It was terrible. If this is the sort of training necessary to get men into condition for the front lines, they are crazy. They are just weakening us with this unnecessary torture. That's all it is, loading men with heavy packs and rifles and ammunition and then walking them all night is wrong. They are sap-ping our vitality and later on we won't be able to stand any hardship at all. My legs pain terribly and I'd give fifty francs right now for a good bottle of liniment to rub myself with and kill the pain.

All my love to you and Mousie. God bless you.

CHARLES.

Wednesday, May 29, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We were up at six this morning and felt much better after having a good sleep. We made up our packs right after breakfast and then started for the rifle range. We moved up real close to the targets and everybody fired twenty-five shots at a distance of fifty yards. Out of the twenty-five shots, I only hit the target three times. This is terrible. I don't seem to be able to keep the gun on the ground. It vibrates too much for me. The best any of the fellows did was to hit it twelve times out of the twenty-five. The Lieutenant made some sarcastic remarks about us not being able to hit the side of a house. I wonder what they expect of us fellows who were civilians six months ago and up to last week had never fired a machine gun!

We were back at the huts at twelve and ate with the Tommies again. Our kitchen is far away somewhere. This afternoon we had some more practice in taking the gun apart and putting it together again. Then we had some more gas-mask instruction. Before this was over, some of our fellows came along with a half a dozen mules which were more dead than alive. They haven't the vitality of the mules we had back at Camp Upton. Then came about two hours of instruction in packing our machine guns and equipment on the backs of the mules, how to distribute the load evenly, where to tie it, and so forth. The mules were almost asleep when we got thru with them, and it took much urging to get them to move.

Tonight, before it got dark, Leonard and I walked over to the camp of the fellows from Tennessee, the 177th Infantry. They arrived yesterday. They sure are a wild and tough bunch. We were in the Estaminet over there, drinking some wine, and half of them were drunk and carrying on something awful. They were all drinking whiskey straight without any chaser at all. They all seemed to be very much full of fight and can hardly wait until the time comes for them to go over the top and "Give the Dutchmen hell," as they were shouting. What a difference between that bunch and ours! Our crowd is peaceful. They aren't so blood-thirsty. We got back here about nine, and the front is quite lively over here tonight. The artillery is at it hot and heavy.

Good night, Mother dear.

CHARLES.

Thursday, May 30, 1918

DEAR MOM,

Today, being Decoration Day, it was declared a holiday. I devoted the whole morning to cleaning things and washing my clothes. Our bath house opened up here today for the first time, and I had my first real shower since leaving the U. S. and felt great after it for the rest of the day. There is nothing better to make you feel good than getting cleaned up. We were visited by the Major General, the Brigadier General, and the Colonel of our Division this morning. They all looked us over very carefully. They looked highly pleased as everything was spick and span.

At three-thirty, we were allowed to leave the Camp, being excused from Retreat, the first time in a long while. Leonard, Carlie and I went riding on a lorry we picked up. It was going up toward the front. We soon came to the big town, St. Omer. This town is closer to the front than we are. It is a young city and everything was wide open and business going on as usual. You certainly have to hand it to these French people sticking around so close to the front. The town was badly damaged. It must have been hit thousands of times in the last four years. Many have been killed but the rest still stick around. While there, we had a wonderful feast in a restaurant. We had eight eggs apiece, plates of fried potatoes, and drank plenty of wine, and some good strong black coffee, something which we haven't had for ages, it seems. We walked all around the town and took in all the sights.

We arrived back at Camp at a quarter of ten and, unfortunately, had to run into the Top-Sergeant, who bawled us out something awful, asking us "Who the hell we thought we were?" He was sore because he had to stick around all day. We had to walk back part of the way, because we weren't lucky in picking up another lorry. We were good and tired when we got back. Am going to sleep now, as I don't know what's ahead for us tomorrow. They might decide to hike us a hundred miles to make up for the holiday we had today.

Affectionately,

CHARLES.

DEAR Mom, Friday, May 31, 1918

Had something new this morning after breakfast, we were marched to the trenches they have near by for training purposes, and we were instructed in making an emplacement. With picks and shovels, we dug and dug, until we had blisters on our hands. At eleven, we were marched over to the rifle range, leaving the digging unfinished. We weren't sorry at all. We all fired fifty shots with the machine guns, twenty shots for ranging fire, and thirty for application fire. They were all the same to me. I don't know any more what they mean than you do. Out of the fifty shots, I hit twenty--eight on the target, which is the best I've done so far. This afternoon, they took us up to the range again. The company shot again and my squad and myself were detailed to do guard duty up on the road. What for, I don't know. There was nothing to guard, except to keep anybody from wandering into the line of fire, and nobody was within miles of the place.

Company B of the 304th Machine Gun Battalion was supposed to relieve us, which they failed to do. I knew enough about army regulations not to leave a post until properly relieved. The Captain sent a messenger up to us tonight at seven and told us to report back to the huts and that I was to report to him which I did. "Where were you, Corporal?" he asked me. "On guard detail up at the range, Sir," I answered. "Why didn't you return with the rest of the company?" he asked. "We were never relieved by the 304th as the Top-Sergeant said we would be." He just said, "Very good, Corporal, you can go!" I gave him a snappy salute and then we went over to get some cold food, which they saved for us.

Tonight, I was thinking it over that the dirty dog of a Top-Sergeant framed this up and tried to get me into trouble. Now I know he has it in for me. I never did a thing to him as far as I know. These sergeants sure are tough eggs to get along 'with. I felt sorry for the seven fellows in my squad, staying on guard so long. I explained it all to them and they didn't seem to mind. My squad consists of a fine bunch of fellows and we get along great together. I never have to tell them to do anything. They do everything without me even asking them to. We were very much interested watching the artillery fire tonight up at the range while waiting to be relieved, so it wasn't so bad. Good night,

CHARLES.

JUNE

Sunday, June 2, 1918

DEAR MOM,

Leonard and I just got back from the village. We were over there tonight at a farmhouse and had a feast of eggs, potato chips, and wine. These French women make some extra money by serving meals to the soldiers. There is something about home cooking which you cannot get in the army. The army cooks do not know the first thing about cooking. They get away with it, tho.

Altho it was Sunday, we were routed out this morning after breakfast, lined up, and marched away to the rifle range where we spent the morning shooting fifty shots apiece. I missed church services again, the third in a row. We were dismissed for the rest of the day and didn't have to stand for Retreat. Leonard and I spent the afternoon under a big tree alongside of a wonderful field. There sure are some wonderful spots around here. We killed time writing a few letters, studying our French book, and talking of the good old U.S.A. How I wish we were back there now!

We saw a bunch of German prisoners being marched back this afternoon. They looked awfully sloppy. Everything was stripped from them, no buttons on their coats at all. The soldiers cut the buttons off all the coats of the prisoners and keep them for souvenirs. The English Tommies all have belts just full of buttons of many different outfits. The German prisoners have only coats and trousers, and they look like civilians. The only part of them that looks like a soldier are the feet. They have army boots on, and the funny little round caps they wear.

Yesterday was a very busy day, and they worked us late so I never got a chance to write you. I was busy up to nine o'clock, checking up the equipment and cleaning the machine gun and my rifle. We had been out on the parade ground all day getting instruction on sighting and aiming and lining up a battery of machine guns for barrage firing. I went over to the Estaminet with Leonard and we had some nice cold ale, which is a very good drink in this kind of weather, and especially when you feel tired out.

It's late so with love to you both from CHARLES.

Monday, June 3, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

Well, I had a great time tonight, riding on a bicycle, which I borrowed and rode over to Eperleque to the British Canteen to buy a watch, which the Tommies told me I could get there. They had sold the last one, so I was out of luck. My watch stopped suddenly and there is no place to have it fixed. The ride was great, up and down the hills. I was all by myself and enjoyed it immensely. I felt like a kid again riding my own bicycle. We were paid again this afternoon. I received one hundred and one francs and fifty centimes and feel like a millionaire, even though it only is eighteen dollars and twelve cents in our money.

We were up to the gas school this morning, and we had our first experience in a gas-shell attack. Every detail was carried out exactly as it is up on the front line. They banged empty shells, blew horns, and used rattlers to give the alarm, just as they do up in the trenches when a gas-shell explodes. This warns the men to put on their gas-masks. It sounded just like New Year's Eve on Broadway. What a noise! This afternoon we were exposed again on the parade ground, getting some more instruction on barrage fir-ing and Infantry work. The artillery is at it hot and heavy at the moment. The Tommies say that it is about this time that new troops come up to the front to relieve the old ones. The object of the artillery barrage is to demoralize them and take all the fight out of them.

Most of the prisoners coming back recently surrendered themselves. It must be pretty desperate in the German Army if there are so many that surrender. When the Tommies go over the top, they kill all they come in contact with, they say, and no prisoners are taken. I swear that it must be a couple of battalions of prisoners I have seen since we arrived here. They all voluntarily surrendered, marching over to the English trenches with their hands high up in the air. They don't shoot these. Well, Mom dear, it's time to hit the floor, as hard as it is, it feels good when you're tired. I can sleep on hard floors now, cobblestones, anything. In fact, I think I could fall asleep on a tight wire. God bless you.

CHARLES.

Tuesday, June 4, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

I just got thru writing a lot of letters. We had quite an exciting day, and a busy one. This morning they took us up to the parade ground again. The mules and limbers were there, and we were instructed in how to load them as compactly as possible, and also in keeping the equipment evenly spread out in weight, so that too much wouldn't be on one side. Our ma-chine guns were there, and they had us hopping all over the place with their rapid-fire commands, and we were all perspiring in a short time because it was so warm.

Right after the noon meal, the Captain formed the company and announced that tomorrow we leave for the southern part of France and could have the after-noon off to get things ready. We were all glad to hear we were going to get away from this part of the country, and have an opportunity to see more of France.

The fellows who took a walk away from the Camp were lucky because, about an hour and a half later, the command, "Turn out with full packs!" breezed across the air. The fellows were sore. We made up our packs as quickly as possible. When the company was formed, the Captain announced that there was a delay down the line and we wouldn't leave tomorrow after all but a few days later.

We stood around a while wondering what was going to happen next, when the Lieutenant appeared with a nice broad grin on his face, as much as to say, "Well, you poor slobs, I've got you where I want you." He bawled out, "Squads right, forward march!" and away we went on a hike for three hours. It was hot and sticky, and the pace that the Lieutenant kept at the head of the line was awful. We were in misery. The names that the fellows called that bird aren't fit to write. I thought a lot, but didn't express myself. That's the disadvantage of being a Corporal, you've got to act as if you side with the officers, otherwise you would have no control over the men at all.

When we got back, I was all in. The fellows who sneaked away earlier had the laugh on us. I guess the Lieutenant felt like taking a walk, and didn't want to go alone and talked the Captain into giving us some exercise. Or maybe it pleases his vanity to be at the head of a mob of men and know that they have to obey and follow him. I'll bet my hundred francs right now that he doesn't lead us into the front lines later on as swiftly as he hiked us this afternoon. These kind of men are all four-flushers. I've read too many books on the war. They have them in all armies, loud mouthed and bold back in training camps, and whimpering and meek in the trenches.

I cleaned my rifle earlier this evening. This has to be done every day. It's best to do it at night and leave a thin coating of oil on it so the wet air of the night doesn't rust it. Well, Mother dear, it's getting late so will close with all my love to you and Mousie. How is she by the way? Is she going to be promoted? It won't be long now and school will be out and she'll have a nice long vacation. How I wish I had been born a little later and was going to school now instead of being where I am! Good night, God bless you.

Your boy,

CHARLES.

Wednesday, June 5, 1918

DEAR MOM,

Leonard and I just got back from the Estaminet where we had our fill of wine again. I guess you must think I'm becoming a drunkard the way I have been drinking lately. But, Mother dear, if you could only see what we have to go thru, for there isn't a day that we don't have some misery or torture, then you would excuse me, I know. When we are tired out, a glass of wine or ale braces us up, and makes us feel better right away. For a little while, we forget all about the darn army and the war and the unreasonable officers.

The Tommies get a ration of rum every day, it braces them up. In our army, we have our canteens filled with rotten water, full of chloride, or chlorine, I don't know which it is, but it makes the water taste terrible. You can't drink it. The chemical's supposed to purify the water. All over France, the water isn't fit to drink and has to be purified. It doesn't surprise me at all. The ground is rotten, I guess, because there have been nothing but battles all over France from the beginning of history and lots of blood has been shed. Just think how much blood has flowed into the ground in this country in the last four years with the millions of men that have been fighting here!

I wonder how much longer this war is going to last! It's just a year ago today that we all had to register in New York City for the Draft. A lot of things have happened in one year, I never thought that I would ever be over so soon, but here I am, right in the midst of it.

This morning we all had to clean our rifles and smear them up with cosmoline and pack them away, I thought we were going to keep them for good. I was glad that they took them away from us as they were too heavy to carry. I feel sorry for the boys in the Infantry outfits.

From nine to twelve-thirty, we received instructions in regard to firing data and map reading. This afternoon we were taken on a long hike with our packs again and didn't get back until five. We were almost dead. just before we fell out, we were told to get ready for Retreat with our rifles. The darn fools had us pack them away this morning and they were full of cosmoline. There was a mad scramble, the boxes were opened, everybody grabbed one and started to clean it. Retreat was at six, an hour later., and in that time we cleaned the rifles ourselves, and arranged things in the huts for the inspection of quarters, and also gulped down some food. How we did it, I don't know. That's why we went over to the village after that for some drinks. There is nothing better than to drown your hard feelings and after the first drink, I forgot everything. I wonder what's in store for us tomorrow.

Good night, Mother Dear, God bless you.

CHARLES.

Thursday, June 6, 1918.

DEAR MOTHER,

Well, we left Monecove today, and I guess forever. We'll never go back there now. We started marching this afternoon at one and we hit these woods at ten--thirty tonight. We were walking for eight and a half hours today, resting five minutes every half hour. At one place we stopped tonight for an hour and our kitchen fed us the beef stew, which was cooking all the time we were on the march. It is quite a novelty. I hope the kitchen sticks with us everywhere we go. Our limbers are with us, one to every squad and mules draw them. All our machine guns, ammunition, and equipment are in the limbers. Back in 1915, I remember seeing moving pictures in New York City of the German army on march walking across Belgium, and I remember the rolling kitchens and supply wagons going along with the troops. That's the way it was with us today, and my thoughts wandered back to 1915 when I saw those moving pictures and how, at that time, they fascinated me, but I never dreamt that some day I would be doing the same. Strange, isn't it?

I am writing in a pup-tent which I am sharing with Carlie, one of the fellows in my squad. My candle is stuck on my helmet and we are stretched out with raincoats on the ground, and a blanket and overcoats over us for covering. It doesn't feel bad at all, I guess, because we are too tired to notice how hard the ground is. There are woods all around us and our tents are pitched in between the trees.

This morning at Reveille, the Captain announced that we would be on our way today, so the whole morning was spent loading the limbers with our equipment. We turned in our ammunition and it was packed away. Thank goodness, we didn't have to carry it today. We sure did work this morning, and were all played out by noon. They issued us our iron rations, and strict orders that under no circumstances were we to touch them until we had received orders to do so. This consists of hard tack, some bacon, can of corned beef, coffee, and some sugar.

At one o'clock we left Monecove with three cheers from the Tommies. We sure did look military all right. It was a very hot day and I became thirsty and drank a little too much water, I guess, because before an hour had passed, I became dreadfully sick and flopped. I didn't know where I was for a couple of minutes. When my eyes opened, the company was marching on, and about a half a city block away, and I was stretched alongside of a ditch at the side of the road. Captain Campbell rode back on his horse and bawled me out. "Let me see your canteen, Corporal," he said. I handed it to him and it was only two-thirds full. "Weren't you instructed not to touch this stuff?" he asked. "Yes, Sir," I answered, "I couldn't help it, my throat was parched."

The perspiration was pouring from me. It was the hottest day we have had yet over here and the sun was beating down on us something awful. "Let me have your pack," he said. I took it off and he put it over his shoulders and carried it for me the next hour, walking himself. In fact, he didn't get on the back of his horse but very little this afternoon, only when he had to go up and down the company. I got up and followed along and, at the next rest period, I was back with my squad. Walking for an hour without my pack kind of rejuvenated me and I was all right for the rest of the day.

The Captain did other wonderful things for the fellows. I saw him give a couple of fellows some water from his own canteen. He walked his horse instead of riding him, and that's something that few officers would do. We stopped at six and ate and it was a good rest. The fellows suffered awful today. How they stood it is beyond me. The fellows who have charge of the mules are having an awful time tying them up over in the woods. They have to take care of the animals first and then they pitch their tents. We call them the mule-skinners in the company.

Well, Mom, I can't mail this letter to you so will have to carry it along with me and perhaps add on to it each day as I did coming across on the Karoa. I am anxious to hear from you about that long letter. How long did it take you to read it? Well, Mom dear, I know I won't have any trouble sleeping tonight. Thank goodness, there isn't any artillery around here. That is, I haven't heard any as yet. I might be surprised, tho, before daylight. The mules must be obstinate, I hear them hee-hawing over in the woods and the mule-skinners are using some terrible language.

CHARLES.

Friday, June 7, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

Today was another terrible day of hiking. We are in a town called Crequy. We are up in a hayloft of a farmer's barn stretched out on straw. The fellows are all talking about cooties and if we don't get them tonight, sleeping on this straw, we never will. Soldiers have been here before. This barn has been used for billeting for the last four years. All the outfits that have been here left their trade-marks on the wall. There are a great many French outfits designated on the whitewashed wall, but I can't make them out. I guess many of them who have slept here are now sleeping on some battlefield forever.

They woke us up at five-thirty this morning and altho I was sleeping on the ground, I had trouble in getting up, it felt so restful. Somebody must have put glue under me. We ate breakfast, made up our packs, and at six-forty-five we were on our way. We marched and marched and, as the morning wore on, it became hotter and hotter. It was terrible, the sun was so hot. The hard roads almost burned the soles off the shoes on our feet. Many of the fellows dropped out today, sat down on the side of the road and later in the day caught up with the company again. I was surprised that the officers left them behind. As they dropped out, the fellows were told how to follow us and catch up with us later.

I wrote down the names of the towns we marched thru, and if you can get a good map of France, you can probably find these towns and know where we hiked. The first town we hit was Theimbrounne, then Williametz, St. Martin, Renty, Remeaux, Coupelle, Vielle, and then late this afternoon we marched into this town called Crequy, where we are billeted for the night. We washed up at the pump and then got in line for food, which our rolling kitchen had been cooking for us on the hike. The third platoon is billeted in four different barns, one squad in each. The first and second platoons are in one great big barn. Gus Weber is bunking in with me tonight. Poor Wilmarth, the frail lad in our platoon, is very ill tonight with a fever. He's game to the core. He never complains, and endured the hardships today as well as the biggest ones in the company. When a frail kid like him can stand it, the huskiest fellows have to stick it out, too, otherwise the fellows kid the life out of them. Weber and I have spread our shelter -halves over the straw and a blanket under us and one over. We ought to sleep good tonight.

God bless you.

CHARLES.

Saturday, June 8, 1918

DEAR MOM,

Well Mom, I bet you thought of me today, all right, my birthday, and now I am twenty-three years old. Gus Weber, Koehler, and I went over to an estaminet tonight at a town called Tenears and drank some wine to celebrate. We are camped right outside of the town. I never slept so soundly as I did last night. My, but we were tired! They woke us up at five, and at six--fifteen we marched over to where the other platoon was billeted and ate our breakfast. At nine, the day's marching commenced. We stopped at twelve to eat and rest and then started off again.

Today we marched throtgh Reausseauville, Caulers, Crepy, Tilley Capelle, and at four we landed outside of Tenears. The whole Battalion is camped together and the rows of tents sure look pretty. There are lots of trees about us and we are pretty well protected from being seen by German aviators. It is a most wonderful spot, a canal runs alongside the Camp.

When we arrived here this afternoon, we pitched our tents and then were free to do as we pleased. Every-body who could swim, took off his clothes, and dove into the canal. Make out it didn't feel good after the two days of heat and hiking! It was some sight to see the American Army in its nudity. There were some French peasant girls over on the other side of the canal, and they just stood there and looked at us as unconcerned as if we had bathing suits on. A couple of fellows yelled over to them and the Captain came along and bawled us out and made everybody dress. We non-coms got the worst of it. He told us that we should know better than bathing that way in broad daylight so near the town, and that we should set a better example and so forth, but he's a good scout, because he told us we could swim again later when it became darker.

Our meal tonight was the best we ever had. The fellows are all in good spirits and contented this evening. They forget the misery of the army quickly. Good night,

CHARLES.

Sunday, June 9, 1918

DEAR Mom,

Weber, Bardes, Schlaich, and myself, all boys of German descent, took a walk over to the town this morning to see the sights. By the way, we sure have a lot of boys of German descent in this company. This town has been bombed from the air in the last four years, some of the houses smashed to pieces. If there is a chance to get some eggs, we always take advantage of it, no matter how full we are. We came to one house where we saw chickens running around. Schlaich said, "Ali, eggs!" and before we knew it we were knocking on the door and a sweet French girl opened it. We smiled and asked in French, "Pardon, Madamoselle, avey voo des oofs, dey freit." She laughed out loud at us and didn't seem to be able to stop. We stood around acting kind of sheepish and didn't know what to do.

When she got through laughing, she said in perfectly good old American language, "Why, certainly, boys, come right in. How many would you like to have?" We were dumfounded. Well, we had a wonderful feast there, eggs, potatoes, some wine, champagne, and coffee. We were there for an hour talking with her. She told us that she has relatives in Illinois and had lived in America for three years when she was a young girl, and that's how she learnt how to talk English. We got back to Camp at twelve-thirty just in time to eat again.

At three o'clock, we received orders to move, took down our tents and made up our packs, and at four--thirty we left. Some fast work! We promised the French girl that we would be back tonight to eat some more, and I guess she thinks we were dirty liars because we are now miles away from Tenears. I bet the poor darling prepared a lot of food for us tonight. If I only had asked her name, I could send her a letter of apology. Her last words when we left her this morning were not to disappoint her. That's the worst of the army, you don't know where you'll be from one minute to the next.

We thought sure, on account of this being Sunday, that we would have the day off. We hiked from four--thirty until eight-thirty tonight, passing through the towns of Anvin, Monchy Cayeaux, Santicourt and Wavians, and then landed in this big field alongside of a forest. We were told not to pitch tents as we leave tomorrow morning at three-thirty on a train. It started to rain lightly and it is no joke sitting out in the rain, so Weber and I started down the road and hit an English Tank Corps camp. There were about a hundred Tommies inside the hut that we walked into and we almost fell over when we saw them. The air was thick with smoke. When they saw us, they hollered, "Hello, Yanks!" and dragged us in. We told them who we were and that the rest of the company was down the road waiting for the train at three-thirty. They asked us if we played a piano and I told them that my buddie did nothing else but. Of all the men in that hut, where they passed the time away, there wasn't one that could play the piano decently.

Gus Weber is a diplomat if there ever was one. The first song he thumped off was, "It's a Long Way to Tipperary." Well, Mom, it's pretty hard to describe the scene, everyone of them joined in and sang the loudest he could. You would think the roof was coming off of the hut. It brought a lump up in my throat to see the Tommies put their hearts and souls into that singing. Gus had to play it over and over again, and how he does play! Gus played a lot more from some English music they had. He didn't know what he was playing but he plays anything at first sight and they all sang. Gus was the hero of the evening.

At ten the noise had to stop, so we talked, and finally they went off to sleep and told us we could stay as long as we wanted to. Two of the fellows took me outside to the shed while Gus was playing and showed me their tanks. A crew of eight manages to get inside of them somehow. How they all get in is beyond me, because the space is so small. A great big six cylinder engine takes up the most room. I took advantage of the opportunity to write you, it's twelve--thirty now and Gus is getting kind of nervous to get back to the rest of the company. It doesn't look like I am going to get any sleep tonight, my eyes are be-ginning to close now, but I must keep them open. Can you imagine anything more silly than this, keeping us up to get a train at three-thirty in the morning? They could just as well have let us sleep and get it at five-thirty or six. We lose a whole night's rest. That's the way they do things in the Army. It stopped raining, thank goodness, we are going to start back to the company, now.

Good night, Mother dear, God bless you.

Love from

CHARLES.

Monday, June 10, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

I am writing this on a freight train. There are twenty-three of us crowded in it. Straw is spread all over the floor on which we slept last night. We are rolling along slowly, to where, we don't know. It's seven in the evening and we have been riding all day. We started this morning three-forty-five, leaving from Wavians. We were all soaking wet from the dew which was very heavy and moist.

Our kitchen must have been cooking while we were waiting, for they surprised us with hot coffee at three A.M. just before we got on the train. It braced us up. Horses had been in it before and there was a terrible aroma. Just the same the fellows spread the straw which was at the station, threw themselves down on it and fell asleep. I was wide awake, the train stopped after it left the station for a half hour, everybody was sawing wood and I just sat there dreaming until it started again at four-fifteen. I kept track of the stations we passed when it became light and noticed we were going back thru the towns we had marched through the last two days with so much suffering, the first one I noticed was Renty, then St. Martin, Williametz, and Theimbrounne. Why we had to march so far and then ride back past them, I don't know. It got my goat. I became very tired and fell asleep dur-ing the day in spite of all the noise and bouncing of the train. These French freight trains are awful.

The train stopped long enough tonight for us to get something to eat from our kitchen which is on one of the cars up ahead. They handed us cans of corned beef and hard tack. That was all we got. We were hungry and it tasted good. The fellows are playing poker to pass the time, some are sitting at the door watching the fields go by, others are resting, and I am over here in the corner trying to write. This has been terribly monotonous. There isn't much to -write except to say that I wish I was home right now.

Love to you and Mousie.

CHARLES.

Wednesday, June 12, 1918

DEAR MOM,

All day yesterday, we just rode and rode. We passed through Dulans at seven A.M. After having a very restless night, I couldn't sleep at all, I thought the night would never end. At eight-twenty we hit Candas and at ten the first town that we have heard so much of during the war, it was Amiens. At eleven-thirty we passed through Calleaux.

We stopped for a few minutes and they passed out some cans of salmon to us and some more hard tack, which we ate cold. The fellows managed to get two tin cans which the hard tack came in, some bricks and some small pieces of wood and we managed to build a fire right here in the train and heated the water and dumped some tea leaves in it which one of the fellows had. Make out that tea didn't taste good! We all needed something warm in our stomachs. How we managed it without setting the car on fire is beyond me. We were all ready to kick it out of the car in case anything did start to burn.

At one-thirty we passed Poix, at two-fifteen Pouilloy and, later on, Abancourt. I started to play poker after that to get my mind off the trip. I lost twelve francs, but I didn't mind as the card-playing occupied me for a while. I fell asleep last night at eight on a handful of straw, I, was so tired, and was dead to the world until seven this morning. I had a wonderful sleep and never woke up once. At seven-twenty-five this morning, the first town we passed was Sauvoy.

I imagine we are traveling south on account of having been on the train so long. Then came a town called Vold, Sorcey, Pagney sur Meuse, Fong, and then came a big city called Toul. Then came Liverdun and then another famous town since the war, Nancy. It was 10 A.M. then. Then came a town with a long name, Champigneulles. After that Jarville la Mongrange, then St. Nicolas. Guess that must be where Santa Claus hails from. Then came Dombasle du Mertheau, then Bayon, Chaune, and at last, we reached our destination at one-fifty. It was a town called Dulache.

When we hopped off the train, we could hardly move our legs. It's surprising how a train ride can stiffen you up. In spite of having only eaten cold meals, the fellows were all in good spirits. I felt rotten and can't understand how fellows can feel good, suffering such inconveniences. We all had to unload the cars and clean them and it wasn't until three p. m. that we started to hike. We walked fifty minutes and then rested for ten. At six we stopped and ate, our rolling kitchen heated up some beans and with coffee, it tasted good, because it was something warm. At seven, we started off again and hiked until ten, making a total of five hours of marching. We cover at least three miles an hour at the pace we hike, so the fifteen miles took all the stiffness out of our legs.

We stopped at a square cut into the woods, a beautiful spot, as much as we can see in the moonlight, and we pitched our tents. Weber and I are bunking together tonight. He's fast asleep already and I am writing by candlelight. It's eleven-fifteen and will close with love to you and Mousie. I hope you will be able to find all the French towns on the map, so you can follow our traveling for the past three days. This sure is a gypsy life. We sleep anywhere. Thank goodness, it's quiet. There is no artillery around here to jar our nerves. We must be miles behind the front somewhere.

Good night, Mother dear.

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Thursday, June 13, 1918

Well, we had a good day of rest, most of us spent it in getting cleaned up and looking respectable again. This morning I enjoyed a rare luxury, considering that I am in the army. I had breakfast in bed. Good old Dinola, an Italian member of my squad, a very funny fellow, he is always making some funny remark to make us laugh, got my mess-kit while I was sleeping, had it filled with flap-jacks and syrup and brought it to my tent and woke me up. I thanked him and felt like a General for the time being. It was seven and we never had to stand for Reveille this morning. I guess the officers must have been all in.

At ten, we were told we could leave the camp for two hours. Whenever we get a chance to get away from the company, we go looking for eggs, You sure can get some fine fresh eggs from these French farmers. Weber, Bardes, Koehler and I stumbled across a farmhouse and the old lady there sold us five eggs apiece and some bacon. When we got back to camp, we made a little fire and I made a bacon omelet frying it in my mess-kit. I was so full I passed up the army food and only took bread and coffee.

The Top-Sergeant told us there would be an inspection this afternoon but didn't tell us what time.

We got everything ready and ourselves cleaned up and had to wait around all afternoon for the officers to show up. They are billeted somewhere in a farmhouse. The soldiers sleep on the ground under their pup-tents. They finally showed up about four o'clock and looked everybody over. Nobody was bawled out. The sun beat down on us all day and I don't think there is any better tonic to make a fellow feel good than a sun bath. A Small brook runs alongside of us here and it sure was a very pleasant day and I enjoyed it, the wonderful scenery and trees and the babbling brook. I wish we could stay here indefinitely, it is just like being on a camping trip.

The fellows were allowed to leave camp tonight until nine. There was no place to go, for we are far out in the country somewhere. I don't know exactly where but it's fifteen miles or so from Dulache. In which direction from Dulache, I also do not know. Some of the fellows are playing cards, others are writing. It is so restful around here that very few of the boys left the Camp. We do enough hiking when we have to, without going out at evening. Well, I'm glad they gave us this rest today. Tomorrow they'll make up for it and probably walk the legs off of us again. I'll mail this letter the first chance I get.

CHARLES.

Monday, June 17, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

I haven't written you since last Thursday, I think, and must apologize to you for having neglected my duty. We have been so busy since then, studying night and day, learning all we can about the new French machine gun called the Hotchkiss. Back at Upton we had the Colt, up at Monecove, we had the English Vickers, and now we have to learn all about this French one. It has been raining cats and dogs ever since we arrived here. We are in a village called Fraimbois. Last Friday, they put fifty-four of us on motor trucks and after five hours riding, we were dumped off at a city called Luneville and then we were hiked here. This is a French sector and a French sergeant who can speak English pretty good has been instructing us.

We have been soaked ever since we arrived here. It was the first time that we gave our raincoats a practical test and they are utterly useless. The rain soaks right through them. They are no more protection to us than cheesecloth would be. Our supposed-to-be waterproof shoes leak like sieves. We have an extra pair of shoes and they are wet, too. It has been raining so steadily that you can't get a chance to dry your clothes or shoes. I wish the sun would come out again.

The only part of this that we have enjoyed are the meals. The Captain sent Freddie Schlaich along with us to do the cooking. I don't know where the rest of the company is, I suppose they'll be along one of these days. These six squads here now might have to instruct the others later on. Freddie sure is a magician when it comes to preparing dishes. How he does it, all alone, for fifty-four men is a miracle. Were it put to a popular vote, our Mess Sergeant would lose his job tomorrow, the dirty Greek.

I am now billeted with seventeen others in a barn. We sleep on straw. It is raining something awful at the moment. The thunder and lightning are quite severe. It makes me jump every minute but I'm not complaining because I'm thinking of the poor devils up on the front line, it sure must be rotten up there tonight and I'm thankful that we are in a dry spot.

Six of the fellows are stripped to the waist and are looking over their woolen undershirts to find the lice that have been biting them. This barn is lousy with cooties and we all are lousy with them now since we came here. I found two on my undershirt earlier this evening. They are perfectly disgusting and annoying things. When we catch them, we put them over the candle flame and kill them. It is quite a picture. These fellows sitting over candles and looking for lice. The candles cast huge shadows up on the roof of the barn and we all look like giants.

Well, Mom, I guess I'll close, I'm tired. I was asleep once this evening from six-thirty to nine, when Kimberly awoke me and said I better undress and go to bed decently. I took advantage of all the lights burning to write you.

CHARLES.

Tuesday, June 18, 1918.

DEAR MOTHER,

I'm back with the company now and we are billeted in a town called Baccarat in the barracks occupied by the French soldiers. The place is just alive with lice and we are all in for it now. They are something you can't help getting. The soldiers have been coming back and forth from the trenches since 1914 and every place that they have ever stopped at, they leave behind lice for the next group to get. Almost everybody is busy tonight looking for them. No more than you kill off the few you find, it is only a short time after when a new flock of eggs seem to hatch out and you have dozens more over you. They bite and annoy you something awful.

When we arrived here tonight at nine on motor trucks, we ran into the good old 69th Regiment of New York City. They have been over here for some time and now wear a six months' service stripe on their arms. It sure did make me feel good to talk to some of them while they were waiting to pull out of here. They left to go up on the Somme front, they said. They are sure going up to a hot sector and I don't envy them in the least. Many of them will not come back, you can rest assured of that. They have been in action already and have had many casualties. They have been back here resting and filling in the gaps with new men to get their outfit up to full strength again.

It was great to meet a fellow from your old home town, even if you didn't know him. One fellow I was talking to lives at 28th street, the block we used to live in. We gave them three cheers and they all marched away. It made me feel sad for a moment and I felt like a civilian looking on, forgetting that I was in the army myself, all I could think of was that in a short time many of them would be food for the cannons, snuffed out in a moment, maybe. They were all singing and whistling and in such good spirits, I pitied them. It seems they have no realization of what's ahead of them. I wish I could feel so light-hearted about this butchering business of war. I think it's awful.

I had a good sleep last night and was up bright and early. The sky was cloudy in the morning but it wasn't raining, and before noon the sun came out very hot and we all managed to get dried up again.

We spent the whole morning over at a rifle range shooting the Hotchkiss and practicing mounting the gun as if we were going into action. The ground was occupied by the Germans for two weeks in August Of 1914. Their old gun emplacements and plenty of shell holes were all over the place and it made it very realistic of the front line and made an excellent place for training of troops.

After we ate at noon, we were told to make up our packs as we would leave at four. When we started to leave, the whole village turned out. A band of French soldiers came along from somewhere and lined up in front of our column of squads. There were only fifty-four of us, six squads. Why this honor was bestowed on us is beyond me, except that we might have been mistaken for some other outfit. We haven't been in the front lines yet and didn't deserve any such demonstration. When they played our National Air before starting, we all stood at attention and it's hard to describe my feelings in writing. Lumps were in my throat. It felt good to be an American. It didn't help to destroy my hate for war, however. I never will get over my feeling of the terrible slaughtering that goes on in war-time. I hope this will be the last war. Civilization has advanced too far to keep up this sort of thing. To be patriotic doesn't mean that we have to go out and destroy and kill.

They marched us for an hour to where the trucks were. The French people cheered us all the way and it was the warmest feeling of friendship I've seen for some time. We piled on to the trucks, gave the band a "Viva la France!" and then started off and rode and rode over bumpy roads and got a good shaking up. At nine o'clock, we pulled into this town, which is one real city, if you ask me. The scenery on the ride was wonderful and I enjoyed the sunset, which words can't describe.

The fellows sang every song that they ever heard, some of them harmonizing, and all in all, it wasn't such a bad ride. They are all turning in to sleep, one by one, we have straw mattresses on the floor, they are full of lice, and we have our choice, to either sleep on the hard floor or on the soft but lice mattresses. Most of them are sleeping on the mattresses already. I am going to tackle the hard floor.

CHARLES.

Friday, June 21, 1918

DEAR MOM,

We are in a town called Pexonne. It's eight o'clock and we are waiting to move on again. We are making one-night stands now. Yesterday we rested practically all day, and at nine, started for the hike to this place. They let us rest today and now we are waiting to move on again. I guess it's dangerous to move troops up here in the daytime, as we are pretty close to the front lines.

Weber and I saw the ruins of Jerry's bombardment yesterday at Baccarat while we took a stroll through the town for two hours. It was as if an earthquake had hit it. Many of the French civilians were killed. Of course, we visited the Y, and in almost every one you can find a piano. Weber always sits right down and starts to play and for a while I forget the war and everything. When we returned, they ordered us to make up our packs. Then we had to load our limbers. We had new Hotchkiss guns and ammunition issued to us earlier in the day and it sure looks like business now. The rumor is we are bound for the front.

After we ate, we had to clean up the quarters we had occupied. Our Captain is very strict in cleaning up places before we leave them. Other outfits leave all their filth behind them when they go. We haven't hit a place yet that we didn't have to clean up.

At nine last night we started to march. We thought it would never end. Before long we were very tired. At twelve-thirty, we had halted and were resting alongside of a church in a little village. It was very quiet and suddenly the bell struck once. It startled us and most of us jumped. The Lieutenant standing near by brought us back to serenity by remarking, "That's darn good shooting Jerry's doing tonight, hit the bull's eye." We couldn't help laughing, the way he said it.

It started to rain something awful but we had to keep on marching just the same. There was no shelter anywhere. We were away out in the country. The lightning flashes scared the life out of us, they struck so close. Almost every step we took, our shoes would stick in the mud, which made the walking all the harder and the packs never seemed so heavy. It was two when we marched into pexonne. We were led to a hayloft. How we ever find these places is beyond me. I dropped on some hay, took off my shoes, and was dead to the world immediately, and slept until ten this morning when breakfast was served. There were millions of bugs and spiders all over the place but they never disturbed our rest last night.

The Captain wanted another sign made reading "Company Headquarters." I went over to the Y near by and luckily they had some paint and I found a board and lettered it. We loafed and rested all day, and had a wonderful meal this noon of steak and potatoes. Where they got the steaks from is a mystery, that's officers' food. One of the fellows remarked, "I bet this is horse meat." The French eat horse meat. They have parts of dead horses hanging in the butcher shop windows, just like our butchers back home hang parts of beef and lamb up on the hooks. After he made that remark, my imagination got the best of me and my stomach turned upside down and I couldn't eat any more steak. It's funny how a remark can upset you. Guess I must be over-sensitive.

One of Jerry's aeroplanes came over this afternoon and we all ducked for cover so that he wouldn't see us. They shot at least thirty shells at him but he was traveling so fast that they couldn't hit him. He must have taken- some photographs and he turned around and went back to his own lines. At six, we received orders to make up our packs and then clean up the place. We smiled at that because this is about the dirtiest place we have ever been at. The dirt has been here for years. The Captain will not come up here so we are leaving it as we found it.

It's nine now and we are still waiting for orders to turn out and start off. It isn't raining at the moment but no stars are out and it looks like we are in for another mud bath tonight, I thought I'd take advantage of this opportunity-while we are waiting-to write you. I mailed a bunch of letters to you from Baccaret yesterday which I hope you get all right. It was quite an accumulation. I'll save this one and mail it the first chance I get. God bless you and Mousie. How is my little sister?

CHARLES.

Saturday, June 22, 1918

DEAR Mom,

Well, your boy is in it now. We are about a mile away from the German front lines, the closest we have ever been to them. They call this the reserve line where we are now. In case anything happens up on the front, we are here to help them out. We are lucky and have huts so that we can sleep indoors. That's better than holding a trench and sleeping out in the open or in a dugout.

Last night we started to march at ten o'clock, and it was past twelve when we hit our destination, here in the dense woods. It took half an hour to unload our limbers, we were slipping and tripping all over the place. On one slip, I wrenched a muscle of my right leg, which was very painful but much better tonight.

It was raining when we hit here, and we were tired, wet and miserable. It was one-thirty before we got to sleep and they didn't wake us until nine this morning. I heard the call, "Come and get it!" This means breakfast is ready. We dress quickly and rush to get on the line for food. Our toilet is usually attended to later, food comes first.

This is a wonderful dense forest full of pine trees. The front line has practically been the same for the past two years down here. The Germans had all this ground all the way to Baccarat at one time but were driven back to where they are now. No doubt they slept in these huts that we are in now. We cleaned our machine guns, ammunition and equipment this morning and got everything in order in case of emergency.

The weather was very unsettled today, one minute the sun would be shining and the next it would be cloudy. Then it would drizzle for a little while. Once the sun came out suddenly and the fellows shouted. We ran to the edge of the forest. We thought an air battle was on but it turned out to be the most wonderful rainbow that I have ever seen. The colors were the most intense ones imaginable. The fellows were gleefully exclaiming that it was a sign that the war would soon be over. I hope so, but it looks doubtful, unless these millions of Yanks coming over now scare the life out of the Germans.

One of our sergeants whose name is Holmes came back to the company today without a pack. He lost everything. When we were up at Monecove, he was sent away to the English Army on the Somme front for instruction purposes, and to get some dope on conditions at a lively section. One morning after he had removed his pack and stood it against the trench, a German shell came over, made a direct hit on it and blew it to pieces. There wasn't a thread of it left and lucky for him, it wasn't on his back.

This afternoon, we discovered an artillery outfit about a quarter of a mile away from us. They let loose with a roar and this forest acts like a sounding board and the sound of every shot goes echoing along all thru the forest. When they fire at night, we are going to be out of luck for sleep, it's a terrible noise when the artillery starts to fire. It's about the most nerve- wracking sound there is. This afternoon everybody received a holster and a Colt automatic pistol. These we keep until the war is over. We are fully equipped at last, thank goodness, and we feel a little safer.

I went out into the woods tonight and gathered a bunch of pine tree leaves and with the shelter-half over them, I ought to have a good sleep tonight. The air here in the pine tree forest does smell good, I wouldn't mind staying here for a while. God bless you.

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Sunday, June 23, 1918

We were up at six this morning and had to stand for Reveille. They are always surprising us in this army. It was quite a novelty to have a company formation considering that we are in the reserve lines. The Sabbath was not kept holy at all. All of the non-coms who were at Fraimbois had to teach the other half of the company all about the Hotchkiss gun. So I had my first experience today in instructing a large group, telling them the names of all the parts, and showing them how to take the gun apart and put it together again. I am thinking now how foolish it was to bring half a company up so close to the front lines without knowing anything about the Hotchkiss gun.

While we were at Fraimbois receiving instructions, the rest of the company spent every day marching to where we are now. They weren't on a single motor truck. I was lucky, to escape all that hiking. This afternoon we had plenty of gas-mask drill. We were told that altho we are in the reserve line, our training would continue as usual. We also had to inspect all our ammunition and clean our guns again this afternoon, which is some job and keeps us busy and out of mischief.

I had to letter another "Company Headquarters" sign later in the day, I guess they lost the last one I made. We are not allowed to leave the vicinity, I had planned a short walk tonight but was disappointed. The artillery was very active all last night, there were plenty of aeroplanes overhead and I didn't sleep well at all. Carlie, one of the fellows in my squad bad an awful crop of hair on his head so I had my first experience as a barber tonight and trimmed him up with a small scissors and made him look decent again

A small brook runs past the huts and tonight managed to clean up an accumulation of dirty clothes I had. I hope the soap will kill off the eggs of the cooties which some mother cootie laid there in my underwear. A new crop seems to hatch out every day and we all have the time of our lives looking for them.

They sure are annoying things, the way they can bite! The weather was nice today and we all felt happier. I am very sleepy and am going to sleep now and hope the artillery takes a vacation tonight. All my love to you and Mousie.

CHARLES.

Monday, June 24, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

Oh, what a night we had! The bombardment was terrific! It was the first time that we ever had the German artillery fire at us, my heart was in my mouth. Aeroplanes were flying overhead. We were in the pitch-dark huts not daring to light up for fear of detection. The road to these huts is torn up from the shells they threw over last night. They are darn good marksmen, if you ask me. Their target was the ammunition dump of the artillery outfit. The nearest shell-hole to the dump is only twenty-five yards away from it. That's pretty good shooting and if that one shell had been just a little further over, it would have set all the ammunition on fire and I know the forest would have started to burn and we with it. It sure was a narrow escape for us. I get sick when I think of it and I wish we could get a little further away from these artillery outfits. They make too much noise and every time they shoot, I jump.

This morning we instructed the men some more on the new machine gun and had more gas-mask drill. This noon we all received our overseas caps and spiral puttees. What a difference in appearance! The old canvas leggings looked terrible alongside of these. We sure do look snappy now. This afternoon devoted to more gun instructing and gas-mask work.

Tonight I had some more experience in cutting hair, my victim this time was Selig, a Jewish fellow,, in my platoon. He's a nice chap and one of the smaller men of the company, who have stood up so well en-! during all the hardships of hiking and carrying the, pack as well as the bigger fellows.

We have about every nationality you can think in my company. There sure is some mixture, and think it is about the finest thing in the world for anyone, who like myself, has always suffered with, race-prejudice, to be mixed up in an outfit like this. The last six months of my life in the army, living and" suffering with these fellows, has done more for me to get rid of race-prejudice than anything else could" have done. I am beginning to get a better realization of the different things I have read and heard on the "Brotherhood of Men" and "Love your neighbor as you love yourself." I am beginning to see more and more how we are all one common herd, ruled by another class that has more power than we have. We are told to go and fight and kill and we must go, even tho it is against our highest sense of right to kill another. They seem to even mock God, the Father of us all, when they make His children slaughter one another.

I saw for the first time a number of our own American Red Cross ambulances come back from the front this afternoon on the road near here. This sector is held by American troops and altho I couldn't see in-side the ambulances, I know there must have been a lot of our boys shot up last night during the bombardment the Germans sent over.

We devoted an hour tonight in digging a big hole in the ground to dump in a pile of garbage which another company had left near our hut. The flies were buzzing around it today. We have a reputation for cleaning up the mess of other outfits. It protects us, so I am glad our officers are particular in that respect. I am very tired tonight and hope I will be able to sleep.

CHARLES.

Tuesday, June 25, 1918

DFAR MOTHFR,

Tonight I am on guard duty, my shift is the third one and doesn't go on until twelve o'clock so I am going to write a little and then try to get some sleep before twelve. I am very tired, this morning I was awakened at four-by the Top Sergeant-not of my own accord. He told me the first platoon was going up the line and that two men of each squad of the second platoon were to escort them up and carry ammunition. We dressed in the dark, put on our helmets and carried our gas-masks upon our chests, ready for instant use. All grabbed two boxes of ammunition and away we started.

I don't know how I felt, one minute I was scared to death, the next minute I was eager for the opportunity to see the front lines, to see just what it looks like up there as I have read so much about it. I knew that at daybreak was the hour that both sides started blazing away at each other with artillery. We did everything in the pitch-dark and walked along silently like dumb animals. The ammunition boxes weigh about eighteen pounds each and they pulled my hands away from my wrists. They became heavier and heavier.

We finally reached the communication trench at the edge of the forest and had to put our gas-masks on because the air there was thick with mustard gas. That was the spot where the Germans sent over the barrage yesterday morning and they certainly did wreck the place. The country was open at that point and you could look away over to where the Germans were and see No Man's Land. It was covered with barbed wire for miles. A single white streak shot up into the air and burst open into a beautiful white light, burned for about a minute and then went out. Then a green sky rocket flew up into the sky. It was a signal for something and everybody was told to duck and lay low. We were all nervous and breathing heavily. Nothing happened so we went on a little way down the trench leading up further to the front line.

We finally stopped and placed the ammunition into a dugout and the fellows of the second platoon started the walk back to the huts, leaving the first platoon in the lines. They have the honor of being the first up.

It sure was thrilling up there this morning and I got quite a kick out of it. I have been very anxious to see what the front was like. It is exactly as I had mentally pictured it. I don't know how long the first platoon is going to stay up but the rumor is that when they come back, we of the second platoon relieve them. It was seven o'clock when we got back to the huts and luckily there was some breakfast left for us. They didn't expect us back at all and as nobody knew that the first platoon was going up to the lines, they cooked enough food for the whole company.

Of course, everybody asked us questions all day about how it looked up there. They were surprised this morning when they woke up to find the first platoon gone. The company looked wrecked. A couple of fellows were kidding the more timid ones, making it worse than it really was, telling them that they tripped over dead bodies, and that No Man's Land was full of skeletons, and that a barrage came over when we were up there. The funny part was that they believed it all.

What was left of the company, spent the rest of the day getting machine gun instruction and more gas-mask work. At six, we mounted the guard. I am free until twelve and am going to take a snooze now, My eyes are closing, no undressing until six tomorrow night when we will be relieved. Good night.

CHARLES.

Wednesday, June 26, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

At quarter-to-twelve last night, Leonard awakened me to get my men ready to go on their posts and relieve his men. It was the first quiet night we have had and I could have had a good night's rest, undisturbed, but that's my luck again to be on guard duty. It sure was hard trying to keep awake and I stood up for the two hours at the road. I was all alone, everybody else was sleeping in the camp, with the exception of my men, posted at different places thru the forest and along the road. It gives me the creeps to stand like that all alone. I imagine all kinds of things, every lit-tle sound, even the noise of the breeze blowing against the trees startles me. I seem to be on edge.

I was thinking last night of how silly it all is and what fools we are. It's the poor people, the working people, who have to go out and fight each other and, besides enduring physical suffering, we also have to help pay for it financially. For it's the taxes we pay that furnishes the money for war. I wished last night that women would have something to say whether their country should go to war or not. I think their natural instinct of thrift, if not their abhorrence of brutality, would sway them to abolish war. Just think to what good use all this money spent in the last four years could be used? If it were equally divided among the needy, poverty would be unknown.

No one cares a rap about the poor man, they don't even think of him, they are all too busy storing up their dollars like misers. But when a war comes along, they put a uniform on him and make him fight, whether he likes it or not. I wish some of those patriotic birds would help you along with a few dollars, so that you wouldn't have to go to work. I wish now that I had claimed exemption when they asked me; like a fool I said, "No," just because I was too much of a coward to be a Conscientious Objector. I was afraid of what others would think of me. I never thought of how you were going to get along. But never mind, Mother Dear, when I get home again, I'll work real hard, and you will have it nice and easy again. That was about all I could think of from midnight until two while I was on guard duty. I figured out that I was being punished good and plenty for having made such a quick decision in my emotion of patriotism. I have since seen that one can be patriotic without wanting to go to war and destroy and kill.

It will take years to repair the damage that has already been done over here, and never in a life-time will those who have had dear ones killed off be able to forget.

Nothing happened the two hours that I was on guard, except being scared. I don't like the dark, walking from one post to another. I tripped a number of times and twice went sprawling but didn't hurt myself. McGarty and his men relieved us at two and we hit the hay then, until quarter of six this morning, when Leonard woke me again to relieve his men. A heavy barrage was going on further up the line this morning, they kept firing for over two hours and I guess a big advance must be on. Being on guard today had its advantages, for it enabled me to visit the brook and wash my clothes and also myself and get rid of some of the cooties which had hatched out again.

It was a very peaceful four hours I spent while off guard duty. The forest is very dense and the sunlight peeps thru in spots. I found a big spot and sat in the sun for an hour naked from the waist up, it felt good. We were supposed to be relieved at six tonight but on account of having received orders this afternoon to make up our packs as the rest of the company goes up to the line tonight, we are doing this extra shift from six to eight. Everybody is ready and waiting to move up as soon as it gets dark, I suppose. I think there is an advance on the program. They say this line hasn't moved one inch for the past two years one way or the other, and it looks like we are going to do the moving. My men are on their posts now. It' s seven--thirty, and in a half hour I will bring them in. I took advantage of this wait to write a few lines to you. There is no chance of mailing it so will have to carry it along with me for a while.

CHARLES.

Thursday, June 27, 1918.

DEAR MOTHER,

We are now up in the front line and it sure is exciting. The Infantry is about a block away in front of us. Then across No Man's Land is nothing but barbed wire on posts stuck in the ground and the Germans are somewhere behind that. As far as you can see are nothing but trenches. There sure has been a lot of digging going on up here.

They marched us up here about midnight last night. The whole company is stretched out for about a mile, I should think, because the nearest machine gun of our company is about a block away on both sides of us. The gun is in a big shell-hole with three small trees covering it. To me, it looks very conspicuous and the Germans must be awfully dumb if they can see the spot and think that three trees could fall on one spot like that. It has made me very uneasy because I am sure it is going to draw their artillery fire. If shells start dropping around here, there isn't much shelter anywhere and we'll just be out of luck.

One man is always at the gun and peeking out looking for anything suspicious. How the Germans ever found out that we were coming up last night is a mystery to me. No more than we had started, they started to bang away with their artillery but we were lucky for the shells always passed on over our heads and landed in the forest with a crash. Had their range been a little bit shorter, they might have got us. I feel sorry for the poor fellows who have to walk back for the food. They bring it up in Dixies to us. It is about the most ungrateful job imaginable and very dangerous for you never know when you are going to get hit. Today especially, the Germans kept dropping them over intermittently practically all day.

The day passed rapidly, there was nothing to do but loaf. We have to be careful to keep out of sight for the Germans have men on the look-out also and when they see a Yank, they start shooting at him. I heard a number of rifle shots during the day. Whenever you see anything moving off in the distance, you take a shot at it. It's been like a holiday up here today, and if there isn't any more activity here in the future, I'm afraid the war will continue for another four years.

In one way, I guess it's best that our first day in the lines was a peaceful one. We can get used to it gradually, for I know it isn't going to be as peaceful, like this day was, for very long. We are sleeping in a shell-hole right under a big cherry tree tonight out in the open. Guess we won't have our pup-tents for some time now. As soon as it gets dark, we are going to dig the gun emplacement just a little deeper, it's too high now.

I'm terribly hungry and we are waiting for the fellows to bring us some food. They should have been here an hour ago and I hope they didn't lose their way. Our artillery opened up while I was writing and I can see the shells exploding off in the distance. Well., Mom, guess I'll close and add some more to it to-morrow.

CHARLES.

Friday, June 28, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

The fellows were lost last night and didn't get up with the food until ten o'clock. We ate the Dixies clean and they looked as if a hungry dog had licked them after we got thru. We were so hungry. They were delayed for about an hour while a heavy barrage was going over from the German lines and they had to lie in a ditch alongside of the road for protection.

About eleven last night, the Lieutenant came up out of the dark from somewhere and we got the machine gun ready and placed a spirit level on it, and elevated it to a certain degree, and then we started to shoot. The bullets coming out of a machine gun at night make a flash and can be easily seen by the enemy, so we placed a piece of burlap up on two sticks stuck into the ground and shot thru that.

The Lieutenant figured it out so that the bullets would be falling somewhere back in the German lines about a mile away. The machine gun was supposed to be trained on a road somewhere back there. We couldn't see if we hit anything and just trusted to luck that the bullets were landing on the road where German soldiers would probably be walking at the time. He called this "putting over a machine gun barrage," which is similar to the artillery barrage. We would shoot about fifty shots and then elevate the gun a little and then shoot another fifty. We kept this up for about an hour and the gun became so hot, you could fry eggs on it.

The German artillery sent over a few shells trying to locate us but they fell far back into the woods. I figure they will be on a look-out for us tonight. I fell asleep for awhile and at three, the sergeant came along and kicked the soles of my shoes and said, "Get up!" Everybody has to be up at three and stand-to, as they call it, ready for action in case the Germans come over the top. We all watched for an hour and day broke. It was very mysterious at that hour of the morning and when daylight broke, we were glad. We took the gun back to the alternate position the fellows dug last night nearer to the cherry tree so we will not have to crawl out in the open during the daytime. We spent the day digging it deeper under the camouflage we have over the hole which makes us less conspicuous. If the Germans knew we were under the camouflage, they would start to shell us. This seems to be a game of hide and seek.

A German aviator came over this afternoon and started firing down at the Infantry in the trenches in front of us. He was only a hundred feet above the earth. The anti-aircraft guns started to shoot at him, so we started to open up with our machine gun, too, but nobody brought him down as he was traveling about a hundred miles an hour, and before you could get the gun trained on him again, he was off and back for his own lines. This morning, we had the surprise of our lives. I am wondering where the Mess Sergeant got them. He sent up two soft-boiled eggs for every man and two flap-jacks with plenty of syrup on them. They sure were good and it was the best breakfast we have had for some time. The Sergeant and I made a few corrections on the gun emplacement this morning and outside of that did nothing all day but loaf. It was just like being on a picnic today.

About two o'clock this afternoon, I was so sleepy that I fell asleep and slept until seven this evening when they brought up some more chow to us. The right side of my face was terribly swollen, an insect bit me while I was asleep this afternoon. My lips are puffed up, too. The Lieutenant came around and when he saw me opened up his first-aid kit and he had some mentholated vaseline and that relieved the pain. It's getting dark rapidly now and we are waiting for him to return as we do some more firing tonight. So long, Mother Dear!

CHARLES.

Saturday, June 29, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

The Lieutenant came back about ten last night with the spirit level and elevated the gun at a certain degree. Then he turned the gun to the left and I had to go out in front of it, about ten feet, and stick a branch into the ground about three feet high. Then he turned the gun to the right to a certain point, and I stuck an-other branch into the ground at that point directly in front of the gun. Then we started to shoot from right to left between the two branches, and the bullets were supposed to fall on a crossroad somewhere behind the German lines where they probably were marching.

The Lieutenant told us that we did a great deal of damage. How they get this information is beyond me, unless there are spies behind the German lines who signal the information over, or, maybe, the airplanes flying over in the daytime see plenty of ambulances going back. That's a sign that many German soldiers have been wounded.

They started to shell us last night, landing a little closer, they must have an idea where we are. I was glad when the hour of shooting was over, so we could get back to the deep trench that we dug that gives us plenty of protection from shell fragments. At three this morning, we all got up and stood-to for an hour again but nothing happened.

The Lieutenant invited himself to sleep alongside of me last night, and the only thing I hope is that he didn't catch any of my cooties. After breakfast, he took me along with him over to the other gun positions so I would get acquainted with where they were in case of emergency. I enjoyed the walk as my knees were getting stiff but I didn't like the idea of expos-ing myself the way he did. I had to go right along with him. The Germans surely must have seen us at certain points, where we walked out in the open, and why they didn't take a shot at us is beyond me. I was trembling inwardly and he was walking along as unconcerned as if we were miles behind the front line. The German front line was only about a block or two away. All I could do was to pray, which I did. When I came back to my gun position, I walked back to the woods, went into them deeply and started walking rapidly and got back safely.

I cleaned and oiled my pistol this afternoon to keep busy and also got out my little water-color box and painted a little landscape sketch and forgot all about the war. It was a wonderful clear day and very quiet, only once in a while a shell would go swishing thru the air over our heads and land somewhere in the distance with a crash. Otherwise, today was just like be-ing on a vacation to me. I have been writing while we were waiting for the food to come up. I see them coming now between the trees over in the woods so will close and write some more tomorrow. So long, Mother, Dear.

CHARLES.

Sunday, June 30, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

They brought up stew to us last night, and it sure did taste good, and I remembered how I used to spurn it back at Camp Upton. Last night it tasted like chicken, I was so hungry and lapped it up clean, gravy and all. The Lieutenant came over later and got the gun trained on a certain spot and we started firing away. The Germans finally got wise to where we were, and, very shortly after we started, a shower of shells came over on us. While I am writing of it now, I am still trembling and wondering how in the name of heaven nobody was hit. They were shells from the German 77 gun. They are about a foot long and about three inches in diameter, small, but what noise they make! The French have a similar shell and call theirs a 75 millimeter, I think. The shells burst all around us and we all laid flat on the ground until it was over, and then immediately started in shooting again to deceive them. We must have fooled them and they elevated their guns because, after that, the shells dropped farther back of us into the woods.

I slept for a couple of hours and then stood-to from three to four watching the sky get lighter and lighter. This is a very strange experience for me and I haven't got adjusted to it yet. I, who never used to get up out of bed until seven-thirty in the morning.

All morning there were plenty of airplanes overhead and we had to keep out of sight. They were looking for the machine gunners who have been annoying them so much the last few nights. There was lots of ammunition wasted trying to hit one of them, but they fly so fast that it's almost impossible to get the gun trained onto them. I suppose they took photographs from the air and probably are shelling the place tonight but we fooled them, because we are no longer there, but in another spot farther over on the right.

We are in an abandoned house, just outside of a village called Badenwiller, and we sleep indoors tonight on the floor of one of the rooms. Our gun is mounted outside in the open field behind the house. Two men are on guard at the gun all the time. The house is right on the road and the Germans have the range on it and have hit it a number of times already. The whole top of it is shot away and shell-holes are all around the place. It's better than sleeping out in the open tho, and another advantage is that we can have a light at night. The windows are covered with heavy burlap and no light creeps out at all. I am writing on the floor by the light of a candle stuck on the top of my helmet.

We all sneaked back into the woods tonight and marched single file about three feet apart coming over here. We stopped for a rest and the 308th Infantry was stretched out along the road, and I found out from one of the fellows that it was A Company. That's the one my friend Sumner is in. I haven't seen him since we were at Camp Upton. So I inquired for him and, unfortunately, at that moment ' he wasn't there. They had sent him back to Battalion Headquarters for instructions. He is a runner for the company. I don't envy him at all, for it is a very dangerous duty. No matter how much shelling is going on, runners have to go thru it and deliver messages when they are ordered. I told the fellows in his outfit to tell him I was looking for him. Our machine gun company is attached to his outfit and we support them wherever they go.

MacGarty and his squad are over in the woods about a block away, right on the edge of it. I don't know who is luckier, he out in the open or I in the house which is a favorite target for the German artillery. it's almost eleven now and I must close as Dinola and

I are going out to the gun for two hours, then Chorba and Purcell relieve us. Good night, Mother Dear. God bless you.

CHARLES.

JULY

DEAR MOTHER, Monday, July 1, 1918.

Well, we must have some guardian angel watching over us. We have been very lucky so far and especially last night. We sure do hand it to the German artillery, for they are remarkable marksmen. They just seem to smell where we are. Last night, when Dinola and I were at the gun, all of a sudden, we heard a swishing noise and then a loud bang, another direct hit on the house, at the further end of it, and it crashed right on down thru the floors to the cellar. Had it hit on the side of the house where we sleep, there would be nobody of my squad left but Dinola and myself. We were out in the field in the back of the house at the gun. It was just a matter of ten feet which saved the others from being swept into eternity. They sent over more, and we heard the shells dropping back further and further. Both sides play for the roads at night, figuring that there must be soldiers walking on them at that time.

It sure was a narrow escape, and everybody was restless and nervous for the rest of the night. It just seems to rip and tear you to pieces when these shells explode so close to you.

The Lieutenant came over and set the gun for us and we fired over to the Germans, giving them fifty shots, and then a minute pause, and then another fifty. We kept this up for about a half an hour and then stopped. The Lieutenant told us that they expected the Germans would be up and about at that time and we were giving them a little "strafing."

It was daylight when we quit firing and for a time it looked as tho we would surely be seen. We crawled back to the house, keeping as low as possible. I was dead tired and fell asleep and it wasn't until eleven that I woke up. I sent two men back for something to eat for the squad. It took them three hours, our kitchen is so far back. The afternoon went fast. We cleaned up the room and got all the dirt out of the place from the shell exploding in the other room last night.

My friend the Major, our Captain, and the Lieutenant came up this afternoon to look things over and walked out to our position in the back of the house to inspect it. What chances they took! The way they walked around so unconcerned worried me' because I know the Germans saw us and sure will let us have it now. They know we are in the vicinity. They showed me a map of that particular section of the country and it surprised me how accurate it was. Every hill and valley and even the houses were plainly marked. There were mileage marks all over it and with one of these maps you can hit any spot on the terrain by doing some mathematics and figuring out in degrees from the spot you are standing on. It's quite scientific and interesting in getting the range on an enemy position. I suppose the observers in airplanes help in locating positions. I bet a franc that the Germans are doping -out the range on this house and are figuring on smashing it to pieces. I was glad when they went on their way.

There is more delay tonight in getting our food up. It's eight now and I sent them back at three-thirty this afternoon, figuring they would get back by six--thirty. The fellows are hungry and it is getting dark and we are kind of worried about them because, about an hour ago, the Germans were shelling in back of us, sending them over fast and furiously for about fifteen minutes. We hear them going past over our heads and then land with a bang off in the distance. I have to arrange the different shifts for the guard tonight. We all have to stand-to for an hour at nine-thirty. Good night. Lots of love.

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Tuesday, July 2, 1918

The Lieutenant got over about ten-thirty last night. He set the gun at a certain degree, and stuck two sticks into the ground again and started firing fifty shots, rest a minute, and then another fifty. It wasn't ten minutes when bang, bang, bang, three shells about a second apart came over from the German lines and landed about fifty feet in front of us in the wheat-field. We had to stick at the gun and keep firing. These shells coming over seemed to say, "We know where you are, take that!" You sure have to hand it to them for getting the range of a place. We were lucky again no one was hit. The fellows seemed philosophical about it, remarking, "Well, if your name isn't written on a German shell, you won't get hit." I suppose the average number of soldiers hit by shells must be about one out of every thousand fired. It sure must cost plenty to kill off one man when you think of the cost of shells. More shells are wasted in hitting the ground only.

The Germans must have thought that they were off on their range because they hadn't silenced our machine gun. We kept right on shooting. The Germans raised their gun and dropped them farther back of us, then they shifted over a little to the right and then finally stopped. It was a peculiar sensation to know that German artillery was searching for you and trying to wipe you out. At eleven-thirty, we stopped and went over to the house to get some sleep, leaving two men at the gun.

At two-thirty, we all had to get up and stand-to until three-thirty. I almost fell asleep. Besides the two men at the gun, one man has to be on guard at the house to watch out for gas. This breaks up our sleep at night all the more, and I have difficulty in arranging the men for the different shifts so that all may get an occasional rest.

I went on from eight to nine this morning, and managed to get some water out of the well in the back of the house and shaved myself. I was beginning to have whiskers. We spent the morning cleaning up the gun and ourselves. We spend the most of the day waiting for meals to come up because our kitchen is so far away.

They gave us something to do this afternoon to keep us occupied, anything to keep us from getting a little rest. We had to make duckboards to cover over some of the wet spots of the trenches. At some places you almost went up to your knees in the mud. The Lieutenant came up later and got Mac and myself and we started for Company Headquarters, marking the path all the way so that it would be easier to find. We visited No. 5 and No. 8 positions, Leonard's and Hurell's. Their positions are about a mile farther over. Between my position and Leonard's, there is absolutely no one. He is about a mile away. When I was back home, I used to think that the front line from the northern coast of France all the way down to Switzerland was just a long solid line of men with no gaps between at all. I swear if the Germans knew that there wasn't a single soldier between Leonard's position, a mile away on my left, and my position, they would march their whole army right on thru and there would be nobody to stop them.

When it's dark at night, you can't see all the way across this wheat-field. While I am writing, I must confess it has me nervous, for there surely is something wrong here in the management of this particular section of the line. This has been the most quiet night we have had up here yet. It is a peaceful summer evening and it is nice and cool after the hot day we had. The evenings sure are lovely here in France and it's a shame that a war is on. We have to get ready now to stand-to, for it's beginning to get dark so will say good night, God bless you.

CHARLES.

Wednesday, July 3, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

It's raining cats and dogs tonight, and instead of going out into the open, we have the gun mounted in the rear of the house under a shed so it won't get too wet. We can still see our field of fire across the wheat-field, in case any Germans happen to come over. We were all up at three this morning and stood-to until four. Nothing happened.

It was very foggy this morning and the Lieutenant told me a story which Captain Deven, the Englishman up at Monecove, related to him. He was in a position and it was very foggy and the enemy marched right up in columns of four. The Captain and his men got away. That happened at the beginning of the war. The enemy always comes over when you least expect them. He told us to be on special guard tonight.

I slept for a while and then up at eight to stand for gas guard again for an hour. I cleaned my pistol because the damp weather seems to make it rust. You can't be too careful with it. We were visited by the Colonel and Major of the 308th Infantry this morning, and they asked me about my field of fire and where the gun position was, and then went on their way, walking about as if they were miles behind the lines. It's surprising that they are not shot at, because there are German snipers over in the woods in front of us. Ever so often, a bullet goes whizzing by. These officers seem to have charmed lives. I warned them about the snipers but they took no heed and kept right on walking up farther.

The Lieutenant came over this afternoon and had Mac with him and the three of us took a walk in the rear of our position to familiarize ourselves with the ground. Tonight, the runners lost their way again and we waited hours for our chow. I came in from stand-to just before I started to write. We didn't do any shooting tonight because the Lieutenant didn't show up. We haven't any orders to do any shooting so the gun gets a rest tonight. I am writing by candlelight on the floor and it's very fascinating. I get quite a kick out of it. Well, Mom, the way things have been here, it looks like the war is going to last forever. We don't move forward or backward. Love from

CHARLES.

Thursday, July 4, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

It's almost midnight, and we just got back a little while ago from some real excitement, and I do not feel any too good after what happened tonight, something which I have been dreading all along, and that was shooting at men. Maybe if I write you and tell you, it will relieve my mind and I might be able to sleep.

Everything was very quiet tonight, down on the front line, and somehow we got information that the Germans were going to surprise us with a raid, thinking we might be off guard on account of it being the Fourth of July. So, just as it was becoming dark, we were in a trench on the flank of the Infantry, and when they started to crawl up out of the trench to raid the enemy trenches, before they were supposed to come over to us, we opened up with our gun, protecting them, while they advanced over No Man's Land. We saw some of our fellows falling, and noticed the sparks coming from an enemy machine gun over in the woods and shifted our gun on to them. In a few seconds, there were no more sparks coming from that point. We must have hit them, and our Infantry proceeded on.

As they were nearing the enemy trench, we saw the Germans coming up out of it, and we started shooting at them and saw them fall. Some jumped back into the trench and others dropped their guns and walked up with hands in the air. In about two or three minutes, it was all over. It seemed like an hour to me. I was so excited the perspiration was pouring out of me.

We stayed there for about an hour, not knowing just what to do, and I sure was glad when a runner came and told us that the Lieutenant said to come back to the house. It was dark and I saw the silhouettes of the Red Cross men carrying stretchers with our fellows who were wounded. They have to carry them back to where the ambulances are at the First Aid Station. It made me feel terrible, and I was wondering what good all this killing will do. There have been wars for hundreds of years, men always killing each other, maybe they have been forced to, just as we were tonight. I never wanted to shoot anyone. The German soldiers we killed tonight probably have dear ones waiting for them at home just as we have. I wish I knew what to do, how to get out of this. I don't think I can stand much of it.

I thought of you all day long, wondering what you were doing. It was a heavenly day here, very peaceful and quiet, quite different, I guess, from back in New York. I suppose you had more frights and scares today from the noise of fire-crackers, I thought today how you used to be so nervous about Earnie and I when we were small.

I think they ought to abolish the noisy Fourth of July celebrations in the future and forget about wars. That might be one way to abolish war. The celebrating of victories every Fourth of July keeps the thought of war before the people, makes war something grand and glorious, when it is nothing but downright murder, makes some people arrogant, and it is a mockery of patriotism. Patriotism shouldn't make men commit murder. Oh, I pray God that I will be delivered from this some way. Somehow, I don't want to carry on. I would much rather get hit myself than ever have to shoot at another man again.

The fellows here in the room haven't spoken a word since we got back. They must feel just like I do. We are sprawled around the floor. I am writing by candle-light. The fellows are staring into space. Two of them are watching the gun. The German artillery has opened up since I started to write, and shells are whizzing by over our heads and dropping into the woods. Good night, Mother Dear.

CHARLES.

Saturday, July 6, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

For the past two days, I have been trying to sleep, but the excitement and the noise of the artillery has been too much for me. It never seems to stop. Just one continuous explosion after another. Our artillery is having a duel with the German artillery, both trying to wipe out the other. The shells have been dropping rather close to us and the gas from the shells has poisoned the air so that we have been keeping our masks on most of the time. It isn't the pleasantest feeling in the world to have the mask over your face all the time.

We put over another machine-gun barrage tonight, having doped out our range with a compass and a protractor which the Lieutenant brought over this afternoon. We were playing on a spot about two and a half miles behind the German lines, just behind a hill where the German artillery emplacement and ammunition dump is supposed to be. One of our aviators took a picture from the air and that's how they discovered the spot.

The German aeroplanes were very active over our heads today and probably were taking photographs of our positions. We stay inside the house when they are overhead, for if they ever see any activity around here, it wouldn't be long before they would let us have a shower of shells. I suppose they figure that we wouldn't be so foolish to stick around a prominent target as this house is, but here we are just the same. They shelled the village heavily, over on our right, at nine-thirty tonight, lasting ten minutes and tons of shells dropped into it. I think the Infantry bunch are over there and they must have hit some of them. It sounded as if they were bursting right over our heads. We thought at first that it was the preparation fire for a general advance on the German's side, but nothing happened.

We have had a tough time getting food, and as hungry as I am, I seem to eat just a little and then have to quit. The food seems like a lump in my stomach. It's after midnight. The candle on my helmet is burning away rapidly, so will say good night, I think I will be able to sleep a little if the shells whizzing by over our heads only let up for a little while. God bless you,

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Monday, July 8, 1918

It's seven o'clock. We all have our packs made up and waiting for the soldiers to come up and relieve us some time tonight, and we go back for a rest after our first stretch in the front lines. We sure are glad to get out because we have been up here for quite a time and all need a good cleaning and delousing. The cooties have hatched out millions of young ones while we have been up here. There has been a young battle raging here and I don't envy the fellows who are going to relieve us. It was a very quiet spot when we first got here.

We put over a terrific machine gun barrage last night from nine-thirty to eleven and almost shot away all the ammunition we had. The gun was red hot when we got thru. We slept for a little while, and, at two-thirty, had to stand-to until three-thirty as the day broke. I was so sleepy that I went back to the house and slept until nine this morning when an in-tense artillery fire from our side awakened me. It lasted for about thirty minutes and we found out later that the Infantry had gone over the top again, further over on our right. We saw quite a number of German prisoners later in the morning being led back thru the woods.

We had a surprise this afternoon by seeing a woman come walking up to the house. We motioned to her to keep low but she didn't heed us in the least and came right on, fearlessly exposing herself. Our Lieutenant was here at the time telling us about being relieved tonight. Luckily, he spoke French, and he told us later what the French lady told him. This is her home that we are in and it has been in German hands. This house was once between the front lines, the Germans holding her in their front lines. Her son was taken with them when they were forced back four years ago but returned three days later, after having escaped. He was killed last March in this house by shrapnel from the explosion of a big shell. He was seventeen years old.

The house does show signs of a hasty departure. The woman, her husband, and three children have been living, since then, two villages away, down the road. They have received orders now to evacuate that village by the fourteenth of this month and go back even further. So she came up today to look the house over for the last time. It was sad. Tears were in her eyes all the time she spoke. She went out in back of the house and picked a basket full of wild berries before she left.

The enemy was driven back three times from this point in the past four years. She said her home was hopelessly ruined and probably when she sees it the next time, it might be completely demolished. Practically all of the top part has been shot away already. These poor old peasants are the real sufferers and my heart went out to her. She seemed so brave. The men who start wars should have seen that poor woman today, maybe they might think twice before they would start another one.

Women the world over should band themselves together and force men to abolish war. If they have to suffer and bring children into the world, and then have them snuffed out in a moment by a shell, they should have something to say whether there should be war or not.

It's getting dark now, Mother Dear, and we have to stand-to until we get relieved, which I think will be about ten tonight when its gets real dark, so will close with love to you and Mousie.

CHARLES.

Wednesday, July 10, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We are now in a billet outside of a village called L'Enaipe, somewhere in the Vosges Mountains. This spot is one of the most beautiful that I have ever seen. For the past two days we have been hiking to get here. We suffered terribly and were all footsore and weary but this wonderful scenery was worth the torture of the hiking we went thru.

We were relieved the other night by Company D of our Battalion about eleven o'clock. Shells dropped to the right and left of us but never seemed to get near enough to do any damage. It sure was terrifying to have those things dropping near us. We were loaded down with our packs and machine guns and other equipment and stumbled and fell quite often. About a mile or two, our limbers and mules were waiting for us, and we loaded the guns and ammunition on them and started to hike. It was almost dawn when we came to our destination, some empty shacks in a deep forest. We slept until noon, ate, and then started off again and got to this place about one-thirty this morning.

Corporal Leonard's squad and mine are billeted in this barn, and the rest of the company is scattered out in other places. We had a chance to clean ourselves today and also our equipment. We stripped the limbers this afternoon and cleaned and oiled them. It was some job! We are miles away from the front lines and it is very quiet. Tonight I spent a delightful two hours resting in the field in the rear of our billet, ad-miring the wonderful scenery. Mountains are all around us.

It's nine and we were told we are here for the night, so it looks like a good old eight hours of sleep again, which I haven't had for a long time. Some of the fellows are asleep. I am writing up here in the hayloft. It has a wonderful odor, fresh cut, nice and soft, and makes a good mattress for us. God bless you.

CHARLES.

Thursday, July 11, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We were all up at six this morning and, for the first time in many weeks, lined up in company formation as we used to do back at Camp Upton and stood for Reveille and all men were present or accounted for I didn't mind getting up early at all because I had a wonderful night's rest, and with all the mountains around us and the beautiful scenery, it made me glad to be alive. It was one of the pleasant days of Army life that makes you forget the disagreeableness of it. After that we had a good old-fashioned breakfast of flapjacks with plenty of syrup over them.

The morning passed quickly, and we were free from all duties, so I took advantage of the wonderful facilities for washing clothes and got rid of my accumulation and cleaned them and they dried quickly in the sunshine. The French women all wash their clothes in cold water, out in the open, on a board alongside a trough which the horses drink out of.

At two-thirty this afternoon, Sergeant Kaneen, of our platoon, and Corporals Leonard, Johnson and my-self were ordered to make up our packs. At first, we thought we were going back to the line again for something special. At four o'clock, the Lieutenant came along. We were all ready and waiting for him and started off immediately saying, "So long!" to the rest of the company.

It was an hour after marching that the Lieutenant told us that we were going to a school to get anti--aviation training so that we could instruct the rest of the company when we got back to them again. We marched and marched, and the pack became heavier and heavier, and I suffered the usual torture that I always do on a hike. My right heel, where I was run over when I was a kid, bothered me terribly today. The road seems to get red hot and just burns up my feet. I was glad I washed all my socks this morning, as I had a clean change when we got here tonight at eight-thirty after marching four and a half hours.

We are back in the dense forest right behind the artillery emplacement at a place called Ker Avor. They are firing all the time and it is quite a contrast from the quiet and peace which we enjoyed last night which is about sixteen miles from here. We are right on the road that leads up to the position that we came out of the other night. The front line is only about two or three miles farther up the road. I wish they would have taken us sixteen miles away in the other direction so that we could have been away from this infernal noise.

They had some food saved for us and the Lieutenant took us over to eat. I gathered some pine tree boughs to sleep on. I am sleeping in a lower berth. There are fifty-six of us sleeping in this hut, twenty--eight lowers and twenty-eight upper berths made out of two by fours with wire stretched to form a spring. The mattress consists of pine tree branches. They smell good and ought to make good sleeping. All the non-coms of three machine-gun battalions are here in the different huts. It's getting on to eleven, am foot sore and tired, so will say good night to you.

CHARLES.

Sunday, July 14, 1918

DEAR MOTHER

This is the French Independence Day, which they celebrate each year as we do on the Fourth of July. The four of us were over to a village called Neuf Maison this evening, and the way the French people were carrying on was surprising. Most all of them in the village were pretty well intoxicated and all the estaminets were crowded. I admired their spirits tho. They have had four years of war and all have someone at the front or someone who has been killed off already. I suppose they try to drown their sorrows in wine.

The roads were crowded with ambulances tonight bringing back wounded soldiers. The Germans put over a terrific barrage this morning, which, by the way, woke us all about four o'clock, and it kept up for a couple of hours. The noise was so terrible that we couldn't sleep any more. We were on edge, thinking that a general advance by the Germans was on the program. If they ever had advanced to where we were this morning, we simply would have been out of luck, because we haven't much ammunition here at all, only some machine guns which we are using in sighting on aeroplanes.

We have been very busy the last few days over at a chalk quarry near by, which is quite out in the open.

Two of our planes have been circling above us for hours at a time, and we take turns at sighting the machine gun at it and try to follow it all the time. The idea is to hit the gasoline tank and set it on fire. We have also been instructed in using different instruments for this.

While we were over in Neuf Maison tonight, I ran into Sumner. The last time I saw him was back at Camp Upton. He told me that he has had some narrow escapes, going back and forth from the front lines with messages. He's one of the company runners, a very dangerous job. Last week when he was up in the lines, he had to run back thru a barrage and tell the artillery to lengthen the range as they were dropping shells down on some of their own men in an outpost position. He is weary of the whole business, too, and wishes he was back home.

We had the day off for once and I went down to the brook which is near here and took a good bath right out in the open. It was perfectly all right because there are no houses or people around but I smiled at myself, I must have looked strange taking a bath out in the open. The day was warm and sunny and the water was nice and cool and I felt like a two- year old when I got thru. They brought up five letters to me today. One of yours was among them, the one you wrote on June 16th. It sure was good to see your handwriting again. It's too bad you can't send Mousie away to the country while she is on her vacation. I wish I had been born about ten years later, I would be on my summer vacation from school now, also, instead of over here in this bloody mess.

The artillery is at it hot and heavy again tonight and the woods vibrate every time they shoot. It's a wonder that the roots of the trees do not lose their hold on the ground and tumble over. They stand for a great deal of punishment, too. The trees, where the gas-shells have exploded, have been killed off also, as the gas is so poisonous that it kills all green things. The trees are a wonderful protection to us in the summer time, but I wonder how it will be this winter. I suppose you have to keep out of sight all day long. It's getting late so will blow out my candle and hit the pine tree mattress, which is wonderful sleeping, by the way. Good night,

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Monday, July 15, 1918

The artillery is banging away tonight with unusual activity. It's been going on now for the past two hours. The hut actually shakes from the concussion and it doesn't look like we are going to get any rest tonight. There must be an advance on the program, otherwise, they wouldn't be firing so much. God, if it would only stop! It makes you jump every time they fire. The poor Germans must certainly be demoralized. If it's as bad as this on the side where they are firing from, what must it be like on the other side where they are dropping all around the Germans?

They killed the Captain of the Medical Corps of our Battalion last night, and the funny part is that it happened right in the doorway of the same house that we were sleeping in at our old position up the line. He was struck by a big piece of shrapnel from a shell that landed right on top of the house. I guess there will not be any of it left by the time the French woman gets back to it.

We spent the morning sighting on model planes which they gave us for that purpose. This afternoon we all went over to the range near the chalk quarry and everybody fired the machine gun, using the aero sights on the gun. After we got back, I guess the Lieutenant thought it would be a good joke to take us on a four-mile hike, marching at a terrific pace. It was a hot day and the perspiration poured off of me. I bet I lost five pounds.

We get a paper here called the Daily Mail, printed in England. I read it tonight. It said that there was another big German drive on up on the Champagne sector between Rheims and Chateau Thierry. This is a very important point because it is so near to Paris. If they ever get to Paris, I guess that would be the end of the war as far as France was concerned. I don't know what would happen to us away down here in, the Lorraine sector.

I bet you get the news of what's going on over here long before we do. About all we see of the war are the few hundreds of soldiers we see about us, and at times you get the impression that your squad is fighting the war all alone. That's the way it felt to me the last time we were up, because nobody was near us at all.

Bang! A huge German shell dropped near by a min-ute ago. They are trying to locate our artillery. We are all nervous. If the Germans lengthen their range a little, we are in for it. One of the sergeants just hollered to put out the lights. God bless you,

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Tuesday, July 16, 1918

The front was quiet tonight and I spent an enjoyable two hours resting this evening and reading a May fourth copy of the Saturday Evening Post that managed to get into my hands somehow. Reading matter is scarce over here. I found one of Irvin Cobb's stories and enjoyed it immensely and forgot all about myself, the war and everything. I am reading it all the way thru, something I never did with a Saturday Evening Post, devouring every word of it.

This morning about a hundred German prisoners were marched past us on the road. They were captured this morning early, I guess. They looked scared to death. They were mostly young kids about eighteen and some old men. Some of them were having a terrible time carrying back their own wounded on stretchers. Our artillery fire last night must have cut them to pieces.

This morning we were instructed in the identification of the German and Allied planes. They also gave us range cards showing the velocity of bullets at different ranges. It was all very interesting but I couldn't figure out, how on earth all this data is going to help us. When you are up in the line, you have to shoot and shoot fast, you haven't time to look up charts and dope out ranges, elevations, and one thing or another. It seems like wasted time to me. I've forgotten practically all of the stuff they jammed into us, back at Camp Upton. If they would only teach us some way of standing this infernal, nerve-wracking noise of artillery fire, I would appreciate it. I'm shaking almost all the time.

Tonight, at seven, two men were picked from each company to go up the line and put over a machine-gun barrage. They selected Leonard and Kaneen, so Johnson and I are out of luck tonight, but we get our turn tomorrow night, they said. It's almost ten, am tired and will say good night, Mother Dear.

CHARLES.

Wednesday, July .17, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We are back with the company now at Laruipt, a quaint little village down in the Lorraine section. Our school suddenly ended this noon and I was glad to get away from that awful artillery fire. It certainly is quiet and peaceful here. The fellows all seem in good spirits, many were playing cards this evening. This morning we had problems to solve, a sort of test of all that we had learned while we were at the school. At noon, the fellows started to leave for their different outfits. We were the last to leave. I took advantage of the long wait and went down to the brook again and took a bath. The water was ice cold and it surprised me that it should be so cold because it was a terribly hot day. We were annoyed this afternoon by a swarm of big ugly-looking flies, that seemed to come from nowhere. They were just like bees, the way they bit us. A limber from our company came for our packs late this afternoon, so we had nothing to carry on the hike back to the company.

At seven, tonight, the Lieutenant and the four of us started off. We walked through three villages, Rantelier, Bertichamps, and Raon L'Tape. They are a couple of miles apart, and it was quite a hike before we got back to the outfit. The Lieutenant bought two bottles of champagne while we passed through Bertichamps, and we all drank it on the road after we got outside of the town. I don't think the Lieutenant is used to drinking, because the little he had went to his head, and he began to act foolish. He was the only one who knew where the company was located and we simply followed after him-we had to-as he is our superior officer, drunk or sober. After getting lost in the woods and rewalking our steps, we finally reached our billets here at eleven.

One of the fellows in the company, named Kapp, was cleaning his Colt automatic pistol today and accidentally shot himself through his leg. He is now in the hospital. It's almost twelve, Mother Dear, so will say good night.

CHARLES.

Thursday, July 18, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

Nothing very exciting happened today. It was a heavy and rainy day, and it's strange how blue and homesick you can become when the sun isn't shining. This morning, in spite of a drizzle, we marched over to a range near by for pistol practice. Our raincoats, which are supposed to be waterproof, were soaked thru and thru. We all fired thirty rounds at a target. It's the first time I ever shot it, and every time I pulled the trigger, my arm shot into the air. The pistol has a kick like a young cannon.

We spent the afternoon cleaning and straightening out our equipment and about four o'clock, were lined up for inspection. Before we were dismissed, the Captain read from a sheet of paper that I was promoted today to an Acting Sergeant.

Funny, but ever since I was drafted into the army, I never have had any use whatsoever for Sergeants, and now I am an acting one, and before long will be a full-fledged one, after acting it for a while. Well, I am going to be a different kind of sergeant than the dirty punks that I ran into. I am just the same today as I was when I was a buck private. I never have to boss any of the men in my squad, and have I never bawled out any of them, and get along fine with them.

When there is any work to be done, I always dig in with them and they notice those things and think more of you. It's always best to treat them like human beings.

We are sleeping up in a hayloft where we are billeted now, and it is a wonderful place to get lousy in. I only slept in it one night and today a flock of cooties were crawling all over me. I spent tonight killing them off over my candle flame. The fellows are all disgusted and will be glad when we move out of here as nice as the scenery is all around. But I think you can get these cooties no matter where you go. France is just alive with them. It sure is a lousy country. Well, Mother Dear, I guess I'll close, and hit the hay.

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Friday, July 19, 1918

This morning we were all awakened bright and early and stood for Reveille. I don't know how Leonard did it, but he managed to talk somebody inviting himself and me a pass for Baccaret, a very big town. We were also very lucky in picking up lorries which gave us lifts both ways, and we had little walk-ing to do.

We spent the day visiting all the Y. M. C. A. and Salvation Army huts. The town has been damaged pretty badly in spots by aeroplane bombs being dropped on it. We saw a couple of hospitals and wounded soldiers, bandaged, were all over the place. It was a terrible hot day and I bet the poor fellows must have suffered. When the wounds are bandaged, they must be pretty hot on days like this. We got back to the company at five, and just in time to stand for Retreat, and then had a good feed.

At six-thirty, we decided to go for a swim over at the canal near by. just as we got there, we heard a cry for help. A fellow from upstate, by the name of Heimanz, was wading in the shallow water and suddenly stepped off where it became very deep. He couldn't swim, and neither could any of the others who were near by. He went down for the third time.

We all jumped in after the poor fellow, clothes and all, and fetched, but the water was so dirty we couldn't find him for some time. Finally, Bergstrom discovered him. Heimanz had grabbed a branch growing at the bottom and had a death grip on it. The water was about ten feet deep. He was under for about five minutes. We started working on him, trying to get the water out of his lungs.

The medical men came along shortly, our Captain and Lieutenants, and relieved us of the work of trying to revive him. We had been working frantically. We got hot water from a French farmhouse and kept up a relay applying it to Heimanz. It was twelve o'clock when they finally gave up all hope. The medical men said there wasn't a sign of life in him. His heart had stopped beating and his muscles were stiff and he was becoming colder every minute. We dressed him and placed him on a stretcher and left him in the billet for the rest of the night, while we all sadly returned to our billets. It is impossible to describe our feelings in words. Everybody was very sad. It was a tough way to go, so many miles from home.

It's after one, and am going to try to sleep a little if I can. I notice some of the others feel like I do. It was too much of a shock to see Heimanz go like that. My uniform is still wet. It's the only one I have, and I hope it gets dry by morning. Good night, Mother Dear. God bless you.

CHARLES.

Sunday, July 21, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

Things do happen quickly. Here we are back in the line again and you'll laugh when I tell you just where we are. We got here at midnight after a long hike. The Lieutenant stopped at a tree just in front of a cemetery wall and said, "This is your position, dig in here, Corporal!" I saluted, and he went on his way with the rest of them.

Shell-holes were all over the cemetery. We were told to sleep inside the wall. We did the best we could. Luckily, the moon was shining, and we picked out a vacant spot under a tree where there were no graves. I had a very restless night, dreaming of ghosts and skeletons, and I was glad when day broke this morning. As spooky as it was, the fellows in my squad took it good-naturedly and joked about it. Purcell found a tombstone with "Louise Maurencin," and the date of her birth and death on it , "1890-1908." He threw himself down on top of the grave and jokingly said, "Well, I guess I'll sleep with Louise tonight,

Okay, Corporal?" "Okay," said I, and we all burst out laughing, at midnight, in the cemetery. One fellow remarked that it wasn't the dead that we need be afraid of but the Germans. After arranging the different shifts for the guard, we just threw ourselves on the ground behind the wall and fell asleep.

Yesterday morning, we got the body of Heimanz ready for burial and, at twelve o'clock, he was laid to rest in a graveyard in the rear of a little church in the village of Bertrichamps. The Chaplain said a few words for him and prayed, and that was the end of poor Heimanz, the first one to be snuffed out in our company.

We spent the afternoon making up our packs, loading up the limbers with our equipment, and cleaning up our billets, leaving them spick and span, cleaner than they were, when we first came into them. Our outfit has a reputation for cleanliness.

We started marching about seven last night and finally arrived at this, position after unloading back in the woods, and carrying our machine guns and ammunition the rest of the way. I haven't figured out exactly where we are, but it is near a place they call Ker Avor. We have been working today building a shelter out of some lumber and pieces of sheet metal we found on the side of the road.

We managed to make bunks, one on the ground, and two uppers on both sides of the corner of the cemetery wall, with sheet metal resting over us to keep out the rain which came down quite heavily this morning and urged us on to finish this shelter.

The worst part about this place is that we are so far away from our kitchen, and it takes two hours walking each way to get food. This is another one of those funny positions where it seems that we are fighting the war all by ourselves. The nearest position on our right must be a mile away. In front of us are rolling hills as far as your eyes can see, and about a half mile away are lots of trenches and barbwire entanglements, which must be the front line. The only noise we heard today to remind us that a war was on, was an occasional explosion off in the distance further north, otherwise you would think we were on a picnic.

No officers have been here as yet. We have no instructions. We just stay here, keeping a man on guard all the time, looking out thru the holes in the wall down toward the front line. As soon as it gets darker, we will all stand-to and dig our gun emplacement a little deeper outside the wall. Good night, Mother Dear, God bless you.

CHARLES.

Tuesday, July 23, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

The quietness of the other day was only a lull before the storm. For the past two days they have been throwing shells back and forth at each other. Some of the shells from the Germans landed right in the cemetery, smashing many of the tombstones to pieces. It seems as if they want to kill the French dead and buried here a second time. I think the reason they take shots at the cemetery is because they figure that it might be used for an observation post. For every shell that they send over, our artillery sends back at least five. There is plenty of firing going on further up the line and it looks as if an advance might be on the program. They ought to do something down here, because it's been like this for the last two years.

The Lieutenant came over yesterday and took me to the other positions of the other squads. The four squads are stretched out for about a mile and a half. Word got around that my squad was in the cemetery, and the fellows were kidding us about whether the ghosts come up out of the graves at night or not. I told them about Purcell having a date with Louise almost every night. It's funny how we sit around on the graves and eat and wash and shave right on the tombstones. The relatives of these dead would be shocked if they could see us.

The Lieutenant told me to go over to Corporal Hendrickson and Jansen at their positions, and instruct the men on aerial gunnery which the four of us learned about last week. When I got back to my position last night, it was dark and I couldn't write any. We have to stay in darkness up here, I miss my old candle at night, but if I should light it here, I'm afraid the Germans would throw a barrage over on us.

They had some food saved for me which they got from the Infantry kitchen about a mile and a half up the road, instead of taking the long walk to our own kitchen. We dug our gun emplacement deeper last night so that the barrel of the gun just clears the top. This gives us more protection.

One of our sergeants was given a commission as second lieutenant and sent back to the United States as instructor. Hurrah! But I do wish he could have stuck around a little longer. We were all very anxious to see just how tough he would be when we got into some real excitement. They say that every time a shell exploded he would jump into the air and take a dive for the nearest ditch and hug the ground, scared to death. I like to see these tough guys whimpering like babies as soon as the Germans start throwing shells across.

The bunks are nice and soft, with leaves under our shelter-halves as mattresses, but we haven't had much sleep on account of the noise of the artillery and the aeroplanes flying overhead almost all night long. They go out on bombing raids. It rained all day, and we were lucky to have this shelter over us or we would have been soaked.

The Major came up this afternoon and looked over our gun emplacement outside the wall. We never go out there in daylight because we can be seen by the Germans. The Major walked all around the place as if he were miles behind the lines. When the Germans see us, they do not fire at us right away. They dope out the range and their artillery get instructions to lay down a few on us. This will probably happen tonight. It always does, after the officer leaves. He didn't approve of the emplacement being in that position, and told me, as soon as it became dark, to dig another one farther over, about fifty feet. We are waiting for it to get dark so we can get at it.

It's a great life, this army life, if you can stick it out. There are more bosses telling you what to do, and the funny part is that everyone wants it done in a different way. Well, Mother Dear, it's time for stand-to and the digging. Good night.

CHARLES.

Friday, JU1y 26, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We must all have charmed lives in my squad, for how we ever escaped being hit is beyond me. The cemetery is a wreck and the ground all around us is full of holes and reminds me of the comb that the bees make honey in. Everybody feels nervous and we sure will be glad when we get out of here.

We finished the new gun emplacement. Yesterday, our Captain and Lieutenant came over and criticized the square front and told me to have it rounded off, and to face it more to the right flank, so that we can put over an infilade fire, should it be necessary.

There has been a dreadful stench around here for the past two days and we thought it was some of the dead that the German shells had ripped open, here in the cemetery, but it was from a half dozen horses from the artillery outfit back of us. They were bringing up ammunition the other night, and a German shell made a direct hit on one of the limbers, exploding shells, and killing the horses and men, and spattering guts everywhere. What a mess! The gentle wind from the west has been wafting the aroma down here to us and it sure smells terrible.

The roads around us here are camouflaged with high screens made of long poles with twigs and leaves wound through the netting. From where the Germans are, it must look like the surrounding country and covers the road completely. The only way the enemy can tell there is a road is from the photographs the aeroplanes take.

I had to take a trip over to the other positions and signaled back to them so that the extreme right of the traverse could be determined to avoid shooting into each other. There are lots of rumors that our Division moves from here soon. Some say that we are going to be sent to Cuba, others say the Philippines, and others say we are going to a more active front. Why don't they make this an active front, instead of going thru some more torture of hiking to another front ?

We had a good feed of flap-jacks and syrup sent up to us this morning, just the way you make them at home. The Infantry kitchen has a good cook, I wish he was with our outfit.

Almost every morning this week, three French aeroplanes have been circling above the German lines, on observation duty only. The German anti-aircraft guns opened up, and the sky become full of the exploding shells and the black shrapnel-puffballs, as I call them-drive them back all the time. The shells ex-plode nearer and nearer to them as they race across the sky but never hit them, always eluding the finger-tips of some giant hand of death, it seems. It certainly is exciting watching them.

The Germans must have wasted thousands of dollars in ammunition on these three planes. They maneuvered around for two hours, and then returned to their base. This morning, nine French planes went over and with all the shells sent up at them, not one was hit. Well, Mother Dear, I guess I'll close, it's get-ting dark, and we are going out to work some more on our emplacement.

CHARLES.

Saturday, July 27, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

It has been raining all day. The life here in the cemetery is bad enough on good days, but when the weather is not so good, you get the willys.

Sergeant McGarthy, the Brooklyn policeman, came over this morning and I spent two hours talking to him and showing him how to use the prismatic compass and the different things we learned at the school recently.

The Infantry kitchen sent us up a plum pie this noon, three-inches thick, and it certainly was good. Our Greek Mess Sergeant never sends up anything like that.

Last night, I cut my hand pretty badly on the sheet metal we were using to rivet the gun emplacement with, and had the medical man fix it up properly this afternoon) I only had a bandage on it from my first -aid kit.

Sergeant Holms, of our outfit, leaves tomorrow morning for an officers' training camp-a three months' course. He came over to say goodby. He's a fine fellow, and will make a good officer, and deserves to get out of this mess. Lucky fellow! He's the one who had his pack hit by a German shell up on the Somme front.

The Lieutenant came over and inspected the gun emplacement we have been working on and it is now satisfactory. Thank goodness! He told us to get our ammunition in order, as we are going to put over a little barrage tonight about ten. The days are going rapidly and I wonder how long it is going to last. Oh, how I wish I was back home again! CHARLES.

Sunday, July 28, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

The Lieutenant came over last night, and about ten-thirty we started to shoot over to the German lines at seventeen-hundred-and-fifty meters' range. We would shoot fifty shots and then stop for a minute. After shooting for about fifteen minutes-whiz bang! -over came shell after shell, landing right into the cemetery. They certainly did wreck it completely last night. How the French people will ever be able to identify these graves after the war is beyond me.

The Germans know we are here, and we are in for it now as long as we stay here. It's good our gun emplacement was dug deeply, for it protected us from the flying-shell fragments. We kept right on shooting. The German artillery became tired and finally stopped shooting, but today, a half-dozen German planes were flying back and forth over our heads, making pictures probably of the damage they did to the cemetery, and trying to locate us. We kept out of sight.

The Lieutenant brought up a new man for the 8th squad from the 37th Division, which he said they have broken up to fill up other outfits. This new man is a fine type from the State of Mississippi.

Four years ago today this war started with Austria declaring war on Serbia, because one Austrian was killed by a crazy Serbian and Millions of men have been slaughtered since then, and maybe millions more before it ends. Was that one life worth all this slaughter? It sure is silly when you think of it.

This afternoon I was told to locate the fifth and sixth squads over on our right. I discovered that their extreme range of fire to the left was shooting right into my position over at the cemetery a mile and a half away. We changed the firing-post for the extreme left of fire, so they would clear us, in case any firing had to be done in that direction, which would only be should the whole Germany army try to march thru there. We would shoot into them from both flanks then. If they knew that there was such a great gap in between our positions, they could march right thru all the way to Paris on a dark night. It's surprising that they haven't found it out yet, because the lines have been just as they are now for almost two years.

They say, when our Division first came down here, that the French soldiers became sore because our Infantry took shots at some German soldiers who were walking about off in the distance. The French soldiers used to walk about also in broad daylight, and neither side shot at each other. This was supposed to be a peaceful front, a sort of rest for soldiers who had been on some other and more active front. This front was a rest-but no more! Bang! The artillery is starting in again! Looks like some more nerve-wracking noise tonight! It's getting dark, Mother Dear, so will close. God bless you.

CHARLES.

Monday, JULY 29, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

I received three letters today and they sure did cheer me up. After the dreary weather we have been having, letters are like sunshine to cheer up homesick soldiers. But, please Mother, do not send me any more money, I have all I need. It's just like you to do such a wonderful thing when you haven't much yourself. Do you think I can spend this money without having a guilty conscience when I think how you have to work for it back at the bakery? They only pay you fifteen a week, don't they, and for all those long hours that you have to work? It's a shame! So I really cannot take this money and am sending it back to you.

Tell the man at the post office that your son is now a Corporal, and makes more than a dollar a day, and pretty soon, he will be a full-fledged Sergeant and then get more. So don't you worry about me, Mother Dear! I have all that I need. There isn't much chance to spend any money where we are, anyhow.

Last night, out of a clear sky, one of my teeth started to pain and I suffered all night long with it, and this morning my face was swollen. When the Lieutenant came along, he told me to start down the road until I came to Battalion Headquarters and to ask for the dentist. I walked and walked for three hours until I finally got to it.

The dentist took one look at it, reached for a pair of pliers, gave a quick yank, and before you could say, "Jack Rabbit!" it was out, and I was on my way back to the line. He didn't use anything to deaden the pain, no antiseptic, nothing at all. I think his name is Goldberg-Doctor Goldberg-and, because he has a college degree of doctor, they made a Second Lieutenant out of him. He is my superior officer and, of course, I could say nothing. I hope I meet this bird some time after the war, in New York. I'll throw a brick thru his window. The way he went at it was something brutal. Privates to him are just so much dirt. He was having a good time kidding around with some other officers, and I suppose it was annoying to be interrupted by a soldier with a toothache. That's the way it is in this army!

When I got back to my squad, I found two former members of the Texas Rangers there. They were part of the 37th Division, which is being used to replace vacancies in other outfits. They were two rough-and- ready fellows, and I expected them to start to shoot up our place any minute. Were they blood thirsty? They wouldn't be satisfied until they had the Kaiser's throat in their hands, squeezing it until his eyes popped out of his head. I said, "That's strong language, Buddy!" After I said that, I expected a fight to start, but I suppose they were surprised that any one of us would dare to say anything like that. I asked them what they were doing up here, and one said they were told to report to the 308th Infantry. I directed them how to get to the Company Headquarters and they went on their way.

Tonight when it gets dark, those chaps will be escorted up to the line and get all the action they claim to be looking for. Neither one of them has been under artillery fire as yet. I would like to be around when they get their baptism. When they first came up to our position at the cemetery, while I was away, one of them asked, "What you all havin' here, a picnic? I thought there was a war on. This ain't no way to end it." In that last statement of his, he was right. I'm wondering, too, how it is ever going to end, the way we have been hanging around this peaceful front down here for over a month now.

Dinola, the Italian fellow, in my squad, has us laughing, imitating the Texas Rangers, "Wot you all havin' here, picnic?" He has a slight Italian accent and sure is a funny fellow. Well, Mother Dear, it's getting dark, and we'll have to stand-to soon.

CHARLES.

AUGUST

Friday, AUGUST 2, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We certainly have been on the go for the last three days. I didn't have time to write, and when I did have, was so tired that I dozed off to sleep whenever I could. On Wednesday, a messenger came up with a note that I should report with Dahlin, Purcell and McCabe at Company Headquarters with our packs. They had a limber packed with all the paraphernalia necessary for shooting at aeroplanes and we four were selected. The German aeroplanes have been just a little bit too active around here.

Early on that morning, a German plane came over and dropped bombs on our positions. One of them landed about twenty feet away from one of the guns, and my best friend, Gus Weber, had his whole left shoulder torn away by a piece of the shrapnel. His overcoat was left behind, and was blood-soaked, and the worst part of it is that he plays the piano so wonderfully. I guess his piano-playing days are over. It's lucky he wasn't killed. The machine gun was completely wrecked.

We have our gun mounted in an abandoned shed, right alongside a wheat-field, and for the past two days we have been shooting at every German plane that came over but haven't been able to hit one in a vital spot yet. We must be hitting the planes because the Aviators keep coming back and fly around trying to locate us. We are shooting thru a piece of burlap over a hole in the roof of this shed.

I don't know what has become of the French planes. They don't seem to go up after these German planes at all. They seem to have the air for themselves. I hope we will be able to bring one down before we leave here. We sure have wasted enough bullets on them. I met my Captain yesterday and showed him the posi-tion, and he was pleased with it.

We eat over at the Battalion Headquarters kitchen. When I was over this noon, I discovered a house with showers inside and a stove burning, making hot water. In two minutes I was naked, and jumped into the shower, kicked off as many cooties as I could and dressed again. This must be the Officers' Shower Baths. If I had been caught, I guess they would have shot me. What a difference tho, I felt great after it, the first hot water bath I have had since we left Camp Upton last April.

The weather is cloudy, and this is our last night up here so the prospects of bagging a plane are mighty slim. The Division is moving out of this sector tomorrow, I got this rumor from a fellow in Company Headquarters, but nobody knows exactly where. We have been in this sector forty-five days, he told me, and the line is exactly where it was when we came here. We didn't advance an inch. It's getting dark. Good night.

CHARLES.

Sunday, August 4, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

It's seven o'clock and we are waiting for the order to march. Our packs are made up and it looks like a long night of marching again. Yesterday we reported back to the company then had to go back to the cemetery, pack up our equipment, and report back to Company Headquarters. Last night, at seven, the whole company started to march away from Ker Avor for the last time. We are now bound for a new sector.

I did some marching yesterday and last night. The first hour, I went along in good style, but the second and third hour I became mighty tired. It's funny, when you are marching, your pack becomes heavier and heavier, just like lead, and how it pulls your shoulders down, and makes your back ache terribly! I thought we would never reach our destination.

It had been cloudy all evening, and it was pitch dark on the roads. Sometimes our limbers ran off the road into the ditch on the side, then we would all have to help the mule and give a hand at the wheels, sometimes going down deep into the mud. What a night it was! At twelve o'clock, the rain came down in torrents. We were all soaked to the skin. Our raincoats were like cheesecloth. Whoever manufactured them, should be shot, and if the United States Government pays for these raincoats, they must be crazy.

How that rain did come down! We hit an open field, we were marched into it and ordered to pitch tents. We did. And about one o'clock, I flopped and fell asleep without undressing and slept until eleven this morning. At twelve, they gave us something to eat, and at two, we were paid off. They gave me one hundred and six francs. That's about nineteen dollars in our money.

Steinbach, Ruthie, Irving and myself went over to the village of Xaffevillers. near by this afternoon, and managed to get a good feast of eggs and fried potatoes at a farmhouse. These French people are always glad to, feed the American soldiers. All you have to do is to motion, to your mouth that you want to eat, and they get all excited and say, Oui, oui. That means "Yes." Well, Mother Dear, I guess I better close, I see our officers coming along now, and we will probably start on another one of those tortuous hikes.

CHARLES.

Monday, August 5, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We are in a large open field, miles away from the front lines. It's dark, and I am writing a few lines to you by candlelight in my little pup-tent which I am sharing with McGarty tonight. It's raining and cold and we have no dry clothes to put on. We sure have had enough rain this past week to flood all of France. We marched last night until three in the morning when we hit a town called Deinvillers. Our limbers were left at a quarry and the men were taken to billets in the town. How they find these places at three in the morning is beyond me!

My squad slept in a hayloft last night, I threw myself on the hay and fell off to sleep immediately and slept until eleven this morning. We ate at twelve, and at three this afternoon started to hike, the first time we marched in broad daylight for some time. I guess it's all right, because we are so far from the front. But we would be out of luck if a German aeroplane ever flew over us. A couple of bombs and there would be no more Company B of the 306th Machine-Gun Battalion.

We walked about thirty miles this afternoon as closely as I can figure it out, and it rained mostly all the time. We were wet outside from the rain and inside from the perspiration. My feet bothered me terribly today.

At seven tonight we halted on the road and our Mess Sergeant gave us some corned-beef which he heated, after opening the cans, and some bread, and coffee. The fellows hate this canned corned-beef and call it monkey meat. In a half an hour we were off again and marched until nine-thirty when we arrived in this field and pitched our tents. Good night, God bless you.

CHARLES.

Tuesday, August 6, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

I certainly had a restless night and didn't get much sleep and had to get up at five-thirty. We had a light breakfast of biscuits and coffee and then started on the hike again. It was raining but it didn't matter as we were all soaked from the rain of yesterday and our clothes were still wet. Whoever says anything to me about Sunny France in the future is going to get knocked down, I think.

About noon, we hit a town called Charmes, and were ordered to pitch tents. We thought sure we would stay here for overnight at least, but this evening, about seven, we were ordered to strike tents again and make up our packs. We are waiting now to start. The limbers are all packed and somebody just said that we won't start until two in the morning. It's only eight now, so I thought I would write a little to you while we are waiting.

Mac, Bush and I went into town this afternoon for an hour or two, and had a wonderful meal at a farm-house which the woman cooked while we waited. We thawed out our clothes in front of the fireplace, and it was funny to see the steam coming out of the three of us. The French woman laughed at us and said a lot of things, but none of us understood, so we didn't

know what she was saying. She sure could cook tho. The most important part of this grind over here, is to get decent food so you can carry on. When you are in an outfit like I am in, with a poor Mess Sergeant, you are just out of luck. I'll add some more to this tomorrow.

CHARLES.

Wednesday, August 7, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We are on one of these French freight-cars again, traveling across France somewhere. Here is a list of the towns we passed today so you can follow us along on the map! The first town I saw was Mattaincourt. Neuf Chateau, Gondrecourt, Lignyan Barrois, Bar le duc, Le Francois, and Sompuis were some of the others I noticed, as we rolled along all day.

I fell asleep last night on the ground, waiting to start, and it was two in the morning when a whistle blew. We all fell in and started to march, with one eye open and one closed, stumbling, blindly following along. Thank goodness! It was only an hour's hike, and we hit the railroad station, and boarded the freight cars. Their last occupants were horses and the stench was terrible.

The rest of the early hours of the morning were spent in loading our equipment into the other cars and, at seven, we started off. There are thirty-two men in this car, it is half the size of an American freight -car. The lettering on the side of the car says it is for forty men. How in the world you could ever get another eight men in this car is beyond me unless they were midgets.

The fellows grumbled and argued with one another all day long. The congestion gets on their nerves and the eating of cold canned corned-beef and hardtack today, instead of something warm, isn't any too good for the disposition of a man.

I tried to sleep today, but half-hour snoozes were about the best I could do. The train would bump so, that it would wake you, so spent most of the day looking out at the scenery which looked very pretty, in spite of there being no sunshine today.

We saw many trains passing us in the other direction with French and Italian in them, all regular passenger coaches. We feel like hoboes, the way we are traveling, laying around one over another. We stopped a half hour ago, and they served us some hot coffee with the monkey meat, so I thought I would write a little, while the train wasn't moving. Good night, Mother Dear, God bless you.

CHARLES.

Thursday, August 8, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

At one in the morning, the train stopped, and we all got off and unloaded our equipment. Two hours later, we started marching until we got to an open field about an hour later, a temporary resting place. At five this morning, we got to sleep in a billet.

We were up at nine-thirty, and they gave us hard tack and coffee for breakfast. Slept some more and at one, they gave us some more corned-willy and hard-tack and coffee. As hungry as I was, I couldn't eat that cold corned-beef, and only drank the coffee. It was lucky for me that they let us wander over to the village this afternoon, where I found a very unique place to eat, a long table out in front of a house along the garden walk, a delightful spot. It was covered with twigs and leaves and flowers. A very polite French woman was serving, and I ate half-dozen fried eggs, and potatoes, and some good coffee, after which I felt myself again. I thought, as I ate, of the rest of the fellows in the company and what a stampede it would be if they all came over here at one time for something to eat. They seemed satisfied with the cold corned beef, as they were so hungry, I couldn't go it.

We are in a village called St. Simeon and it is only seventeen miles south of Paris, I think. The rumor is that we are going to stay here for a while and rest up, and that we are going to get furloughs to Paris. I can hardly wait for my pass to come along, I do want to get to see the wonderful paintings at the Louvre. I have been dreaming of this for years and, at last, it seems my dream is going to come true. Spent an hour this evening cleaning my underwear of cooties, or, rather, I should say, tried to clean them, I thought I had killed them all about an hour ago, but they are starting to bite again. A new batch seems to hatch every hour. God, they are terrible things! This barn we are billeted in isn't any too clean either. Soldiers have been here before and they always leave cooties behind. This candle of mine is getting rather short, I should have bought some when I was over in the village today. God bless you.

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Friday, August 9, 1918

We were awakened at eight this morning. How they let us sleep so long is beyond me. They served us hard-tack and coffee and some of the fellows started to holler and the Mess Sergeant told them that he didn't get his supplies yet, and that we were lucky that we were getting a little coffee. We spent the morning cleaning up our equipment to keep us out of mischief. We were assembled and they gave us a gas-mask inspection.

This afternoon we were free again, and I went back to the little place I was at yesterday and had another good feed. I had Ruthie with me. He is very sick with a fever he contracted two years ago down in the West Indies where he was working on a case. He's a detective in private life, and sure has had some very thrilling experiences already. What I don't understand is why they draft detectives and policemen. Mac, in my platoon, was a policeman over in Brooklyn.

Funny, when we arrived here, the other day, we thought we were on the way to Paris. Yesterday, we thought this was a rest for us. Today, we found out that we are going up on this front, north of Chateau Thierry, where the Germans were driven back last week. Tomorrow, five men from each squad leave for the line. I'm going, taking four men from my old squad, the sixth. Good night.

CHARLES.

Saturday, August 10, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We were up at seven this morning and had some hardtack and coffee again and spent the morning getting things ready to take up the line. At twelve, after an early luncheon of monkey meat and hardtack and coffee, which we sure were disgusted with, we started marching up the hill to St. Simeon, and there got on auto trucks, loading our machine guns and ammunition.

We have been riding all day and resting, now, for a little while, before we go on further. We can hear the artillery off in the distance and we are on a real hot-front now. We rode thru some towns that sure are wrecked and there must have been some fierce fighting around here recently. There are new graves all along the roads, for the soldiers were buried in haste where they fell.

We passed through the towns of Coulommiers, St. Germain, La Ferte, Jouaire, Artand, Cherny sur Marne, Chateau Thierry, Roccourt, and Oulchy. We are now on a road, and the last sign we saw was a German one which read, Nach Fere en Tardenois.

We opened some more cans of corned-beef, and you either have to eat it, or starve, so I ate some. It's worse than taking castor oil.

This place smells of gas. There were a lot of gas -shells exploded around here. We are going to start off again in a few minutes, my back is sore, we have been riding in this auto truck for the last seven hours and Lord knows how much farther. We sure have had a good bumping up today. This was all in German hands a couple of weeks ago, and it looks like the beginning of the end of the war. That's what the rumor is. They are starting now.

CHARLES.

Sunday, August 11, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We are now just outside of Fere en Tardenois. What a spot! The town is a wreck. The place all around here has a terrible stench, for the dead haven't been buried deeply at all. We got here at two a.m. They dumped us off the trucks, and we unloaded our equipment, piled it up, threw our packs on the ground and fell asleep. We sure were tired.

I woke this morning at eight. The morning went fast. We had no orders to do anything. Our officers weren't around, so we went sightseeing. The supplies left behind by the Germans are enormous. They sure must have made a hasty departure. It is only a week that they were in this spot. In some of the huts they have built here, the food is still on the table. We have been warned not to touch anything, as some of these places have been mined, and as soon as you touch anything, you might get blown to pieces. The food is rotting and there are millions of flies around.

The hot sun today made conditions worse. There is only one place to get water over in the town in a well back of a house. Everybody had to get on line there this afternoon to get his canteen filled. The town is deserted and surely is wrecked. You would think there had been an earthquake here recently. They sure can do some awful damage with artillery fire. Some of the buildings seem to have been cut in half by a huge knife. Shells have been dropping over all day. The Germans are only a short distance away.

This afternoon we cleaned our guns carefully and looked over all the ammunition and got it in shape for immediate use. Van Pelt, Mac and I are sleeping together tonight under the tent which we put up under a few small trees.

I saw the grave of Roosevelt's son, in the open field right near here today. The Germans brought down his aeroplane and buried him with one wheel of the plane over the grave. The artillery is opening up and the noise is sure deafening. Good night, Mother Dear, God bless you.

CHARLES.

Monday, August.12, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We were awakened at eight, and spent the morning cleaning our guns again very thoroly, for at eleven we had an inspection. Everything was all right and no fault found with anyone. We ate and made up our packs.

At one o'clock, two auto trucks came along. We piled the twelve machine guns and all equipment and one hundred and eighty boxes of ammunition and sixty-eight men on them, and then started off. We rode and rode, going north all the time, passing through Soponay, Craimaille, Loupeigne, Chery Chartreuve, and the sign says that the next town is Mont. St. Martin.

We just stopped, and ate some corned-beef and hard-tack, and it looks like that is all we are going to get for some time. We sure were taking an awful chance today, riding around in these two auto trucks with all our machine guns and ammunition. It's surprising that no German planes came over today. There were plenty of Allied planes flying over us, and I think now they were sent along to kind of protect us, in case any German plane did come over. We are starting to move, so will add on to this tomorrow. Good night.

CHARLES.

Tuesday, August 13, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We rode until twelve o'clock last night. We Were delayed by getting lost and taking the wrong road. It was pitch dark and how we ever got here was a mystery. It was a thrilling ride. We had a wonderful view for miles and miles, and could see the flashes of artillery way off in the distance and all kinds of colored lights were shot into the sky all along the front. In the distance was a huge fire. That, later on, helped us to stay on the road, and was a guiding beacon for the correct direction to ride in. The place where we unloaded was being shelled and most of us had our wind-up.

The Captain was walking up and down the road with the shrapnel flying all around him. He was the coolest man in the whole bunch. At one spot, he stumbled across someone on the road and asked who it was. When he answered, "the Lieutenant," our Captain bawled him out something terrible, telling him that he was a fine man to set an example for the rest of the men by hugging the ground that way. I bet the Lieutenant felt like two cents.

The Captain discovered an old artillery emplacement that the Germans had a few days ago and we were all led into it. We threw our packs on the ground and brought in the guns and ammunition. Later, when we tried to find our own packs, they were all mixed up, and everybody took other fellow's pack. I was out of luck, the pack I picked had no overcoat in it, only a slicker, and I froze all night. It was pitch dark, we couldn't see a thing, and no lights were allowed.

This morning I got my pack back, Levy had it. He lost one of the wristlets that Mrs. Johnson had knit for me to keep me warm this winter. Here it is August and I froze last night. It was impossible to sleep. The shells burst around us all night and, with the noise of our own artillery over on our right, it was nerve -wracking, I'm all in at the moment. Even tho the Germans are retreating, they sure are sending over plenty of shells. I think they were here two nights ago. They killed some more horses of the artillery outfit last night.

The day has been a wonderful one, the sun shining in all its glory with a gentle breeze blowing all day. It has been too nice a day for a war to be going on. We have been spending the day digging a dugout so that we will have a little protection. The German planes were flying over us today and we started shooting at them, but they flew too fast for us to bit them. It's a matter of luck to bring one down. We lost a fellow by the name of Murtha this afternoon. A shell

dropped just behind our position and shrapnel hit him in the arm. He went back in the Red Cross ambulance to the hospital. We just finished eating some more corned-willy and hardtack, and are waiting around, for what, I do not know. Good night.

CHARLES.

Wednesday, August 14, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

After it became dark last night, a couple of German planes flew right over us and dropped about a dozen bombs down on us. I wish you could have seen the wreckage around us this morning, and the strange part is that only one man was hurt, a fellow by the name of Ostendorf. They took him to the hospital at midnight. A piece of a bomb hit him on the leg, I didn't sleep much at all last night, the German planes kept dropping bombs all night long.

At eight this morning, we had some breakfast. They made some coffee down in a cellar. It sure was a life-saver. We all made up a small pack after that, taking only our overcoats, slickers, reserve rations and toilet articles. We left the rest of our belongings in our shelter-halves, making a roll of it.

After lunch, everybody in the company, including the officers, carrying two boxes of ammunition and our machine guns, started marching in single-file towards the front line. I judge this to have been the most foolish of ideas, to do this in broad daylight. The road led around a small hill and, on our right, the hill sloped down into a valley about a mile away, and then up again away off in the distance, at the top of which were the German observation posts. They must have thought the Americans were crazy. Well, we were just walking about five minutes when, there came, bang, bang, bang. All around us the small seventy-seven shells started exploding. The order was given to fall out which we did, all hugging the ditch alongside of the road. We waited for a little while until they let up and then started on again and made for the -village of Villersavoye, where we are now waiting in a farm-yard to go on further.

The village is deserted and a wreck. The shells are dropping into it all the time. The smell of gas is everywhere. One of our fellows, named Stein, was cleaning his pistol and it accidentally went off and went clean thru his foot. He lost a lot of blood and looked as white as a sheet. Some of the fellows say he shot himself intentionally, but I don't think so. I am so nervous and shaking like a leaf at the moment myself, and if

I touched my pistol, I am afraid it would shoot at my slightest touch. It sure is hell right where we are now. The whole atmosphere has the smell of death in it. A heavy shelling is going on all over the place and it would be suicidal to get up and walk around.

Seven German planes spiraled down over us, firing away at two Allies' planes, and the bullets were dropping all around us like hail. We thought we would see a nice air battle but the odds were too great, and the Allies' planes beat it back. We have been waiting for them to return but so far there has been no sight of them and the German planes are flying around looking down trying to locate us. If they would only oblige us by coming down just a few hundred feet and in getting within range of our machine guns they will find out very quickly where we are. We have them all set and waiting. As soon as it gets dark, and this shelling lets up a little, we are going to move on. Good night, Mother Dear, God bless you.

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Thursday, August 15, 1918

I sure must have been tired last night, for I fell asleep, and at twelve a shrill whistle blew and we started off. We marched for about an hour, carrying our equipment and small packs. Up and down hills, through water, over land exposed to the enemy. Lieutenant Krell was leading and I was directly behind him, with the sixth squad behind me, of which I have charge. The Lieutenant was leading at such a terrible pace that we lost the rest of the company. We put our stuff down, while the Lieutenant went back to look for them.

There were German machine-gun bullets flying past over our heads, and we had to keep close to the ground to escape being hit. A corporal of a squad of Infantry in an outpost position cautioned us to be careful. I asked him where the front line was, and he motioned towards his right, and back, and there we were out in front of the Infantry outpost. The Lieutenant returned, shouting my name at the top of his lungs and telling us to come back.

The Germans started to shoot more rapidly, and we just lay there and made ourselves as thin as possible. I felt a couple of bullets cut the long grass over my head. If I told you I wasn't scared, I would be a liar. I felt like a dumb animal cornered and that my end was near. As soon as it stopped a little, I said, "Come on, men!" and led the way back. It was starting to get light and we had to make the top of the hill and get back into the town, or we would be out of luck. We double-timed up the hill gladly, with all our equipment. just near the top, we passed a well, and the bullets started to pick up the dirt all around us.

Some German machine gunner had spotted us. We all knelt on the other side of the well and, one by one, managed to crawl just a little farther, where we got behind a cement wall. It was almost daylight. Lights were being sent up. The artillery got busy, and it sounded like hell let loose for an hour. There was my squad and myself lost from the company! I looked at my watch and it was five o'clock. We were all dead tired and fell asleep and didn't wake up until nine this morning. We were hungry and opened up a couple of cans of corned-beef and hardtack and, with some water in our canteens, that was our breakfast.

We saw some signs showing we were in a town called Fismes. It sure had been wrecked by artillery fire. I don't remember seeing one house that wasn't hit, and all being deserted, it was a very mysterious looking town. Marching back thru the town, we saw hundreds of dead Germans and Americans lying where they fell. It was the most gruesome sight I have seen yet, and made me realize more than ever, how ridiculous and unnecessary this business of war is.

I figured that the rest of the company must have returned to the next town over, Villersavoye, where we started out from yesterday afternoon. I was right, and when we got back there at noon today, they were all surprised to see me and my squad. They thought that we had been killed last night. Three of the men in my squad, who were with me last night, went to the hospital this afternoon, Purcell, Kujawa and Stadler. My squad is shot to pieces, yet we are going back again tonight, when it gets dark, to where we started for yesterday.

We could smell some very beautiful lilacs last night while we were on the way up and took deep whiffs of their perfume in the dark, thinking that there was a lilac bush near by. We found out today that the smell was gas. Our Captain and Lieutenant Krell were gassed, and a lot of men in the other two platoons. My throat is raw and my eyes have been watering all afternoon, but outside of that I am all right.

We just had a good meal at four o'clock, and everybody has been resting and cleaning up this afternoon, as we go up again tonight to relieve the other machine-gun company that is in the line. I found out this afternoon that the place where we were last night is called the "Valley of Death." It is such a terrible position, because the Germans are on the top of the hill on the other side and can shoot down on top of us and across the valley into the town of Fismes. It is one hot spot. So it looks like we are in for a little excitement. As soon as it gets dark, we start, so will close, Mother Dear. I wish I was home now.

CHARLES.

Friday, August 16, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

At nine o'clock last night, we started off for the line with a new Lieutenant in charge of us, Lieutenant Rice of C company. Why he was switched over to us is a mystery. I wish we had our own officers, but they are all gassed or sick at the moment. A guide from the company we were relieving led us into the line, over the same ground where we were last night. It was very exciting coming up last night. Everybody was on edge, and when two of our fellows were hit by some machine-gun bullets, and let out a yelp, we all became a little panicky and hugged the ground until it stopped. We had a taste of what the Germans get every time that we put over a machine-gun barrage. The guide finally got us to our position about midnight when everything was very quiet and mysterious.

We are on the side of railroad tracks upon the embankment which runs around in a curve right here. The other side of the embankment is infiladed by German machine-gun fire, I doubt very much that they think we are on this side of the track. We are in a most advanced position, away up in front of the Infantry front line. We have our machine gun set behind the hedge on the top of the embankment. It's lucky the hedge is a good thick one, for it protects us from being seen.

About half-way down, we have a good sized dugout which the last outfit dug. We have been digging it a little bigger so that it won't be so crowded. There are four with me, Jansen, Kimberly, Dinola, and Hammerstrom. One man is always at the gun. We have two-hour shifts. The hill runs straight up about a hundred yards, and the Germans are up there somewhere on the main road that runs from Soissons to Rheims. If they start down the hill, we can see them silhouetted against the sky. Of all positions to place us in this is about the hottest yet! I managed to sleep a little last night but was awfully nervous.

We all stood-to this morning, expecting a raid but nothing happened. We have orders not to shoot until we see the enemy. According to a prophecy of an Indian soldier in the 308th Infantry, the war was supposed to end last night but it is still going on.

About two this afternoon, we were wondering whether we would ever eat again or not, so decided to open up some cans of salmon which we have, and we ate it with bread which the fellows we relieved left behind. We have some canned milk in our rations which we mixed with the water in our canteens and drank it. We are all suffering from watery eyes from the gassing we got the other night.

Further down the tracks are a number of dead Germans and some American soldiers on the opposite side of the bank. It's impossible to get to them, because the other side of the embankment is being swept by machine-gun fire all the time. We have to be very careful and keep out of sight. It sure is tough staying in this little dugout all day. The only chance we get to stretch is at night when it gets dark. Tonight we ate the last of our rations, a couple of cans of corned-beef and hardtack, and washed it down with the last of our water in the canteens. One of the four had to go back for rations and get the canteens filled with water. Nobody volunteered so I had to hold four matchsticks and the one who drew the short one had to go. Kimberly drew it. As soon as it gets dark, he is going to start back. It's a tough job but has to be done. Well, Mother Dear, will say good night. We have to get ready now for stand-to.

CHARLES.

Saturday, August 17, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We all stood-to last night from nine to ten-thirty and about ten we noticed some figures moving down towards us about half-way up the hill. They were crawling on their hands and knees, it seemed. We knew it couldn't be any of our men out there or they would have told us. We hesitated a few seconds and decided it would be better to open up. So we swept the gun from left to right covering the general area where we thought they might be, shooting all the time thru a piece of burlap, so they wouldn't be able to see the sparks and give away our position.

This morning when daylight came, we peeked up the hillside and saw six Germans lying dead whom our gun snuffed out last night. We all felt pretty bad about it today. It's nothing but downright murder to me! How I hate this war business!

The next squad up the track about a hundred feet captured a German prisoner last night, a kid about nineteen years old, as he came walking towards their position, hollering, "Comrade!" at the top of his lungs. He was so panic stricken that he had a potato masher in his hand holding it over his head, and the fellows almost shot at him, thinking he was going to throw the potato masher at them, so they threw it up the hill and it exploded with a loud bang. The kid was scared to death and hungry. They gave him something to eat, and the ration detail took him up to Headquarters. One of the fellows could speak German and the kid told him that he was sent out on a trench raid all alone, with a potato masher. He told them that they hadn't anything to eat for two days and that they were about all in, and wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.

Kimberly got back at 3:30 this morning from the ration detail, he had to walk five miles each way. He brought up some cans of corned-beef and salmon for the five of us, which was supposed to be for all day. We finished it all at one meal at breakfast time. We were terribly hungry. My eyes are in good condition again, but Dinola's eyes are still watering. He is going back for rations tonight and at the same time have the medical man fix his eyes with something.

It is nerve-wracking waiting around like this, so this afternoon I took an inch of cold water out of my canteen and managed to shave my beard off and felt much better afterwards.

Our artillery has been very active all day shooting intermittently over our heads and landing somewhere off in the distance on the top of the hill. Dinola is watching at the gun and the other three are fast asleep in the dugout here with me. It's getting dark rapidly. We are hungry and tired of it all -but there is nothing to do but carry on. Will close with love to you and Mousie.

CHARLES.

Sunday, August, 18, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

I was awakened this morning at eight by Ruthie, who came around with eight letters for me, two of them from you and the rest from my friends, and I have been reading them over and over again all day so that I almost know them all by heart now. They sure did brace up my low spirits, I was feeling like two cents.

Last night they sent up a Dixie with some cabbage and some kind of meat in it which tasted more like the dead horses than anything else. I couldn't eat it. This morning we had some more of the cold corned-beef and filled up on some bread and syrup which Dinola found somewhere. The syrup was a life-saver for my sore throat from the gassing I got the other night. It was just what I needed.

The morning passed very rapidly due to reading my mail over and over again. Our artillery was firing short this morning and started shooting into our lines further over on our left, only one was hurt slightly by a flying piece of shell fragment.

We were all starving for some good hot coffee, so I had the fellows cut up some small pieces of wood no thicker than toothpicks and built a little fire inside the dugout and filled the syrup-can with water and, after half an hour, managed to make enough coffee with the beans from our reserve rations to satisfy the five of us. It hit the spot. I remember reading that in a war book called "Under Fire," and made coffee just as the other soldier did. Today I am going through the same experiences and appreciate all the more the different war books that I used to read. I never thought at the time that some day I myself would be in a front line, but here I am.

The embankment on the other side of the tracks is supposed to be infiladed by enemy fire and we saw a very bold thing this afternoon: two Infantry fellows came along and walked over to the other side of the tracks and removed the pack from the back of one dead German soldier and ransacked it. I became bold also and walked over to them, figuring that, if we were seen by any German snipers, they wouldn't shoot at us, thinking that this was a burial detail. The enemy never shoots at a burial detail.

They lifted the cover off the dead German's face and it was black. just a little further down the bend was another dead German chained to a machine gun, leaning over his gun as if he was firing. He looked very grotesque.

Further up to the right, on the other side, we came across two dead American soldiers from the 59th Machine Gun Company. They were regulars. A shell must have hit them direct, they were so badly mangled. These two Infantry fellows started going thru their pockets, and I asked them what they were up to. I thought at first they were ransacking all the dead soldiers. But they told me that they were from H Company of the 308th Infantry, and that they had been sent out to bury all American soldiers. So they started to dig into the embankment, and after a half hour, had a big enough hole to shovel the remains of the two bodies into it. There wasn't anything left of those poor devils but large pieces of their torsos and a couple of legs. There were no heads around at all. Thousands of flies were all over them and the stench was something terrible.

The two Infantry men doing the burying were peculiar looking fellows and didn't seem to mind the job at all. We found out later that they were a little dopey and had been selected for the job on that account. They made a cross out of two branches and put the two battered helmets on top of the grave with the papers and wallets, which they found in the pockets under the helmets to identify them later on. They couldn't find any of the identification tags, which we have around our necks. I am wondering if those poor devils will ever be shoveled out of that hole some day and how they will be able to separate them. They must have been buddies and were snuffed out together.

The Infantry men finished the burial, and went on their way toward the rear, I told them that there were no dead American soldiers in front of us. I am glad they came up, because when I walked down to the right, about fifty feet just before the bend, I discovered some nice ice-cold water trickling down from the side of the bank, a natural spring. We all went down there, one by one, keeping out of sight as much as possible, and had a good wash, and the ice-cold water sure did feel good.

I was afraid to drink that water at first, but as the others have and it tasted all right, we are all drinking it, and the other position has sent a man over, and they have all filled their canteens also. This saves carrying it back from the well at the top of the hill. It's enough for the men to carry up rations. A half-dozen canteens full of water are heavy when you have to carry them a great distance.

The artillery has been firing all day, even tho it is Sunday. There are no holidays in this bloody business. We wish for an early peace. All are fed up with war already.

We had some bacon in our reserve rations and, this afternoon, I cut it up into small pieces and fried it in a mess-kit and dipped some bread and hardtack, which we had, into the bacon grease. It sure did taste good. We also had some more salmon.

Well, Mother Dear, it's getting dark, and almost time to get ready and stand-to. We never know when the Germans might decide to come over and visit us and wipe us out with a couple of their potato mashers. When they explode, they do some terrible damage. Good night, God bless you.

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Monday, August 19, 1918

I slept until seven-thirty this morning. The front was so quiet that the fellows let me sleep thru, and they stood-to this morning themselves. They said I needed the rest, and I did feel better after a few hours more of sleep. Dinola went back for the rations last night and brought up a very generous feed, three loaves of bread, two cans of beans and salmon, some more milk and tobacco and matches. We were well supplied for the day, and ate like officers.

About noon, I made enough coffee for the five of us in the syrup-can, which is made of tin and heats very quickly. I also heated the beans, and we all had a hot meal right up in the front line, with the Germans about a hundred yards away on the top of the hill. I made the fire out of very thin pieces of wood again which didn't smoke at all.

This is our fourth day up here and it seems like four months because it has been such a strain. There is an ever-present threat of disaster. I keep up my spirits by whistling, low, of course. I sure do a lot of smoking. The boys are all kind of quiet, and I try to cheer them up the best I can, but don't feel any too happy myself and it is difficult.

We all wish for an early peace. There is no glory for us up here. We never know when a shell is going to drop on us and snuff us out. We all feel like it's coming, and makes us uneasy, just like a doomed prisoner feels in the death-house, knowing he is going to be electrocuted. The torture of waiting for it is the real punishment. That's the way it is up here in the front line, the shells are screaming all around you, and you wonder why it is that you haven't been hit yet. You feel that it's coming. It seems inevitable that you couldn't escape. The stench of the dead is another grim reminder.

Oh, Mother, if the men who start wars could only spend one day in the lines, they might reconsider before they would ever start another one. You have to go thru it to realize how terrible and utterly foolish it all is. Human beings trying to kill off each other and hiding in holes in the ground. Why it's a slap at our' intelligence and civilization itself! When I think of it sometimes, I feel like rising and rebelling against it all, I know I better not tho, because they would shoot me at sunrise-my own comrades, the ones I am with, not the enemy, my own comrades-would shoot me! Oh, how ridiculous! It doesn't seem possible, but it's true. And I wonder about the enemy. They are the same as me, I have German blood in me, I never know when I might be shooting at one of my own cousins or uncles. We don't want to shoot each other, but we are forced to. How silly it all is! That an institution called War can make men commit such atrocities! War must be abolished! The women of the world should organize themselves against it.

Well, Mother dear, I've been raving again. Don't mind me! But you know how I feel about killing. What has become of all the religion taught to children ? Have they forgotten all about the Golden Rule P What good are the churches anyhow, if they permit such destruction as this?

Thank God, I was just told that we will be relieved tonight by C Company of our Battalion. It was just about as long as I could stand this place. Good night.

CHARLES.

Tuesday, August 20, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

The Relief took over our emplacement at ten-thirty last night, after getting all the instructions where the enemy was located, how the tracks were infiladed by snipers, and I told them about the spring. They were glad to hear about the water being so near to them. If water is scarce, it is tough.

We started off to meet the rest of the company up on top of the hill. We walked in single file, about three feet apart. Bullets were flying, and we had to walk in a crouched position mostly all the way. There was a little creek to cross about twenty-feet wide. The engineers had a plank over it but the German machine gunners made it very uncomfortable, shooting around the spot all the time. The bottom of the creek is covered with barb-wire which the Germans threw in when they retreated. There are quite a number of our Infantry boys floating on the water. Their feet must have got caught when they were killed. They had to wade across when they were advancing. It sure was a gruesome sight and I was glad when we all were safely over the plank and on our way.

The side of the hill was covered with dead, lying where they fell. The bullets were kicking up the dirt around the well as we passed. We reached the cement wall which was a protection to us a week ago. Some of it had been shot away, but enough of it was left to shelter us while we rested after the tough climb up the hill.

The rest of the squads came along shortly, and we started the walk back to the quarry, where we had left our belongings in the shelter-halves. This has been a company headquarters. It was one this morning when we reached it. The Mess Sergeant had some hot coffee for us and we turned in, sleeping on the hard ground.

The company this morning looked shot to pieces. Quite a few were killed and injured during the four days that we were in the line. We are going to get some new men to fill it up to full strength again. Our Lieutenant Krell was sent back to the United States today as instructor, lucky boy.

We had steak and carrots today, how they ever got steak for soldiers is a mystery. That's food for officers only.-They must have made a mistake. We have been taking it easy today, nothing to do at all but clean up ourselves and try to get rid of these cooties which hatched out during the past week. How they torture us! Our artillery over on our left has opened up, and the ground shakes every time they fire. I don't know why we always get a position near artillery outfits. The noise is nerve-wracking and, as this is supposed to be a rest, they should take us to a place farther away. Good night, Mother Dear, God bless you.

CHARLES.

Wednesday, AUGUST 21, 1918.

DEAR MOTHER,

I woke up this morning after a very restless night. I was coughing all night long, and this morning my throat was very raw. Eight of us started off this morning at ten for the Battalion Infirmary. It was a terrible hike in the hot sun. We all received pills and some castor oil. I slept the early part of the afternoon. At three o'clock went over to a pool near by and took an ice-cold bath and felt much better after it. I was very nervous because two German aeroplanes flew directly over me and they must have seen my naked white body in the bright sunlight, because the pool was in an open and exposed spot. There was no shelter around at all. It was a very crazy thing to do, on my part, but I was lucky, because they didn't shoot at me.

I had only coffee for breakfast and luncheon, but made up for it tonight. We had a good meal of beans, bacon, tomatoes, bread, jam and three crullers apiece with our coffee. I felt fine after it with the exception of the rawness in my throat.

At six o'clock, a whistle blew. We were ordered to make up our packs. German aeroplanes were flying overhead, and our artillery let loose in all its fury, the anti-aircraft guns were firing at the Germans, and it sounded like hell let loose.

At eight o'clock, we started off in single file at five -yard intervals. This was the furthest apart we had ever marched, and I guess it was because the company was so shot, it looked like only half a company. They have to take care of the ones that are left. I felt all right for about twenty minutes but suddenly became very dizzy and weak and I dropped out of the line. I sat down and then became very sick and threw up my nice meal. Ruthie was sent back to take care of me and the rest of the company continued on its way. Later on, I felt all right again and we started off and finally found the company here in this woods. They had pitched their tents, so Ruthie and I took our shelter-halves and we are bunking together tonight.

It's twelve, and I have been writing by candle-light in our pup-tent. This forest is so dense that it is a wonderful protection, and it is quiet, thank goodness. We are about ten miles away from the front, and we might get a good night's rest if they don't decide to take us on a hike. Good night, Mother Dear, God bless you.

CHARLES.

Thursday, AUGUST 22, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

My sore throat bothered me all night and it's just my luck, if it isn't the noise of artillery to keep me awake at nights, something else always does. This morning I received eight more letters and they braced me up and gave me something to read and forget myself and the war a little. It would be great to forget the war forever. I received the letters you wrote on July 22, and the long one you wrote on the 15th. It takes about a month before I get your letters. How long do mine take? I am glad you got the "young book" that I wrote for you coming over the ocean. Gosh, it seems like years ago that I wrote those letters! I was afraid that you might never get them.

We had an inspection this morning and had to arrange all our equipment. The Captain certainly was sore and bawled us out something awful. He asked if any man in the company had polished his shoes since we have been out of the front line. Not one man had. I will say we do look terrible. Our uniforms are a disgrace. It's the only one we have and we have to sleep in them to keep warm at night. Our shoes look awful. My heels are run down almost to the edge of the uppers. We have nothing to clean or polish them with, and they are caked with mud. It was some inspection we had. After it was over we all did the best we could with water, and then greased them with rinds of bacon which the Mess Sergeant gave us.

The men are all disgusted with the war and everything, and I can understand their mental attitude in regard to their personal appearances. What do they care how their clothes look? All they are concerned about is to get some decent food and a place to sleep with as little work as possible. That's the way I feel about the whole thing, but I mustn't say so, because I am a non-com and must set a good example to the men. I am not honest with myself in that respect and if I should be, and go to my superior officers and tell them so, I would be reduced to a private and then would have all the dirty detail work to do again. That is the advantage of being a non-com.

Our artillery has been firing all day. Thank goodness, it wasn't near us, so it didn't sound so terrible. Shells from the German artillery were dropping about three-hundred yards away over to our right. It's funny how close they can come to you. If the German who was setting the range would have moved his sight, maybe a sixteenth of an inch more to the right, it would have sent the shells about three-hundred yards more to the right, and they would have dropped in among us.

It's remarkable, when you think of it, how close you come to death sometimes, maybe a sixteenth of an inch. We were told by the Captain tonight at formation that C Company, who relieved us, was raided last night by a company of German Infantry. They had five men killed, one an officer. One of the squads captured eleven Germans. They were all kids about eighteen years old. That position down there in the railroad track was about the craziest place to put machine guns anyhow, and if we had been kept in there another day, it would have been us that would have been raided. Our company sure has been very lucky so far.

I took another trip over to the Battalion Infirmary this afternoon about my throat. I told him that it was raw, but he didn't even look at it, and gave me two more pills and sent me on my way. No matter what is wrong with you, they give you some of these pills which do nothing but physic you. Some of the fellows when they are sick never bother walking over to the Infirmary because that's all you get. A couple of C C pills, they call them.

I managed to get some water from our water-cart and shaved and washed myself, and felt better and have been taking it easy tonight. Most of the fellows are playing cards. Some are writing. Good night.

CHARLES.

Tuesday, August 27, 1918.

DEAR Mom,

I thought I must write or you might get worried about me. We have been taking it easy for the past week, resting up, and only wish that my throat was all right, so I could enjoy it more. I can't speak above a whisper on account of the hoarseness. That poison gas we got that smelled like lilacs sure was powerful stuff.

Company D of our battalion is camped alongside of our company, and the other day, German shells started to drop all around us. Five fellows were injured and taken to the hospital. Even when you are out of the lines on a rest, you have very little peace. The Lieutenant assembled all the non-coms today and gave us all a good bawling out on account of not having more aggressiveness. Every afternoon, for about two hours, we have machine-gun work, taking it apart and putting it together again, so that we do not become rusty.

This afternoon a package came up for me from the Paris office of the Dry Goods Economist containing macaroons, candy, nuts, and a can of apricots. The boys all gathered around, and I passed out a little to everybody, and in about ten minutes it was all gone, with the exception of the can of apricots, which I am going to save for the future. That package was worth a million dollars in this sector, for sweet things are scarce. They certainly were good.

The days are getting shorter and cooler, and I wonder if I'll have to spend a winter out in the open as I used to read that the soldiers did in the war books. It sure is tough.

It's kind of quiet tonight. You can usually hear the artillery off in the distance firing away about this time. I spent the whole day yesterday over at Battalion Headquarters, and had to make twelve map- sketches, all the same, from one map showing the different towns and landmarks. The Sergeant showed me some photographs, while I was there, which were taken from aeroplanes flying over the German lines. This was the work I wanted to do, but didn't have any luck in making the Aviation Corps. It would have been much better than hiking all over France, as we have been doing, breaking our backs with our heavy packs, and pulling our hands away from our wrists carrying those heavy boxes of ammunition. The end is not in sight, either. It's getting dark so will close with love to you and Mouse.

CHARLES.

Thursday, AUGUST 29, 1918

DEAR Mom,

We were all standing for inspection last night and waiting for the Captain to come along, when suddenly the rain started to come down in torrents. When I say torrents, I am wondering if I am making it strong enough. I should say the whole sky came down on top of us. We were flooded. It was awful. Everything became soaked. There was nothing to do but get in the pup-tents and wait until it stopped. We had little ditches dug around our tents for rain to run off into, but the way the rain came down last night, the deepest ditch would have been useless.

The inspection never came off and all our preparatory work was for nothing. We had the inspection tonight and the Captain bawled out all us non-coms again, and asked if any of us felt in any way that we couldn't hold the job that he should step forward. Not one of us advanced. We all feel competent and, personally, I can't see anything wrong. I'm afraid that it's ruining the morale of the non-coms to be bawled' out in front of the men, and I can't see what it's all for, except that the officers fear lack of discipline from the men.

We were up at seven and had some fried bacon which sure went good, as it was cool this morning. Then we had some machine-gun work from eight--thirty to eleven-thirty. We have had so much of this machine-gun work that we are all bored stiff with it.

We do the same thing over and over again. We had to clean our guns and ammunition this afternoon for inspection. It was very quiet, with the exception of an occasional bang from a German shell. I wonder where they get all the iron and steel that they have been throwing back and forth at each other for the past four years. It's remarkable where it all comes from.

The Captain announced that we have a new division commander now, General Robert Alexander. General Duncan was our last commander. Things have been exceptionally quiet while we have been resting back here, and I wonder if it's the lull before the storm, or if this is a quiet front now, or maybe peace negotiations are going on, I wish I knew. We who are so near to the front never know what's going on. It's funny. They gave us some chemical to waterproof our shoes with tonight, and the best part was when they gave us some real cigarettes and some chocolate which the Red Cross sent up to us. Good night, Mother Dear, will add some more on to this tomorrow.

CHARLES.

Friday, August 30, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

Well, our rest is over, we had eleven days, and now are back in the line. This morning the officers all went up to the new positions to become acquainted with them. The Platoon Sergeant and McCarthy also went along, so I had charge of the platoon while they were away, and was told to keep the men occupied with machine-gun drill. I had them mounting the gun for a while and stripping and putting it together again and individual tripod mounting. We got along fine and the men showed more pep than they have ever shown before. I discovered that it was better to give the commands, "Mount Gun!" in a more gentle tone than by barking at them like some of the sergeants do. When you treat them like men, instead of dogs, they respond better. They enjoyed their drilling this morning.

At two o'clock, we received orders to make up our packs to move out at a moment's notice. At four O'clock we started off, and at seven we were in our new positions after some swift hiking. It was rather a bad time to be relieving a company, in broad daylight. If the Germans saw us, they decided not to shoot at us immediately. We sure are a lucky company.

Corporal Fink rejoined the company this afternoon and was immediately promoted to Sergeant and placed in charge of the second platoon, in place of Sergeant Holm, who was sent to the Officers' Training School. McCarthy and I are both in charge of a section.

I arranged the Guard List for the night, and then went to my dugout, which I am sharing with Leonard and Hurell. It's rather crowded. I call it a dugout, but it's really a shallow grave, about a foot deep, with a large piece of sheet metal over it, which we crawl under. It helps to keep off the rain. We are right on the edge of a forest. In front of us are little hills and valleys as far as your eyes can see. There is some barb-wire about two-hundred yards away, and behind it are the Germans. It's getting dark. I will write some more tomorrow. Good night, Mother Dear.

CHARLES.

Saturday, August 31, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

I had a very restless night. It was too crowded in the dugout for three, so I spent this morning digging one for myself. We all stood-to just before dawn but nothing happened. The third section is going to put over a barrage tonight, and we have been getting our aiming-posts ready and fixing our flash-screens, as we call them. They are pieces of burlap around posts to conceal the flash of the gun. We shoot thru them.

The aeroplanes were very active over our heads this afternoon. Funny, but when the German planes were overhead, there were no Allied planes around, and when the Allied planes came up, there were no German planes about. They seemed to avoid each other. We are all anxious to see a nice air battle, as we used to see up on the English front.

It's now seven, and I am writing a few lines to you, and also enjoying one of the most beautiful sunsets that I have ever seen. The colors in the sky are marvelous. I wish I had my sketch box with me. I buried it, together with all my art material, back at St. Simeon, under a tree along the canal. When I found out that we were on the way to the Chateau Thierry front a few weeks ago, I decided to make my pack as light as possible and, when we came back,

I was going to dig it up again. I doubt now if we will ever see that town again. It's time for stand-to, so will close. Good night,

CHARLES.

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.

OCTOBER

Tuesday, October 1, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

The rumor is that the Germans are licked, but by the way they are bombarding us with their big shells, you wouldn't think so. For the past week, we have been getting them pretty heavy and it sure is demoralizing. Some of the fellows get down on their knees now and pray. The funny part is that the ones that are praying are the fellows who were always so tough and foul-mouthed back in Camp Upton. Since they have been in dangerous zones, with the ever-present danger of being snuffed out at hand, they have become very meek and pure in their speech. What a change comes over a man when death is all around him! It's remarkable!

There is one fellow in our platoon, his name is Hamilton, who doesn't believe in God at all. When he sees the fellows down on their knees, he ridicules them, and says, "What the hell good is all that praying going to do you? If your name is on one of those shells, you are going to get it no matter how much you pray.

Don't you think that the men who have been killed already in this war for the past four years prayed? Don't you think their wives and mothers prayed for them? What the hell good did it do them?" Of course, there is no answer. He seems to be right. Do you think, Mother Dear, that God knows what is going on down here? And does He let it continue? I tried to reason it out and came to the conclusion that He must know of it. He did give us a commandment, "Thou shalt not kill." We should obey it. I do not want to shoot to kill. I have sinned and will be punished for it. I am being punished every minute while they keep us up here in these trenches. It is terrifying.

I went on guard again last night from ten to twelve, but stayed awake by not getting in a comfortable position. The shells kept whizzing by over my head and exploded off in the distance. I laid down in the mud -hole we have here, from twelve to four, but couldn't sleep. If ve only had a dry place here, we might be able to get some sleep, but it's impossible. As soon as we shovel out the mud, it is wet again in a short time. It seems to be in the ground from so much rain that we have been having lately. The trench is so narrow that we get all cramped up.

Everybody stood to at their guns this morning until day broke, There was a real artillery duel on this morning. They were whistling by over our heads for an hour. For every one that Jerry sent over to us our Artillery would send about a dozen back. It's almost like a jungle at this point. You can't see more than ten yards away. We all keep as quiet as possible and listen. Plenty of machine-gun bullets are whizzing past us and we have to keep low. The Germans are pulling some of our stuff, giving us a machine-gun barrage. If they had shortened their range just a trifle, they would have! been dropping right on top of us. We were lucky.

I didn't go back for food but had to go for ammunition. We are shooting it faster than we can get it up. I sure had a narrow escape this afternoon. I was told to take an ammunition detail down this path about a hundred yards until I came to a cemetery. A narrow-gauge railroad with tracks about two feet wide runs thru the forest. It curved right around the cemetery and led to the German lines. A little flat car was on the track loaded with boxes of ammunition. It had gone just a little too far and the fellows who brought it up that far were both wounded. The

Germans could see it and shot at them. I started off with nineteen men, and when I got to the place, I fearlessly walked right down to it. The men quickly followed me and each grabbed two boxes and started back to the positions. There were just forty-one boxes in all, and I had to take the last three, two in one hand and one in the other. Make- out it wasn't some load!

I was the last one and quickly walked up the small hill where we turned to the right along the path. just as I turned-PING!-a bullet whistled right past my breast about an inch away. I was sick to the stomach. The fellow with me was panic stricken and I said, "Quick, flop! He'll think we're hit!" A quick glance over my right shoulder and I saw the two Germans about fifty feet away who had shot at us. They were walking in the direction of the cemetery and I lost sight of them in the dense underbrush. I was weary and crawled and dragged the three boxes the rest of the way. Not a man was wounded. It was just luck. The Germans evidently weren't watching at that moment. The graveyard is supposed to be full of snipers. Why they didn't take a shot at all of us is beyond me!

There are lots of German cemeteries in this forest where they have been burying their dead for the past four years. Six fellows in C Company were killed today by shells. They are on our left. The whole battalion is stretched out for about a mile all along this line, and all the guns are in position for action. We just received orders to get things ready. We move up tonight. They must be crazy. As soon as it gets dark, you won't be able to see a thing. You can't advance at night through a pitch-black forest like this. Must close. CHARLES.

Wednesday, October 2, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

As soon as it became dark last night, we picked up our equipment and started off in single file. It was some job going thru this jungle. We would trip and fall almost every step. We proceeded very slowly and made an awful racket. The noise of the artillery drowned us out and we were lucky. We marched for an hour and according to where I thought the front line was, judging from where I saw the two Germans yesterday that took a shot at me. We must have walked back of the German front line. There must have been a gap in their line and we marched right thru, just like I used to be afraid they would do to us down on the other front. There used to be a half-mile gap between our gun positions.

There wasn't any opposition and we kept on going until we came to these German huts and I wouldn't mind staying here for the rest of the war. They are nice and comfortable for cool days this time of the year. I went on gas guard from two to four this morning and sat out on the porch of this hut. The Germans certainly made a pretty job out of it. It looks like a hunter's cabin made out of logs. They have little gardens here in the summer time and boardwalks thru the forest. They sure must be sore to get put out of this nice forest. This is what I call fighting the war in comfort and style.

The Germans must know we are in here, because they have been making it pretty uncomfortable for us all day. The shells have been dropping with an annoying regularity. There must be about a hundred snipers up on the top of the other hill. They have been shooting over this way all day. The funny part is that we can't see them but they can see us. They know this forest like a book, for they've been in it long enough. The only thing we can do is to keep out of sight.

I slept all morning in these comfortable bunks they built and nobody disturbed me. The ammunition was very greasy and clogged up our gun too much and, as there wasn't anything to do, we took each bullet and wiped off the grease carefully.

It didn't look like we would ever eat again. Nobody knew if anyone had been sent back for food this morning or not. If they had, it should have been up. So, at three this afternoon, we decided to have some breakfast, our first meal today, by eating some of the reserve rations. We opened the cans of beans and ate them cold with some bread. It tasted good because we were hungry. We have only been eating one meal a day for the past three days. Our kitchen is back too far. We have been advancing too quickly. I doubt if they even know where we are. I wouldn't be able to find the kitchen myself now, except by walking south, using my compass as a guide.

Infantry men just came along, while I was writing, with forty-three German prisoners, all old men and young kids. They were an awful looking bunch. The Infantry fellows asked us, "How the hell do you get out of this jungle? We've been walking around all day, trying to get these Heinies back. If we don't find Headquarters soon, we'll have to kill them." He looked at them with a brutal stare and they trembled. They were scared to death. We told them to follow the path and keep walking south. It will be dark soon and I doubt very much if they make Headquarters tonight. There is no danger of the Germans escaping. They are glad to be made prisoners. They are tired of the war and don't look at all well fed. We are all going to stand to now, for what I don't know. The Germans can't come over in this dense underbrush.

So long, Mother Dear, I will write some more to morrow.

CHARLES.

Thursday, October 3, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

After it became dark last night, we took the gun up the hill a little way, and the Lieutenant set the gun, and it looked to me as if we were shooting right into the hill on our left, about a quarter of a mile away. The Germans are on that hill. We shot away for about an hour, only shooting one clip every three minutes to conserve it as much as possible, or we'll be running short.

We haven't heard from the kitchen all day and had to dig into our reserve rations again, eating the salmon and the corned-beef, which tasted just like chicken. Nobody spurned the "goldfish and monkey meat," as they call these two fools. Everything gets a nick-name.

I went on gas guard from eleven to one while the others were sleeping. About twelve, while I was sitting there dreaming of the past, suddenly a whistling sound crept towards me, getting louder and louder, and then right over my head and-BANG! It exploded further up the hill, about fifty feet over to the left. It sounded like an earthquake. It was the biggest shell that ever exploded near me. The trees crashed, and rocks and dirt tumbled down the side of the hill like an avalanche. It scared the life out of me. Everybody woke up. I sat there for the rest of my guard trembling, and wondering how much that one shell must have cost, and what good did it do, to slam the side of the hill that way.

The snipers in this vicinity must have telephoned back to their artillery that we were in these huts, and they sent over that shell to wipe us out. They sure came close. At one, I was relieved and slept then until daybreak. The sun came out for the first time in a week and it gave us an opportunity to dry out things a bit. We overhauled the gun and got some of the carbon out of it which had been accumulating from shooting so much.

It was kind of quiet all day, only the intermittent artillery and rifle fire. The machine guns were barking away a good deal on our left this afternoon. There were at least a half a dozen German airplanes flying over us this morning, evidently trying to take photographs. There were no Allied planes in sight at all and the Germans did as they pleased. They were too high up for us to take a shot at them. Our airplane support on this front has been terrible. We haven't seen much of them since we've been here. If we can only see one occasionally, it braces us up, otherwise, we feel as if we are fighting the war alone.

The first platoon has been putting over a barrage for the last hour. We have been giving them our ammunition as theirs ran low. They are having a tough time down the valley a little way. The snipers have been wounding our fellows pretty badly. I hope I don't get wounded up here. There is no chance of getting you out and back to an ambulance. It's a wilderness here.

There is a stream down at the bottom of this hill. As soon as it gets dark, we will go down and get our canteens filled. We don't know if the water is clean or not, you either drink it or die of thirst. It's some job getting it, you have to keep on your hands and knees. When I went down last night for water, some German machine-gun bullets started whizzing past my head, and I flopped quickly and hugged the earth until it passed away, and then I continued on my way. I laugh now when I think of it-when I got up off the ground last night after dodging the German bullets, I smiled and stuck my fingers up to my nose and stuck out my tongue towards the German lines. It was pitch dark. They know that we go there for water and they play a machine-gun fire up and down it quite often.

I boiled a canteen cup full of water tonight over splinters. It took half an hour and I put some of the coffee-beans in my reserve rations into it. I haven't had anything warm in my stomach for a long time and that cup of coffee tonight braced me up.

My bones ache terribly and I have an awful cough. That came from sleeping in the wet and muddy trench. We certainly have had enough rain to flood all of France. Whoever called it "Sunny France" must have been kidding. It's getting on to stand-to, so will close and write some more tomorrow. There was just a terrible scream from down in the valley. Somebody must have been hit pretty badly.

CHARLES.

Friday, October 4, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

Another night passed, and I had nothing to do but go on gas guard from nine to eleven. I was relieved then and slept until daybreak. It's pretty soft hanging around like this in these German huts, but as the fellows say, "It isn't going to end the war." I don't mind staying here if they would only bring us something to eat. We've been eating these canned goods that we were lucky to have with us, or we would have been starved by now.

The cooties have been bothering us something awful. They are lucky, for they always have something warm to eat. We take off our shirts and kill them by the thousands, and an hour later we are full of them again. I don't know where they come from so quickly. A mother cootie must lay a million eggs at a time.: The fellows kid about them in spite of being tortured. If one sees another holding his shirt up, looking for cooties, he asks him, "What's the latest news, buddy?" Of course, there is nothing to do but laugh. We all have them, from the highest General down to the lowest Private.

Our artillery has been exceptionally active today and it did my heart good to see the beautiful accuracy of,' our boys. The shells were dropping right on the crest of the hill in front of us. It started to rain this afternoon and it was very dreary.

We had the same menu today, salmon and corned-beef. We ate up all the bread we had, so had to eat our hardtack. I made another cup of coffee for myself and that took the chill out of me for a little while.

Two fellows from each squad are going to make a break for the ammunition dump tonight when it gets dark, as we are getting low. There is a rumor that we move up again tonight some time. I wish they would let us stay here for a while. So long, Mother dear! This will be some long letter when you get it.

CHARLES.

Saturday, October 5, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We didn't move out of this section last night after all, but sure did have some excitement. We all had to go up and help the Infantry on a raiding party. We couldn't see a thing most of the time, and the only instructions we had were to shoot at the general direction of a flash every time we saw one. We shoot thru burlap, and that covers the flash of our machine guns, and protects us, as we do not draw any enemy fire. We went over to the left about a hundred yards, and there were the Infantry fellows waiting for us. We mounted our guns a little higher up on the side of the hill and were told to shoot over their heads whenever we saw a flash from the other side of the valley. That was where the Germans were and also on top of the hill.

The Infantry started off, and in about five minutes little red flashes like fireflies could be seen all over the place. They even seemed to come from the top of the trees, as good as we could see in the pitch-black darkness. Every time we saw a flash, we sent a few shots over in that general direction. We were very busy changing the position of the gun from one point to another. In a half hour, it was all over, and we went back to our huts.

During all the racket we only lost two of our men, Lang and White were wounded. They received first aid treatment and went back to the hospital some time during the night. It was lucky they could walk. The fellow who took them back said that they were lucky to make it. They were shot at by snipers at least a dozen times. He stole a can of syrup somewhere, and we ate that and the hardtack, and some more bread we got from the other platoon. It sure was very generous of them to give us a loaf of bread. It's very scarce up here right now.

We didn't get a thing from the kitchen today and had to eat the monkey meat some more, and we were warned to go as easy as possible on it. It was the only meal I had today and am almost starved. A cup of hot coffee this afternoon braced me up for a while. I didn't sleep well last night. It was so cold even here in the hut, I woke up almost every half hour from freezing. My throat is very hoarse and it sounds very funny to me when I talk.

There were dozens of aeroplanes flying over our heads today, and I saw a real air battle, right up close over my head. Make out it wasn't exciting! They were shooting away at each other, making loop the loops. One would spiral down for a thousand feet, and I thought sure he was coming down to crash, then the other would swoop down, shooting away with his machine gun. Finally, the German straightened out his plane and he flew back to his own lines. We were all so absorbed in watching the air battle that we for-got all about taking a shot at the German.

The artillery fire was very active all day, and the shells were dropping all around us again, but somehow or other, they are always fifty feet off to the left or to the right. They always seem just a sixteenth of an inch off, when they are setting the range on the shells they send over to us. I hope they keep on missing us. It seems a miracle to me. A dud crashed right thru the roof of the hut that the third squad of the first platoon is in, over on our left, and wrecked it. It went right down into the earth and never exploded. Nobody was hurt but they were terribly scared. Who wouldn't be? Had that shell ever exploded it would have snuffed them all out in a second. They would never have known what hit them.

Well, it looks like we are here for another night. I wish we had our blankets with us. We are frozen. And make out we're not hungry! I don't know what became of our kitchen and the funny part is, they don't send anyone back for rations. It looks as tho they are starving us purposely.

I asked the Sergeant if I could go back and get some more bread, but he said we would have to wait until we move up farther. He seemed very worried about something, and I am wondering what's up' Maybe they expect a big German advance and all the men that can possibly be kept here must stay. There aren't so many of us left. The company is not up to full strength any more. It's almost dark and we are all standing-to tonight. The German artillery has been unusually active. It looks like they are trying to blow away the side of this hill. So long, Mother Dear!

CHARLES.

Sunday, October 6, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

While we were standing-to last night, the Germans put over a terrible barrage on us and, there was nothing to do but take it. The hills reechoed each explosion, and made it sound worse than it was. How they ever missed us last night is beyond me.

The fellows of the other platoon told us that the Infantry outfits were cut to pieces. There doesn't seem to be any way to get them out. It's impossible to get an ambulance into this jungle, and we haven't any stretchers here, and haven't seen any medical fellows for a long time. The wounded are lying out there groaning and suffering and all they get is the first aid. They all seem to be out in the open in little fox-holes, as they call them. They haven't any deep trenches or shelter at all. We are about the luckiest squad in the company to get this hut, and I am sure grateful, now that I see what the others are putting up with. I'm not going to complain about the cold tonight.

I was on gas guard last night from ten to twelve and the whole section here sounded like a shooting gallery. The rifle shots were popping constantly. It's a queer sound when they whistle thru the air. The sound like-PING! As each one flew past me last night, it gave me a sickening feeling to think how near I was to being hit each time.

I took the canteens and went down for water at mid-night, crawling on my hands and knees most of the way. The bullets were flying up and down it, as usual, but too high to do any damage. It's the only time we can get water, when it's dark. In the daytime, you would be like a sieve in a few seconds if you went down for water.

It was raining intermittently all day, and the front was kind of quiet, so Harris and I took a chance on taking our gun apart and giving it a real cleaning, and it is now in first-class shape.

No food came up, and we had to eat hardtack and monkey meat, cold, for the three meals, and it sure is getting on our nerves. We haven't had a meal from the kitchen for a week, and we sure are lucky to have these reserve rations with us or we would be starving. The fellows all look pale and thin. I hardly recognize any of them from the red-cheeked, fat fellows they used to be. It's surprising how we have all changed, and I suppose I look the same way, only I can't see myself.

There was a rumor today-- one of the fellows from the other gun squad came over and told us-that our division would be relieved soon, and that we will go back for the 'Winter, and not see the lines again until next spring. By the way we have been hanging around here, it looks as if the war will never end. It's getting dark, the artillery opened up a few minutes ago, and it sounds like hell let loose again. My love to Mousie and you.

CHARLES.

Monday, October 7, -1918

DEAR MOTHER,

Last night, about ten o'clock, just as we were settling down for the night, we received orders to pick up our equipment, and we started off and hiked parallel to the front lines. There weren't any stars out, but the sky was kind of light, and we saw fairly well. We didn't hike very far and stopped and stretched out our machine guns about twenty-five yards apart. It was fairly open right in front of us, and we put over a barrage, all taking turns at the gun, firing a clip a minute all night long until day broke. The Lieutenant was there and checked up every so often with the prismatic compass.

We are now in another one of those narrow trenches. It is only about three feet deep and full of wet mud. A narrow-gauge railway runs right past us here. We ate nothing but hardtack and cold monkey meat again today. There is nothing else and you either eat it or starve. I feel rotten, coughing a great deal.

They asked for volunteers this afternoon to go back to the Infantry dump and get rations for the platoon. Somebody dumped a pile of it a short distance back during the night. I couldn't stand this narrow trench any more this afternoon. It was getting on my nerves and I went back to the dump and carried back enough for the whole platoon. We certainly had many close shaves on the way, and I didn't care whether I got hit or not. It's funny, but when you feel like that, nothing seems to hit you. It's the fellow who is scared the most that gets hit first.

Our artillery has been firing all day over our heads. We can hear them going over and exploding off in the distance. The German artillery is still laying them down nicely in this valley. They have the range down fine.

An Infantry runner came over late this afternoon. He looked like a skeleton. He asked us the way back to Headquarters, and we told him. He said they were shot to pieces, and that the wounded were suffering terribly. We gave him something to eat and then he kept on going. We are getting our guns ready for another 'barrage. We are all very sleepy, as we didn't get much sleep last night, there was too much noise. So long, Mother Dear, I will add on to this tomorrow.

CHARLES.

Tuesday, October 8, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

Sleep was impossible last night on account of the activity of our artillery. They seemed to have moved right up here in the front lines. I swear they aren't more than a hundred yards behind us on the other slope of this hill. They seemed to be shooting straight up in the air and dropping down on top of the hill in front of us where the Germans are. The German shells were dropping right down into, the valley, practically all night, and this place has turned out to be a regular Inferno. It's awful, I wish we would get out of here.

The Infantry men were cut to pieces again last night, I heard. Many were injured from the artillery fire. Our wonderful luck seems to continue. We have many close shaves, and it's a miracle that none of our men are hit. We can't understand it at all. The fellows are all tired out and pale as sheets, but none complain. They have a wonderful spirit. My bones ache pretty badly and my throat is sore from hoarseness.

Sergeant Montgomery kept us interested for a long time this afternoon, telling us all about his duck farm back home, and it sure brings back sweet memories.

The ration detail got back safely again. No one was hurt. They left us some cans of tomatoes and salmon at the dump last night. We ate the cold tomatoes out of the can and it was a treat, because it was something different. It has been kind of quiet for the last two hours. We heard only an occasional shot. Sometimes, it was so quiet, that it sounded as if the war was over, but then another ash-can would come over with a loud bang, and we would say, "No, the war is still going on."

It's now four-thirty, and it's getting pretty dark, and starting to rain again. Of all places to be, out in the open in a shallow trench, and it's starting to rain! It looks like a tough night for us. I wish I was home.

CHARLES.

Wednesday, October 9, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

As soon as it became dark last night, we received orders to gather up our equipment and we started off on a hike again. It was raining and we were all soaked. The mud was awful and we slipped and fell quite often. We finally stopped at some German huts and the one that we were in was light proof and we built a fire in the stove, which the Germans so lovingly left for us. We thought sure there was a stick of dynamite in it to blow us to pieces but we didn't care. We were so wet and cold that we started the fire just the same. Needless to say, we weren't blown up, and sat around the stove until the early hours of the morning, when we were so tired, that we fell asleep on the floor. It was cold this morning when we woke up.

The front was very quiet all night. When it rains there is little activity. At nine this morning, without anything to eat, we started marching some more. It was very misty in the hills. We loaded all our equipment on the little trucks on the German railroad. Each one was drawn by a mule which they brought up during the night.

The Germans retreated, and we had to follow them again. The men all walked in single file behind the trucks. Up and down hills, and around them, we marched and marched, until three this afternoon when we finally halted. The Germans must have retreated about ten to fifteen miles at least. Everything showed signs of a hasty departure. We reached a fairly open spot in the forest and it sure was good to get out of the jungle again. Our artillery was sending shells over to Jerry all afternoon, but we heard very little from him. We are now in a house which the Germans were in the other night. There are a number of such here, and the rumor is that we stay here until a definite line is established. Nobody seems to know where the front line is at all. We have been advancing too fast.

We saw some pretty bad damage all along the hike today. I saw at least two hundred dead bodies lying all over the place, in every possible position. I saw one fellow, with his head bandaged, down on his knees. He passed on while kneeling. One fellow was completely blown to pieces, and half of his body was hanging on a branch of a tree, one arm on the ground, and his two legs about ten yards away. It was the most ghastly sight I've ever seen. The smell of the dead is terrible in the woods. I guess the burial detail is on the job by now, it's some job to bury them. What I wonder about is how they are ever going to find the bodies, for the underbrush is so thick that it will grow over the graves and completely hide them. The whole ground is like honeycomb all thru this sector from the shell-holes.

The sun came out for about an hour this afternoon and it braced me up. Our kitchen must be about fifty miles behind us now. We only ate once today, and we were glad to get it, corned-beef, cold, and some more hardtack. I sure will be glad when we get a good warm meal again. I doubt if they will ever be able to drag our field kitchen thru this jungle. The engineers will have to build a road first. I'm grateful that we are going to get a good night's rest tonight anyway. We are all dead tired. So long, Mother Dear!

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Thursday, October 10, 1918

We were all up at five-thirty this morning after a good sound sleep. We heated some water in our canteen cups and made some coffee with the beans we had in our reserve rations. It was a life-saver. We spent the morning cleaning the ammunition and guns, a job we are beginning to hate. At noon we had some corned-beef and hardtack again. Our limbers and the mules came along shortly and it sure was good to see them again. We loaded all our equipment and started off. The company looked shot to pieces, as so many of the fellows have been wounded and sent back to the hospital, and the company now is just a skeleton.

We marched for about three hours and passed through a town called Lancon, which, a few hours ago, was still occupied by the Germans. The Germans set fire to the houses before they retreated, and they were still smoldering.

We saw General Johnson on the way, he looked very bad, not the same robust-looking man that he was back at Camp Upton. I was surprised to see him so near to the front lines. It isn't very often that you can see a General way up front. They are usually away back in Headquarters somewhere.

We pulled up at the edge of a forest, having marched over some of the first open country in some time. The limbers are near by, and the mules are unhitched, and it looks like we are to stay here for the night. I hope not, because it is very cold tonight. If they would let us go back to the town of Lancon, we might be able to get into some of the deserted houses. The fellows found out that the Infantry kitchen is down the road, and we are going down to see if we can get a warm meal. With much love,

CHARLES.

Friday, October, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

About a dozen of us sneaked down to the Infantry kitchen last night for a warm meal, but we were disappointed, they were cleaned out. I found a nice German blanket last night, and Harris and I slept on a slicker and threw our overcoats and the blanket over us, but we froze. The blanket wasn't wool, but some kind of composition which didn't keep in the heat at all. I guess a German threw it away as useless when they retreated, and I bet he wished that some American would freeze under it. His wish came true.

We froze. Just the same, I am holding on to it, as it might come in handy until we get our own blankets again. We left them so far back that I doubt if we ever see them again now, unless they bring them up to us.

At four-thirty this morning, everybody was awakened and, soon after, we started on the chase again to find the Germans. The Infantry men whom we saw coming back with the wounded, said that they were still on the run. All we can do is to follow until bullets stop us. There will be no relief for us until a definite line is established.

I saw Colonel Widenmeyer on the road last night. The roads are terribly congested. Most of the traffic is going up to the line. The roads are wet and muddy and reminds me of the pictures I used to see back home before we got into the war. It's a great sight all right. I wish I could sit back somewhere and make drawings of these scenes.

We halted at two this afternoon and I made a half-canteen cup of coffee. They gave us some more corned-beef and hardtack. That was our breakfast. We sure were hungry. I wish our kitchen would catch up with us. The Infantry fellows have theirs with them.

It was very misty all day, until about three this afternoon, when the sun came out and it was great.

It certainly does brace you up when the sun is shining. While we were resting, a battery of artillery moved in, and it was the first time I ever saw what trouble they have. I guess every outfit is about as bad as the other in this Army. I figured the Germans must be about two miles away from where the artillery outfit was and I was right because we marched but a short distance and halted. We were spread out and the guns put in position. Carlie, Harris, and I found some sheet-metal, and with four stanchions and two long poles we made a good cover for us in case it rains tonight. We just finished some more monkey meat and hardtack and cold tomatoes. When the war is over, I'll never look any corned-beef in the face again. It's getting dark, so will close, Mother Dear.

CHARLIES.

Saturday, October 12, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

Today was Columbus Day, a holiday back home, but here in France it doesn't mean a thing. It was a good day for us, in many ways; first of all, they let us sleep this morning until eight o'clock, and we all slept ourselves out for once. I borrowed a razor this morning and cleaned off my beard. I haven't any toilet articles with me at all. My pack, at the moment, consists of the German blanket. I am traveling very light.

The second good thing to happen this morning was that our kitchen caught up with us. The fellows all gave three cheers when they saw it. They gave us some hot rice and coffee. We filled up on it. There was nothing to do all morning and we just loafed and rested. At noon, we almost fell over when they gave us steak and onions, potatoes and coffee. With that good meal, the fellows forgot all about the cold meals they have been getting for the past several weeks.

It is just six months ago today that we left Camp Upton, and it seems like six years, we have seen so much, and have been thru so much in that time.

We were kept busy this afternoon getting water and wood for the kitchen. We don't mind doing this at all. The weather this morning was very dreary.

The sun came out for a little while only, and late this afternoon it started to rain. I am glad we have these pieces of sheet-metal over us, for that keeps the rain off a little.

We received mail this afternoon, and how I braced up when they had three letters for me! One was from you that you wrote on September 15th. It was good to see your handwriting again, and it made me feel homesick. Oh, if I could only put into words how I feel about all this mess! It seems so unnecessary. I feel more like a prisoner in jail than a soldier. The suffering and torture that we go thru is worse than you get in jail, I bet. We haven't done anything to have this punishment thrust upon us. Oh, I wish it would end soon!

The German artillery is in position again, and they are sending them over to us again. The shells are dropping near by, but not close enough to hit us. Our own artillery is barking back at them and the noise makes me jump. If I don't get away from this noise soon, I'm afraid I'll ger shellshocked.

We had goulash, potatoes, and some cocoa tonight. It's now five-fifteen and it is beginning to get dark. Harris is getting the bunk ready and it looks like we will turn in. There won't be any stand-to tonight. We are too far back, I guess. If the kitchen is with us, you can rest assured that the front is at least five miles away. So long, Mother dear!

CHARLES.

DEAR MOTHER, Sunday, October 13, 1918

We just received orders to get ready to move up to the front lines tonight and relieve Company A of the 305 Machine Gun Battalion. One of their runners is here now and is going to lead us up to where they are. I haven't a thing to pack, except to roll up

German blanket, and a slicker, which I found, and better than I had. If a fellow is missing anything, he can replace it very easily, as the ground is covered with supplies which the Infantry fellows either threw away or lost.

While I am waiting I thought I would write a little. We slept until eight again this morning and had a good breakfast of griddle cakes and coffee. It was cloudy all day long. I don't think we have had a pleasant Sunday for the last two months. Whoever started that bunk about "Sunny France" was crazy. It rains almost every day over here. I retreated to my shelter and read my mail of yesterday over and over again.

I certainly had one of the most awful things happen to me this morning. It makes me laugh now that it's all over, but this morning it wasn't so funny. Wherever we camp, a detail is always appointed to dig a ditch about a foot deep and about six feet long. We put a pole over it, and the fellows use it for a toilet, we call it the Latrine. When the company leaves, the hole is always covered up with dirt. This morning as I was going over there and was just about ten feet from it, out of the quiet air came a rushing sound, with a loud BANG, so suddenly I didn't have time to flop on the ground. It landed directly in the Latrine, which was almost full and- the stuff splashed everywhere, covering me with filth from head to foot. What a sight I was! It was luck that none of the shell fragments hit me, to be wounded with all that filth over me would have been awful. I went over to the brook where the mules are tied up, and took everything off. It was cold and I almost froze. It took me an hour to get cleaned up, and, lucky for me, one of the fellows in the transport had a uniform that was in one of the limbers. It is a little too large for me but I am glad to have it, because it is clean and has never been worn.

The shells have been dropping all around us and I'll be glad to get out of here. They gave us steak and potatoes and coffee again this noon. I guess they figured that we would be going up tonight and it will probably have to last us for a long time. Some fools spread a rumor this morning that, after twelve o'clock today, there would be no more firing. They seem to take a keen delight to see how fast the false stories can circulate. The fellows are so desperate that they believe anything you tell them.

The town of Lancon received a terrible shelling this afternoon. It's only a short distance behind us. Smoke from fires has been pouring out of every chimney in the town for the past two days, and the Germans started to shell it. Thru the trees in the forest we could see the soldiers running for shelter. There was a sort of humor in it, the way they were running this ------ It is no laughing matter when you are right under it.

We get a newspaper occasionally called the Stars and Stripes. It is published over here by our own soldiers who have had newspaper experience. Some fellows do fall in soft and get an easy job. I wasn't lucky. How I long to get away from all this filth, dirt and mud!

It's good we are moving out, because a detail from a French artillery outfit has been up here about fifty feet over on our right all afternoon, digging an emplacement. Their guns are coming up now, and they are probably planning on doing some shooting tonight.

We had meat-balls, carrots, and onions, and I guess it's our last hot meal for some time. It's getting dark and we are going to move up soon, so will close. Love to you and Mousie.

CHARLES.

Monday, October 14, 1918

DEAR MOTHER,

We sure have been thru hell today, and I hope we never have another day like this one was. The German Artillery have been sending over big shells to us, great big ones, eight inches in diameter and when they explode, it sounds like the end of the world. One of those big shells killed four of our fellows this afternoon, Foster, Frengs, Hamilton, and Poulides. They were all snuffed out by the one shell.

Hamilton's head was severed from his body and when lying on the ground looked very gruesome. Poulides, poor fellow, was always talking recently about getting a furlough and going over to England to visit some relatives he had there. Frengs was an artillery man and was sent to our outfit to bring it up to full strength. Foster, poor fellow, was one of the nicest fellows you would want to meet. He was a western boy, who came from the 37th Division as a replacement. He was always sad, because his people never wrote to him. I tried to cheer him up the best I could, telling him that there must be letters for him, but he hadn't received them on account of having been transferred from one division to another.

Seven of our fellows were wounded pretty badly today also, and sent back to the hospital. Our company is now shot to pieces completely. There are very few left. My friend, Leonard, was wounded today, one of the seven. The others were Chorba, Dinola, Ken-nedy, Jordan, Johnson and Gorman. It will take some time to train men and replace them on the machine guns.

Last night, we marched up here. It took us three hours, and we relieved company A of the 305th Machine Gun Battalion, or what was left of them, for they had a tough time, too. It was two in the morning when they went back. We mounted our guns in position and Carlie and I took the first shift from two a.m. to four. The front was very interesting at that time of the morning, signal lights were going up constantly, just like a Fourth of July celebration. The shells were whizzing by over our heads all night and exploding off in the distance. Harris and Hendrickson relieved us at four, and we slept a little until eight this morning, and I went on again until ten o'clock. Two men are on all night, and one at a time, during the day.

About eleven, an artillery duel started between the Germans and ours. The noise was deafening. Many of the shells dropped close to us, and the fragments were flying over our heads. There was no place to go for shelter. We just had to make ourselves as flat as possible and hug the ground. It was awful! How we ever escaped being hit was a miracle!

We read in the Stars and Stripes that the Kaiser is withdrawing his army back to the border, as demanded by President Wilson. No doubt in order not to carry back all his ammunition, he let us have most of it today.

I had five hardtack biscuits this morning, and a little corned-beef. I couldn't eat much of it. We haven't any reserve rations with us this time, and it looks like we will have to do a little fasting.

We left most of our ammunition back at a dump in the forest, and this afternoon five of us crawled back and each brought up two boxes. The fellows who were on this morning put over a barrage and used up a lot of it. The fellows are all depressed about our casualties today.

As soon as it gets dark, some of us are going back to the kitchen to bring up some food for the platoon, or we'll starve. I am so tired and weak but must go. It means a three-hour hike each way.

The shelling has started again, and it sounds terrible. Everything is shaking from the concussion. It's getting dark, so will say goodnight, Mother Dear, God bless you. I will write some more tomorrow. I'd give everything in the world to be home with you right now, Mother Dear. I don't like the idea of going back for rations tonight thru that hail of shells.

CHARLES.

There were no further letters. The author was gassed immediately after writing the foregoing letter and was incapable of writing again