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Dear Father;
Every night now I spend some time writing letters. We are running a twenty
four hour O.P. and night
time is just the same as day to us. I don't get sleepy on this job like I
used to when I was working for you. You see I don't go down town in the
evenings anymore. It seems a funny thing to me how easily I can crawl into
this hole when it gets dark and content myself. Lordy! if I missed one
night down street when I was home I was lost. Couldn't imagine staying in
of an evening. Must be settling down a trifle I guess. Things are
comparatively quiet now because of the peace parley, I suppose. We are
looking forward to the outcome of it because it either means that we are
through or else that we go on and trim them even worse than we have.
One thing for sure they won't slip anything over on us. They are on the
defensive all the time now and all night long you can see signs of their
nervousness. Every little sound that comes from our side is enough to
cause them sending up flares. Some times during the early morning hours
their whole front and "no man's land" is lit up as bright as day with star
shells. They don't know what minute we are going to start things. And when
we do they'll think something worse than the Spanish "flu" has spread
among them. You must have some epidemic there at home. Our runner had a
letter today telling him that his father had died from it. He was surely a
sad boy when he read that news.
This bunch of Huns we are up against now are not the fighters we ran
through in the Argonne. That gang were on the job at all times and I'll
hand it to them for stickers. We would find machine gunnests where there
would be two or three dead Bosches and a gun with empty belts of
ammunition laying around. Showing how they had fought until the last. They
certainly didn't want to give us that woods. Sometimes it sounds like
every man on the German line had a machine gun. It was sure some scrap and
we literally had to wrest every inch of ground, or mud I should say, from
them.
Their airplanes would fly so low that they were merely skimming the trees
and rip the machine gun fire into us. I remember one night we were lined
up along a hill waiting for mess when a Hun flew down the valley and his
aim was so good that the lead rattled through the marmite (?) cans.
Oh! I'll tell you we knew our country was at war while we were in those
swamps. The Huns there were real Prussians and they would even engage the
tanks with their rifles. When you meet up with a proposition like them in
the "wee sma" hours and a few of there (sic) machine guns get to working
and their star shells lighting the woods and making all kind of shadows
and such well----- several times I was scared worse than the day I
swallowed Willie Snerder's "blue diamond". I'll never forget the sights I
saw there if I live to be a hundred.
You know in the early part of the war I was one who wouldn't be convinced
that the Prussian atrocities in Belgium were true. But I have seen enough
to make me believe it. I've never seen many dead previous to my entrance
into the war but it always seemed to me that no matter how hard or vicious
a man had been in life, after death he always wore a look of composure
upon his features. Not so with these Prussians! One morning in particular,
I was sent out to establish communications by runners with another
regiment. We didn't know the exact location of this regiment and in my
search for them I came upon about twenty or more dead Huns in a bunch.
Right at this point I was held up by fire from the lines and had to lay
low. It was a frosty morning and as these corpses lay there with their
faces white with frost I studied the expressions upon them. Everyone had a
vicious look upon their faces, not contorted by pain, but just the look
that represented the cruelty and bloodthirsty characteristics of this
tribe. And as I lie there I thot to myself "it had to be so". It was the
principles for which this people stood for or those for which we were
fighting that were to conquer and Right is marching on to victory right
over the bodies of these who fought for Might.
Well a fellow is bound to think even on the battle field you know. We got
into some very tight places up there and several times I was doubtful as
to the outcome but when I had just about given up I would think of you all
back there and sort of mumble to myself "I’ve got to come through", and I
did. No matter how anxious our moments were I know that they can't compare
with the anxious ones you have spent "over there" wondering where we were
and praying for us.
Now that it is all over but the shouting we can see some funny things that
happened and have many hearty laughs One guy here we kid yet about an
incident that happened to him one day up there. We had been held up for a
few days near a heavily fortified hill and during that time Bobbie had an
awful attack of rheumatism. He could hardly walk, he said. One afternoon
he ventured out on a road near by to take a sun bath for his ailment.
While he was drowsing there in the sunlight a big shell whistled over and
burst a few yards away. He was so shocked that he stood for a second
frozen to the spot. Then all at once he started for his dugout and he did
the distance in nothing flat. While he was "traveling" at this lightning
speed one of our bunch spied him and shouted, "Hey Bob"! "How's your
rheumatics"? "If you can hold that pace you'll be in Hot Springs
tomorrow". He hasn't limped since! Well, dad. I must get ready for my
watch again so in closing I'll just say best love to you all, a thousand
kisses for mother and my sisters and "au revoir".
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