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 COEMRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
Soldier Letters 
 
 Coleman Tileston Clark 
 
 5th Battery: znd Group: 28th Regiment: 
 
 Field Artillery: French Army 
 
 Killed in action, Juvigny (Soissons), France 
 
 May 29, 191 8 
 
 Salter Storrs Clark, Jr. 
 
 Company A: 311th Regiment; 78th Division; 
 
 Infantry; U. S. Army 
 
 Killed in action. Grand- Pre, France 
 
 October 19, 191 8 
 
 Their Stories 
 
 in Extracts from their Letters and Diaries 
 
 For private distribution Printed by L. Middleditch Co. 
 

 COPYRIGHT I919 
 
 BY SALTER STORRS CLARK 
 
 AND CAROLINE G. CLARK 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
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COLEMAN 
 
Chronology : Coleman 
 
 April 1, 1896. Born at Yonkers, N. Y. 
 
 1904 — 1905. A year in school, in Paris. 
 
 Sept., 1914. Entered Yale College. 
 
 April 29, 1916. Sailed from N. Y., as Amer. Amb. 
 driver. 
 
 May 9, 1916. Landed at Bordeaux. 2 days there. 
 
 May 11, 1916. Arrived at Paris. 10 days wait for 
 assignment. 
 
 May 21, 1916. Left Paris for Lorraine front (Malze- 
 ville). 2 weeks' amb. work. 
 
 June 5, 1916. Started for Verdun. 11 days getting 
 there, and waiting for orders. 
 
 June 22, 1916. Began amb. work at Verdun, at the 
 height of the German attack. 10 days in that 
 work. 
 
 July 4-7, 1916. 3 days permission at Paris. 1 week 
 at Ligny, awaiting orders. 
 
 July 14, 1916. Ligny to Dieulouard. 7j^ weeks amb. 
 work, Dieulouard and Pont-a-Mousson. 
 
 Sept. 4-14, 1916. 10 days permission, in France and 
 Italy. 1 week at Pont-a-Mousson. 
 
 Sept. 21, 1916. Arrived at Paris, on way to the East. 
 One month preparing for trip. 
 
 Oct. 15, 1916. Arrived at Marseilles. 
 
 Oct. 21, 1916. Sailed from Marseilles for Salonica. 9 
 days on voyage. 
 
 Oct. 30, 1916. Arrived at Salonica. 3 weeks waiting 
 for ambulances. 
 
Nov. 21, 1916. Left Salonica for the front. 
 
 Nov. 24, 1916. Arrived at Sakulevo. Six months am- 
 bulance work around Monastir. 
 
 May 31, 1917. Left Fiorina for trip into Thessaly. 
 Two weeks on the way to Larissa, 12 days of 
 same at Katarina. 
 
 June 13, 1917. Arrived at Larissa. 3 weeks in Larissa : 
 some amb. work. 
 
 July 3, 1917. Left Larissa to go back to front. 3 
 weeks wath Serbian army. 
 
 July 22, 1917. Enlistment with Amer. Amb. expired. 
 
 July 29, 1917. Left front for Salonica. 11 days in 
 Salonica, waiting for vessel. 
 
 Aug. 8, 1917. Sailed from Salonica. for Italy. 6 days 
 on voyage, night mostly. 
 
 Aug. 14, 1917. Arrived at Tarentum. 
 
 Aug. 22, 1917. Arrived at Paris. 1 month trying to 
 get into some army. 
 
 Sept. 26, 1917. Enlisted in French Foreign Legion. 
 
 Sept. 27, 1917. Went to Artiller}' School at Fontaine- 
 bleau. 4 months of study to be an artillery officer. 
 
 Jan. 24, 1918. Graduated as aspirant in French Army. 
 20 days permission. 
 
 Feby. 14, 1918. Went to Vannes, as member of 28th 
 Regiment, Field Artillery. 3^2 months in the 
 French Army. 
 
 May 28, 1918. Mortally wounded at Juvigny; second 
 day of the last great German offensive. 
 
 May 29, 1918. Died at the field hospital at Fontenoy 
 (Aisne), His grave is No. 69, in the military ceme- 
 tery du Pressoir, Ambleny, near Soissons. 
 
Index 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I Wanting to Go 11 
 
 II New York to Bordeaux 13 
 
 III Paris and Preparations 15 
 
 IV Lorraine 17 
 
 V Verdun 22 
 
 VI Pont-A-Mousson and Dieulouard 34 
 
 VII Decision Not to Go Home 45 
 
 VIII Marseilles 48 
 
 IX Arrival at Salonica 51 
 
 X Up to the Mountains 55 
 
 XI Monastir 59 
 
 XII Winter on the Balkan Front 67 
 
 XIII Trip TO Salonica and Back 78 
 
 XIV America in the War 82 
 
 XV Trip Down Into Thessaly 87 
 
 XVI Goodbye to the Ambulance 95 
 
 XVII The Fontainebleau School 102 
 
 XVIII At the Front as a Soldier Ill 
 
 XIX Addenda 125 
 
Coleman : Sophomore at Yale : April 1916. 
 
WANTING TO GO— MARCH AND APRIL, 1916 
 
 Ne-aJ Haven, Tuesday. 
 
 I feel that France needs men badly right now, 
 
 and that I ought to go right away. When I reached 
 Trubee on Monday, he showed me a cable he had just 
 received from an official of the French government. It 
 said "Secure twenty more ambulances and twenty men 
 
 by early May" In response to that, he 
 
 is going to try and raise the twenty men here. We feel, 
 however, that if he gets five or six he will be lucky. It 
 would be very fine if I could go off with that bunch. 
 Don't you think that we can work it? I feel very restless 
 
 up here, but am not letting my work slip any The 
 
 Glee Club has got to go up to West Point this Saturday ; 
 so I'll be home for an hour or two Sunday.* 
 
 Sunday. 
 
 There is nothing I had rather do than that work. It 
 
 is certainly the opportunity of a lifetime. For not only 
 
 would it be a wonderful experience for me, but it is 
 
 doing something which is absolutely worth while. It 
 
 would be hard work and pretty morbid at times ; but 
 
 when you consider the good it would be doing, I don't 
 
 think the hardships or discomforts ought to count. . . . 
 
 I would be absolutely willing to drop a class back. . . 
 
 as far as money goes, it means a loss of $300 or $400, 
 
 but I think I could make that up I certainly 
 
 feel very intensely on the subject. 
 
 *AI1 extracts are from letters, unless marked "diary." Names 
 of places in brackets [ ], were not in the letters, on account of 
 the censorship ; but are gathered from the diary, or from the 
 official history. 
 
 11 
 
Thursday. 
 I received your letter last night, and was awfully glad 
 
 to hear that you were favorably inclined The 
 
 Dean said that I would receive full credit for all I had 
 done so far ; he said that going abroad with the American 
 Ambulance was a fine thing to do, and that he would 
 
 not discourage anyone contemplating doing it 
 
 I want you to realize that I do not look upon this as a 
 sightseeing trip, mixed in with a lot of adventure, but 
 I appreciate the hard labor it will be. 
 
 Sunday. 
 Have fixed it up so that I work every day in the 
 
 Ford garage from 1 to 6 P.M Am studying 
 
 about machines all spare time Got hold of an 
 
 Academic Freshman who is driving a jitney around New 
 
 Haven He told me that anytime I saw him on 
 
 his route, I should hail him and he would let me drive 
 the thing around myself, which I am doing every day. 
 
 I am doing it at night too We go right through 
 
 the heavy traffic down town; which was quite a feat for 
 me, the first day. 
 
 12 
 
II 
 
 NEW YORK TO BORDEAUX 
 
 May 7, ipi6. 
 We have now entered the submarine zone and all the 
 life boats are over the rail, and all ready for an emer- 
 gency. Yesterday, they dropped a barrel over the stern, 
 and had some target practice with the "soixante- 
 quinze", as everybody calls it. Tonight, all the lights 
 will be put out, and we have been cautioned to have our 
 life-preser\^ers handy. But nobody seems to be anxious, 
 and I suppose you are doing more worrying than I am. . 
 Opposite my cabin is a young Belgian officer, who has 
 been over in the U. S. buying up horses for the Belgian 
 Army. He was at Dixmude and Ypres, and has told me 
 some very wonderful and horrible experiences. He is 
 very nice, and I talk to him a lot. He can't speak a 
 word of English. He said that everywhere in the U. S. 
 the Germans interfered with all his contracts. He goes 
 
 right back to the trenches now At the end of the 
 
 concert, last night, a young opera singer who was on 
 board sang the "Marseillaise" wrapped in the French 
 flag. It was very inspiring. 
 
 May 10, ipi6. 
 xA.rrived safe last night. We sighted land about ten 
 in the morning, and soon after entered the Gironde. 
 And then came one of the most beautiful landscapes I 
 have ever seen It is ver^' seldom that I am senti- 
 mental, but the beauty of it all got to me yesterday, and 
 the realization that it was France, sent a thrill right 
 through me. 
 
 13 
 
As we passed up the river, we went by literally count- 
 less ships from all sorts of countries, who cheered as 
 we went by. I saw boats there from England, Norway, 
 Sweden, Denmark, Greece, Spain, Italy, Argentine, 
 Brazil, and Russia, all loaded down heavily, and bound 
 for Bordeaux. As the river became narrower we passed 
 quite close to the little villages, and in the little square 
 on the river's edge, the entire population gathered, (a 
 sad touch — for they were mostly woman), and waved 
 to us, shouting all sorts of greetings — "Voila! Elle est 
 arrivee encore." "Avez-vous vu des soumarins?" This 
 morning we went through the custom house. As soon 
 as I said "ambulancier", he OKed my stuff without look- 
 ing through it Well, I'll say good-bye. Every- 
 thing is going along wonderfully. 
 
 14 
 
Ill 
 
 PARIS AND PREPARATIONS 
 
 May 12, 1 916. 
 
 L}xee Pasteur — Paris. Well, here I am at last. So 
 far it has been just a succession of strange and unusual 
 
 things You can't get very far away from the war 
 
 anywhere in France. The first unusual thing in Bor- 
 deaux was the thousands upon thousands of soldiers, 
 
 evidently home on leave One of the most touching 
 
 things was the women in the cathedral, praying. Upon 
 many of the altars (the little ones around back) were 
 thousands of candles. Bordeaux seems to be the centre 
 of the Jeanne d'Arc shrines. Upon one of them were 
 stacks and stacks of pictures of soldiers, and on them 
 were written, "Jeanne d'Arc, protect my son." "Be 
 
 merciful, God, he is all I have" In the parks, 
 
 crowds of little boys were continually playing the uni- 
 versal game of war contre les boches. You could hear 
 their shouts, blocks and blocks off. They had scouts, 
 trenches, ambulances, etc. By the way, the word "am- 
 bulancier" is a magic word here. If ever in a quandary, 
 
 I just say that, and everybody is immediately kind 
 
 I am gladder every minute that I came over. 
 
 The ride from Bordeaux to Paris was a beautiful one ; 
 little farms, chateaus off on the hills, miles upon miles 
 
 of vines Very few men in the fields, i. e. young 
 
 men ; most were old women, like the old charbonniere of 
 the Rue d'Edimbourgh — whom, by the way, I saw 
 yesterday, still sawing logs, out in front of the old place 
 
 Paris, as I first saw it, was dark, as it is every 
 
 night 
 
 This morning, in the Metro, I was talking in English to 
 Davis. A fat, officious woman suddenly burst out in 
 
 15 
 
French, "I can understand just enough German to know 
 that you are a dirty Boche." I was pretty flustered and 
 rather hurt, but got myself together enough to say, "I 
 beg pardon, Madam, but you are insulting me. I am an 
 American Ambulancier, and I would say that I ex- 
 pected a rather different reception." She shut up like 
 a clam, and I felt very much relieved 
 
 American Ambulance Hospital, Paris, May i6, ipi6. 
 
 I am pretty well fixed here now, and everything is 
 running along smoothly. My position is "field service re- 
 serve." At this moment I am first on the list, which 
 means that as soon as a man comes in from the field, I 
 go right out and fill his place. My uniform has been 
 delayed, so, as yet have not been able to go and get 
 wounded from the train, as only men in uniform are 
 
 allowed to do that All of us, when on the street, 
 
 have to salute every French, English and Belgian officer 
 
 Don't know whether I told you or not in my last 
 
 letter, that I had passed my driving test 
 
 This has been a fine experience so far. It makes one 
 tingle all over to see the way the French are taking the 
 war. Everyone seems to be in it, in some way or an- 
 other. No one seems to be worried at all as to the out- 
 come, but all realize it will take a good while yet to beat 
 Germany 
 
 Here is an incident related to me by one of the drivers 
 here. A fellow had just had a leg amputated and 
 
 was in terrible pain and he moaned awfully at 
 
 being moved. A comrade, who was just across the car, 
 
 and was much worse wounded as he heard his 
 
 friend groaning, said, "cheer up, mon vieux, don't make 
 it hard for the ambulanciers." At this the first one 
 gritted his teeth and stopped moaning immediately. . . . 
 
 Well, as I have a hard day in the garage tomorrow, 
 ril stop here. 
 
 16 
 
IV 
 
 LORRAINE 
 
 Tuesday May 2^, ipi6. 
 "Somewhere in France," [Malseville] 
 Here I am ; a good way from Paris, and in some 
 more strange, though quaint, surroundings. . . .Sunday- 
 morning I went to La Chapelle with the Paris Section 
 and helped unload a "blesse" train. It v^as awful. Four 
 of us were assigned to each car, each one being loaded 
 with eighteen poor fellows. They seemed all to be 
 young, some in a state of horrible mutilation ; an arm or 
 both legs gone, and a stinking mass of raw unrecogniz- 
 able, bleeding pus, for what was once a face. The pu- 
 trid stench of old dirty wounds almost put me out. We 
 would hold the stretcher up to the berth, and the 
 "blesse", with the help of another man, would try to 
 sidle into it, sometimes amid the most piteous cries. 
 One poor boy tried to be brave, and not murmur when 
 we moved him, but the pain was too much, and he cried 
 like a baby and became unconscious. All those who 
 were able to, said, "Thanks, thanks, comrade", or some 
 other little phrase of thanks and appreciation. That 
 evening, I was given my pass, and I left by the Gare de 
 I'Est 
 
 This little village is a dear little place, very much 
 like Gruyere, where, you. Papa and I spent such a 
 happy day three summers ago. In the centre are the 
 old women, washing away in the public troughs ; chil- 
 dren and old men everywhere ; but no young or middle- 
 aged men, except a few casual soldiers 
 
 We all live in a little tumble-down old inn; and be- 
 sides the fact that it has a roof you can't say much for 
 it, as far as comfort is concerned. When I arrived they 
 
 17 
 
were giving it the weekly fumigating process 
 
 The first thing I did was to build myself a bed; which 
 consisted of nailing two cross-pieces on two saw-horses, 
 and then stapling down chicken wire on that To- 
 day I was assigned my car, an old one, in rather bad 
 shape. Several fellows have offered to buy my Ameri- 
 can flag, to put on, their ambulance, (where I am put- 
 ting it), but I cannot give it up, after that last day in 
 
 New York* The thought that we are trying to 
 
 do what I think we all feel as a duty to France, always 
 cheers me up Have just been in the little Catho- 
 lic Church. In one corner is a little altar draped with 
 French flags. On the altar is a list of eighty names, 
 and the phrase "Who died on the field of honor." I 
 don't believe there can be more than 1,100 or 1,200 
 people in the town 
 
 Maheville, [near Nancy], June i, igi6. 
 
 By now, I am pretty well settled, and am leading a 
 pretty regular life. At 7 :05 we must all be down to 
 breakfast, under penalty of washing an automobile. 
 Breakfast, of course, is the regular coflfee and rolls, i. e. 
 chicory and bread — no coflfee nor any rolls. 
 
 This sector is very quiet, so there is really very little 
 
 to do But as anything might happen any time, we 
 
 always feel as though we were doing a duty. A bat- 
 talion was in town from the front the other day, and a 
 military band gave a concert in the town square. All 
 the soldiers, officers and privates, and all the civilians, 
 gathered around and listened. It was a very pictur- 
 esque sight. The leader, noticing eight or ten of us 
 standing together, asked us at the end, if we would 
 sing Tipperary ; and as everyone seemed to want it, we 
 started out. A young soldier with a fine tenor voice, 
 
 *It was given him, just before he went up the gangplank of 
 the "Rochambeau," at New York. 
 
 18 
 
Coleman : Anier. Amb. Field Service : Oct. 1916. 
 
sang the verse (in French), and we all bawled out the 
 chorus (in English). It went off finely and we had to 
 repeat. One of the French soldiers told me it was a 
 fine thing for the morale to see the English and French 
 get together that way. Certainly everyone of them 
 knew us afterwards, and everywhere we went, we'd 
 
 hear, "Alio! Tommy!" Don't know whether or 
 
 not I told you about my first ride at night. It was an 
 exciting affair, on account of the speed we had to make, 
 
 the road being pitch black 
 
 My car wore out three brake bands in three days, 
 and it made me wild, because I knew it wasn't my fault, 
 and I didn't want Mr. Hill to think I was useless* . . . • 
 However, there is enough the matter with that car to 
 drive a mechanic mad. Among other things are; leaky 
 radiator, all brakes broken, reverse chatters, oil leaks, 
 lamps gone, no seat, so I sit on the gas tank, 3 bad 
 tires, and the whole thing rattles to beat the band. 
 However, the engine itself is fine, and that is the big 
 thing after all. She can pull hills that no other car 
 can make. 
 
 The fellows here I like more and more The 
 
 brother of one of my classmates turned up, and he and 
 I are the youngest here. Bluethenthal, the Princeton 
 football center of a few years back, also showed up a 
 little v/hile ago. Most of the fellows are Harvard 
 men, with a sprinkling of Yale, Cornell, and Pennsyl- 
 vania Everything here is fine, and I was never 
 
 more contented in anything I have ever done 
 
 Was talking with a young Frenchman yesterday. He 
 wanted to know when the next presidential election 
 would be, and who would be elected. I told him that in 
 times of war and excitement, Roosevelt stood a very 
 good chance of getting it. He jumped at it quickly 
 
 *Coleman's familiar name in the section, from the time of this 
 incident to the end, was B B. 
 
 19 
 
and said, "Ah ! That will be good for us !" They 
 seem to be on to Ted. 
 
 Aired my blankets last night, and shook them out to 
 get out the gnats and fleas, which have been on the 
 rampage lately. Have also bought a special anti-itch 
 powder, which does wonders. 
 
 June 5, ipi6. 
 
 This morning we got our orders to move All 
 
 Malzeville was out to wave us a goodbye as we passed 
 through. 
 
 [Bar-le-Duc, from diary — June y, ipi6.] 
 On the way we passed troops, cavalry, convois, guns, 
 couriers, ammunition trains — all headed for Verdun — a 
 most solemn and impressive sight. The name Verdun, 
 has something magic about it, something gruesome and 
 crushing. As we passed one troop one of the men 
 called out, "Eh bien, mes vieux, deux jours encore, et 
 nous serons prets pour vous", and he called it out cheer- 
 ily, and everybody laughed; but it went right into me, 
 
 and gave me a chill — Verdun, always Verdun ! 
 
 We are stationed at present on the main street, and 
 hundreds of old Madeleine-Bastilles plunge by with 
 soldiers in them. At the end of the street is a fork in 
 the road, and at the fork is a sign in big black letters 
 like this : 
 
 The Rheims road is smooth and 
 unused, while the Verdun road is 
 deeply rutted ; and convoy after con- 
 voy tears around the corner, and 
 regiment after regiment passes out 
 
 of sight 
 
 Last night 250 empty Madeleine-Bastilles went tearing 
 by on the Verdun road. They are going to get the 
 division which will be replaced by ours, the 129th. 
 
Ligny (diary) June p, ipi6. 
 At last the order to move came, and we were much 
 
 surprised, for we were ordered back to Ligny 
 
 This evening we had gas mask trial, and were doled 
 out iodine, and first aid. It certainly looks like business 
 
 Every one, except the old Alsace men, was 
 
 pleased. 
 
 Ligny (diary) June p, ipi6. 
 
 At 6 A. M. promptly, we all piled out, and took again 
 
 the road for Bar-le-Duc In a little while we came 
 
 to the Verdun cross-roads, and sure enough we took 
 the right hand road.* 
 
 *This road from Bar-le-Duc to Verdun has been called "The 
 Sacred Way" ; and most appropriately, considering its pre-emi- 
 nent service to France and to civilization at this very time. But 
 if that phrase is meant as a translation of "la route sacree" which 
 it was called by the soldiers, one may doubt the correctness of 
 the translation. See Coleman's letter of Mar. 25, 1917. 
 
 2t 
 
V 
 
 VERDUN 
 
 June 12, ipi6. 
 
 We are all wet to the skin most of the time 
 
 The mud is something awful I have to keep tak^ 
 
 ing my glasses off and scraping the mud off, so I can 
 
 see A couple of nights ago the order to move on 
 
 came in the middle of the night, 2 A. M., and it was 
 pouring hard. . . . Am now pretty well used to living 
 anywhere, and in spite of all the wet and exposure, am 
 feeling better than I ever felt before 
 
 This P. M., walked up to the top of a hill nearby, 
 and way, way, off in the distance, I could see the puffs 
 of smoke of the French batteries. Overhead a bunch 
 of aeroplanes were buzzing away, and down in the 
 valley I could see the defile of a regiment or so, and a 
 battery of 75's hurrying along. It's pictures like that 
 which you don't forget ; and as I write now, I can hear 
 the far off booming of cannon. It keeps up all night 
 
 and all day, week after week It fs a wonderful 
 
 life, and I never felt more contented or enthusiastic over 
 anything I have ever done before 
 
 The Frenchmen all want Teddy to be elected, be- 
 lieving of course that he will bring us into the war. 
 They ask continually whether we are for the Allies or 
 the Boches, and I always am at great pains to reas- 
 sure them. In spare time, I like nothing better than to 
 pick up a couple of the soldiers, and get their views of 
 the situation The aviators have an extreme con- 
 tempt for the German pilots 
 
 It is great fun to pass a regiment en route. As soon 
 as they see us coming they yell "Boue!" (mud), and 
 
 22 
 
beat it for the gutter. When they see who it is, they 
 shout all the English they know, at us: "English 
 Spoken!" "Yes", "How do you do?" "Alio! Tom- 
 my!" Every once in a while we will yell back, "On 
 les aura!" ("We'll get them!") or "Vive la France !" and 
 they are all tickled to death. It's all simply wonder- 
 ful, and I could write on forever, on just the little 
 
 things we are seeing every day A couple of days 
 
 ago, had occasion to carry the most horribly wounded 
 man you can imagine — one arm gone — both legs in 
 plaster cast — his face pulpy — and the most nauseous 
 stench of gangrene you can imagine — with all that to 
 worry about, what did he do but smoke a cigarette with 
 his one good hand, and ask me in a natural voice if I 
 thought Teddy had much chance of being elected. . . . 
 
 Souhesmes, June 15, ipi6. (diary) 
 I am wondering what you all would say and feel, if 
 you knew tonight that I was 6 miles from Verdun. I 
 am more and more thankful for your sakes, that the 
 censor forbids mentioning names in letters. This trip 
 from Bar-le-Duc up toward Verdun has been the most 
 marvellous thing I have ever been through in my life. 
 
 Saturday, June 16, ipi6. 
 Just at present we are on our way to a sector where 
 chere will be more for us to do. We have been moving 
 forward about 25 kilometers a day now, for a couple of 
 weeks. Now, we are getting near to business, and we 
 can hear it louder all the time. There is more than I 
 could possibly write about, and the impression you get 
 of everything — all the artillery, regiments, convoys of 
 autos and wagons, one endless stream of them all day 
 and all night, and the noise and the smell of it all — 
 
 23 
 
you'd never forget it. Right this minute there are 
 fifteen stationary balloons in sight, and eighteen aero- 
 planes. These latter make one continuous buzz all day 
 long, and at night the artillery keeps you awake. It 
 is enough to make anyone sentimental : but when you 
 see everything from so close at hand, it sort of over- 
 whelms you. 
 
 Last night I stood alongside of the main road and 
 watched the procession — you can see it at any time of 
 night or day. On one side of the road there went up a 
 stream of big trucks, loaded with soldiers going to the 
 front. They were all laughing and singing and in good 
 spirits, and their uniforms were bright and new. On 
 the other side of the road came the trucks bringing the 
 used-up regiments from the front. These fellows were 
 covered with mud from head to foot, and not a sound 
 from anyone of them. Just things like that get to you 
 something awful. And the more you are here, the more 
 you see; and the gladder you are you are over here 
 helping 
 
 Everywhere we go a bunch of soldiers gather around 
 us, and ask all sorts of questions. The principal thing 
 they ask is, "How much are you paid to do this?" and 
 when we tell them we are all volunteers, they just can't 
 
 make it out Let me know if Congress ever does 
 
 anything. By the way, is Hughes pro-German? The 
 French think that he is. 
 
 June 22, ipi6. (diary). 
 At 8:30 this morning we left Souhesmes and rode 6 
 km. up the road to Balycourt, which will be our final 
 cantonment, as lon^ as we are on the Verdun, sector. 
 We are stationed up on the side of a hill, right next to a 
 temporary hospital. Right in front of us is a railroad, 
 the main railroad to Verdun. We expected it to be 
 very busy, but as a matter of fact not a train runs over 
 
 24 
 
it, as it is cut just above us. At this point we are just 
 
 6 km. from Verdun, and from the hnes themselves just 
 5 miles 
 
 This evening I talked with an artilleryman who had 
 just returned from Morthomme. He said that the 
 French had 95 75s on a 1>^ km. front, and about 
 40- 155s, and 20 or 30-220s or larger. They fire from 15 
 to 23 shots a minute, and the total expenditure of 
 French shells per day at Verdun is over 150,000. We 
 start work tonight — 15 cars go to Verdun, and the other 
 
 7 stay here as reserve. The 15 carry wounded from 
 Bras to Verdun most all night long, and then from Ver- 
 dun to Balycourt till about noon. We handle about 200 
 to 350 wounded a night, and it is a terrible job. 
 
 June 24, ipi6 (diary). 
 Yesterday morning at 7 o'clock I started carrying 
 wounded from Balycourt to the Cour des Malades, about 
 6 km. This I did until 6 o'clock in the afternoon, when 
 my axle broke. With the help of the mechanic we got 
 it off, and put on a new one, in time to leave at 9 
 
 o'clock for Verdun It looked like a busy night, 
 
 as the French batteries were firing double. . . . About 
 10 o'clock I started out for Bras. The road was 
 packed with ammunition convoys, traveling kitchens, 
 and what not. As soon as it is dark they shoot the am- 
 munition out to the batteries ; so our first couple of 
 trips are the most exciting. The artillery are gallop- 
 ing most of the time, trusting to their noise to keep the 
 road clear. The heavy guns swing back and forth 
 across the road, and scare you terribly, as at best it's 
 pretty close passing. 
 
 Going up to the Carrieres we found some new shell 
 holes, and a building was blazing away all by itself. 
 Not 50 yards off, the French batteries made an awful 
 
 25 
 
racket, and at the top of the hill a tree had fallen across 
 the road, and had to be cleared away. Streams of 
 blesses came across the fields, and begged us to take 
 them. German searchlights (fusees) shot up in the air, 
 and lighted up the road like day, showing a line of 
 ambulances beating it for Bras, and soon we saw 
 shells bursting over Bras. Going on into Bras, we 
 found ourselves right in the midst of things, as shells 
 were bursting everywhere, and were digging holes 5 ft. 
 deep in the road. 
 
 We were all bunched right in the middle of the 
 town, and spent our time jumping up, and then dropping 
 flat on our faces in the road, as we'd hear a Zing come 
 our way. 50 ft. from us a horse dropped, and at the 
 poste de secours 2 brancardiers were killed. I shall 
 never forget that feeling of scared helplessness that was 
 with me all the while. The shriek of a shell coming 
 your way goes thru you like a dentist's drill. Most of 
 the voitures had lead in them. The wounded, waiting to 
 be taken away, were in a horrible state of fright, and 
 couldn't use their beans at all. They kept saying: "Oh, 
 les cochons ils nous font de mal, pour rien ; les sales 
 vaches." Coming back my trio groaned away, and 
 yelled at every bump. A couple of shells burst right in 
 back, and the lead pattered all around, and splattered 
 me with mud. When they exploded, the blesses yelled 
 something awful, and begged me to go faster. One of 
 them coughed a pool of blood on the floor. 
 
 I made three trips to Bras before daylight; when we 
 all have to stop, because the road is visible. However, 
 the wounded pour in all the time, and have to wait 
 there 18 hours, until we can come again. At about 2 :30 
 we start carrying the wounded from Verdun to Baly- 
 court, a long hard drive. Only a part of this road is 
 
 being shelled, so there is not much excitement I 
 
 worked until 10 this morning, and then dropped out on 
 
 26 
 
the grass, and slept till 7 this evening. Tomorrow, at 
 
 6 a. m. I start again 
 
 A French artillery officer told me that there was a 
 gun at Verdun for every 15 ft., and that there isn't a 
 place where you can put a franc, that has not been hit. 
 The soldiers live in a shell hole, and have to sleep there 
 and eat there. . . . There is no chance to do any bury- 
 ing the stench, they say, is frightful He 
 
 told me how the Germans attacked thru a little ravine 
 which his 75s covered. They came out 200 at a time, 
 and all he had to do was to drop 3 or 4 shells right in 
 the midst, and there was a company absolutely gone. 
 He said they kept that up all one day — never gaining 
 an inch. 
 
 June 26, i()i6 (diary). 
 
 Last night I was awakened at 2 :30, and told to go 
 up to Verdun with five others to help the other 12 men. 
 It was raining hard, and my radiator was leaking, and 
 my car wouldn't start, and it was awfully disagreeable. 
 Got up to Verdun, and started out for Bras : met the 
 Lieut, who told me only to go as far as the Croix de 
 
 Fer, as it was beginning to get light The road was 
 
 full of galloping artillery, as usual on the left hand side. 
 It's about the most anxious part of the trip, passing 
 guns. Several cars did get grazed by them, and they 
 just swept everything on that side of the car off. About 
 a kilometre of the road was being shelled, and it was 
 no fun at all. That horrible moaning shriek, coming 
 your way, and then a loud explosion, followed by a 
 patter of mud and rocks. The explosion itself isn't as 
 
 bad as that shriek 
 
 Once something black loomed up, and I stopped short. 
 I got out, and it was a pile of dead horses, 4 of them, 
 with a live one, a fifth, at the bottom and shrieking. In 
 the corner was a heap — a dead man. All that remained 
 
 27 
 
of the wagon was two broken wheels and a little broken 
 wood. ... I was about 15 minutes behind the acci- 
 dent. . . . We have certainly been awfully lucky. 
 
 Coming back I met 8 or ten blesses, who had just 
 come across the fields. I took the one couche, and then 
 the fight started as to who should be the other 4. They 
 knew I was the last car until tonight. . . . Each one 
 showed me his wound, and told me all about it : it was 
 a piteous sight. I finally selected the worst ones, and 
 beat it oflf, while the others clamored piteously after 
 
 me My car is beginning to smell awful, and I 
 
 can't seem to do anything for it. Ever since we've been 
 at Verdun, the misery of the war just grates on you 
 more and more. Sometimes you almost think it would 
 be better to have it stop now, than to finish it 
 
 June 28, ipi6. (diary). 
 
 The last three nights have been something terrible 
 for me. In the first place, I have had little or no sleep, 
 and in the early morning, when you've already worked 
 10 solid hours, it's a terrible temptation to go to sleep 
 
 at the wheel In the second place the weather has 
 
 been terrible, raining most of the nights, and if there's 
 any greater strain on your eyes and nervous system, than 
 to peer out into the pitch blackness for hours at a time, I 
 want to know it. Thirdly, we have been under shell- 
 fire most all of the time, and I don't believe there's a 
 more terrible sensation than to be driving along, already 
 very tense and on edge, and then to hear that ungodly 
 shriek. You can't duck, and you've got to keep right 
 
 on Now I am just about all in — so absolutely 
 
 worn out and depressed, I never felt before. 
 
 Poor Barb* got his, night before last. A big shell 
 exploded right behind him, knocking the car to shreds, 
 
 ♦William M. Barber. 
 
 28 
 
killing his 3 blesses, and giving him a bad wound in 
 
 the back I passed by it about 10 minutes after it 
 
 had happened, and it just about broke my heart to see 
 it, and to wonder who had got it. Anyhow the poor 
 kid is alive, and there's a chance that he may not be 
 crippled. Our lieut. got him the croix de guerre, and 
 the military medal for it, the highest honor a French 
 soldier can gain. We are all very proud of him, and 
 certainly envy him. 
 
 I could write all day on the innumerable narrow es- 
 capes we all have had. When you look at the holes 
 of all sizes that have been put thru our cars, you can 
 realize that we've been just awfully lucky. I have been 
 covered with mud many a time, from a shell bursting, 
 but never had a scratch from iron. Yesterday P. M. 
 they dropped 8 or 10 big shells right in the midst of 
 the Balycourt hospital, killing a dozen or so, and 
 wounding a couple of dozen 
 
 Every day we see along the road new shell holes, new 
 ruined houses, a new bunch of dead horses pushed into 
 the gutter. It is simply horrible from beginning to 
 end. And yet it is all strangely fascinating, and you 
 don't want to leave it. Last night I had to change a tire 
 right in the midst of shelling. 
 
 Once in Verdun we feel as safe as a church — altho 
 really even there it's quite dangerous. As we come in, 
 we line up in the square, and go to sleep until it's our 
 turn. Overhead they go whistling by. . . . The fact 
 that all the buildings on the square are wrecks proves 
 that there is danger ; but when we once get there we 
 are so tired that we go right to sleep, and never hear a 
 thing until Mr. Hill pulls our leg, and tells us to go 
 back to that hellish Bras again. 
 
 This A. M. passed by a regiment returning from the 
 trenches at Fleury. A sad sight that regiment was : at 
 best it was only a quarter its full strength. They were 
 
 29 
 
straggling slowly along, and passed a new regiment, 
 every one alert and marching brightly along. It must 
 have been a bum send-off for the new regiment. . . .A 
 division stays in the trenches 8 or 10 days at Verdun: 
 at other places, they may stay a year. 
 
 July I, ipi6. (diaryy 
 This evening as we were waiting to go to Verdun, 
 Mr. Hill brought word that we were thru. Immediately a 
 loud shout of joy went up from everybody. ... I don't 
 know whether or not I can describe vividly enough the 
 sense of horror and terror that has settled down over 
 us the last four or five days; because, when we set out 
 in the evening we really do not know whether we will 
 come back alive or not. I have now worked three nights 
 straight, and am simply exhausted. ... I think per- 
 haps the most morbid thing of all is passing the wreck 
 of Barber's car. You always know where it is, because 
 you pass a dead horse on the left just before, and if 
 you don't just miss his head by an inch or so, youi 
 hind off wheel goes down into a shell hole. . . .The 
 Boches have shelled the car in the daytime, till now it's 
 just a heap of wood and iron. 
 
 Last night they sent up a fusee, which lighted up the 
 road and me too. Right away after it died out — zip — 
 some shrapnel burst near me. Then another fusee, and 
 some more shrapnel. They followed me for 3 miles, 
 and more than 2 or 3 of them broke within 50 ft. of 
 me. Going into Petit Bras last night, there was an 
 enormous flash and crash simultaneously, right in front 
 of me. So near was it that it deafened me a minute, 
 and I couldn't see anything; so I stopped, and waited 
 until I could see, and my heart had gone down a bit. 
 Not more than 5 seconds after stopping, the gunpowder 
 smell reached me. Things like that take everything out 
 
 30 
 
of you I think one of the most terrifying things 
 
 is to see Bras being shelled when you are still five miles 
 off. Gradually you come nearer, and it becomes 
 brighter and brighter, and louder and louder, and all the 
 while you know you have got to go right into the middle 
 of it. 
 
 This morning I was about 2 km. outside of Verdun, 
 and felt perfectly safe. Suddenly, however, a terrific 
 crash right in front, and clouds of mud and earth came 
 down on me. A few minutes later I was going quietly 
 along, when all of a sudden 8 Frenchmen dove into a 
 ditch at the side of the road. Immediately the shell 
 burst a half a mile further on, and they all crawled out., 
 cursing because the trench had four feet of water in 
 it. That was one of the funniest things I ever saw. 
 
 When it's so dark out there on the road, and you 
 see so many thousands of different things moving 
 around, you just stand in awe of the bean-work in back 
 of it all: artillery caissons going in this direction, can- 
 nons in that, infantry a third, rolling kitchens a fourth, 
 batteries booming everywhere, shells busting up con- 
 voys every once in a while — it looks like confusion, but 
 really it is the most consummate coordination imagin- 
 able, and you feel like a pigmy in the centre of it all. 
 
 July 3, ipi6. 
 On July 2 we received the expected ordre de mouve- 
 ment, and were told to go back to Ligny, and about 6 
 o'clock we were once more there, where the remains of 
 the 129th were already straggling in. Their losses had 
 been terrible — way over half. The 106th had lost three- 
 quarters; the 297th two-thirds; the 114th over a half; the 
 
 359th a half; the 121st five-sixths They have a 
 
 lot of respect for us now The 106th are for the 
 
 moment the heroes of France, because it was they who, 
 
 31 
 
when half of the 121st were captured, and the 114th 
 were giving ground, rushed in with bayonets, and beat 
 back the Germans. Of one company of over 200, 22 
 came back. They said that he who has not seen Verdun, 
 
 has seen nothing of the war When these fellows 
 
 told us about their time at Thiaumont, you can imagine 
 that we said nothing about our little ride to Bras 
 
 In the newspapers I have often read articles of how 
 troops coming back from Verdun had gleaming eyes, 
 chanting "passeront pas," throwing everlasting defiance 
 at the Kaiser. But that sort of stuff is outrageous ly- 
 ing, because you couldn't imagine a more hopeless, 
 downcast lot, than the regiments returning from Ver- 
 dun. Not a sound do they make, as they plod along, 
 
 in loose ranks They say, the Boches despair of 
 
 taking it, and we despair of being able to hold it; how 
 long do you think it will last? 
 
 The French sous-officiers are the finest bunch of fel- 
 lows you can imagine, educated, refined, cheerful, and 
 always clean. Everybody looks on them as the best 
 that France has to offer. 
 
 Paris, Hotel Continental, July 5, ipi6. 
 Our section has been given two days permission in 
 Paris, as a sort of reward for the work we have just 
 been through during the last two weeks Every- 
 body is wildly excited over the news of the allied of- 
 fensive [Somme] Since being in Paris I have 
 
 spent a large part of the time in the tub Have 
 
 not yet had a sick moment, or even a cold 
 
 Feel fine in every way, and perfectly cheerful and con- 
 tented. 
 
 Ligny, July 9, ipi6 (diary). 
 
 Yesterday afternoon took a walk down the canal. . . . 
 
 waited for a canal boat to come along and take me back. 
 
 32 
 
The old woman of the boat soon came up from the 
 hold to talk to me, and brought with her a bottle of wine 
 
 and some crackers This boat was drawn by 3 
 
 donkeys The third donkey was a little fellow 
 
 who was fastened behind the other two in such a way 
 that if he stopped for a second, the rope would yank 
 his neck. The little fellow was cute and just managed 
 to stay at a point where he neither pulled himself, nor 
 was pulled along by the other two. 
 
 Last night Tink, Potter, Mr. Hill and I took a long 
 walk just about sunset, in the other direction. I think 
 it was one of the prettiest walks I have ever taken. 
 Passed locks, and canal boats drawn up to the side of 
 the canal for the night, where the two horses, having 
 gone up a special gang-plank, are eating their supper in 
 the big stall : little villages every mile, with the church, 
 old and musty-looking, silhouetted higher up, against 
 the sky. In the villages themselves old fellows and 
 their wives sit out in front of their little stone houses, to 
 gossip and take the evening air, many of them having 
 cats, which prowl around in dark corners or else purr 
 contentedly from the doorstep. All sorts of flowers in 
 bloom added color to it all, while the absence of your 
 people made it all seem a little sad, and not quite as it 
 ought to be. 
 
 On reading the above over, it sounds rotten. How- 
 ever, it was a pretty and quaint enough picture to put 
 a kind of spell on most anybody the least romantic. 
 
 33 
 
VI 
 
 PONT-A-MOUSSON AND DIEULOUARD 
 
 Sunday, July 16, ipid. 
 
 My last letter I wrote you from Paris. After re- 
 turning to the section we spent another week en repos, 
 and then we moved to this quaint little town, [Dieulou- 
 ard, pronounced Doola.] Here it is not dangerous, as 
 at Verdun, and we are perfectly satisfied, as I guess all 
 of us have had all the fire-eating that we want for a 
 
 long time to come The little town we are in now, 
 
 is one of the quaintest things I have ever seen. It is 
 built around an old, old, castle dating from 975 A. D, 
 Of the castle itself, there remains only one big stretch 
 of wall — probably the bailey and the donjon. But the 
 interesting part of it, is that the people have taken over 
 every room in the place, and live in it, like a bunch of 
 ants. Where the wall has fallen in, they have just built a 
 little roof over it, and there is a new room. A big 
 heavy stone bridge leads from the side of the hill to 
 the castle, and all around it and under it, they have 
 built their little stone houses, with red tiled roofs, and 
 high-peaked gables. The whole business is exactly like 
 the illustrations of castles in Grimm's Fairy Tales, or 
 Howard Pyle's "Wonder Clock" 
 
 Our real center of operations is a town about five 
 or six kilometers further on. [Pont-a-Mousson.] One 
 week ten of us will go up and work, while the rest 
 will hang around here, doing hospital to hospital work. 
 .... In the town we will have a wonderful place to 
 live. It is somebody's country villa and is almost new. 
 
 It has electric lights and a bath-tub The caretaker 
 
 is a French woman, who is crazy to have us come thert 
 When we appeared for the first time yester- 
 day, she almost went oflf the handle; she was so glad to 
 
 see some more Americans We expect to stay on 
 
 34 
 
this part of the front for about a month. One of the 
 nicest things about the whole experience has been the 
 httle villages we have stopped in, which, on a regular 
 sightseeing trip, you'd never even hear of 
 
 July 24, ipi6. Tuesday. 
 Yesterday was a red-letter day for me, for I received 
 
 six letters from home Feel at this moment as if 
 
 I had been home for a couple of days It is al- 
 ways such a quaint and friendly life that you don't 
 get tired of it, even when there is not much work to 
 be done. Aside from five or six aeroplane fights to 
 
 watch every day, there is not much excitement 
 
 Rigaud, our cook, has been suffering from a sore tooth, 
 and our sufferings from the cooking increase in direct 
 ratio. Yesterday, he came back with it strung around 
 
 his neck on a chain, so we feel much relieved 
 
 Opened my valise today. It had not been opened for 
 a month, and what happened was just what would hap- 
 pen, if you went out into the woods and turned ovei 
 a big rock. At least six big insects hopped out and 
 
 beat it for the great outside A couple of octo- 
 
 genariennes yesterday, told me that if the Kaiser was 
 captured and came through this place, each would take 
 
 a pitch fork and finish up the job for France 
 
 Just at present, am reading Captain Fracasse in French 
 
 think I read a book every three or four days. 
 
 The only thing that makes me mad over here is the 
 
 cruelty with which the drivers treat their horses 
 
 Did you know that the average life of a horse, carry- 
 ing stuff to the front, was 27 days — not a bit more. 
 This of course is not due to cruelty but to actual shell 
 
 fire We have found a fine place to swim in the 
 
 river. [The Moselle] Forgot to mention that 
 
 five of our fellows and our French lieutenant got the 
 croix de guerre for our work at the last place. 
 
 35 
 
[Verdun.] That is a fine thing for the American Am- 
 bulance, and we are all proud of them. 
 
 July 24, 19 16. (diary). 
 This morning I really had an exciting time. Need- 
 ing some exercise, I started out after breakfast for a 
 long walk, foolishly not getting a laisser-passer from Mr. 
 
 Hill. I started out across the river saw a sign 
 
 "St. Genevieve 1 km. 500 m." finally landed in 
 
 a little village on top of a high hill, commanding the 
 lines within a radius of 20 miles. It was horribly shot 
 up Thought I'd climb up a little further. . . .Sud- 
 denly a man appeared and said: "Halte !" behind him a 
 lieutenant, and behind him a colonel, who said in a 
 harsh voice, "Conduisez ici cette bonhomme la," bon- 
 honmie meaning in this case, rascal. 
 
 1 was pretty much scared, and went with him. They 
 took me downstairs to an underground place, and 
 started interrogations. When I told him I was just 
 walking about, and had no laisser-passer he said, "We 
 consider you as a German spy," and then he asked for 
 my papers. I certainly got them out quickly, before 
 they should start feeling in my pocket, and should 
 find my camera, the very thought of which caused sweat 
 to run down my glasses. 
 
 Well, after looking over my papers he began to look 
 at me less suspiciously. He took me thru a net work 
 of underground galleries, and finally had me in a tele- 
 phone booth. I told him our section was in Dieulouard, 
 and all about myself. He called up Hill, and asked 
 him if there was a conducteur by the name of Clark 
 in that section. The answer to that was, "Yes, two." 
 After that I was all right, but I was escorted to the 
 captain of the town, and had another inquisition, and 
 finally he gave me laisser-passer back to Dieulouard, and 
 also a man to see me well out of town. 
 
 36 
 
August 4, igi6. 
 
 A few days ago a man died in my ambulance, which 
 makes the second one which has passed out in it. . . . 
 
 It just about makes you sick when it happens 
 
 Nobody now has any longer any doubt as to the 
 
 ultimate victory of the Allies I feel more and 
 
 more as if I were a part of France, and am more and 
 more thankful for that year in Paris which gave me 
 the feeling 
 
 Have never seen anything that could strain your 
 eyes more than the continual peering out into the dark- 
 ness, to see if there is anything ahead. When you go 
 through a wood you can see absolutely nothing, but you 
 would be surprised at what an instinct you can develop, 
 for feeling whether there is anything ahead or not. 
 When it is absolutely pitch-black it is not so bad as 
 when there is just a little light, for then the shadows 
 are confusing, and you don't know whether the black 
 spot ahead is a cart or just an unusually dark place. 
 However, as I have never run into anything yet, I don't 
 feel very anxious any more. Have more and more re- 
 spect for a Ford. They go absolutely anywhere, and if 
 treated right, they will last a long time. My car has 
 been running since Sept., 1914, and has been doing the 
 
 hardest work any car could do Her engine is just 
 
 as good as ever.* 
 
 Aug. 6, ipi6 (diary) 
 Last evening Mrs. W. K. Vanderbilt came through 
 with Dr. Andrew, and paid us a visit. She was very, 
 very nice looking. She talked a while and then left for 
 Pont-a-Mousson, leaving us each two boxes of ciga- 
 rettes. Wish my car had been in the village. It is one 
 of the first she gave, and is now a pretty shaky affair, 
 but it certainly has done service. Up at Pont-a-Mousson 
 
 *No. 54, Contributed by Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt. 
 
 37 
 
they had a bombardment, and she was hustled out of 
 bed down into the cellar. She also went out on a call 
 to Auberge St. Pierre. She had on wonderful clothes, 
 
 but not flashy at all The Medecin Chef gave us 
 
 quite a eulogy, because we were getting wounded down 
 to Belleville in less than two hours after they were 
 wounded, while the old Fiats never did it in less than 
 three hours and a half. 
 
 Aug. i6, ipi6. 
 
 Three or four of the old men have left to go back to 
 
 America, their time having expired. It is quite hard to 
 
 see them go, for, for three months now, the section has 
 
 been practically intact, and everybody has been friendly 
 
 toward every one else The last letter I received 
 
 from father had been opened by the censorship. The 
 letter contained a violent denunciation of Germany and 
 
 must have warmed the censor's heart the longer 
 
 I am over here, the more I want to see (as father does, 
 too) the Kaiser and Kronprinz, and the whole family, 
 in fact Germiany too, swept off Europe forever; as far 
 
 as any military force or menace is concerned Don't 
 
 know how many times I have heard a wounded man 
 say, "Germany has ruined my life; may God punish her." 
 A soldier's final conviction on the German nation is, 
 "C'est une race si sale, qu'elle ne doit pas vivre." A 
 rather elderly, and entirely good humored and easy go- 
 ing cook, one whom you would never think capable of 
 any harsh feelings, said to me, "When we shall be in 
 Germany, I shall show no pity for that dirty race. They 
 murdered my family, when they invaded the north. 
 They shall pay double for it." 
 
 August 20, ipi6. 
 Am up here near the front now; and it is fine. Ma- 
 dame Marin is still cooking for us, and we are living in 
 
 38 
 
luxury. We have the whole chateau to ourselves, with 
 fine beds, good food, and a shower bath. 
 
 Did I tell you about the decorating of our four men 
 by the General? We all lined up in the big square in 
 front of the hospital, and waited for an hour for the 
 General to arrive. [Gen. Garby.] Finally, a little fel- 
 low, in an old overcoat, torn puttees (one of them nearly 
 falling off), and an old helmet, on crooked, jumped out 
 of a big car, and flourishing a big cane — about the cali- 
 bre of Father's shillalah — walked toward the centre of 
 the square, while everybody saluted. He started speak- 
 ing, and then you saw what he really was. He had lit- 
 tle black eyes that jumped about and seemed to take 
 in everything; and everything he said was right to the 
 point, and came out sharp and quick. After pinning the 
 croix de guerre on the men, he kissed them on each 
 cheek, congratulated them, turned on his heel, hopped 
 into his car, and was off in a cloud of dust. The 
 soldiers all love him, and never are tired of telling how 
 he comes and eats with them, borrows a cigarette, and 
 talks with them. Altho he has a bunch of decorations 
 he never has been seen to wear one. He looked like 
 business all the way through. Were it not for two little 
 silver stars, almost hidden by the cuff of his overcoat, 
 you'd never distinquish him from an ordinary soldier. . . 
 
 Since being in France I have gained ten pounds. 
 
 Aug. SI, ipi6. 
 I get a six days' permission in a few days and if I 
 can work it, am going down to Italy to see Auntie Kay. 
 Receive letters from her about twice a week. She 
 speaks of heroic self-sacrifice, and nobleness of soul, 
 but if she could only realize what a good time Fm hav- 
 ing, and how comfortable I am, and in the midst of 
 such good friends, I don't believe the "heroic self-sacri- 
 fice" stuff would keep up. French is coming along finely 
 
 39 
 
now, and I can speak with almost anyone without much 
 trouble. Can't say I am thinking of coming home yet. 
 The more I am over here, the more inspiring it all is. 
 This very moment I am sitting in the back of my car 
 writing, while out in front is a general decorating some 
 brancardiers for bravery. Yesterday the town was be- 
 decked with flags in honor of Roumania. Would hate 
 
 to leave now, when things are looking up so 
 
 While out at one of the postes de secours a couple 
 of days ago, only about three hundred yards from the 
 Boche lines, a man popped his head out of a trench and 
 said in a Flatbush brogue, "Say, is it true, kid, de 
 Dodgers are leadin' de League?" Think of meeting 
 that 'way over here ! 
 
 Sept. J, 1916. 
 
 Yesterday Mr. Hill showed one of the new men over 
 the sector, and there being a couple of postes I had not 
 as yet seen myself, I went along with him. It was a 
 ride that almost any American newspaper reporter would 
 have given his eyes to be in on. Eight or nine miles 
 riding took us right into the forest where the lines are. 
 Everywhere were thousands and thousands of trenches 
 — big ones, little ones, deep ones, all sorts. Big piles of 
 logs, piles of barbed wire, iron posts and every imag- 
 inable thing for trench warfare were stored at different 
 places, to be used as occasion demanded. 
 
 It seemed very unusual to go right into the middle 
 of a dense wood and find hundreds and hundreds of 
 
 men in every direction While we were up 
 
 there a crapouillot landed, not too far off, and gave 
 me that same empty feeling that you always have when 
 
 something goes off near you The soldiers say 
 
 that hand grenades are worse than regular shells. A shell 
 you can always hear in time to drop flat on your face; 
 and if you do that it has just about got to land on you 
 to wound you. But when a hand grenade drops into 
 
 40 
 
your trench there isn't a thing you can do. It explodes 
 in three or four seconds, and if you haven't got a corner 
 right near you all you can do is to throw yourself right 
 on your face in front of it, and then you will be hit 
 anyhow, but not so badly as though you were standing 
 
 up I find now that I can say almost anything 
 
 I want to in French. 
 
 I think the last four months have been the most use- 
 ful, and certainly the happiest that I have ever put in. 
 And now that the Allies are slowly but surely gaining 
 the upper hand things will be better and better with 
 us. When Roumania came in all the town was deco- 
 rated with flags. The soldiers all wore a decided smile. 
 Every one now expects Greece to march .... 
 
 From time to time we get newspaper extracts from 
 American Ambulance fellows, who have written to home 
 
 papers They ought not to do it They 
 
 hurt the Ambulance a lot by writing such truck. One 
 of our own fellows did it, and altho better than the 
 rest he couldn't help from running to "reign of terror" 
 stuff. One of the fellows wrote about how "Mother's 
 fair-haired boy was now a man." Judas! Judas! 
 
 My new car is a dandy; runs fast and stays in the 
 middle of the road; 54 used to be in the gutter most 
 of the time ; in fact she rode better there than anywhere 
 else. Have been playing quite a bit of chess lately. 
 
 The French in some ways are about fifty years 
 
 behind us ; housekeeping is one of them, at least in this 
 part of the country. In a lot of ways I think they are 
 'way ahead of us; saving and patriotism, I think, could 
 
 be mentioned Another fellow and I have rented 
 
 a piano at a dollar a month, and it is a great success. 
 The other fellow that plays is crazy over opera, and 
 plays Madame Butterfly all day long. Have been learn- 
 ing two Chopin waltzes myself 1 guess the piano 
 
 won't be for much longer, because we don't expect to be 
 
 41 
 
in this quiet sector more than a httle while Am 
 
 reading Carlyle's "Heroes and Hero Worship"; great 
 stuff 
 
 Saturday, Sept. id, ipi6. 
 
 About ten days ago my permission papers came, and, 
 
 much to my surprise, I was allowed to go to Italy 
 
 I slept on the train two nights, not in a sleeper. The 
 first night it was all right, .... but the second was a 
 terror. At Genoa I was all alone, but there a tremen- 
 dous woman, with four small children, two maids and 
 a dog, fought their way in. It wasn't so bad as long 
 as there was daylight, but when night came things began 
 to move. La Colosse stretched out on one seat, occupy- 
 ing it once and a half. Two kids slept somewhere behind 
 her, but were lost to view. I saw there wasn't going 
 to be any sleeping, so I offered to leave. She, however, 
 insisted on my staying, as she didn't want to feel that 
 she was inconveniencing me. Well, in spite of all my 
 protests she insisted that the two maids sleep on the 
 floor, between the two seats. Having seen three soldiers 
 spit there all the afternoon, I couldn't imagine their be- 
 ing comfortably fixed. The other two kids were stretched 
 out on my seat, while I sat upright in a corner and 
 wished I was dead. The dog disappeared under a seat 
 and wasn't seen again. Of course, everything was her- 
 metically sealed, and the maids were no roses. 
 
 Well, I was so tired that in an hour or so I dozed off. 
 I was awakened by seeing a scuffle at the door, and a 
 fat Italian priest sank back onto the platform, while 
 his two suitcases were thrown after him. He had opened 
 the door, and, it being pitch black, he had dropped his 
 suitcases on the maids and then had walked on them. 
 They woke up in a rage, and then followed what I've 
 already described. 
 
 It took another half-hour for me to calm down and 
 
 42 
 
to doze again. I don't know how long it lasted this 
 time, but I awoke while a fight was going on between 
 two of the kids. The dog appeared for the first time 
 in four hours, and barked like Spike. It ended in tears, 
 and things were quiet again. I was near the ragged edge 
 by this time and had it out in the corridor. Immedi- 
 ately Madame had the two maids out after me, who 
 followed me to the end of the car, and, after an argu- 
 ment, partly French, Italian and English, dragged me 
 back and sat me down. 
 
 That was not all. I had managed to stretch out a bit, 
 and really tore off two hours of perspiring sleep. This 
 time I was awakened by sharp, repeated blows on my 
 head. One of the little girls had evidently waked up, 
 very much frightened at feeling my head on her feet. 
 Having her shoes on, she immediately kicked out in all 
 directions, touching me every other blow. As she had 
 heels, I have two bumps on my head this minute. I 
 didn't say a word, but when it was quiet again I used 
 strategy and sneaked out like a thief into the corridor, 
 where I stood up the rest of the night. Needless to 
 say, the funny part of it all didn't strike me till a couple 
 of days afterwards. 
 
 A long day it was from Turin to Rome, which, after 
 Paris, appeared a very dazzling city. Spent all day long 
 in the Forum and Coliseum. You can be sure it was 
 all the pleasanter for being able to think that you and 
 father had been in the same places many times. In the 
 evening I went around to the Martini's. I didn't tell 
 them I was coming, as I knew they'd be all the gladder 
 to see me if I turned up unexpectedly. They are all 
 simply fine. Cousin Julie and the girls are all very 
 pretty. Enrico is an awfully nice little kid. Cousin 
 Giulio is a peach; reminded me a lot of home. He 
 looked all of a general, and I felt very proud to be 
 related to him. They are all the nicest bunch I've ever 
 
 43 
 
met. They did everything for me and made me feel 
 
 entirely at home 
 
 I took two days to go up to Siena to see Auntie Kay. 
 I hadn't told her either that I was coming. When I 
 appeared in her room she almost passed out from sur- 
 prise. Of course she was awfully happy to see me, and 
 
 we had a long, long talk about everything Came 
 
 back to Rome and had another day with the Martinis. 
 .... It was from beginning to end a very happy and 
 
 homelike affair Am now back at work again and 
 
 am very happy to be here The poet Masefield 
 
 appeared in the section and turned out to be a very nice 
 fellow. 
 
 [From a letter of C. A. G. we get the following inci- 
 dent of this trip to Siena. As he was leaving for Rome, 
 she and Coleman were upon the R. R. platform, which 
 was filled with Italian soldiers. They noticed with curi- 
 osity his uniform, different from theirs. After a time 
 several of the older men came up, and soon there was 
 a group of 40 or 50 around them. They asked him to 
 what branch of the service he belonged. When he said 
 "American Ambulance" every cap was lifted and a mur- 
 mur went around; and when they parted from him they 
 gave him, a boy of 20, and through him, America, the 
 military salute. 
 
 The following is from a letter of C. A. G., dated Nov. 
 24, 1916: "I know just how you feel about Coleman. 
 The tears come every time I think of him, and they 
 are tears of happiness and appreciation. I've seen him, 
 you know, later than you have, and appreciate how he 
 has grown, mentally and spiritually. He is filled with 
 a purpose that you feel. Strangers felt it, and spoke of 
 it. He is just the same bright, boyish, happy Coey, so 
 affectionate and winning, and yet with a purpose that 
 shows underneath it all. I felt I could lean on him."] 
 
 44 
 
VII. 
 DECISION NOT TO GO HOME 
 
 Paris, Sept. 22, 19 16. 
 
 I have now been with the American Ambulance almost 
 five months, and I am sure that you've all been won- 
 dering what I am going to do. I have noticed that 
 your letters have all kept carefully away from the sub- 
 ject of my homecoming, and it is very brave of you, 
 for I know that you refrain from saying anything about 
 it just in order that I may feel at perfect liberty to 
 decide for myself. I am not blind to the fact that 
 you would all be very happy to see me home this fall. 
 And in view of that I want to explain my decision to 
 remain through the winter, and make you understand 
 that my motive is not selfishness. 
 
 I do not think I need explain my feeling of love and 
 patriotism for France at any greater length. You must 
 know it by my letters ; I must have reiterated it many 
 times. You are all angry against Germany, and you 
 are 3,000 miles away from it. I have had the privilege 
 of being in it, and doing what I can. I have carried 
 young wounded boys for miles and miles, and a few of 
 them have died in my car. Being so near to it, and 
 seeing the suffering of all, perhaps you can appreciate 
 my intense desire to stay on and do my part, which 
 seems so little when I see poor, uneducated soldiers give 
 and do so much. 
 
 By staying over I cause five of you a lot of worry — 
 and do not think that I do not realize it. It has made 
 
 me heart-sick many, many, times It isn't often 
 
 that I write like this, but once in a while you write 
 what you feel in your heart. In addition to the humanity 
 side of it, you can well believe that I am glad to be able 
 to do something which contributes to the overthrow of 
 Germany 
 
 45 
 
And now I'll tell you what we are about to do 
 
 One morning I was awakened by, "Get right up, B. B., 
 and pack; we leave at 10:30." We were all glad, 
 because it is always pleasant to change. At 10:30 we 
 were all ready to go, when the Medecin Major rushed 
 up in his car, jumped out and said, "I am very sorry to 
 hear you are leaving us; it is quite a blow to me." He 
 spoke to us for about three or four minutes, and then 
 shook hands with us all, with real tears in his eyes. 
 Five or ten minutes later another grey car rushed into 
 town, and the chief of staff appeared. He was a big-bug, 
 and we all felt very proud to have a good-bye from him. 
 Not more than ten minutes after that another big grey 
 car landed in town, and out jumped a little man in an 
 old muddy uniform and with a crooked old cane. It 
 was the general himself. He said everything the others 
 had said and wished us the best of luck. It was a great 
 send-off for us, and when he left we all lined up in 
 the gutter and saluted as his car went by. We our- 
 selves left a few minutes later, with all the townspeople 
 out, waving us good-bye. I think the French will 
 
 remember the American Ambulance We were 
 
 gomg to Paris 
 
 For a hundred kilometres or more we followed the 
 battlefield of the Marne,* and we didn't go a hundred 
 yards or so without seeing a grave here, or a group 
 
 there, some French, some German And to think 
 
 that the French at that time, with practically no ammuni- 
 tion, pushed back an army twice as great, an average of 
 50 kilometres! All the French soldiers, speaking of it, 
 
 say it was a miracle 
 
 Last night we arrived, about seven o'clock, at St. 
 Cloud, where we parked our cars. We came into Paris to 
 sleep at the Ambulance Headquarters, and today we 
 learned that we're going to Salonique. It means signing 
 
 *Diary says by Toul, St. Dizier. Sezanne, Vitry, La Fere- 
 Champenoise, and Tournan ; the back road to Paris. 
 
 46 
 
up for six months more, but only one who has been asked 
 has refused to go. It is a picked section, and the experi- 
 ence will be a wonderful thing. It is a fine compliment to 
 the American Ambulance that we've been asked to go 
 
 down there It will feel more or less like leaving 
 
 home to leave France, but, at any rate, we'll be with the 
 French soldiers as ever Everything looks bright. 
 
 Paris, Oct. 6, ipi6. 
 
 It was over a week ago that I wrote you telling you 
 
 that we were going to Salonique the next day 
 
 Our work will be up in the mountains That is 
 
 the particular virtue of the Fords, that they can work in 
 the most mountainous country, and on the most rotten 
 roads, whereas the other big ambulances which the 
 French use are very slow, cumbersome, and burn a great 
 deal of gas 
 
 I look upon Verdun with a sense of awe It was 
 
 such a big thing, that at the time I couldn't realize all of 
 what I was seeing, and as I think it over it becomes 
 more and more vivid to me. Some day I'll have to write 
 it all up. Now it seems a very romantic thing to me, but 
 while I was working there I divided my time between 
 sleep and hard work, and more or less fear. I'm look- 
 ing forward to the day when we'll all be sitting around 
 the fire and I can tell you all about it 
 
 I notice that in your last letter you say, "Fellows that 
 have been over say that very few men can stand the 
 strain more than six months." .... Never have I felt 
 sick since I have been here, and never have I had any 
 
 nerve breaks This is not a strain. How can it 
 
 be when there is always something new and interesting 
 to look at, and a lot of more or less pleasurable excite- 
 ment? .... This nervous strain stuff is a bunch of 
 bunk 
 
 47 
 
VIII 
 MARSEILLES. 
 
 Marseilles, Tuesday, Oct. ly, ipi6. 
 
 We left Paris last Thursday evening It being a 
 
 freight train, there was a great deal of jerking forward 
 a mile, and then a sudden backing for two miles, and 
 the engine blowing off steam every ten minutes or so. 
 Everybody smoked all the time, and there wasn't much 
 sleeping in our compartment, nor any of the others, I 
 guess. It didn't take long for a strong body smell to 
 ooze into all the corners and to outreek the tobacco. 
 Anyhow it was a lot of fun, and everybody enjoyed it. 
 It took us 36 hours to get to Marseilles, where we 
 landed Saturday morning. The second night I and an- 
 other fellow took our blankets out on a freight car and 
 slept there, and slept soundly, too 
 
 Marseilles is a great place. You see signs of the war 
 everywhere here, but from an entirely different view- 
 point. Besides the ordinary Paris mixture of French 
 and English soldiers of all sorts, down here we see dirty 
 Hindoos stalking around in their turbans and sashes; 
 Chinks in a sort of yellowish-green uniform, with their 
 plate-shaped hats; thousands of Coons walking in the 
 middle of the streets, usually holding each other's hands ; 
 
 and once in a while an Arab It's a lot of fun to 
 
 to go down along the water front and watch the Coons 
 working. Unless someone is at them all the time, they 
 amble off peacefully in droves and doze off standing up. 
 It seems awfully unreal to hear Smokes speaking French- 
 .... A bunch of German prisoners happened to go by 
 a troop of Smokes; immediately every nigger got out a 
 long knife, and waved it at them, each one shouting at 
 
 the top of his lungs 
 
 48 
 
Not much progress with my Russian as yet 
 
 It looks like an impossible language Don't take 
 
 on any additional worry on account of Salonique. Every- 
 body is looking forward to it very much; and they are 
 taking all precautions against anything, which I'll ex- 
 plain when I get home Add "Armee d'Orient" to 
 
 my address Please send accounts of all Yale foot- 
 ball games. Too bad about the sick tree in the back 
 yard. 
 
 Marseilles, Friday, Oct. 20, 1916. 
 We're off this afternoon, with 800 Chinks and 200 
 Coons as ballast. The tub we are going in has a fighting 
 prow like the Mcsaba. The Chinks marched through 
 town this morning, barefoot, and as we all sleep in one 
 big hold in little beds, three deep, I suppose we'll suffer 
 
 for those feet tonight Everybody's starting off 
 
 in good health Please don't forget the can of 
 
 cube. It looks like a million dollars over here 
 
 We've got a fine bunch of fellows in our section, 16 
 of our old section and 10 others picked from other sec- 
 tions. I was awfully glad to see Don Armour show up; 
 he stood next to me on the Glee Club last year. Have 
 just finished reading "Pickwick" in French. Enjoyed it 
 so much that I am taking down with me "Oliver Twist," 
 "Our Mutual Friend," "Bleak House," and "David Cop- 
 perfield," all in French, too. 
 
MONASTIR ^p>iC£DO^f/^ 
 
 o u a» ]o 
 
 Where he was in Macedonia and Thessaly 
 
 Vodena : the old Greek Edessa, the ancient capital of the kingdom 
 of Macedonia. 400 B. C. 
 
 Salonica : the Thessalonica of the Bible, where St. Paul preached ; 
 an important city as far back as 300 B. C. 
 
 Larissa: once the capital of the Pelasgi, prior to their conquest 
 by the Macedonian kings. 
 
 Salambria, (river) : the ancient Peneus, the chief river of Thes- 
 saly. Between Larissa and the Sea, it flows through the 
 beautiful vale of Tempe, so celebrated in ancient poetry. 
 
 Vole : on the site of the port from which the legendary Argonauts 
 sailed. 
 
 Negocani : near Monastir. 
 
 Sakulevo : near Monastir. 
 
 SO 
 
IX 
 
 ARRIVAL AT SALONICA. 
 
 Nov. I, ipi6. 
 
 We arrived in Salonique safely day before yesterday. 
 Our voyage over was a very interesting one. The boat 
 was filled with Chinamen, and the only accommoda- 
 tions were 800 bunks down in the hold, six deep, with 
 2y2 feet between them i. e., up and down, but no dis- 
 tance between them sidewise. We tried it down there 
 the first night while the air was still fresh, but about 
 four in the morning we all crawled out on deck, where 
 we've slept every night since Most of the French- 
 men on board were scared until the moment they put 
 foot on land. As a matter of fact, we didn't sight one 
 (sousmarin) at any time, altho there were always six 
 or seven men watching. The last three days the Captain 
 had eight of us watching at a time, two on the bridge, 
 two on the deck, two at the bow, and two at the stern. 
 The watches were three hours long and very tiresome. 
 I had some bad luck, and drew all my watches from 11 
 P. M. to 2 A. M 
 
 Before telling about the interesting things here I want 
 to write about the little Chinks. Aside from their filth, 
 they were awfully nice little fellows. To hear all of 
 them talking in the hold together sounded like a large 
 army of chickens, while their piping little laughs sounded 
 like so many squirrels. They were fed in squads, one 
 man going to the kitchen with a large bowl, which was 
 filled with a greasy, greenish soup. Around this bowl 
 the squad squatted in a circle. Each one threw large 
 chunks of bread into the bowl, which he later fished out 
 with his hand. On one particular day they all shaved each 
 
 51 
 
other. Each hair they cut off their faces with a pocket 
 knife. One of them had a straight razor, but used it 
 dry. They were all more or less tattooed, and most 
 of it was pretty fantastic work. We understood that 
 most of them were volunteers. We felt very sorry for 
 them because they did not know what they were going 
 to. However, I don't believe they are to be used at the 
 front, but in the rear as sentries, guards and longshore- 
 men. 
 
 They never acted other than as little children, play 
 ing little tricks with each, other all day long. They 
 showed no earnest of a yellow peril. A couple of them 
 died on the way, and the bodies were boxed and thrown 
 overboard, and six buglers played as the bodies disap- 
 peared. Not a trace of sorrow could I see in any of the 
 Annamites' faces. In fact, right up to the minute before, 
 they were all squatted on deck, playing with their soup. 
 
 We couldn't understand such indifference 
 
 Of the military side of Salonique I think I had better 
 say nothing, as we have been specially cautioned in that 
 respect. It is more than cosmopolitan, more like a Babel. 
 Signs are written in every language, and the Greek is 
 rather in the minority. Such a mixture of languages 
 and uniforms was far beyond anything I had antici- 
 pated From the moment we landed We could 
 
 see we were in the Orient. A trip through the little wind- 
 ing streets is like a chapter from the Arabian Nights. 
 Bazars, veiled ladies, sombre old priests with stovepipe 
 hats (without the brim), squalid children, a respectable 
 amount of filth, bead sellers, donkeys loaded down on 
 each side and a black smoke sitting on their necks — it 
 has all the earmarks of Asia. As we left the ship an 
 old dirty Greek formed us in fours and marched us off 
 to a concentration field, where we waited six hours for 
 something to happen. Luckily, it was right on an impor- 
 tant crossroads and there was something new to look at 
 
 52 
 
every minute. Three men fights and two dog took place. 
 One of the latter almost broke up a funeral, which got 
 mixed up in a convoy of two-ton trucks. On the corner 
 stood not one cop but five, one for each race; and they 
 
 have an awfully hard time 
 
 Everybody is well and happy except the French cook, 
 who can't reconcile Oriental products to his French 
 
 menu As all my underwear is in my car, which 
 
 hasn't arrived as yet, I turned my stuflf inside out today 
 and feel like Sunday morning. Learned the Greek alpha- 
 bet this morning 
 
 Nov. 12, ipid. 
 
 I am doing my best at trying to scratch out a little 
 Greek ; learned ten words yesterday, tried them on a 
 little bootblack and not one of them got across. He lost 
 a tip. It doesn't look like a very potent language to me 
 anyhow. As someone said, trying to read it is like trying 
 
 to decipher a blotter Saw Vcnizelos yesterday 
 
 for the first time. He looked like a very kindly old 
 
 gentleman. Everybody saluted him I've taken 
 
 walk after walk through Salonique and never have I seen 
 such a queer place. The Turkish quarter is particu- 
 larly interesting. The houses are all little two-storied 
 aflfairs, with lots of dormer windows. A great many are 
 painted light blue, which makes it very pretty. How- 
 ever, it is mostly spoiled by the condition of the streets, 
 which are littered up with garbage 
 
 Nov. i8, ipi6. 
 
 The ship bringing our cars just turned up at the dock 
 
 a few days ago, and ever since then we have been down 
 
 there, smashing crates with pickaxe and crowbar 
 
 Our cook is a fine one, and makes most anything, (most 
 anything being largely beans,) taste good. We call him 
 
 53 
 
the "roi des cuistros," "cuistro" being the French sol- 
 diers' abbreviation for cook 
 
 We have just had a very sad accident in the Section, 
 and we all feel very depressed over it. Eddie Sortwell 
 [Harvard, '10] was crossing the main street a few 
 evenings ago, down-town, when a big staff car came 
 along and hit him squarely on the head. The car picked 
 him up and took him to the nearest hospital, but he 
 never recovered consciousness and died the next night. 
 What a blow this will be to his family! The funeral 
 was very quiet, but very impressive. It was held in a 
 special little wooden chapel, right in the midst of a 
 military cemetery. Around the edge of the room stood 
 about 25 soldiers with casques and fixed bayonets. We 
 stood in a half circle around the coffin while a French 
 protestant chaplain conducted the service. The coffin 
 was covered with a French flag, which in turn was cov- 
 ered with the Stars and Stripes It all seemed 
 
 almost impossible to us. Ed was always good-natured, 
 full of fun, and a friend to every one. 
 
 It does now really seem certain that we will be off 
 
 for the front in a few days Chickens, dogs and 
 
 cats are up all night long, and one morning I got up at 
 four, and dispersed a drove of hogs which were starting 
 
 to push in the tent While I was writing the above 
 
 a French soldier came into this little inn (right next 
 our camp) and engaged me in a half-hour conversation 
 
 on the war especially what they think of the war 
 
 in the United States. He told me that he was wounded 
 twice, once in Belgium, and once in Champagne. He 
 insisted on stripping to the waist and showing me the 
 wounds. One was a three-inch bayonet scar, right in the 
 stomach. They are all very proud of their wounds 
 
 54 
 
X 
 
 UP TO THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 Dec. 2, ipi6. 
 
 I haven't written you for two weeks, because since 
 we left Salonique no mail has gone back from us. From 
 Nov. 21 to today makes a strange history for me. On 
 that day, at 5 in the morning, we were up, pulling down 
 our six round little tents and packing them into our 
 cars, and by six we were aff in a long convoy, with all 
 
 our headlights going, for it was still dark Squads 
 
 of Boches and Greeks were being marched, in herds, out 
 to work on the roads. Nigger troops, black as coal, 
 were just starting out on the long march to the front; 
 Chinamen were doing sentry duty at different points, and 
 the heavy camions, by the hundreds, were just starting 
 the rumble which you are never out of sound of. A 
 few ox teams were coming into town with mats made of 
 rushes for a load, and were invariably in the way. A 
 great many cemeteries — Greek, English, Serb and 
 French — were to be seen near the city. But it wasn't 
 long before this was far behind, and we were out on a 
 fine road across the marsh, with the sun coming up 
 
 behind the mountains You must remember that 
 
 all this part of Macedonia is really Turkish, as the 
 Greeks have only had it for four years. As a result 
 the inhabitants stared at us with a cold Asiatic eye as 
 we went tearing through their muddy streets and 
 sprinkled their streets with American Ambulance mud. 
 
 A couple of more hours and we got to the foot of 
 our first hill. Here we found a long line of heavily 
 loaded camions waiting their turn for the Jefifery tractors 
 to pull them up. Our little match boxes got up without 
 
 55 
 
any trouble at all Up to this point it had been 
 
 a very pleasant, interesting day, all play; but soon we 
 
 were to experience the first balk of the Balkans 
 
 Two more rear axles went I remember one place 
 
 where a bunch of 30 or 40 Bulgars were working, and 
 they had to come to the rescue and push each car over 
 the worst place. The Bulgars were guarded by Sene- 
 galese Coons, and on many of the camions that staggered 
 by were little yellow Chinks. So you can see that down 
 here it is like the wandering of nations. After this we 
 skirted a large lake [Ostrovo], where there were many 
 
 English and Scottish hospitals Have never before 
 
 seen such a combination of steep hills and bad roads. 
 By this time our convoy had diminished from 25 to 13. 
 .... We thought that we were just about through the 
 woods when a long hill, steeper than ever, loomed up, 
 just as it was getting dark. Not one car could make it. 
 So the only thing to do was to get 8 or 10 on each 
 car, and push as hard as we could for 200 yards over 
 
 the steepest part. All this on no dinner When 
 
 we finally came out on large plain we stopped, and as 
 there was nothing to eat or drink, we all climbed into 
 
 stretchers and went to sleep [Banica]. 
 
 On the fourth day after leaving Salonique we were 
 off again and proceeded 20 more kilometres north, where 
 we came upon the town which was our temporary desti- 
 nation, and where we have been ever since [Sakulevo]. 
 .... We are not yet working at the front, but are 
 near enough so that we can see the flashing on the hills, 
 and plainly hear the cannons. What we miss most of all 
 
 are the newspapers The other day I carried two 
 
 Coons and one Chinaman inside, while a Frenchman rode 
 with me on the seat in front. The two Coons and the 
 Annamite were not wounded, but sick, so that they were 
 still pretty lively and managed to start an argument 
 inside Am enjoying Dickens as usual, and be- 
 
 56 
 
sides that am doing quite a bit of solid reading in Shake- 
 speare, Ruskin and Carlyle. We are pretty much 
 ashamed of the United States' stand 
 
 A few days ago thousands of Russian soldiers marched 
 up the road and built an enormous camp across the river 
 from us, not 200 yards away. They were fine looking 
 men and looked like fine soldiers, too. This was the 
 first time that I had seen war as you usually think of it, 
 {. e., large armies marching around, and hundreds of 
 camp fires burning. About seven o'clock the first night 
 we heard a cornet from over there, and then followed 
 a great burst of song in a short monotone chant. All we 
 could see was a bluish smoke, and many, many camp 
 fires ; and out of it came this great burst of song, thou- 
 sands singing at once. You can't imagine how impres- 
 sive it was. It stopped for a moment ; then another 
 cornet, and then came the national anthem. Every one 
 of us just stood in awe. It was simply beautiful. They 
 do it every night at seven, and we are out there listening, 
 every one of us. 
 
 My work isn't in it with the stuff Ruskin Watts is 
 doing [aviation], but, all the same, I wouldn't want to 
 be doing anything else 
 
 Dec. 10, ipi6. 
 
 We are still at a place ten miles from the lines, doing 
 
 evacuation work back to the railroad The tents 
 
 are new and strong, but after the past week they all 
 leak, as a rule, right over one's head This morn- 
 ing it dawned bright and clear, and a more beautiful sun- 
 rise could not be imagined. In the mountains there 
 were still great piles of clouds, and the reflections from 
 these on the snow-tips made a variety of colors that com- 
 pletely stumped me Our menu is : Monday, beans 
 
 and meat for lunch and supper; Tuesday, rice and less 
 meat ; Wednesday, lentils and meat ; Thursday, maca- 
 
 57 
 
roni and less meat, etc., ad infinitum If this diet 
 
 worried us a bit I wouldn't write about it; but as it is 
 ever}- one gets plenty to eat, and every one is well, 
 thriving and contented 
 
 Dec. II, ipi6. 
 
 Just got back from another long roll. It takes five 
 
 hours to make the round trip We notice a lot of 
 
 Scottish women driving ambulances down here. They 
 are quite a famous organization, as they followed the 
 Serbian army in the retreat. As mechanics we can't 
 hand them much. One of the fellows said he saw three 
 of their cars lined up in the gutter, while three of them 
 tried to put on a tire. He came to their rescue and put 
 it on. He said that in the distance he couldn't make out 
 
 whether they were using hairpins or button hooks 
 
 This afternoon I came upon three new, entirely un- 
 touched shrapnel 75s. They are still untouched, as I 
 saw no use in examining them too closely. Trenches 
 and battery emplacements you can see ever\- hundred 
 yards or so 
 
 What a terrible failure Roumania has been. We have 
 
 just received word that Bucharest has fallen 
 
 We've also heard that Greece has declared war on Italy, 
 France and England. We believe the news about Greece 
 to be impossible; but granted that. Germany seems to be 
 farther from being crushed than ever; in fact, her star 
 
 hasn't stopped rising Our French lieutenant 
 
 almost had tears in his eyes as he spoke of the German 
 successes in Roumania 
 
 58 
 
XI 
 
 MONASTIR 
 
 Dec. i8, igi6. [Monastir] 
 We have moved again, and are now v^orking pretty 
 steadily. We are quartered in a very comfortable double 
 house — of doubtful extraction — since yesterday morning. 
 As soon as we appeared, millions of little kids gathered 
 around our cars, anxious to watch and to touch every- 
 thing. When we asked them what nationality they were, 
 almost invariably they replied, "Israelite." 
 
 We work almost all the way back to our last place, 
 which makes a ride of almost 25 kilometres each way. 
 Fortunately the road is very smooth, so we really fly 
 along, as if we were in a civilized country. On the bad 
 roads the big camions pass us again and again, but here 
 a camion hasn't a chance with us. 
 
 The wounded are of all nations, though prin- 
 cipally French, with Russians, Serbs and Coons mixed 
 in. We get them in a Mohammedan mosque, which, if a 
 sad sight, is certainly a very interesting one. Beds of 
 straw fill all the floor space, and upon the walls (pure 
 white) are queer black and white signs, possibly com- 
 mandments, written in Turkish, and looking like so much 
 shorthand. At the far end is a little shrine set into the 
 wall, whose principal asset is the many colors used, for 
 now that seems to be the only thing I remember about it. 
 At the top of a steep and straight flight of stairs is a 
 cushioned seat, apparently for the use of high dignitaries. 
 The effect of it was very step-laddery. The whole thing 
 was lighted up by oil lamps swung on long chains from 
 the ceiling, which made the inside very mystical. In 
 
 59 
 
this country the Arabian Nights are always in your 
 mind 
 
 About the only thing that can be bought in the city 
 are "Bastos" cigarettes. In buying a package today I 
 received in change one Serbian piece, two French francs, 
 one Austria-Hungary, one German mark, one Greek, 
 one Bulgar (^refused on advice of fellow I was with but 
 without success) and two unidentified nondescripts. The 
 only thing I am sure about is that I was stuck 
 
 Opposite our house is a mosque, whose minaret almost 
 looks into our garret window. Behind that is a big 
 chimney, with an enormous stork's nest resting on it. 
 I've watched that nest considerably, but have never seen 
 any scrawny necks stuck out for food. If I could only 
 see one stork, standing on one leg, on the edge of it; 
 without any other object, the trip would have been 
 worth while. 
 
 Yesterday I rolled 165 kilometers, which was quite 
 unusual. Coming back, it was quite dark, and before 
 I got into the city I knew I would be completely lost, as 
 we have to wind a mile in and out among the little streets 
 before getting into our cantonment. Of course, up here 
 all lights must be out, so I knew it was quite hopeless. 
 For two hours I wound in and out, stopping and turn- 
 ing around and then off again. Xot a chance. Every 
 street ended in a mosque, and they all were twins with 
 the one across the way from us. All the houses looked 
 alike, blue paint, and little dormer windows in the sec- 
 ond (top) story. I finally decided that it was quite hope- 
 less ; and finding myself up a little alley, with a mule tied 
 to a post at the end of it (and a mosque), I decided to 
 wait for somebody to come along. Nobody else had 
 been up to our place but once, so I thought that most 
 everybody would be in the same fix as I. I hadn't been 
 there five minutes before I heard some awful swearing 
 up at the other end of the alley, and a minute later two 
 
 60 
 
ambulances came down upon me as I was smoking peace- 
 fully on the front seat. They stopped (they couldn't 
 have gone by had they tried), and said, "What are 
 you doing here?" I said, "Nothing. What are you?" 
 
 They replied, "D if I know." So we went off again 
 
 on excursions for half an hour without any result, but 
 an appreciable souring of dispositions. Well, it couldn't 
 go on forever, and by happening on a gendarme who 
 knew the key to the maze, we finally got home after 
 picking up three other ambulances in the most sur- 
 prising places 
 
 Dec. ip, igi6. 
 
 Just got back from another roll No excitement, 
 
 and road practically empty, so made the trip very fast. 
 Great relief not to have the wounded yelling all the 
 time, as they did on the old trip. 
 
 A crowd of Jewesses clustered around me to get some 
 kerosene for their lamps when I got back. I thought 
 there was a fighting chance of getting rid of them if I 
 gave them a little ; so I filled one small lamp and then 
 firmly locked up the rest. The poor woman who got 
 the oil was woman-handled severely, and lost her oil, and 
 I managed to escape during the riot 
 
 For the first time in two months we are wearing steel 
 
 helmets We hear rumors of peace propositions 
 
 from the Kaiser, but don't believe anything will come 
 of them. There was a wonderful reply to them by the 
 
 French offensive in the Woevre My admiration 
 
 for the French increases day by day. 
 
 Dec. 22, ipi6 (diary). 
 Quite a bit of excitement during the last few days. 
 Shells have been dropping all around the city, and wear- 
 ing casques has become quite popular Although 
 
 61 
 
the Allies have been in Monastir for over three weeks, 
 their position seems very precarious. 
 
 Dec. 2S, 19 16 (diary). 
 
 Started out for a walk with Viv.* and Fisket 
 
 We heard whistle after whistle, and for eight minutes 
 
 they went over to the centre of the town In a 
 
 minute a great black smoke came up from the centre 
 of the city. When it was over we went down to see 
 the extent of the damage. All along the main street it 
 was littered with bricks, houses were destroyed, and the 
 poor civiles in droves were sneaking from door to door, 
 
 making their escape to another part of the city 
 
 In one mess of a yard some little children were crying, 
 while one had gone crazy, and was actually frothing at 
 the mouth. We learned' that five children had been 
 
 killed In .that very yard we isaw some very 
 
 ghastly humor when an energetic little man handed out 
 a card saying, "]dimts Georges, Manufacturer of Arti- 
 ficial Limbs, Company." 
 
 Dec. so, 1916. 
 
 Every day since Christmas the town has 
 
 been bombarded at least once One little piece 
 
 dropped at my feet, which will make a good souvenir. 
 .... Up at the cantonment one had landed right be- 
 side our cars. 
 
 Jan. 6, 1917. 
 
 Been an awful gap in the mails lately. Christmas 
 
 box heralded, but hasn't yet arrived. Now we are out 
 
 of town again, and in the midst of a big field twenty 
 
 *Cornelius Winant, afterward taken prisoner, but escaped. 
 tLater killed in the war. 
 
 62 
 
miles long by forty wide. We are living in a good- 
 sized mud-brick house (no windows) [Xegocani]. All 
 this territory was the scene of many fierce battles of 
 about two months ago, and I never before have seen 
 
 such a wealth of interesting material Shells, 
 
 guns, bayonets, casques, and bullets by the thousands can 
 
 be picked up. Hand grenades are everywhere 
 
 Big shell holes, some of them twelve feet wide, are to be 
 seen on either hand. This morning I must have carted 
 home at least fifteen pounds of cold iron. 
 
 Yesterday the Boches brought down a French obser- 
 vation ballon (saiicisse). We saw the blazing envelope 
 fall to the ground, and right in the midst of the black 
 smoke we saw a tiny white speck descending ever so 
 slowly, so we knew that the Frenchman had escaped in 
 his parachute. 
 
 Our work goes on as usual. We have to get up at six 
 in the morning to get up into town [Monastir] before 
 daylight, and get out again with the wounded. It is a 
 beautiful ride up and back on a clear day. From a dis- 
 tance you can just see the white minarets sticking up 
 against the mountainside in the very first glimmerings of 
 daylight. Coming back, the sunrise over the mountains 
 is a gorgeous thing, even more bright than the coloring 
 you usually have in mind when thinking of the Orient. 
 Networks of deserted trenches stretch away across the 
 swamp. They look very desolate and cruel, being filled 
 with water right up to the brink. 
 
 Soldiers, mules, autos, and guns are constantly moving 
 ahead, and all grumble when told to get out of the way, 
 for it means giving up the one good place, to risk a 
 "panne" in the mud, just to let a Ford go by. Even here 
 the Ford is getting its unenviable reputation for infest- 
 ing all roads Whenever anyone wants some fire- 
 wood he knocks down a house and carts off what he 
 
 63 
 
likes. If he knocked it down, no one else can cart the 
 wood off. This is the only property right. 
 
 My last bath was in town, about eight days ago, in a 
 sort of mausoleum. It was a stone dungeon, with three 
 stone bowls standing against the walls. Into the bowls 
 flowed a thin stream of lukewarm water from as many 
 faucets. You dished the water over yourself by means 
 
 of an old copper dish There is not one honest 
 
 man in Fiorina. They cheat you on change, and charge 
 you double the price. The only way to get along is to 
 ask the price, give him half, and walk off with the 
 thing, threatening^ to kill himl if he protests. Even the 
 most gentle ones in the section get quite ferocious over 
 there 
 
 A couple of evenings ago up in Monastir a couple of 
 us played bridge with our lieutenant and a captain of 
 mitrailleuses. It was quite a trial to try to play only 
 tolerably badly, to keep up a conversation in French, 
 and to use cards with R D and V on them for Kink, 
 Queen and Jack. Some French-American Church in 
 Paris has sent us down quite a bit of honey and candy, 
 which has helped out considerably. Gee whiz ! The 
 fleas! 
 
 Jan. 20, 1917. 
 And now for a little news concerning myself. We 
 were told this morning to clean up everything in the 
 cantonment and to dress up, for a visit from our Mede- 
 cin Divisionnaire was expected, and he was death on dirt 
 and souvenirs. So we swept out, and stuck all the shot 
 and shell, grenades, shrapnel, bayonets and guns, which 
 have been accumulating steadily, under the beds. After 
 that we dressed up. For me "dressing up" meant sim- 
 ply putting on my uniform, for I don't believe 1 have 
 had more than the pants of it on for two months, as I 
 usually wear wooden shoes, a Turkish fez, and numer- 
 
 64 
 
ous sweaters, instead of the rcglementaire outfit ; for in 
 this country it doesn't matter much what you wear. 
 
 Well, when the Divisionnaire came, our lieutenant 
 called four of us into the office, Roddy Montgomery, 
 John Munroe, Imbrie, and myself. We lined up against 
 the wall, and felt like so many prisoners in the dock 
 until the Medecin Divisionnaire began to speak. And 
 what do you think it was for? The croix de guerre. 
 He was very friendly and made an awfully nice little 
 speech, saying that at first it had been intended to cite us 
 to the order of the "Service de Sante," but that, seeing 
 we had all done the campaigns of Verdun, Lorraine, 
 Pont-a-Mousson, and Monastir, he had not thought that 
 sufficient honor (though it was), and therefore we were 
 to be cited to the order of the 57th division ; which means 
 that we get a silver star on the ribbon of the cross 
 
 instead of a bronze one As soon as I get the 
 
 words of the citation itself I will send it over. They 
 are always great, bombastic things, so you must not take 
 it as being too personal. They were very nice ones, 
 though 
 
 Was very much touched to hear about the flag from 
 the Rifle Club. It really seems too much of an honor 
 for the stuff I am doing, which looks quite big from 
 over there, but which now seems the regular, natural 
 life over here, where everybody's in it some way or 
 another. 
 
 Jan. 2^, i^iy. 
 Had to go over to the Serbian front yesterday, and 
 there I saw one of the Scottish women, the first civilized 
 woman I've seen in two months or more. This one was 
 over to feed Serbian kids who had nobody at all to look 
 after them, and used to hang around the army, picking 
 up what scraps they could find. There must have been 
 
 150 of them waiting to be fed Most of the 
 
 65 
 
wounded we carry now are not wounded, but have frozen 
 
 feet Sometimes we carry as many as fifty a 
 
 morning, just frozen Coons. They siay that in hot 
 weather, when nobody else dares to stir, the Coons are 
 the best fighters anywhere Now they are put- 
 ting most of them on the roads, where they can move 
 around and keep warm. They are a happy bunch, and 
 no matter what they are doing they ahvays sing, and 
 always in rhythm. Often we pass twenty or so of them, 
 swinging back and forth across the road together, each 
 with a big, heavy iron pounder, and every one of them 
 
 shouting at the top of his voice 
 
 Am awfully worried about the outcome of the war. 
 If the Allies are to win it, England has got to come 
 through with something big. Not that the Somme wasn't 
 something tremendous in itself, but it will take just about 
 two more Sommes to put Germany under 
 
 66 
 
XII 
 
 WINTER ON THE BALKAN FRONT 
 
 Jan. 2^, 1917. 
 
 Am sitting up in bed with an overcoat on. . . . Dur- 
 ing the last two weeks it has been ever so much colder. 
 .... With a little oil stove going in the middle of the 
 room and seven or eight lanterns helping it along — to 
 say nothing of eight or ten smelling Americans — we cre- 
 ate what we call a fine "atmosphere" or "air- 
 pocket." .... 
 
 We are now doing more work than at any time since 
 Verdun, and it is never tiresome. The greater part of 
 the cases are frozen feet, and it must be a terrible experi- 
 ence. When we are so snug and warm in our house, and 
 it is driving sleet and snow outside, we realize what a 
 soft job we've got compared with the poor soldiers up 
 in the mountains, and out on the marshes, each man 
 with one blanket, while we've got at least four and a 
 folding bed. How they stand the exposure, I don't see ; 
 but those we meet on the road seem to be just as noncha- 
 lant about the weather as they were in midsummer. 
 Gee ! They are wonderful ! Not a man who doesn't 
 want the war to end. "But it must end with 
 our victory: nous les poursuivrons jusqu'au bout." 
 There's France! .... 
 
 I carried this morning a French doctor, who worked 
 with the Scottish women at one of the hospitals. He 
 told me that nine out of ten of them were suffragettes 
 (militant), and that the reason that they were down 
 here was, so that after the war they could use this expe- 
 rience as political capital. He said that it was their 
 scheme to be as much like men as possible. One of them 
 
 67 
 
tried — violently — to get into the Serb anny as a sol- 
 dier 
 
 I look forward to "Bleak House" every evening, and 
 if father were reading it out loud at home, with you 
 dozing off in the yellow rocker, and me stretched out on 
 the floor, I would enjoy it almost as much as the first 
 time. This morning I shaved and washed everything 
 down to the shoulders, the first time in some weeks. 
 Sensation was so pleasant that I am going to do it again 
 soon; but not too frequently, as the sensation would 
 
 be spoiled Fleas come and go, but are usually 
 
 within hearing distance. Keating's Instanteous Killer 
 draws them on like a magnet. Am feeling fine, and the 
 dirt and bugs add to the effect, if anything. 
 
 Mail service has become temperamental again, so home 
 seems a few more thousand miles away this week. Am 
 always thinking of you 
 
 Feb. 5, 1917. 
 Today comes the news, diplomatic relations with Ger- 
 many broken, two cruisers seized, etc. I imagine that 
 you and other mothers are worried at the possibilities 
 of such an action, but I can only hope that the United 
 
 States will do all in her power to help the Allies 
 
 That submarine note was one that could only have been 
 
 written and determined upon by Germans No, 
 
 mother, they have got to be beaten to such a state that 
 the Allies can impose what terms of peace they choose; 
 and, late as it is, the United States could establish itself 
 in the eyes of the world, if we could come in on the 
 side of the right. In spite of all the horrors of a war, it 
 
 would be worth while Do you remember the 
 
 speech of the German Chancellor not so long since in 
 which he said, "Any German who would not consent 
 to use every possible means to defeat our enemy deserves 
 
 68 
 
to be hung." He speaks for Germany, and that's the 
 race which the Allies are trying to beat. 
 
 Our work is getting quite heavy, as we are taking on 
 
 more and more postes de secours It's awfully 
 
 cold, getting up at half past five in the morning, and 
 then cranking a car which absolutely refuses to start 
 
 after fifteen minutes of steady turning A few 
 
 days ago I had to take a 120-kilometre run over the 
 
 mountains Sleet the whole way, and the mud so 
 
 deep that the road looked like a perfectly smooth pool 
 of mud. But underneath this smooth coating were the 
 most awful bumps, which racked you as much as the 
 
 car Have come to the conclusion that the only 
 
 good things in this country are the sunrises and sun- 
 sets. The mountains are all covered with snow, and 
 on the early morning runs we see the whole sunrise; 
 and the colors are indeed very, very beautiful. Once in 
 a while, if we are a little late, the minarets at Monastir 
 show up wonderfully 
 
 Feb. 13, 1917. 
 
 Of course, the big thing with us is still the rupture of 
 
 diplomatic relations, and you can imagine we are 
 
 anxiously awaiting the sequel. If we should declare war, 
 
 and there was to be a call for volunteers, every one of 
 
 us would beat it for home But in the event of 
 
 war, no matter what policy we should pursue, I know 
 I should want to take a more vital part in it than driving 
 an ambulance. News is very meagre, being mostly glar- 
 ing lies one day and official denials the next. Most of 
 it we can discount beforehand. For instance, the blow- 
 ing up of all German ships in New York Harbor, and 
 the blowing up of a great part of the Panama Canal. 
 Such rumors are wildly distorted by the time they reach 
 Salonique, but after they start out on the road over the 
 mountains and are passed around by English, French, 
 
 69 
 
Senegalese, Chinks and Serbs you can imagine what 
 
 startling forms they have when we hear them 
 
 Another event of importance was the arrival of the 
 fruit cake on Feb. 11. The package was mangled and 
 lop-eared, but the cake was intact and was a fine treat. 
 I got a piece of it before the mob scene began. Knew 
 she'd get here in the end and refused to be discour- 
 aged 
 
 Perhaps over in America you can't realize exactly what 
 the soldiers in the trenches think of the United States. 
 The opinion is not high, and all they can say of our coun- 
 try is, "Ah! Les Americains ne voulent pas la guerre; 
 ils s'enrichissent bien maintenant." Of course they don't 
 realize how few people are getting rich; they don't real- 
 ize much of anything after some twenty-nine months of 
 mud, bad food and sickness. Oh! How I wish the 
 United States would come in and turn the tide the other 
 way! 
 
 A soldier's life is a terrible, terrible thing; not only 
 on account of the suffering they undergo, but because it 
 distorts, perhaps permanently, their views of life and 
 people. They become what the French call "abrutis" ; 
 which fits better than any English word. When we are 
 cold all day long in a fairly good house, nicely out of 
 danger, we often wonder what it must be, out on the 
 lines, where rain fills the trenches, and all sleep on the 
 ground with just one blanket. The thing that made me 
 cringe the m'ost for the United States, was the French 
 papers' comment on Wilson's campaign slogan, "He kept 
 us out of war!" I would give anything if we could 
 only come in now and do our best to win for the Allies. 
 
 That Verdun article of mine has been lying peacefully 
 asleep for some two weeks, for our work has just about 
 doubled, and what time we are not rolling we have to 
 keep at the cars. Yesterday I worked from 5 :30 A. M. 
 to 4 :30 P. M., just carrying wounded, and then I had to 
 
 70 
 
go all over the car, greasing and tightening. Going up to 
 Monastir there was a beautiful moon, shining wonder- 
 fully on the snow-clad mountains in the west. In front 
 of us every once in a while a beautiful rocket would flare 
 up and hang just over the snow-covered hills where are 
 the German lines, wonderfully bright, and making the 
 hills beautiful sights. Then the short ride through the 
 Monastir streets, with the moonlight on the minarets, 
 makes the entire trip worth while if for no other reason. 
 Then the stir at the mosque, where we get our wounded, 
 the grumblings of the brancardiers, a hurried cup of 
 coffee, and off again through the town, back to Nego- 
 
 cani 
 
 If we do declare war, I'd like to go into aviation. 
 
 Feh. 21, 1917. 
 
 Absolutely no news about the United States, so this 
 
 last must have died down too We think there is 
 
 no hope of our coming in. 
 
 We now feel quite at home and reconciled to life at 
 this pile of mud and bricks and broken tiles, which was 
 once probably a flourishing and filthy little Greco-Serbo- 
 Turko town. It is funny that, no matter how weird the 
 surroundings during our many changes, after a little 
 time has elapsed it becomes quite natural and homelike. 
 .... Work is steadily increasing Every min- 
 ute of the day is full of interest of one kind or another. 
 If not the shelling, plainly visible up in the mountains, 
 it's the guns, or reinforcements on the road, the shelling 
 of an enemy "avion," a verbal scuffle with an Italian 
 Fiat driver, or helping a Scottish woman out of some 
 simple engine trouble which she'd never fix in a hun- 
 dred years 
 
 71 
 
Feb. 23, 1917. 
 
 Your letter of the 19th [January] just arrived, and in 
 it all the good news about the Westfield ambulance. It's 
 fine to know that there is that much pro-Ally feeling in 
 Westfield, and to every one that has given the usefulness 
 of that ambulance in saving lives will more than repay 
 the sacrifice. I hope that they will not be led into think- 
 ing that it is a piece of work for the Red Cross, which 
 recognizes no nationality, but that every one who gives 
 will have the deepest feeling for the Allies. The Ameri- 
 can Ambulance is pro-French 
 
 One of the new French mechanics brought a black 
 dog with him, dirty as sin, with a raucous bark, but a 
 friendly feeling. His name is "Crapouillot," the original 
 "crapouillot" being an awfully wicked-looking and wick- 
 eder-acting bomb Crapouillot is a favorite name 
 
 for the soldiers' dogs, and there must be some 200,000 of 
 them in France. The soldiers have dogs for three rea- 
 sons — first, as a friend; second, as a rat chaser (chien- 
 ratier); and third, in the outposts they see a movement 
 in an opposing trench much quicker than any man. Well, 
 this Crapouillot and I are great friends, and on cold 
 nights he sleeps on the foot of my bed. In fact I have 
 given him fleas. He's got a crook in his tail, and an 
 awfully homely face, but he is just as lovable as Binnie, 
 and just as gruflf to anyone he doesn't like, as Binnie was 
 to the postman. Crapouillot is fed at the table, and if 
 he isn't served promptly he barks until he is. Hasn't 
 had a bath during the two months we've had him, and I 
 suppose he didn't have one for years before that. As 
 he seems to flourish, nobody has suggested giving him 
 one. Guess that is about enough about Pouillot for 
 the present 
 
 Sec. 10 has arrived. They were awfully glad to get 
 out to the front, most of them being direct from Amer- 
 ica, and having been held up all along the way for weeks 
 
 72 
 
at a time. They had a bad time coming up from 
 Salonique, just as we did. One poor tool drove off the 
 road and down a ravine, turning over twice before stop- 
 ping. Wasn't hurt a bit either. His car is still there, 25 
 feet below the road 
 
 Feb. 2p, nope, Mar. i, ipiy. 
 
 Things are just the same as they have been for the last 
 few months, viz., rotten, rainy weather, with damp, cold 
 spells, beans and spaghetti, wet blankets and fleas; but 
 for all that I wouldn't be anywhere else for anything. 
 Down here we are twice as useful as we were in France, 
 as the work is twice as hard and three times as interest- 
 ing How those poor fellows ever last out the win- 
 ter up in the trenches on the mountains I don't see. 
 Better up in the mountains, however, than on the plain, 
 for there the trenches are full of water. After two 
 years of such a life they become like so many wild ani- 
 mals. No matter how patriotic a man may be at the 
 start, in the end the war gets him and he wants peace, 
 and that as soon as possible, even at the sacrifice of his 
 country's hopes 
 
 Mar. 5, ipiy. 
 
 S. S. U. 3, Convois Autos, Secteur Postale 510, 
 Armee d'Orient, Par B. C. M., Marseille. To the Sec- 
 retary of the Westfield Rifle Club: 
 
 Dear Sir: 
 
 I wish to extend my heartiest and most sincere thanks 
 to the members of the Westfield Rifle Club for the in- 
 spiring gift, which reached me yesterday. 
 
 Home, for many months now, has been very far 
 away; and it has been only by the occasional arrivals of 
 very old newspapers, that I have managed to keep at 
 all in touch with W^estfield as a whole. Yesterday, I 
 
 73 
 
need hardly say it, Westfield did not seem far off. The 
 gift of our country's flag, the emblem which means so 
 much to us all, has made me feel that the heart of West- 
 field has never been far away at any time from the war 
 for civilization raging in Europe. 
 
 I am deeply grateful for the sympathy you show to- 
 ward the work of the American Ambulance; and your 
 approval is indeed something to be very highly prized, 
 being, as it is, an expression of the feeling of the organi- 
 zation which stands, above all, for patriotism and na- 
 tional right. 
 
 It did not escape me, that the flag I received was one 
 of coarse bunting, not such a flag as should be carefully 
 put away and kept immaculate, but one that you wish 
 to be displayed in all sorts of weather. I sincerely re- 
 gret that military law forbids the displaying of neutral 
 flags in the "zone des armees." However, the events of 
 the past month have considerably narrowed the gulf 
 which separates our own country from participation in 
 the great war. Should that day arrive, rest assured 
 that there will be at least one American flag floating 
 proudly somewhere in the Balkans. 
 
 Very gratefully and sincerely yours, 
 
 Coleman T. Clark. 
 
 Mar. p, 1917. 
 
 Here's some bad news. Had my pocket picked in one 
 of these thieving Greek towns. Letter of credit went, 
 also some 150 francs. Sorry I was so stupid as to 
 let it happen. The sad part of it is that it leaves me 
 stranded in Northern Macedonia, or Southern Serbia, 
 with a capital, net and gross, of seven francs, sixty-five 
 centimes. We are expecting a lot of hard work very 
 shortly 
 
 74 
 
Mar. I/, 1917. (diary). 
 The German artillery has been bombarding the town 
 more and more with big shells, and when we go out 
 to the cars, we creep from wall to wall. About five 
 some one told me that I had a flat front tire, and as I 
 didn't want to have a hitch this evening, went out to 
 fix it. No sooner had I gotten over to the car, than 
 they started coming over. As many as a dozen hit 
 within a hundred yards, and all big ones. They were 
 hitting just far enough away, so that I could hear the 
 whistle just a trifle before they struck. So I spent the 
 greater part of the time dropping flat on my face, be- 
 hind a projection in the wall. A great many little eclats 
 hit all around, but the wall protected me. Needless 
 to say I was pretty well shaken up, and was thankful 
 when I had put the new shoe on, and had patched the 
 old tire. I was covered with mud from head to foot, 
 because I didn't have time to pick out good places in 
 which to drop flat. 
 
 Mar. j8, 1917. 
 
 Caught some neuralgia. . . .All right now, feeling per- 
 fectly well and happy, completely recovered, and rolling 
 regularly. The fleas, which left me, as rats do a sinking 
 ship, while I was lying low, have all come back now ; in 
 
 this country, a sure indication of good health 
 
 About a week ago we were ordered up into town again, 
 [Monastir] 
 
 As far as personal excitement is concerned, I've had 
 more of it during the last few days than I want for all 
 the rest of my life. Night before last was still and cold, 
 and a very gentle snow was falling. We had all gone 
 to bed, when we heard whistle after whistle of ar- 
 riving shells. Strange to say, none of them seemed to 
 burst, or at most they only gave a little pop; and after 
 some 75 or 100 had whistled over, we thought it very 
 
 75 
 
odd that they should fire nothing but what we thought 
 were defective shells. Hour after hour it kept up; 
 hardly one whistle had died down, before another was 
 
 in the air It was not until 4 A. M. that someone 
 
 rushed in and cried, "Put on your masks right away; 
 it's gas." I shall never forget that feeling of terror 
 which came over me, when I got the first whiff of the 
 acrid, nauseating stuff. It seemed too inhuman that any- 
 one could deliberately throw poison gas at another. . . . 
 With our gas masks we were perfectly safe ; but from 
 the street came the sound of continued coughing. The 
 poor civilians had no masks. It was a terrible, ter- 
 rible thing. In their ignorance they probably went to 
 their cellars, the very worst possible place. A great 
 many were killed by it. We were very thankful when 5 :30 
 came, so that we could load up with blesses, and get 
 out of town. As we left, we saw many a pitiable sight ; 
 men, women and children, their faces purple with 
 coughing, and gasping for air, were being led to the 
 
 hospitals, suffering horribly 
 
 Just this minute, we received a very sad piece of 
 news. Henry Suckley, the chief of the section in Al- 
 bania, has been killed by an aero bomb. He was form- 
 erly of Section 3, and was with us in France. He was 
 a kind-hearted, upright man in every way, and one of 
 the best fellows I have ever known. His death is a 
 blow to us all, who knew him, and liked him so 
 well 
 
 Mar. 20, igiy. 
 This letter has been interrupted already, some five 
 
 times. We haven't had much time to ourselves 
 
 These last four days have been very gruesome ones, for 
 the poor men suffer terribly, and a great portion of 
 them are either unconscious or delirious by the time 
 they arrive. The road has been very dangerous in spots. 
 .... The other night, when we were all out, a big one 
 
 76 
 
poked its nose into our house and spoiled one room 
 I need hardly say that Mar. 19, was moving day. So 
 now we are over in another part of town. It has been 
 the best week I have yet put in. We feel here, as if we 
 were really a great deal of use. Will write again within 
 a few days, and write you more about what has hap- 
 pened. It has all been so intense, and so many things 
 have happened, that I've only mentioned a few. I'm 
 not a bit keen on my letters being published in a "Friends 
 of France" book. They were written for you and not 
 
 for publication 
 
 Mar. 20, 19 1 7 (diary). 
 
 Since last writing, we've been having if anything a 
 more exciting time than ever. The attack has been go- 
 ing on steadily, and has been quite successful so far. . . 
 We are now in a big school house, in a better part of 
 the city. All in all I think this experience has been 
 worse than Verdun. Any part of the town is likely to 
 be shelled any moment, and we've all been having nar- 
 row escapes every 4iay. Have often pdcked up hot 
 eclats which landed near at hand. 
 
 Mar. 23, igij (diary). 
 
 Coming into town, and not being able to hear the 
 whistles on account of the motor, we can always tell 
 whether any shells are coming by the hysterical flight 
 and cawing of thousands of foolish crows, who simply 
 won't leave town no matter what happens. 
 
 Mar. 2j, ipiy (diary). 
 
 Read an article in the Sat. Eve. Post about the Ver- 
 
 dun-Bar-le-Duc road, in which the authoress called it 
 
 the "sacred way." We thought it over and decided she 
 
 had been told it was a "sacree route," which translated 
 
 vulgarly but accurately would mean a d rotten 
 
 road. 
 
 77 
 
XIII 
 
 TRIP TO SALONICA AND BACK 
 
 April I, ipi/. Salonique. 
 This letter is written in an entirely different atmos- 
 phere from the last. On the 28th, three of us, Dr. 
 Carey, Fiske, and myself, left the front to come down 
 to Salonique for four or five days, ostensibly on per- 
 mission, but actually to do a lot of work on our six re- 
 serve cars here We left our town about six o'clock 
 
 one evening, taking a two-hour trip in our cars, to reach 
 the town where we were to take the train. . . .All over 
 the flat plain were thousands of little tents, many fires, 
 great masses of material, guns, carts, groups of auto- 
 mobiles ; all of it being the great "service de I'arriere", 
 behind the troops actually fightmg. 
 
 Upon our arrival at the R. R. station it was quite dark, 
 and we had no great trouble in more or less smuggling 
 our ten heavy front and rear springs into one of the 
 "voiturcs sanitaircs", which was no more than an or- 
 dinary freight car, with six inches of straw, question- 
 ably clean, spread over the floor. After a bad inter- 
 view with an exasperated corporal, we went to sleep 
 in an enormous empty hospital tent, the train not leav- 
 ing till six the next morning Long before six we 
 
 rushed out into our freight car We had been 
 
 asleep some time when there was a great rushing around 
 of acetylene lights, and inarticulate mutterings of Chi- 
 nese stretcher-bearers. The "couches" were being loaded 
 
 first. A few minutes later came the "assis" We 
 
 seemed to be unsolvable to them, and the guesses as to 
 what the three slumbering things in the corner were, 
 ranged all the way from English to Greek; which last 
 
 78 
 
was too much, and we all sat up, and explained that we 
 were Americans. This, of course, led up to the old, old, 
 discussion of the chances of the U. S. coming in, mostly 
 all in slang, and most of it pretty hard to catch. 
 
 It must have been quite a picture, the inside of that 
 car ; all cramped together, all smelling ; some talking, glad 
 to get away from the front; others quiet, because they 
 were really quite sick; there we all were, 22 French 
 malades, one sick gendarme Grec, one lonely Senegalese, 
 who spat incessantly within a radius of himself of two 
 feet, and three Americans, who were a little unwelcome 
 as being better dressed, and not seeming to have any 
 particular reason for being there 
 
 It is indeed a privilege to sit amongst the commonest 
 of French soldiers, and to listen to their views on the 
 war, their talks of hardship, their opinions of their offi- 
 cers and food, their own stories of such and such an 
 attack, etc. In the car were "artillerie", "infanterie", 
 "infirmiers", and "genie" (engineers) ; and they had 
 much discussion among themselves as to which is the 
 hardest life. The "artillerie" vs. "infanterie" was the 
 most violent dispute; the infanterie claiming that the 
 artillerie never had to face the mitrailleuse, or grenades, 
 or use a bayonet; while the artillerie based his argu- 
 ment on the fact that whereas, unless there was an at- 
 tack going on, the infantry were not much bothered in 
 the trenches, the artillery were always being sought out 
 by aeroplanes, who reported their positions to the en- 
 emy artillery, and so they were always being shelled, 
 more or less, attack or no attack. All this was made more 
 spicy, by slangy remarks, which only a Frenchman could 
 make, "Ah ! Mon pauvre ami," "Tonnerre de Dieu !", 
 "Penses-tu, cherier", "Ah! Le salaud!" The differ- 
 ence between French and American slang is that each 
 Frenchman makes up his own slang, while the American 
 confines himself to a few phrases, which originate in 
 
 79 
 
the newspapers or baseball. After some six hours on 
 the floor of this old freight car, which had notices in 
 Serb, French, and Greek plastered all over it, we fin- 
 ally pulled into a town where there was a big English 
 
 base hospital, all tents The most conspicuous 
 
 thing about the camp was the enormous red crosses, 
 laid out on the ground in red bricks, within a circle of 
 white ones. The crosses were 35 steps long, and eight 
 or nine wide. It seems that a German aeroplane squad- 
 ron had bombarded it a few nights before : some more 
 useless barbarity on their part, as they knew perfectly 
 
 well that it was nothing but a hospital By the 
 
 time that long hot day was over, and the faint, white 
 outline of Salonique had come into view far off on the 
 horizon, I began to feel as if I knew everyone in the 
 car pretty well 
 
 We took two full afternoons to finish up the job; 
 and after that we had three whole days of "permis- 
 sion", of which the most salient feature was the con- 
 tinuous eating. How good it seemed to eat chicken (and 
 even fish), with three or four different fresh vegetables; 
 and for breakfast, chocolate, ham and eggs ! All day long 
 we ate oranges, sweet chocolate, and now and then patis- 
 serie. Salonique is an intensely interesting place in it- 
 self; but with the addition of the European coloring of 
 thousands and thousands of allied officers of all na- 
 tionalities; soldiers and sailors from all the fleets; mo- 
 tor lorries crashing around; thousands of carts heavily 
 loaded rushing to and from the quays; and just out in 
 the harbor the mass of allied shipping and battleships; 
 it is indeed unique 
 
 Those three days passed quickly enough and the 
 last evening found us again out in the railroad yards, 
 
 waiting for the train Along about ten there was 
 
 a great opening and slamming of doors, and in came 
 three Frenchmen and six Russians, each one with a 
 
 80 
 
big sack full of stuff for their "copains" in the 
 trenches. The Ruskies were in fine shape, and sang 
 for hours. Weird chants in minor they were, led 
 by a big black-bearded fellow, who did all the singing 
 until the last three chords, when all the rest joined in, 
 in parts and minor. In our compartment were smould- 
 ering five pipes, four cigarettes, and three fetid weeds 
 smoked by us three, known by the name of "Frossards 
 Quills," picked up at random just before leaving. It 
 didn't take long for a wholesome reek to get started, and 
 as soon as the windows were closed each and every 
 Rusky exuded an atmosphere, which would kill at five 
 
 yards In the middle of the night a Frenchman 
 
 climbed in at one of the stops. Already we were terribly 
 packed, and as everybody was sleepy, no one moved. 
 After a while the Frenchman disappearecf, no one knew 
 where ; and in the morning no one was thinking about 
 him. When we reached the last station, there was a 
 stir under one of the seats, and out he crawled, hav- 
 ing spent a better night than anyone else 
 
 We don't think U. S. will be in the war. . 
 
 f 
 
 81 
 
XIV 
 AMERICA IN THE WAR 
 
 Apr. 7, 1917. 
 
 The great news came yesterday, with what great sat- 
 isfaction to us you can well imagine. Germany is to be 
 crushed at last, and no matter how great the cost to 
 our country, our case against Germany is so honorable, 
 that we will never regret it. As to ourselves, the sec- 
 tion, so far away from it all, we are in a turmoil. The 
 one thing and the only thing that we agree upon, is that 
 with our country in the war, we have got to take a more 
 
 active part in it than merely driving ambulances 
 
 Every one of us wants to join the expeditionary force if 
 there is to be one. With me it is more than a question 
 of duty. There is no one thing I want more than the 
 privilege of marching as a soldier against Germany. . . . 
 We are to all intents and purposes, French soldiers, and 
 to get out of the service requires a little time. . . . It's 
 a wonderful satisfaction, however, to be in, and feel 
 your conscience vindicated. I only hope that America's 
 humanitarian ideas won't prevent, in the peace terms, 
 the Allies' doing what they ought to do, to Germany. . . 
 
 April 14, 1917. (diary). 
 
 Yesterday morning at 5 a. m. the section moved. 
 With summer coming on, the valley is too dangerous 
 from malaria, for any troops to be quartered there. . . . 
 Our spot [Bistrica] is up a side valley, and about 200 
 
 ft. above the plain At our feet is spread out the 
 
 entire valley, with Prilep at one end, and Banica at the 
 
 82 
 
other. The main highway is a slender line passing 
 through the middle* . . . .Directly in front of us, 
 though at a great distance, is the crest of Kaichma- 
 chalan, where there was such hard fighting by the 
 Serbs last September. 
 
 Apr. i6, 1917. 
 
 Have not yet found out whether I can get away or 
 not, although I feel that I cannot stay on here. As I 
 wrote you at the time, I had signed on for another 
 three months, just about two weeks before we declared 
 war. . . . .The morale has gone up tremendously, since 
 the news came. The soldiers we pass on the road give 
 a shout now and then, of encouragement, instead of the 
 usual, deserved bawling-out of all automobilists as a 
 "sale race." On the 14th, we moved up into the moun- 
 tains, to a beautiful location about 200 feet above the 
 big plain, of which we have a beautiful view in all di- 
 rections 
 
 Apr. 2y, igiy. 
 
 I know that you are all glad that we are in the war 
 at last. . . .In thinking of all of you going off, I can 
 realize how you have all felt and worried about me 
 during the last year. While you do not feel afraid for 
 yourself, you cannot bear to think of anything happen- 
 ing to the family. Suppose you will go into the in- 
 fantry or artillery. I'd advise the artillery, as it will 
 take more beanwork and is every bit as dangerous. 
 Since last writing, I have found out that I will not be 
 able to get away before my engagement is up on July 
 22 The whole section is of the opinion that the 
 
 *One of the great highways of history. Over it, a decade of 
 centuries ago, moved the rabble armies of Xerxes, the phalanxes 
 of Alexander, and the legions of Trajan. 
 
 83 
 
automobile service oug-ht to be run by men who are too 
 old, or otherwise unt'it, to do anything else. It is at 
 best an easy life, and the young fellows are certainly 
 needed elsewhere. I have made up my mind to leave 
 when my time is up, for the above reason. I don't think 
 
 that it would be honorable for me to do otherwise 
 
 Had a pretty exciting experience the other day. Was 
 coming down an exposed road on a mountain, when I 
 saw a shell burst about three hundred yards ahead. As 
 I was the only thing in sight. I knew it was for my 
 own special benefit. I felt like stopping and staying in 
 the gutter for a while, but in that case they would have 
 shot until they hit the car. sooner or later. So I went 
 on, pretty well frighteneil. When I got to the place where 
 the first one had landed, two more came, right in the 
 same place, so that they were only some 50 yards away; 
 and one big piece of eclat fell right in front of the 
 
 car When they land as close as that, you don't 
 
 hoar the whistle; and tiie first thing you are conscious 
 of. is a terrific crash in your ear. and then a bunch of 
 little whistles as the fragments disperse 
 
 May 7. iQiy. 
 Just after writing my last letter, five new men turned 
 up; so five of the old| men have left. Bluethenthal, 
 Palmer, Imbrie, Hollister and Baylies. Bluey and Bay- 
 lies* are going into aviation. It is very hard to see 
 them go. after we have been together so long a time. 
 Do not think that I speak of leaving because I am sick 
 
 of the service If tlie United States were not in 
 
 the war, I would not wish to be anywhere else. Ever 
 since an aeroplane dropped some bombs at the camp, 
 
 *Both killed later, in France, in aeroplane actions: Bluethenthal 
 on June 7. iQiS, and Baylies June 17, iQiS. Baylies had become 
 one of the noted aces of the war. Palmer and Hollister also 
 died in the war. 
 
 84 
 
missing it by two hundred yards, we scatter to the 
 
 hills whenever we spot one anywhere near overhead 
 
 Most of the time during the past three days we have 
 been sitting out on the hills, watching the bombardment 
 of the German lines, which has, during that time, been 
 incessant. 
 
 May 14, 191 7. (diary). 
 
 Yesterday evening 5 new fellows came They 
 
 had come down on the Andre le Bon, a hospital ship 
 . . . . .On board were the sons of Von Kluck, and Von 
 Bernstorff, who were being carried around as hostages 
 Now we hear that the Boches are going to put, in every 
 
 submarine, a French or an English officer Five 
 
 more fellows are going off tonight. Don Armour, Tom 
 Buffum, John Munroe, George End and Giles Francklin. 
 They will certainly be awfully missed. 
 
 May 18, KjiJ. 
 
 There are more Jews in Monastir than anything else, 
 although there are a great many Bulgar families, Turks, 
 Serbs, and Albanians. I was surprised at the way all the 
 little kids know French, most all tolerably, anrl some 
 almost perfectly. If you ask them where they learn it, 
 they do not say from the soldiers, but at school, the 
 "Alliance Iraelite Universelle" 
 
 From the one assis, who sits on the front seat with 
 us, we learn everything that is going on in the trenches 
 
 I hand it to the soldiers who have fought down 
 
 here for a year and a half, and still keep up their spirits 
 as they do. It is surprising what an amount of military 
 knowledge and resolution, as to the only possible ending 
 of the war, even the stupidest peasant from the ob- 
 scurest part of France, can accumulate I do not 
 
 mean to give the idea that even the greater part are 
 
 85 
 
full of spirit, the bravado you read about in books ; but 
 
 the feeling of quiet determination is everywhere 
 
 When you ask them seriously about the continuation of 
 the war, I think I can honestly say that the much ex- 
 ploited phrase, "J^^qu' au bout" is an exact reflection 
 
 of what they really feel The swimming pool we 
 
 made is a wonder. We can take four strokes one way, 
 and three across it's breadth 
 
 86 
 
XV 
 TRIP DOWN INTO THESSALY 
 
 May 28, 1917- 
 
 Have all had a big surprise since the last letter I 
 wrote you. Things are never the same long. 
 
 May 2g, 191 j (diary). 
 
 The dope on our leaving for the South seems to be as 
 follows : Constantine is making frantic efforts to get in 
 quickly the Thessalonian grain crop. The Allies deduce 
 that he intends to start things once he's got it. They 
 are sending down a bunch of divisions (said to be five), 
 to be ready for any eventuality, and of course with 
 them must go some ambulance sections and hospitals. 
 We seem to have been lucky enough to be the one sec- 
 tion pickd out from up here. 
 
 June 3, 1917. 
 
 We had been installed in a little place in the hills 
 of Monastir, for about a month and expected to be 
 there all summer: suddenly, however, the order came to 
 
 move, and we went back to Fiorina At Fiorina, 
 
 we stayed three or four days. One morning, [May 31] 
 a new "ordre de mouvement" arrived, and back went 
 the tires and kitchen utensils into our cars. I left first, 
 to lead the way for Rosamond, the big White, which 
 hauls Betsy, the two wheeled rolling kitchen, her chim- 
 ney frequently cutting all telephone connections in the 
 Orient In the course of an hour or so we reached 
 
 87 
 
the main road — an hour more and we came to the 
 
 mountains, and the Whites had a hard time I 
 
 went on ahead, to the top, to a plateau effect, which I 
 had learned was the scene of a great battle, last year. 
 Great quantities of dry bones were scattered about, the 
 entire skeletons o£ mules, unexploded shellsi, bits of 
 clothing, and millions of shell fragments. After a long ■ 
 session with the mountain, we finally all arrived at the 
 base, passed a big lake [Ostrovo], down another valley, 
 full of flourishing villages, through an old town, on the 
 top of the last cliff, very famous in ancient history 
 [Vodena, the ancient Edessa], down the last descent, to 
 a great English hospital camp. [Verticop]. Here we 
 
 spent 24 hours, and were off again We got mixed 
 
 up with a couple of batteries of French 75s, which were 
 going down to Larissa. Nothing to look at but deep 
 pools of black, stagnant water, and nothing to listen to 
 but millions of Aristophanes frogs, who cheered for 
 Yale all the morning. Millions of insects kept up a 
 steady hum, the ensemble making a tone somewhere 
 around high C. 
 
 After lunch we went to sleep under the cars, 
 
 the coolest place in that desolate spot. Starting on, 
 soon the road changed, and from there on it was a 
 pleasure to drive up and down hill, in the midst of a 
 very pretty country, farms, flowers, herds of animals, 
 and above all trees and lots of them. Finally at the 
 top of a rise, what burst into view but the sea! [The 
 Aegean, near Katarina] 
 
 But in spite of all the experiences, of interesting and 
 sometimes exciting kinds, home is never far away from 
 my thoughts, and I look forward to the day when the 
 war will be over, and we will be together again. Can- 
 not see myself at home before it is. I only wish my 
 part in it could be a greater one : one that calls for 
 more sacrifice and more responsibility 
 
June 14, ipiy. (diary). 
 
 (Arrived Larissa 13 Eve.) We had been at Kata- 
 rina for about 12 days, had been down to the beach 
 about 4 times apiece, usually in a pussy-faced skiff, had 
 paraded up land down the long main street, buying 
 olives, raisins, dates and yogoourt, had been given re- 
 volvers, had been eating our fill of cherries, and had 
 been getting fresh vegetables and eggs, had at last seen 
 the arrival of a barrel of beer, and had each had a 
 glass of it and found it very bad, had played great 
 quantities of chess under big trees — in fact had become 
 quite contented with Katarina as a permanent resting 
 place — when in came the word one evening that we 
 were to get up at 4 the next morning, and leave for 
 Larissa — alea facta est. 
 
 The next morning witnessed the usual commotion of 
 demenagement, pulling down of tents, struggling with 
 the kitchen, the loading of a considerable quantity of 
 cold iron souvenirs, the 'periodical dispersion of the 
 Bosso [ ?] library, all the usual rushing around and ex- 
 citement — and at 6:45 we were off to the west 
 
 We had been hearing for a long time about the comi- 
 tadgi, and so every one kept his pistol or carbine at 
 hand, just as a matter of comfort. The cook and Salon- 
 ique rode in front with me 
 
 We soon got into a very wild country Olympos 
 
 always in the same position, to the south. Our whole 
 day's run, in fact, amounted to coasting around the 
 back of the massif, and leaving her as far to the north 
 as she had been to the south of us at Katarina. 
 
 At another place we came upon a little lonely village, 
 very different from any other, and very substantially 
 built. Here I picked up Pouillot, who had dropped off 
 the White. He and Salonique had a fight immediately, 
 over the steering wheel. After the village came an ar- 
 tillery pare, and a bunch of Red Cross wagons. 
 
Occasionally, from now on, we passed miounted 
 patrols 
 
 Some more artillery, and we breezed into Elassona, 
 
 where we stopped to assemble the convoy Soon 
 
 up in the hills again we were in a rich country — 
 
 the Thessalian plain — and the fields were full of 
 
 grain, tobacco, vegetables, and vines Tirnovar 
 
 came into sight, and soon we were there Went on 
 
 to within a couple of km. of Larissa. I noticed that right 
 alongside of us was a new trench, dug so as to face the 
 north, probably done by the Greeks. We went on into 
 town, a wonderful experience. 
 
 Great numbers of soldiers with bayonets lined the 
 streets (the entrance was only yesterday morning), and 
 behind them were great crowds of civiles, men, women 
 and children. Great lines of camions were passing up 
 the main street, soldiers, cavalrymen ; and occasionally 
 little groups of royalist soldiers were being led through 
 heavily guarded. 
 
 We do not know as yet, the sentiment of the popula- 
 tion; certainly half looked at us sullenly, in spite of the 
 French flags hung out everywhere. Every store was 
 closed, and everyone in town was jammed in the main 
 street, watching the influx of the French troops and 
 automobiles. It was a real civilized city, with electric 
 lights, plate-glass windows, and shining cabs. A great 
 square in the middle has a band stand, and little tables 
 and chairs sprinkled around. But the interesting thing, 
 before all others, was the attitude of both French and 
 Greeks — every Frenchman heavily-armed and patrols 
 mounted everywhere. We went on to a great camp 
 of cement barracks, occupied only yesterday morning by 
 
 Greek troops In the caserne next us are some 
 
 hundreds of Greek prisoners 
 
 Last night there was one lone shot fired in the middle 
 of the night. This morning C stumbled over a 
 
 90 
 
body a hundred yards away. It was a Greek com- 
 mandant executed last night, the target for that one 
 shot. His crime was that, when the French approached 
 yesterday morning, this Greek surrendered, and when 
 giving up his sword, fired point blank at the French 
 captain and killed him Conseil de guerre yester- 
 day afternoon, and the shot last night. 
 
 This morning came the official news that the king 
 had abdicated, and that Athens was held by the French. 
 
 June i8, ipi/. [Larissa]. 
 
 It seems to me that our country, as yet, is not tak- 
 ing the war very seriously. Why is it that 'the rain 
 cannot dim the enthusiasm of hundreds of golfers at 
 Lakewood' and that the baseball season goes on just 
 as buoyantly as in peace times? In England all sports 
 stopped dead, not because the government forced them 
 to, but because almost every athlete realized immediately 
 that the sport issue was nothing as compared with his 
 duty to the country. I should have thought that these 
 athletes would be the first to answer the call in our 
 countr>\ Instead, of that the baseball organization has 
 not lost a single man. 
 
 Any one whq has watched the events of the last 
 three years, has read of hundreds of thousands of men 
 killed at Verdun, on the Somme, in the Carso, is still 
 watching France and England draining themselves un- 
 complainingly and courageously, and sees the whole 
 civilized world crying for help, but who can still cling 
 to baseball and other sports, is in a state of brutal in- 
 difference which makes me ashamed of America. How 
 can our country be so unpitying? I do not criticize 
 Congress. I only feel indignant against the attitude of 
 the nation as a whole. 
 
 91 
 
"The New Republic" states: (1) We realize that 
 France needs troops badly, and that sooner or later we 
 will send an expeditionary force, but (2) we will not 
 send any until the troops can be sent with reasonable 
 safety. Does not that seem a little like saying, 'We will 
 send soldiers, but nothing must happen to them'? 
 Every transport, French or English, that goes to Sa- 
 lonica runs a far greater risk than any Atlantic trans- 
 port. If Germany can keep her submarine system as 
 efficient as it is to-day, the seas will never be reason- 
 ably safe. But the troops must pass just the same. 
 
 If Russia should make peace, the only thing which 
 could save the Allies would be the United States. So, 
 right this minute, she ought to be going about the get- 
 ting of her great army very, very seriously, and not 
 amusing herself as she always has been doing. It will 
 mean terrible sacrifices for every one before the end 
 arrives, but we must go through with it, not just be- 
 cause Germany has killed some hundreds of our citi- 
 zens and we are fighting to get reparation, but because 
 of the great ideal of the war, the crushing of a rotten 
 system, and justice for little nations, which will never 
 come about with any half-way peace. Oh, if the 
 United States will only realize her opportunity in time! 
 Every hour means so much. It is not going to be any 
 four or five hundreds of thousands of American soldiers 
 who are to win the war, but a great army of three or 
 four millions. 
 
 I am not criticising anything that has been done or 
 has not been done since we have declared war. I am 
 just sore at the frivolous idea of the country toward 
 the war, as reflected in all the newspapers. I am sick 
 of looking at picture after picture of women soldiers 
 and Boy Scouts. Why don't the people as a whole 
 over there realize the horrible thing that is in store 
 for them ? 
 
 92 
 
Last night I saw a regiment marching off. As it 
 was in a town, they went 'musique a tete.' There is 
 nothing so inspiring as these blue ranks, with their thou- 
 sands of rifles, marching steadily off to the sound of 
 the 'Sambre et Meuse' ; big fellows and little ones ; 
 every now and then a little dog, on a string, trotting 
 alongside — the ensemble makes the most emotional thing 
 I know. You think of so many things as you watch 
 them; the great power of such a regiment of men; the 
 sufferings that they have been through and are about 
 to go through again ; the idea of quiet determination 
 which they give you when the music stops for a moment 
 and you hear just the steady tramp of the feet, and watch 
 wave after wave come around the corner and pass off 
 into the distance. You think of the Marne, Verdun, 
 the Somme; and above all, of France, to fight for 
 France, to push back the Germans ; and of Alsace-Lor- 
 raine. You will feel the same when you see our own 
 soldiers march down Broadway the day they embark 
 for France. It will be so different a thing from a flat 
 and stupid parade. 
 
 July 5, ipi;. 
 We have moved again and are once more in Serbia, 
 after our one month's excursion into Greece. Am very 
 glad to get back to a little work again, after a month of 
 doing nothing in Katarina and Larissa. While down 
 there we all had a one-day excursion to Volo, which was 
 a wonderful little place. The town was draped with 
 English and French flags, and the populace was very 
 enthusiastic; real conquering-hero stuff, with little girls 
 thrusting flowers into your hands, and saying, "Vive la 
 France, I'am.i de la Grece." At Larissa we slept in a 
 Greek caserne, occupied the night before by the roy- 
 alists, who surrendered to the French Bathing 
 
 in the Salambria [the ancient Peneus], was very good 
 
 93 
 
fun. We used to walk a mile up the bank and float 
 down on the current, which was quite strong. When 
 we drove into town, the second day of the occupation, 
 great crowds lined the streets, very enthusiastic. Tino 
 
 was certainly not popular in the north Found the 
 
 town full of Greeks who had worked in the U. S 
 
 The ride back into Serbia was marvelous, over moun- 
 tains and plains. Last night we were strung out under 
 the stars when somebody noticed that the moon, which 
 had come up full, was then a crescent upside down. It 
 turned out to be a total eclipse 
 
 [Leaving Larissa July 2, 1917, they returned to 
 Serbia; by way of Elassona, Servia (a Greek town), 
 across the Vistrica river, Koziani, Lake Petsopor, the 
 Eksisu valley, Banica and so to Sakulevo. They then 
 proceeded to the Serbian front, and were three weeks 
 with the Serbian Army, doing unexciting evacuation 
 work. The diary mentions Brod, Slivica, Dobroveni, 
 Petelini, and the Cerna river.] 
 
 July 26, 191 1- 
 
 I am very glad to have had these three weeks with 
 
 the Serbs. They have certainly impressed me as a very 
 
 kind, simple, wholehearted people, and above all a brave 
 
 one 
 
 94 
 
XVI 
 GOODBYE TO THE AMBULANCE 
 
 Salonique, July 29, 1917- 
 
 Well, the relief has come at last, and here I am, dis- 
 charged from the Ambulance. It was certainly hard 
 to step out, but I do not regret it in the least, as I 
 think it was the only right thing to do. These fourteen 
 months have been very happy ones for me, and very 
 interesting, as you all know, but now there is a greater 
 call, and to refuse it would not sit easy on any of our 
 consciences. There are ten of us in this crowd, the last 
 of the old men. We are hoping that by the time we 
 reach Paris, some arrangement will have been made for 
 the Americans abroad, who were the first to come over, 
 and now wish to join their own colors 
 
 Germany must not get away with what she has 
 started to do. She must not even get off easy and a 
 little baffled. She must be punished and put down. I 
 know that the hearts of England and France will not 
 fail them, and after American men and boys have been 
 in it, I know that her heart will not fail her either. . . . 
 I wonder how many times I have written all of this to 
 
 you before It is certainly the biggest thing in my 
 
 life 
 
 The French Lieutenant [Lieut. Derode], when we 
 left, called together the three of us, who were in the 
 section with him at Verdun, and said that he could never 
 forget any of us who went through that with him. To 
 have been through Verdun together, was a bond which 
 time could not break. It was very touching, and I 
 
 95 
 
hated to say good-bye. I will always remember the 
 lieutenant as he stood out in the middle of the street at 
 Bras, as shells were landing on all sides, and men and 
 horses fell wounded or killed, in the road. Throughout 
 
 it all, he stood there, encouraging everyone You 
 
 would find it easy to die for such a man 
 
 It was equally hard to say good-bye to Hill [Lover- 
 ing Hill the leader of Section 3], the most wonderful 
 fellow I ever knew. He has received the croix de 
 guerre four times, and he is not through yet. I was a 
 great friend of all the French mechanics and the two 
 cooks, and I found it awfully hard to say anything to 
 them. Crapouillot knew something was up, but not ex- 
 actly what, and was the only one who was in perfectly 
 good spirits. Verdun, Bois-le-Pretre, Monastir, I con- 
 nect all these people with these three places in one way 
 or another, and with such vivid incidents that you can't 
 forget. But I feel that harder times are yet to come. 
 We leave for Paris, perhaps this afternoon 
 
 August IS, 1917. 
 [On board ship from Salonique to Italy]. We are 
 
 still a day out from Italy The eleven days we put 
 
 in in Salonique were the worst, certainly, we ever went 
 through anywhere. All the interest of Salonique as a 
 cosmopolitan city was lost, as one staggered up the 
 shady side of the street, and gasped into bed. I shall 
 never forget that heat. We sailed finally, on Aug. 8th 
 Was very much surprised to notice the precau- 
 tions taken with the ship, as compared with last au- 
 tumn, when we ambled through the worst submarine 
 area in the world, day and night both, pulling off, a 
 bare three hundred kilometres a day, with no escort. 
 Today, everything is different, but I'd better write noth- 
 ing about it 
 
 96 
 
Had last night a talk with an old Scottish captain: 
 "Ach, Sonnie, so ye are for being a soldier when ye 
 tooch France. Hoot Mon; ye'U get damn sick of it.'' 
 That was all the encouragement I could get out of 
 
 him One of the lieutenants of the vessel says 
 
 that we were shot at last night but that the torpedo 
 passed ahead of the ship 
 
 Paris, August 26, 1917. 
 
 Our trip was uneventful, but more or less weird, as 
 long as we were on the water. Once on land, [Italy] 
 our triumph began. Our train of "poilus" was feted 
 all the way to France. Palm leaves, vegetables, fruits, 
 and flags, were passed up to us for some 600 kilo- 
 metres : the palm! leaves entirely covering the train. . . 
 When night came, the racks for the suit-cases were 
 
 commandeered by us Beirig the only one who 
 
 could be lifted up and wedged in, and the one, who in 
 case of a fall would cause the least damage, I accord- 
 ingly put in two nights upon the racks, and it is only 
 now, that my body is beginning to come around again 
 into shape 
 
 In spite of all my rushing around, have not yet suc- 
 ceeded in getting into any branch of the American 
 Army. Day before yesterday, I was turned down by 
 the aviation, on account of my eyes. That was to be 
 expected. Yesterday, I went around to the artillery, 
 and found that there was nothing doing there either. 
 The reason given was, that I had had absolutely no mil- 
 tary experience. I make no comment on that, because 
 
 it hurts The hard part of it is, that if, instead of 
 
 being at Verdun last summer, and Monastir this winter, 
 I had slept for six months on the Mexican border, J 
 (\'0u!d have had "military experience" enough to be now 
 
 an officer in the U. S. A I'd give anythmg to get 
 
 home for a little while, and see you all again, but T 
 
 97 
 
know right now, that I will never come back to Amer- 
 ica until the war is over 
 
 I am awfully sore at being taken for a slacker by 
 the ordinary U. S. private, who has just come over. . . . 
 and yet I have met some awfully nice fellows over 
 here ; good country stock, right from the farm, a lot 
 of them. Homesick ! Gee ! How homesick they are ! 
 And yet, just from looking at them, you can see that they 
 will be wonderful soldiers when the time comes 
 
 Aug. 31, 1917. 
 
 Do you remember my writing last May about the es- 
 tablishment of an artillery school at Fontainebleau for 
 Americans? For some reason or other, the thing was 
 given up about a month later, and no Americans were 
 
 allowed to join However, by running all over the 
 
 place, asking here and there, sitting hours in French 
 lobbies, I finally got hold of a French Commandant 
 (Major), and he told me he thought it could be done. . . . 
 It seems that the school at Fontainebleau is a regular 
 French school. To get into it I must sign up in the 
 Foreign Legion for the duration of the war, after first 
 getting permission from the French Minister of War, 
 If it goes through it will be the finest thing imaginat)Ie 
 
 Whether I can pass the exams at the end of the 
 
 course, I do not know. It will be the hardest thing I 
 ever attempted in my life, everything in French and 
 technical in addition. If it's only a matter of hard 
 work, I will get away with it, because there is nothing 
 
 in the world I would rather do I fully realize my 
 
 duty to the U. S., if they'd take me as a soldier, pri- 
 vate or officer. But they won't. Heaven knows, I've 
 
 tried everything Am weathering a horrible spell 
 
 of homesickness these days. 
 
 98 
 
Sept. i8, 19 17. 
 Things are at last beginning to move. On Saturday 
 last, they told me that I had been accepted. This Sat- 
 urday I go down again to sign on, and will leave Mon- 
 day for Fontainebleau. . . .1 knew a year ago last April, 
 
 that I would not be back until the war was over 
 
 Have never spent such a month of anxiety in my life. . . 
 
 Sept. 30, ipiy. 
 
 I am very glad that you got hold of the "Sambre et 
 Meuse." It is about the most inspiring thing in the 
 world, and I meant to send it to you, long, long ago. 
 I must tell you about the first time I ever heard it. It 
 was a year ago in June, when we were just beginning to 
 find out a little about the real French spirit and what 
 a wonderful country France was after all. Our ambu- 
 lance unit had come to a temporary halt, and we were 
 sitting around on our cars, lined up in the public square 
 of the little town in which we were stopping. 
 
 Suddenly, just around the corner, came a terrific blast 
 of bugles, and we knew that it was a regiment of our 
 division, passing through the town on the way up to 
 Verdun — from which only half of them were to come 
 back, ten days later. Another blast from about forty 
 bugles, and then came the strains of the "Sambre et 
 Meuse." 
 
 I never heard it before, but with the very first notes 
 cold chills ran up and down my back, and I could hardly 
 keep from crying. The streets were instantly lined with 
 people, everyone as affected as I. The music became 
 louder and louder, and almost immediately the leaders 
 came into sight; bugles shining in the sun, and all ele- 
 vated at exactly the same angle, and right behind them 
 the endless line of blue uniforms. 
 
 99 
 
You know from the music, that while the tune goes 
 steadily along, periodically the bugles come in on a new 
 theme, not during the minor parts but when the original 
 martial theme comes back. Well, just before the bugles 
 come in, all forty of them go up in the air and perform 
 a few flourishes, all in perfect time, and then they all 
 come horizontally to the lips just at the exact fraction of 
 a second when it is their turn to play, everything pre- 
 cise and in perfect rhythm, brass, drums, and the steady 
 beat of thousands of feet; after the brass, the regi- 
 mental colors, which everyone salutes as they pass ; the 
 highest officers leading on horseback, and then wave 
 after wave of blue. 
 
 Your spirits go up and down with every variation 
 of the music. The eyes fill up with tears during the 
 quieter parts, and then when the original martial theme 
 comes back, and the bugles come in with a roar, and 
 the drums roll louder and louder, you instantly have a 
 change of heart and become wildly elated. 
 
 The music itself is wonderful. But when you have 
 three or four crack French regiments marching behind, 
 it is still more so. When in addition you have Verdun 
 to think of, and you know what a call and rallying cry 
 it is to everyone of the French soldiers passing before 
 you, you can well imagine that the ensemble is over- 
 whelming and plays havoc with your nervous system. 
 
 Sept. 50, TQI/. 
 
 Have just been out to lunch. Down at the corner 
 I saw a big general's car approaching; looked inside 
 and there was Joffre sitting back, with a wonderful 
 kindly face. I immediately clicked my heels together, 
 and pulled oflf a tremendous salute ; and what do you 
 think he did? He answered it! This is another thing 
 that I shall not forget. 
 
 100 
 
Am really glad that you published the letter of June 
 18th, in which I was pretty sore at the way the U. S. 
 
 was going about the war* I remember that Mr 
 
 Britling was equally sore about England's method at 
 the beginning; but look, now, after three years, at what 
 
 England has done We don't realize yet, what a 
 
 calamity a German peace would be Spirit is a 
 
 thing which must come from the heart, and we are aw- 
 fully cool and comfortable, compared with the French 
 and English. 
 
 ♦Published in N. Y. Tribune of Aug. lo, 1917. 
 
 101 
 
XVII 
 THE FONTAINEBLEAU SCHOOL 
 
 October 14, 1917. 
 
 No rustic ever went to Yale as a Freshman, with more 
 feeling of greenness and homesickness than I had when 
 I got off the train at Fontainebleau, and started out to 
 become a French Artilleryman. 
 
 Went first to the "Bureau de la place", had my papers 
 examined, was sternly looked over by a French colonel; 
 was then passed on to a commandant, who looked me 
 over again, and handed me over to one of his confreres ; 
 who went through the entire operation again, seemed 
 more or less satisfied, and sent me to the depot, where 
 I took off khaki and put on blue forever more. I was 
 given two uniforms, a common soldier's, both very 
 large for me, and making me look extremely grotesque. 
 A kepi (cap), oozos (leather puttees — shapeless), two 
 pairs of shoes with 76 nails in each sole, a pair of spurs, 
 a blue overcoat, some underwear after the French 
 fashion, reaching to the heels, and, as a suitable climax, 
 a tremendous sabre, which when placed upright, reaches 
 from my heels to my chest. Somewhat overwhelmed, I 
 staggered off with this load to Curley's apartment, 
 where I climbed into the greater part of my new equip- 
 ment, looked into the glass and declared myself un- 
 recognizable. 
 
 The school numbers almost three throusand young 
 Frenchmen, divided into brigades of about 20 to 25 men 
 each. New classes start every two weeks, and the grad- 
 uates are ever leaving. My brigade is composed of fel- 
 lows who have been at the front a certain length of time, 
 
 102 
 
and have been especially chosen as being fitted to become 
 officers. So, with that in mind, you can see how nice it 
 is of the French to let me, a young American who knows 
 nothing about artillery, and whom they know not the 
 least thing about, enter this course with a brigade of 
 picked men, to the end of becoming an officer in their 
 artiller}'. Needless to say, this impresses upon me the 
 necessity of working hard and making good. 
 
 Our brigade lives in a big room in one of the bar- 
 racks. The living is simple, the furnishings simpler. 
 Twenty straw mattresses on twenty little wooden tables 
 about thirty centimetres high ; two blankets apiece ; a 
 hard little burlap-covered straw cylinder for a pillow ; 
 a long wooden table running the length of the room, and 
 a long bench on each side. This is home.* 
 
 The young fellows in my brigade are all very, very 
 nice, and glad to help me in anything I don't under- 
 stand. They are curious, naturally, and you can imag- 
 ine the questions they ask. They say, "Ah ! If you 
 had known what the artillery is, you would not have left 
 the autos." They don't understand anyone getting out 
 of an easy service to enter a hard one; and I can under- 
 stand and appreciate the ordinary Frenchman's attitude 
 after three years of war. The first burst of enthusiasm 
 wears off after a while with most people, and the war 
 becomes to them a machine, of which they are a small 
 part, and which seems to keep going forever. After 
 what they have been through, the hardship, the filthiness 
 of it all, and the danger, you can see that a large part 
 of the idealism of the war fades away in time. So their 
 philosophy is, if you find yourself in an easy place, why 
 change to a harder one? 
 
 *This school was founded by Napoleon ; and the coarse bread, 
 narrow bed, and hard work were a part of his democratic plan ; 
 for he said that temperance and activity would render his 
 officers robust, and inspire respect and obedience in the soldiers 
 under them. 
 
 103 
 
At six in the morning a bugle starts blowing, and 
 continues to blow until the drowsiness is drummed out 
 of you. An old territorial brings up some coffee (jus), 
 and a yard of bread. You gulp it down hastily, rush 
 down stairs to a great trough and wash, and at seven 
 o'clock the different brigades are marching off to their 
 classes. The instructors (all first lieutenants) have 
 eagle eyes for anything unmilitary, and a button of 
 your coat, for example, unbuttoned, is a dire offense. 
 The periods are usually of an hour and a half duration 
 followed by fifteen miinutes repose ; then another class, 
 and so on until eleven thirty, lunch at 12, of the ordi- 
 nary army fare, a study period till 1 :30 and then more 
 classes till six o'clock. Sometimes it is in a class-room, 
 where we study the trajectories of projectiles; sometimes 
 in the open, around a gun ; sometimes a trip out into the 
 coimtry in auto, or on bicycles, where we pick out imag- 
 inary battery emplacements, or make maps, learn to 
 judge distances, angles, etc. ; other sessions to learn how 
 the approvisionment of a battery in munitions or food 
 is maintained; signaling; telegraphing, horse-back rid- 
 ing, ordinary foot-drill. You can imagine how much 
 spare time one has with such a schedule. What would 
 take two years in peace times, is crowded into four 
 months now. The army has got to have more and more 
 artillery, and officers must be manufactured. 
 
 Well, two weeks have flown by, and I am more or 
 less dazed at the amount of ground that has been cov- 
 ered. None of the work is extremely complicated, 
 though everything is long and requires all the attention 
 you can possibly give it. Horse-back riding is coming 
 along all right, although the first couple of days were 
 rather painful. The other day we had our sabres out, 
 and learned how to hold and present them. Of course 
 the sabre is just for form these days, and they do not 
 attempt to teach sword-play. Another day I had to 
 
 104 
 
march the brigade around to the different classes and 
 events of the day ; and got away with it, without having 
 too much confusion. BeHeve me, the French necessary 
 to order up a dinner in a restaurant, is nothing, com- 
 pared to the amount necessary to demonstrate why such 
 a formula applies, with such and such a projectile, at a 
 given range. 
 
 October 2ist. 
 
 Have now been three weeks in a blue uniform and 
 still feel more or less unused to it. This week I must 
 have a picture taken ; it will certainly surprise you. 
 
 There are some awfully nice fellows in the brigade, 
 all of them in fact; not a one who does not put himself 
 out to help us in things we do not understand. Of 
 course they are a very mixed crowd ; from the best fami- 
 lies in France to the oirdanary Paris bourgeois ; but 
 they mix together as if they all were in the same class, 
 and money makes no difference. The war has done 
 this. They have all had one thing in common, the life 
 at the front, and there is no doubt about it that it tends 
 to bring the classes together. During the daytime per- 
 sonality is effaced ; you are a blue figure in a brigade 
 of 23 or 24 others. You march about to different 
 classes, as a little blue unit in a school of 2,700 others. 
 Then at night, when the entire brigade is grouped 
 around the long table running the length of the room, 
 the different personalities come out. Arnaud, the Par- 
 isien bourgeois of Mont-Parnasse starts telling about 
 his experiences at "le Chemin des Dames," in a slang 
 peculiar to that part of Paris ; Curbilltre, from the Midi ; 
 Renaudau' d'Arc, from one of the oldest families in 
 France; Lasne, an iron worker from Le Nord; all have 
 their stories, each in a dialect a little different from the 
 others, and with an accent entirely different; and yet 
 they all have a great deal in common, and seem to mix 
 
 105 
 
infinitely better together after three weeks at the school, 
 than as many Americans at Yale do after a year's ac- 
 quaintance. About half of them have been decorated, 
 and you must remember that the "Croix de Guerre" for 
 them was much harder to get than mine. 
 
 A few days ago we went out into the country in a 
 truck and picked out a suitable emplacement, deter- 
 mined whether we could fire on a certain chateau hidden 
 behind a hill about three kilometres away, found out 
 whether the emplacement was sufficiently hidden behind 
 the hill, so that the blaze of a shot from the gun would 
 not be seen by an imaginary German observation post 
 on a crest away off on the horizon ; drew a sketch of 
 the secteur supposedly allotted to us ; picked out with the 
 glasses and map, important enemy positions, such as 
 cross-roads, railroad stations, etc. ; and determined what 
 inclination we would have to give the cannon to hit 
 them : back in the school again, and classes on the 
 trajectory, shells, fuses, an hour or so beside a gun, dis- 
 mounting it and explaining the functions of each sepa- 
 rate piece ; drill with sabre or gun. This is a typical 
 day's work, and you can see it is not easy. 
 
 At night, of course, every window is( hermetically 
 sealed, this being Europe ; and the atmosphere is pretty 
 foggy in the morning. About ten days ago a pane of 
 glass broke and we have been having a little fresh air 
 at night. This is very painful for the brigade as a 
 whole, though very welcome to me, for these twenty- 
 four young Frenchmen certainly steam before morning. 
 
 October 2j, 1917. 
 
 All these boys are as young as I, some younger; and 
 
 what things they have been through! You hear them 
 
 speak of "Le Mort Homme", "Le Chemin des Dames", 
 
 "La Somme", "Champagne", and realize that you are 
 
 106 
 
in the presence of the real stuff. Quite a few have been 
 wounded. They all have been through it, and the real 
 way. One sad little thing I noticed is, that when the 
 daily package of mail arrives for our brigade, I am the 
 only one who does not receive letters with the big black 
 mourning band around the edge. 
 
 You have no idea of the machinery pertinent to the 
 firing of a shot out of a cannon. All the tremendous 
 amount of thought that goes before it, such as the dif- 
 ference in level between cannon and objective, and 
 wind, the temperature, the barometer, the regulation of 
 the height of the bursting, allowance for inaccuracy, 
 etc., my estimate of the requisites for a good artillery 
 man become more and more exacting. 
 
 Have not yet met many of the American officers at 
 Fontainebleau. One of them asked me a question in 
 French the other day, and almost fell over backwards 
 when I answered, "Sorry I can't help you, but I am 
 pretty new myself." I have not gotten used to being 
 taken for a Frenchman, and don't believe I ever shall. 
 Don't bother to send candy or tobacco, as it probably 
 won't arrive. 
 
 November 5, ipi/. 
 This afternoon, a long session around a cannon and 
 then practice "en batterie." A bunch of American officers 
 were being trained on the guns next to us, and were 
 doing about the same things, but in English. It seemed 
 strange to hear the orders from one group : "Tir per- 
 cutant — par quatre — correction dix-huit par la droit — 
 par batterie — feu !" ; and from the others comes a nasal 
 twang, "Angle of sight, zero — 2,500, sweeping — fire !" 
 At no time does the work cease to be interesting. We 
 have taken up the telephone and wireless in turn; we 
 will soon be signaling and firing. The 75 of course is 
 the gun to which most of the attention is given, but 
 
 107 
 
we will take up in turn all the lighter guns and some of 
 the mortars. 
 
 Aside from the work, I thoroughly enjoy the simple 
 life in the barracks, with 20 or so young Frenchmen. 
 Their outlook on everything, especially the war, is so 
 different from ours. Their conversation is like listening 
 to an awfully good book. The mixture of Gascon, Midi, 
 Nord, and Parisien, always calls your attention. The 
 slang they use is an art 
 
 December 51, ipi?- 
 The end is fast approaching, and, were it not for the 
 opportunity to do better work, one would almost regret 
 leaving Fontainebleau. It has been a wonderful three 
 months, not only for its uniqueness, but for the priv- 
 ilege of living with and knowing French soldiers as 
 they really are. No matter what we do together, drill, 
 study, or fool, there is always a spirit of camaraderie, 
 which is a little different from anything I have seen or 
 experienced at home. They don't say much about it. 
 
 but Alsace-Lorraine is never very far away I 
 
 find these fellows just as good companions as Ameri- 
 cans, and infinitely more frank than the social system 
 at Yale \vould permit : that is to say, you know all their 
 
 thoughts all the time 
 
 Am sure any German offensive has less chance of 
 succeeding than the great Verdun offensive. . . .I'd give 
 anything to be in it. 
 
 Jan. 22, igiS. 
 This will be my last letter from Fontainebleau, for 
 we get out day after tomorrow. Today has brought 
 me very good news. I am going to be allowed to go 
 into a French battery as an aspirant. The news came 
 out last night, with our marks. I came out seventh in 
 the brigade, which was much better than I had expected. 
 
 108 
 
This morning we had our choice of regiments. I chose 
 
 the 75s On getting out day after tomorrow, I get 
 
 20 days permission, which I will probably spend in Paris 
 Fontainebleau has been such a wonderful ex- 
 perience, above all in war time. I have made a great 
 many friends, and I regret that everything is going to 
 
 be broken up Am certainly very grateful for the 
 
 privilege of coming here, and above all, for the privi- 
 lege of going out into a battery Tonight we have 
 
 a farewell banquet. It will be the last time we will all 
 be together. 
 
 Jan. 2g>, i9i8. 
 
 22, Rue de I'Universite. Am having a very quiet but 
 a very enoyable time in Paris. I am all the time with 
 
 good friends, and that is the principal thing Am 
 
 not afraid of going to the front, but I am more or less 
 timorous about going out as an officer, with a certain 
 amount of responsibility, into a foreign army, in a 
 
 branch I really know but little about Am sure, 
 
 however, that everything will go all right; and I feel 
 too deeply interested in the war, to care if my first 
 steps may be a little awkward. At the present moment, 
 I would not change my grade of aspirant, to that of 
 first lieutenant in the U. S. Army. 
 
 I could not easily express the feelings of admiration 
 I have for France. When I mention France, I do not 
 mean the corruption in her government, the life at Paris, 
 or the ordinary Frenchman's limited views on every- 
 thing not French. I think of the people as a whole, 
 which the ordinary American knows nothing about ; 
 their suffering and determination, still bound to win 
 after 3^^ years of being the under dog. There enters 
 into it also the pride the French have in their army, the 
 simple satisfaction they feel in saying, "The French- 
 man is the best soldier in the world." I do not know 
 
 109 
 
enough about it to say whether or not this is true, but 
 it is largely because they feel it, that they are as fine 
 as they are. The more time covers it up, the more the 
 Marne stands out to me as the greatest sentimental 
 
 effort that was ever made It was will power that 
 
 won. 
 
 Jan. SI, 19 18. 
 There was a raid in Paris last night which scared the 
 civilians terribly, and with good reason. Towards eleven 
 o'clock they blew the horns in the streets, and all the 
 lights went out. Immediately afterward we heard the 
 buzzing of the French aeroplanes on guard, which all 
 the old ladies in the house took for the Gothas. Nothing 
 happened for about half an hour or so, and then I heard 
 the anti-aircraft guns start going off. It seemed quite 
 weird to hear guns at Paris. A few minutes later I 
 heard ten or a dozen bombs drop, but none in our dis- 
 trict. The whoozing of the empty shrapnel cases com- 
 ing down added considerably to the fright. A bomb is 
 never heard until a fraction of a second before it hits — 
 a little whing, and then the crash ; whereas the shrapnel 
 case, lumbering down much more slowly, is heard a few 
 seconds before it hits. The papers say very little about 
 the raid. They mention a certain amount of "degats de 
 materiel et de vie humaine," but the principal feeling is 
 of hatred, not regret 
 
 110 
 
^8H 
 
 
 ^^K^ \ \" ^^^H 
 
 
 
 i^H! 
 
 Coleman: Aspirant French Army: Jan. 1918. 
 
XVIII 
 
 AT THE FRONT AS A SOLDIER 
 
 Vannes, Feb. 14, ipi8. 
 
 Well, here I am out in Brittany for five days at the 
 depot of my regiment. Left Paris yesterday morning 
 and arrived here last night towards six. As I got off 
 the train and stepped out into this quaint little place, 
 where the little streets wind in and out, and the only 
 sound heard is the shuffle of wooden shoes on the cobbles, 
 I couldn't help thinking, what an odd situation it was, 
 after all ! I felt all alone and in the wrong pew ; but 
 don't think for a minute that I was downhearted. Stepped 
 into a little hotel, took a room, examined the bed, and 
 went promptly to sleep, waiting for dayligliA before 
 making any decisions. This morning I shined up all my 
 armor, and went around to the depot of the 28eme to 
 present myself to le capitaine. Thought this was going 
 to be an ordeal, but it turned out to be one of the nicest 
 talks I have ever had. As soon as he heard that I was 
 an American he was all excited, and asked me a thou- 
 sand questions, which of course I could not answer. He 
 turned me over to the commandant, the next man higher 
 up, and he was as nice as he could be, too. So my 
 first morning with greatness turned out very happily, 
 and today I have three times as much assurance as I 
 possessed last night. Was introduced to quite a bunch 
 of officers, and they were all as nice as they could be. 
 A bunch of sous-officiers took me out to lunch and fed 
 me on snails and cider, and treated me as if I had 
 known them a]l my life. Never have I been with 
 Frenchmen and had any other kind of reception 
 
 Will do practically nothing during these five days. 
 
 Ill 
 
Passing a few days at the depot is only a formality 
 which every aspirant goes through before going out to 
 his battery. I have already been assigned one. I really 
 feel a lot less capable than some of the ordinary soldiers 
 who salute me. However, I do expect to learn when 
 at the front 
 
 Feb. 26, ipi8. 
 
 Aspirant C. T. Clark 2eme Groupe; Seme Batterie, 
 28e Regt. d'Artillerie de Campagne, S. P. 163. Every 
 
 thing going well "En repos" for the moment. 
 
 Have certainly been having wonderful treatment 
 
 from everybody. Three nights ago I dropped into the 
 officers' mess, the "popote," after an eight-mile trudge, 
 and in a fainting condition. Seated around the table 
 were the captain and all the lieutenants in the groupe, 
 and the doctor, and they acted right away as if I were a 
 long-lost friend; sat me down to their dinner, and had 
 my whole history out of me in five minutes. They were 
 the finest bunch of men I ever had the luck to fall in 
 among. For no reason in the world they did everything 
 possible to help me along and made me feel like a 
 brother rather than an unknown foreigner. The cap- 
 tain* is a wonder; about thirty years old, tall, thin, good- 
 looking and energetic. When he lifts his finger things 
 jump around, and everyone likes him. 
 
 Yesterday morning they doled me out a horse, which 
 considerably scared me; and an "ordonnance" [i. e., or- 
 derly], who cleans my shoes, brings me around a pail 
 of water, makes my bed and receives six seeds a month 
 for this sert^ice. He also feeds the cheval, cleans him, 
 runs errands, and, in fact, has nothing in the world 
 to do except wait on me. This has made me quite 
 ashamed of myself, as I have never felt myself weighty 
 
 ♦Maurice Morel, killed May 28, 1918, by the same shell that 
 killed Coleman. 
 
 112 
 
enough material to occupy the entire horizon of another 
 
 man's existence I have as yet done no work 
 
 in the battery, the capitaine breaking me into things Httle 
 by Httle and doing everything to aid me. It is all really 
 too wonderful, and never did I enjoy anything more. 
 
 Mar. 5, 1918. 
 
 Have just had a very boring week on account of 
 being sent from the battery to a school of "perfection" 
 for American officers, where I have been helping the 
 French captain do the instructing. Was only at the bat- 
 tery three days before a call came in from the Corps 
 d' Armee, asking for some French officer who knew 
 English to go to this school for a while, and, of course, 
 being American, they nabbed me as being just the thing 
 
 for it So here I am, in this rotten little town 
 
 [Billy], doing practically no work and aching to get 
 back to the battery. 
 
 Yesterday's mail brought me ten letters, the first in 
 three weeks. The reason for the delay was that all my 
 letters were sent first to Fontainebleau, then to Paris, 
 then to Bretagne, then to the battery, and finally here. 
 They all made me very happy, as all letters from home 
 
 do How I hate Germany ! You have thoroughly 
 
 reassured me as to America's part in the war, and I see 
 
 that the spirit is coming along better all the time 
 
 I am not in the least worried as to our ability to beat 
 Germany, twice as strong as she ever was before, on the 
 western front. In the next two or three years we will 
 have the men ; but does the Administration realize that 
 the merchant marine is even more important — in fact, 
 is the whole question? .... 
 
 Am afraid I will not be home for quite a while yet. 
 However, as I have said many times before, home has 
 never seemed very far away, in spite of the distance, 
 and almost two whole years of absence. 
 
 113 
 
March 12, ipi8. 
 
 Here I am still in this bum little town, and having 
 
 still a rather poor time It has been a very good 
 
 thing for me, as it has given me a chance to study a lot 
 
 of good artillery books How fast the time goes ! 
 
 Fontainebleau already seems a long distance in the 
 past 
 
 Hope you are not worrying all the time about me. 
 Don't think that there is danger lurking around the cor- 
 ner every minute. Everyone has a bad time now and 
 then, but the dangerous moments, even for the soldier in 
 the trenches, are few and far between. What's more, it 
 is a privilge to risk something in such a cause. I don't 
 
 think there ever was a bigger one I am among 
 
 friends, find everything interesting, and am, in fact, hav- 
 ing the time of my life 
 
 March i9, ipi8. 
 
 Nothing could be better. Have at last rejoined the 
 battery,* and am more and more happy. Am living with 
 the ofificers and am treated as one. Everyone takes pains 
 to teach me every new thing which comes up, and I do 
 not in the least feel like a stranger. Am sleeping nine 
 feet under ground, eating well, learning fast, making 
 good friends and thoroughly enjoying my work. Could 
 I ask anything more? I begin to see why France is un- 
 beaten and never will be. Not a great deal of excite- 
 ment for the moment, but intensely interesting stuff all 
 around me 
 
 (Diary) — Our P. C* is a little bit of a thing; one 
 room 2}4 by 3^ metres, under three rows of logs; a 
 
 little tunnel, and another little room with 3 bunks 
 
 Coucy-le-Chateau 4 km. away. 
 
 *At the Mont des Tombes, just north of Leuilly (per diary). 
 *Poste couverte, abri, dugout, shelter. 
 
 114 
 
March 21, I9i8 (diary). 
 Barrage this morning at 6 A. M. ; 6 corps par piece 
 
 pour 3 minutes Very foggy and nobody knew 
 
 what was up Barrage repeated^ and all 75s 
 
 within reach join in The battery position is get- 
 ting more and more dangerous. 
 
 March 22, I9i8 (diary). 
 Up at 5 o'clock to see that there was a man at each 
 
 gun and that the one there wasn't asleep Leuilly, 
 
 at our feet, shelled all the morning; big ones and little 
 
 ones Went out this afternoon to look up some 
 
 surveying points. Scrambled around Leuilly for a long 
 while, and got four or five. 
 
 March 2^, I9i8 (diary). 
 
 Alerte gas 2 A. M Started measuring P. M., 
 
 when one burst 20 yards away. Never even heard it 
 coming. All surveying off for the moment, the tele- 
 phoniste having dropped all instruments and fled for the 
 abri 
 
 March 24, i9i8 (diary). 
 Surveying again all the morning. Pretty well scared 
 
 all the time 6 P. M. They've just dropped 
 
 about twelve big ones into Leuilly. The 6th Battery, 
 behind us, immediately got word to fire about a hundred 
 onto the German lines. This done, the Germans give us 
 a 15-minute dose of 105s; we, who hadn't fired a round 
 all day long. 
 
 March 24, i9i8. 
 
 I am very, very happy Am learning fast 
 
 and like the artillery more and more. It is a real 
 satisfaction to feel that I have fired against Germany, 
 
 115 
 
a satisfaction that I could not feel in the Ambulance. 
 It's the difference between watching a ball game and 
 playing one. 
 
 We live in a little hole 'way down in the ground, eat 
 there as well. The eating has been very good, sleeping 
 also. I get up at five every morning now, to look things 
 over and see that no one is asleep. The big attack is on 
 
 and we are all confident I know that you must 
 
 feel rather broken up over our Saullie going away to 
 war. Oh! How I hate Germany for it! I don't think 
 there was ever a better man in the world than Saullie. 
 
 March 25, I9i8 (diary). 
 The English have had a bad blow The cannon- 
 ade, distant four days ago, sounds almost close now. 
 Something has got to be done. That is the reason why 
 we are firing quite a bit, for a couple of days. Another 
 C. P. O. this evening. The position is becoming nastier 
 and nastier. 
 
 March 26, I9i8 (diary). 
 
 More bad news from the English. Boches at Ham, 
 
 Noyon, Bucy, Bapaume and 12 km. from Albert. Am 
 
 entirely lost as to what it all means We have been 
 
 told to look up new positions 4 km. in the rear. 
 
 March 28, I9i8. 
 Everything fine with me, but I can't think of any- 
 thing but what is going on up north. Do not be too 
 anxious 
 
 March ji, I9i8. 
 We have never been nearer the edge than we have 
 been this last week, much nearer, I think, than any news- 
 paper will ever say. But now everything is safe, and 
 
 116 
 
the game is won. The advance is not to be taken as a 
 sign that the Germans are superior. They attacked us 
 with over three times the forces opposed to them, nor 
 can any one say that the EngHsh should have forseen 
 the blow 
 
 April 6, I9i8. 
 
 I was made very happy today by the arrival of your 
 letter of March 4th, the first one in several weeks. How 
 wonderful it is to get news from home. Have now 
 been here over two weeks and am fast learning the 
 "metier" of artillery. It has been everything I had hoped 
 it would be, and a lot more 
 
 The life is either very quiet, or very active, and varies 
 from day to day, and from minute to minute. Up to a 
 few days ago time almost hung heavy on our hands. I 
 taught the Captain English, and he taught me observa- 
 tion; a round of bridge after each meal. Within five 
 minutes' time everything changed, and for two nights 
 I haven't taken off my clothes and have had but three 
 hours' sleep. The prospects for tonight do not seem 
 much brighter. It has given me an outlook on the war 
 I could have gotten in no other way. But even the try- 
 ing moments have their compensations. The big Ger- 
 man offensive goes on, but its force is broken. I do 
 not underestimate our losses, nor exaggerate theirs ; but 
 we are certainly nearer to winning the war than we were 
 before it started. Montdidier is a blow, but the last 
 word has not been said I am ver\' glad that Saul- 
 lie is happy to go. But never fear. We will all be 
 back, and I think we will all be the happier for it in the 
 end. 
 
 April 8, 19 18 (diary). 
 
 Yesterday was an awful seance. At 5.30 I got up to 
 
 got to the P. O. [Poste Observatoire] Early in 
 
 117 
 
the P. M. there was a marmitage of our trenches at 
 Cournal, and shortly afterwards the mitrailleuse started 
 
 and did not stop till 8 P. M The Boches started 
 
 bombarding everywhere The 150s made an awful 
 
 roar and shook our poor little P. O. something awful. 
 .... Eclats all over the place .... It took all I had 
 
 in me to stay on guard at the P. O. opening At 
 
 4.30 every cannon of ours within range started on bar- 
 rage Cournal. What a glorious sound the 75 makes ! 
 When one is just far enough off, so that the depart is not 
 a roar, but a sound, it is musical. 
 
 April 8, I9i8. 
 
 Have seen more war during the past week than I saw 
 in a year and a half in the Ambulance; Verdun and 
 Monastir thrown in. I realize more and more what a 
 nasty business it all is. It is all right as long as you can 
 stay in your burrow, but when you have got to go out- 
 side, where it's falling all around, it is no fun at all. 
 We've had a little bit of everything, including gas; and, 
 believe me, I put my lunch so fast after one mouthful 
 I got of the gas, that I might have just as well not eaten. 
 Have been awfully lucky three or four times. Was 
 caught outside making the rounds yesterday morning — 
 couldn't go in any direction — so crawled into a shell hole 
 and stayed there until it was over 
 
 Don't you worry about my taking any chances. It 
 isn't done. Anybody that can stay inside doesn't take a 
 single step outside unless he has to. Am very, very 
 happy to be with the French. They have certainly 
 treated me wonderfully. Am still very green, but am 
 learning as fast as possible. It is all a glorious experi- 
 ence 
 
 April IS, I9i8. 
 
 Have been sleeping days and working nights lately, 
 
 and usually from midnight on have been figuring out 
 
 118 
 
barrages ; and, believe me, when you've done one or two 
 in a row, and figured in all the atmospheric corrections, 
 and then gone out in the night and done a little surveying 
 with an electrically lighted goniometer, calculus is the last 
 
 thing in the world to soothe your mind with 
 
 In the last week we have been having a frightful time. 
 We had a three-hour barrage, when the Bodies were 
 shooting up our place with 155s, and it took all the will 
 power I had to stay at the guns while it was going on. 
 Not only that, but they put in a few big ones, too, one of 
 which landed ten yards in front of our guns while we 
 were firing. You can judge of the size of it by the 
 hole it made, 10 feet deep and 25 feet across. Of course, 
 with those big ones everything goes right up in the air; 
 so, unless it falls on you, you are all right; but the shock 
 was something indescribable. I just leaned up against 
 the wall with my mouth open, unable to move hand or 
 
 foot for a few minutes I am watching anxiously 
 
 the great offensive. 
 
 April IS, 19 18. 
 
 I command the third and fourth guns, and when I 
 stand back of them during a barrage the noise they make 
 gives me a thrill of pleasure, that shows, after all, I'm 
 a very small boy. Don't worry about the offensive. 
 
 [April 15, 1918, the battery retreated to Juvigny.] 
 
 April 22, I9i8. 
 Everything fine and going well. Never was better off 
 in my life, nor enjoyed the work more. 
 
 April 22, I9i8. 
 
 Would like to know who it was who put in a plea of 
 
 exemption for her son because he was afraid to go. 
 
 I wonder if there is anyone in the world who isn't 
 
 afraid 
 
 119 
 
I may be wrong to be so bitter, but if America could 
 only realize all the hopes that France and England have 
 built on her. Both are tired, and Germany stronger than 
 
 ever Perhaps you remember Binnie's last fight, 
 
 when he came home all mangled, and we placed him as 
 comfortably as we could under the kitchen table. If you 
 saw the faithful look in his eyes and the cry of help in 
 them to us, you will understand the analogy in the case 
 of France and America today 
 
 I wonder if you can realize what pride I take, to stand 
 behind a 75 and to give the orders for a barrage. What 
 a glorious sound it is, the noise of the four guns firing 
 as rapidly as they can, and the six figures before you in 
 each of the gun pits working in unison, each one doing his 
 one thing and helping put 50 shells a minute in the 
 German trenches. We fired one day for three hours at 
 top speed ; a day of attack, when the Boches had our posi- 
 tion cold, and sent almost as many shells onto our plateau 
 as we sent out ourselves. They landed all around, be- 
 fore, behind and on both sides. What had been a wood 
 before was afterwards a pile of splintered logs and up- 
 turned earth ; everyone terrified, a fright unimaginable ; 
 but I don't think anyone would have changed places 
 with any living being. I shall never forget a minute of 
 it. Nor is there any happier feeling than the exaltation 
 you feel at such moments, in spite of the fear. The six 
 blue figures before you, back and forth, back and forth; 
 the thought of what is going on in the trenches ; there is 
 nothing like it in the world. The next day we learned 
 that not one German had passed through the barrage. 
 What wouldn't I give to sit around the fire and talk it 
 all over with you ! However, that day will come 
 
 May I, 19 18. 
 
 I like the artillery more and more and am getting 
 
 to do more and more things; and, now that I know the 
 
 120 
 
men and they know me, it is becoming easier and easier. 
 For us everything is tranquil for the moment; a very 
 pleasant change from the furnace of mid-April 
 
 May 14, 19 18. 
 
 Everything seems scarce these days, even something to 
 do. Everything is so tranquil that I am getting very 
 
 lazy However, a sense of the romantic has always 
 
 helped me to appreciate everything that goes on, whether 
 it be mud, and rain, and boredom, or the trying moments. 
 I remember one rainy night, when we had to move back. 
 It was after our worst time, when everyone was all in. 
 I took the fourth gun to the new position. It was a 
 pitch-black njight, raining steadily, the mud (reaching 
 to the hubs; six horses ahead with three riders on the 
 left, a brigadier (corporal) in the lead, and the six 
 servants of the gun and myself, in a drowsy heap on the 
 front seat. Not a sound but the steady ooze of the mud, 
 as it recedes and then fills in again as the wheels turn. 
 Mile after mile through the blackness, every one soaked, 
 but too exhausted to mind ; it was a wonderful moment 
 to me. Wonder if I will ever see such big times again. 
 What a privilege to be alive in 1918. 
 
 Had the diversion not long since of constructing a 
 position all my own. I worked during the bad weather, 
 when there were no balloons up, did all the surveying, 
 put the gun in direction and prepared the fire. What a 
 great sound it was, when, one night, lying in bed, I 
 heard my gun barking away in the distance and I knew 
 just where those shells were falling in the Boche lines. 
 .... I expect the offensive will start in again soon, but 
 am confident that they will not get anj^where with it. 
 As everyone else is confident, too, there's no use worry- 
 ing about losing the war 
 
 121 
 
Sunday, May ip, IQ18. 
 
 We are still very quiet in our old stone quarry 
 
 Have built a sort of pagoda high up on one of the walls. 
 .... The four black guns poke their muzzles through 
 the camouflage and are ready to pour out 40 shells a 
 minute at 45 seconds notice ; but as it is, everything is 
 tranquil, too tranquil not to maintain everyone on edge. 
 .... The Captain does his best to learn English, but as 
 the only book at our disposal is Goldsmith's "Deserted 
 Village," I often strike snags on such phrases as : 
 
 One only master grasps the whole domain. 
 And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 
 
 May 22, igi8 (his last letter). 
 Everything is very, very quiet here. The Boches leave 
 us entirely alone, and we only fire when there are no 
 saucisses up. Am perfectly confident as to the defeat of 
 the next German ofifensive. Perhaps it may not come ofif 
 at all. I would like to know what really happened to the 
 5th British Army. 
 
 DIARY FOR HIS LAST DAY. 
 
 May 27, 1918. — Midnight. Chausto with paper indi- 
 cating projected German attack 12 night. 
 
 12.30— Work out C. P. O.'s. 
 
 12.45 — Violent bombardment starts in on all the front. 
 Battery finds itself deluged fore and aft with 105 and 75. 
 Gas smell immediately. 
 
 1.00 A. M. [28th]— Barrage. Acted as tireur. All 
 telephone wires cut. Gas everywhere. Automobiles and 
 motorcycles whiz by in the night. 
 
 1 .00 — Rebarrage. 
 
 1 . 1 5 — Rebarrage. 
 
 1 .20 — Rebarrage. 
 
 122 
 
1.45 — Rebarrage. 
 
 2.00— Rebarrage. 
 
 2. 1 5 — Rebarrage. 
 
 2.30 — Cadence ralenti. 
 
 3.00 — No news of groupe. Three telephonists sent 
 out, and not one comes back. Bombardment increases 
 steadily towards dawn. 
 
 4.00 — Renforts 403 flow by across country. 
 
 4.30 — Barrage. 
 
 4.45 — Barrage ralenti. Dash out to the guns and back 
 to P. C. constantly. Sondage. Interdiction to eat all 
 food not hermetically sealed from gas. Brouillard. 6th 
 starts firing. I order barrage. 3 batteries on left see 
 us firing, and make barrage themselves. 
 
 7 o'clock — Xew barrage, indicating German advance. 
 
 7.30 — Xew barrage. Germans capture Mt. des 
 Tombes ; up to our old position. 
 
 8.25 — Counter-attack. Push Germans back to crest. 
 Have to stay outside to be with battery, and double 
 guetteurs, but an awful ordeal. Iron every^vhere, and 
 nose swollen. 
 
 Up to 10 A. M. 900 shells fired. 
 
 Xew barrage showing German retreat, 10.15 A. M. 
 
 11 A. M. — X^'ew barrage. Strong wind blows away 
 most of gas. For eight hours did not take off mask. 
 
 11 o'clock — German plane ver> low over us. 
 
 12 o'clock — First 130 is heard. From then on lc/2m 
 in the battery. 
 
 12.15 — Eat bread and singe and white wine. 
 
 12.30 — Prepare barcelment. 
 
 12.45 — 1st tir barcelment. 
 
 13.00 — 105's radinent autour. 
 
 123 
 
13.15 — Dash out to 3 P to give Schoul a tir. Both 
 standing behind the gun, and 130 bursts 2 yards in front. 
 Schoul gets 8 pieces in his skin. I was not troubled. 
 
 13.30 — Standing outside, watching bandaging of 
 Schoul, 130 bursts 4 metres away. Billier, 2 metres away 
 from me, gets three fragments. 
 
 13.45 — Quieter on all sectors. 
 Lord, how tired. 
 
 [He was seriously wounded in the left leg about 5 
 P. M. of the 28th, but was able to drag himself to the 
 abri, where, with his Captain, who had been wounded at 
 the same time, he received medical attention. At 1 A. M. 
 he was removed to Chavigny, and from there to the hos- 
 pital at Fontenoy, where he died about noon of the 
 29th. The letter of M. Baron (post) gives the circum- 
 stances of his death.] 
 
 124 
 
XIX 
 
 Addenda 
 
Le Coudray-Plesse, May 29, 1919. 
 
 My dear Mr. Clark: 
 
 I am writing in the thought that this letter may bring 
 some consolation to a family, tried, as I too have been 
 affected, and because I would like to express as well as 
 possible, with my pen, the sentiments of my heart. For 
 a long time, doubtless, what would you not have given to 
 have details of the last moments of him whom you weep 
 for, and whom I myself weep for; since, if he had 
 lived, we both of us would gladly have called each other 
 by the sweet name of brother. 
 
 I finally reach you, after having, through many at- 
 tempts been able to procure your address, which I desired 
 so much to know. I have secured this through Major 
 Galatti's secretary, to whom the Colonel of the 28th 
 R. A. C. had me instructed to communicate these details, 
 Major Galatti having left for the United States. I 
 hasten, therefore, to write you directly, begging you at 
 the start to accept for yourself and your family my 
 most sincere condolences. 
 
 The 29th of May! A year, to a day. I was at the 
 time a hospital attendant in hospital 14/13, which at that 
 time, on account of the very critical situation, was reliev- 
 ing the excessive calls upon H. O. E. B/51. The German 
 offensive, let loose on the night of the 26th/27th, was 
 going full force ; the wounded were arriving in great 
 numbers ; and, alas ! the news they brought us was not at 
 all of the most reassuring kind ; and it was on this 
 Wednesday morning toward half past six that Coleman 
 was brought to us. Poor child — in what a pitiable con- 
 dition he was. His left leg had been shattered by a big 
 shell fragment and he was almost bloodless. 
 
 Pale, he was of that color which death knows how to 
 paint upon its victims, and the Major [Chief-Surgeon] 
 only gave him a few moments to live. A tourniquet 
 kept within him those few drops of blood which gave 
 
 126 
 

 
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 M. Baron 
 
his, heart just enough force to beat gently. But the opera- 
 tion — because it was necessary to cut off his leg — was 
 impracticable. Oh! What would we not have done to 
 try and save this child — the first American who had 
 come into our hands! The Major immediately thought 
 of a transfusion of blood; and, knowing my devotion, 
 had me summoned. "Monsieur Baron," said he to me, 
 "this poor little soldier is lost. Would you like to try 
 and save him? You are strong, and if you are not 
 afraid, I will open an artery in your arm to take blood 
 from it and give it to him." 
 
 I wept for joy, so happy was I to be able to give life 
 to someone; and I assure you that my thought went out 
 to you, to his family, for whom I might be able to save 
 him. I laid myself out on an operating table beside him. 
 I stretched out my right arm. The Major made an inci- 
 sion in it, uncovered the artery, opened it, and on seeing 
 my blood flowing and mounting in the glass prepared 
 for Coleman I could no longer contain myself. While 
 this was going on another surgeon was preparing your 
 son's arm. Our brotherhood was quickly sealed. 
 
 This transfusion having been finished, these gentle- 
 men were able to operate on him, whom I was anxious 
 to see henceforth on his hospital bed, to care for myself, 
 and to be the happy witness of his recovery. 
 
 Toward 8 o'clock the operation was finished and was 
 very successful. Coleman was resting calmly and not 
 suffering much, as he himself said, and I myself, not too 
 exhausted, was seated beside him in a reclining chair. 
 Every one passing before the cot smiled, reflecting on 
 what I had done, which many others would have been 
 happy to do, and above all on seeing the young Ameri- 
 can coming to life again. 
 
 Alas ! The good fortune was not to last long. Toward 
 ten o'clock a shell fell beside us, which was soon followed 
 by several others. We were being bombarded. The 
 
 127 
 
Bodies were advancing. It was necessary to retreat. 
 Things were so grave that orders were not slow in com- 
 ing: "Evacuate the wounded; leave as little material as 
 possible in the hands of the Boches." As to myself, 
 being unable on account of the operation to carry any- 
 thing whatsoever, or to render the least service — they 
 had me put into a wagon, which took me without break- 
 ing the journey, 40 kilometres to the rear. Oh! what it 
 cost me to separate from Coleman ! Alas, later I learned 
 from my comrades that the little American, as they called 
 him, had not survived this additional disturbance, and 
 that he had died before they were able to evacuate him. 
 
 He was buried the same day, with five other soldiers, 
 in the little military cemetery of Ambleny-Fontenoy. This 
 cemetery is located eight kilometres west of Soissons, on 
 the left-hand side of the national highway, which goes 
 from that city to Compiegne. I have not returned to 
 these places since then; therefore I cannot tell you in 
 what state the grave is; but if the bombardment has not 
 caused too great damage there it should certainly be 
 well preserved. 
 
 To this short account I have therefore nothing to 
 add. I pray God, as I have already prayed to him, to 
 give you the courage to bear valiantly this affliction, and 
 if I can please you by extending to you some consolation 
 through this little letter, I am sufficiently recompensed 
 for it. 
 
 As for myself, if it would be of any interest for you 
 to know who I am, I will tell you that before the war, 
 for fifteen years, I was a Catholic missionary in Egypt. 
 Mobilized at the very beginning, I went through the 
 whole war as a hospital attendant, with untransportable 
 soldiers — that is to say, the most gravely wounded. De- 
 mobilized since the 17th of February, I am expecting to 
 leave very soon for my mission, and if I can please you 
 by sending you this modest photograph I am very glad 
 
 128 
 
to do so. I would be very happy myself to receive one 
 of him whom we weep for, but who, I hope, enjoys the 
 happiness of the elect near the good God. If you should 
 answer my letter, tell me at the same time how you are, 
 whether Mme. Clark is alive, whether you have other 
 children. To all extend my kindest regards. Believe me, 
 dear Mr. Clark, 
 
 Your entirely devoted, 
 
 M. Baron. 
 
 I cannot tell you how deeply moved I was, when I 
 
 heard a few days ago of your bo}'s death It 
 
 seems too unkind and too cruel to destroy a life so young 
 
 and gentle as was his I am sorry you could not 
 
 see him these last two years, for he grew up, expanded 
 
 and broadened out to a remarkable extent I know 
 
 also that he was so whole-heartedly devoted to France 
 that he cannot have one moment regretted, being on the 
 
 Roll of Honour, and on our own also I used to 
 
 be in charge of his section in the American Ambulance, 
 and I never knew a man who so completely won the 
 affection and respect of every one ; always bright and 
 cheerful, ever ready to do more than his share, gentle 
 and kind, never out of temper, plucky and courageous, 
 
 always a gentleman ; he rang true as steel I hope 
 
 you will find consolation in the glory of his death and in 
 the fact that he fell fighting for what we all believe to 
 be right, and that he would have wished no other end. 
 Of that I am certain. And, a man strong in heart and 
 spirit, he was prepared to face calmly and quietly the 
 
 closing moments of his life 
 
 LovERiNG Hill, 
 
 [Leader of Sec. 3.] 
 129 
 
I have delayed writing you so that I could have some 
 information about Coleman's death to send you. . . . 
 The Captain of the battery, who was killed at the same 
 time, had proved himself to be a great friend of your 
 
 son I had been in the same ambulance section 
 
 with your son, and I know that I can speak for all the 
 other men who have ever been associated with him over 
 here, in telling you that there was no one who gave 
 himself more faithfully to the cause of the Allies, and at 
 the same time gained the respect and affection of every- 
 one who was connected with him in any way. 
 
 Stephen Galatti. 
 
 Probably as you knew him and as I knew him he 
 was very different. He was only a boy when he came 
 over, and he was grown up at the end. But he kept 
 all that you must have loved in him. It was what I 
 
 cared for, too You probably never knew from 
 
 him how fond we all were of him I wish I could 
 
 see you and tell you all that he had done over 
 
 here — and there isn't one thing, in all the horror and 
 rottenness of war, that you wouldn't be proud of. He 
 was brave, and sweet, and cheerful ; above all, straight 
 and clean from the beginning to the end. He did very 
 finely in his battery — that I know — and though I know 
 nothing of his death I don't need to. It must have been 
 something we can be proud of. 
 
 John W. Clark fSec. 3]. 
 
 By the way. a Yale fellow, class of 1918, Coleman 
 Clark by name, was killed in the recent Rheims-Soissons 
 push in this same regiment, which suffered heavy losses. 
 The way the Colonel speaks of him here — his having 
 
 130 
 
gone down from chief of two guns to charging and 
 firing, as fast as his men fell, kind of gives Jim and me 
 something to work for. I wonder where Clark lived in 
 the States. I should like to write his folks to at least 
 tell them of what the French Colonel said about him. 
 
 Bert W. Saunders. 
 
 A splendid scholar, a true friend, and a boy with 
 a mind that made his presence felt wherever he was. He 
 
 would have been a big man some day How we 
 
 used to struggle over Freshman mathematics together, 
 he trying to help me, as he did even,- one else needing 
 a hand. 
 
 John H. Mason, Jr. 
 
 The news deeply affected us. Clark lived with the offi- 
 cers, and all esteemed and liked him. He was ver\^ 
 couragous and an excellent companion, who knew how 
 
 to make himself of use It is a loss to the Groupe 
 
 that will be greatly felt. 
 
 Capt. Morel, 
 28th Regt. Art., 3d Grp. 
 [Brother of Capt. Maurice Morel of 2d Grp.] 
 
 I knew your brother ven,- well and could appreciate 
 his charming character as well as his fine moral qualities. 
 His death is a real loss to us, his comrades, as well as 
 to his men, whose confidence and respect he had won 
 by his courage and devotion. 
 
 B. de Guigne, 
 28th Art., 5th Bat., 2d Grp. 
 
 131 
 
All through he had lived, I know, as few men do here, 
 and kept an enthusiasm and moral integrity as keen as 
 ever. He was a wonderful chap. 
 
 James Todd. 
 
 ORDRE DE LA DIVISION NO. 120. 
 57eme Division. 
 
 Le Colonel Colin, Commandant Provisoirement la 57e 
 Division d'lnfanterie, cite a 1' ORDRE DE LA DI- 
 VISION, les militaires dont les noms suivent: 
 
 CLARK, COLEMAN, volontaire de la Section Sani- 
 taire No. 3 ; a fait preuve d'un devouement aux blesses, 
 et d'un courage digne de tout eloge ; en particulier devant 
 Verdun en juin, 1916, a proximite immediate, et sous le 
 feu continuel, de I'ennemi ; puis, dans les evacuations 
 difficiles du Bois-le-Pretre dans 1' ete 1916, et de Mon- 
 astir en decembre 1916 et Janvier 1917. 
 
 Janvier 20, 1917. 
 
 151e D. L 
 Artillerie. 
 
 ORDRE NO. 230 
 
 de I'Artillerie de la 151e Division 
 en date du 8 Aout 1918. 
 Le Lieut. Colonel Commandant 1' A. D./151 cite a 1' 
 ordre de 1' Artillerie Divisionaire les militaires dont les 
 noms suivent. 
 
 28e Regiment d' Artillerie de campagne. 
 CLARK, Coleman Telestin, Aspirant 5me Bie, volontaire 
 Americain, engage dans 1' Armee Francaise. Blesse 
 mortellemient a son poste, le 28 Mai, alors que sa 
 batterie faisait face a une attaque rapprochee. 
 
 132 
 
. A LA ynE-'AOIRE 
 
 yj'tfrr'///. ,?// , '/ rrtr/.'/f/f,'. 
 
 /■eri'/zi' f^' /a .'^a' 
 
 nORT POUR LA FRANCE 
 
 HO.AVnAGE DE LA NATION 
 
 c^^ 
 
 c^yy* 
 
 " ■■ --—■—-—■- ■-^■^--•"- - 
 
 i 
 
 m. 
 
 hSj 
 
 From the F'rench Government 1919. 
 
SALTER 
 
Chronology : Salter 
 
 Sept. 20, 1890— Born at Yonkers, N. Y. 
 
 1904-1905 — One year at school in Paris. 
 
 June, 1912 — Graduated, Yale College. 
 
 1917 — Made several applications for admission to Of- 
 ficers' Training Camps; refused on account of eyesight. 
 
 Feb'y 26, 1918 — Left for Camp Dix as member of 
 National Army; three months at Camp Dix. 
 
 May 19 — Sailed from New York. 
 
 May 31 — Landed at Liverpool. 
 
 June 1 — Arrived Folkstone. 
 
 June 2 — Arrived Calais; 2^^ months' training with 
 British (Pas-de-Calais). 
 
 Aug. 20-22 — By rail, across Northern France to Passa- 
 vant (Haute Saone), passing Amiens, Paris, Chateau- 
 Thierry, Epernay and Chalons; 1 week at Passavant. 
 
 Aug. 28-30 — March to Breuvannes; 5 days there. 
 
 Sept. 4-5 — March to Viocourt (near Chatenois) ; 5 
 days there, equipping for combat. 
 
 Sept. 10-12 — 75 miles, marching and by camion, to St. 
 Mihiel Salient, near Pont-a-Mousson. 
 
 Sept. 16 — Went into the lines; 2 weeks under shell 
 fire, in support. 
 
 Oct. 5 — March and by camion to Argonne Forest. 
 
 Oct. 15 — Went into the lines near Grand-Pre. 
 
 Oct. 18 — Went into front line. 
 
 Oct. 19 — Killed in attack on the Ferme des Graves. 
 Died on the field. His grave is No. 29, Sec. 1, Plot 1, 
 in the Argonne American cemetery, Romagne-Sous- 
 Montfaucon, (Meuse). 
 
 134 
 
Salter: Senior at Yale: 1912 
 
Index 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I At Camp Dix 136 
 
 II Going Over There 142 
 
 III Training With the British 145 
 
 IV Move From the Western to the Eastern 
 End of the Battle Line 156 
 
 V Fighting : St. Mihiel and the Argonne. . . 163 
 
 \T Addenda 171 
 
CAMP DIX. 
 
 Nov. II, iQjy* 
 I am glad you like it. You are doing a lot for the 
 family as well as for the country. People are beginning 
 to realize more and more over here that the war is the 
 biggest thing in the country today, and that those who 
 are in it are doing the biggest work that can be done. 
 I am sorrv' that I could not get in either of the training 
 camps, and would have willingly gone with the National 
 Army in the draft, for that matter. As it is, I may 
 get over there yet ; we are looking for the war to last 
 
 two or three years, any way We are certainly 
 
 proud of you and Coey. 
 
 Camp Dix, Feb. 2y, ipi8. 
 
 Well, here I am, almost a soldier. I haven't yet taken 
 any oath, but do as I'm told, just the same. Everything 
 has run off very smoothly, and I am getting along fine. 
 .... Have started a list of things to get the next time 
 I come home. The first is a whisk broom, and the second 
 some russet polish, as the first lesson in the army is per- 
 sonal appearance. 
 
 By the time we arrived at Camp Dix we had a four- 
 teen-car train. We stopped at Orange, East Orange, 
 Harrison, Newark, and Matawan, to pick up recruits. 
 There were brass bands at every station and jams of 
 people. All the locomotives gave us a whistle, too, all 
 
 *From a letter written from home to Carolus, his brother, 
 who, like Coleman, had volunteered in the American Field 
 Service, and was driving a camion on the French front with the 
 "Reserve Mallet." 
 
 136 
 
along the way. It was a fine send off; but it took a 
 Baptist dominie to put his foot in it. Evidently the old 
 parson had gotten himself all worked up, a great deal 
 more so than I or the rest of us. At any rate, he ended 
 by saying that he hoped to place wreaths over the graves 
 of heroes (gracious!). 
 
 Upon getting off the train we were lined up, bag and 
 
 baggage, and sent through the inoculation tent 
 
 While standing around, Eddie McMahon says, "Well, 
 boys, it looks as if they had plenty of men around here ; 
 let's go home." .... Dinner and breakfast were noth- 
 ing which you couldn't buy at any high class hotel in 
 New York, but we had pork and beans today for lunch, 
 so everything is lovely. 
 
 I am going to play this game of being a private for all 
 it is worth. Expect to open the old French grammar this 
 afternoon, after six years. 
 
 Just a word about the draft crowd. They are a rough 
 and ready bunch, but I have yet to hear the first murmur 
 of unreadiness to be in the army, desire to go home, or 
 discontent at anything. There is a fine happy spirit 
 everv'where. and not least with me. 
 
 Camp Dix, Mar. j, iqi8. 
 Two things have impressed me in the army life. One 
 is that we are not our own boss, do ever>'thing under 
 orders. I don't mind it so long as Germany is our ob- 
 jective, but as a steady diet it wouldn't suit me. The 
 other thing is, that a private has to wait in line ; waits in 
 line to go to mess three times a day; waits in line to 
 wash his combination mess kit after each meal; waits 
 in line to wash in the morning. I never waited so 
 
 much, so long, or so often in my life Ever}'- 
 
 thing is all right, however, waits, orders, and every- 
 thing else thrown in. I wouldn't want to be anywhere 
 but in the army now until the end of the war. 
 
 137 
 
Mar. i8, ipi8. 
 
 There doesn't seem to be any doubt but that I'll stay. 
 Last Wednesday I was mustered in regularly with the 
 rest. In fact, there hasn't been any hesitation on the 
 part of the authorities down here. The army seems to 
 have realized at last that this is no time for drawing 
 fine lines. Many of the bunch who came down with 
 me had previously been rejected for minor reasons : neu- 
 tral heart (whatever that means), flat foot, eyesight, 
 weight, etc 
 
 I am perfectly satisfied down here. I have lived in 
 better company, but after all we are all out to do the 
 same thing, and that consciousness is an elevation for 
 every one. About the commission part, I am interested 
 in learning a private's job, and feel the rest can take 
 care of itself. I would rather be in the ranks over in 
 France than an officer over here, anyway. 
 
 I came down here with the idea that I wasn't going 
 to smoke any more, but I find I am smoking a great 
 deal more instead. Everybody says the same thing. It 
 is a part of the army feeling, a feeling of being torn 
 loose from everything. The private has this feeling 
 particularly, because he does only what he is told to do. 
 and has nothing else on his mdnd. Another aspect of it is, 
 that it is the great adventure. No matter what one's 
 motives are as to the war, this careless, reckless feeling 
 is inseparable from the life. 
 
 My first impressions as to the morale of this army 
 continue. It is a good crowd; good spirits and friendli- 
 ness everywhere; if any one feels differently it does not 
 show and is never heard. Every one is willing to drill 
 
 and anxious to do it right I am getting from 8 to 
 
 9}i hours sleep every night, which I haven't done since I 
 was a baby. 
 
 13& 
 
Mar. 24, ipi8. 
 
 This week has been the most interesting so far. For 
 the past four days I have been going to the automatic 
 rifle school every morning. This does not mean that I 
 am going to be in a machine gun squad, as I may be 
 used later to instruct in the mechanism It is ex- 
 tremely interesting, as we go into the innermost work- 
 ings; so far it has been instruction in mechanics. We 
 have an Italian in my barracks who has a tenor voice. 
 I tried some songs over with him. It was a pleasure for 
 me, as he had the temperament and feeling of a person 
 who likes and appreciates what he is singing. He sang 
 O Sol Mio, Sweet Marie, and would have sung the 
 Pagliacci prelude if I could have played it — all in the 
 real Italian style. 
 
 April i^, ipi8. 
 
 It was good to hear that you had heard from Carolus. 
 I wrote a letter to him this week, also one to Coey. I 
 suggested that we all three use 11 Rue Scribe as a gen- 
 eral clearing house It will certainly be a great 
 
 occasion if we should happen to get together sometime 
 in Paris. 
 
 Yesterday was inspection day. The Major took one 
 look at our room, and said it was in no condition to in- 
 spect. This was as much as bawling out the captain, so 
 that captain got back on us by cancelling all passes for 
 
 two weeks Thanks to Harr\- Parker, I am going 
 
 to take up a course of instruction in scouting work — 
 it is called intelligence service, and may result in my being 
 detached from Co. A. Harry will make a regular soldier 
 out of me in time. I am anxious to take it up; it is an 
 honor to be selected. It will involve map making, and 
 my French may possibly be overhauled and put into 
 service. 
 
 139 
 
One rainy afternoon I rustled sacks of oats for the 
 311th's mules, and took good care to give those mules' 
 feet plenty of room to exercise in. Two of our men 
 were told to water some of the mules: they refused. 
 Yet they are willing to face the Boche, and I can under- 
 stand it perfectly. 
 
 April i8, ipiS. 
 
 I seem to have been definitely detached to take up this 
 
 intelligence work The work is very interfesting, 
 
 and will be also exciting. It consists of scouting, pa- 
 trolling, observing and sniping The other after- 
 noon was warm and clear : we went out a few miles re- 
 connoitering; noticing the roads, bridges, streams, hills, 
 woods, looking out for camp sites, which must be near 
 water, fuel, and shelter; looking for machine gun posi- 
 tions, battery sites, and good spots to entrench. It is 
 a scout's duty to note all of these things, keep covered 
 and at the same time in touch with the enemy. 
 
 It was great to get out without a coat; and there was 
 something romantic in it all, when I remembered that 
 the last time I was out in the country, I had a fishing- 
 rod over my shoulder. We even stopped along the road 
 to get some pop. 
 
 Apr. 22, 19 18. 
 
 Just a line before I go out with the Intelligence Sec- 
 tion on a scouting and patrolling practice this after- 
 noon In trench warfare most of this section's 
 
 duties will be obser^'ation, and a good part of the ob- 
 servation is checking up the artillery. This is regular 
 
 artillery work, and I will be glad to get into it 
 
 Two years ago the allied armies themselves had no dis- 
 tinct organization for this work. 
 
 They have nicknamed the division the Lightning 
 Division, which isn't so bad. 
 
 14U 
 
Camp Dix; Apr. 2j, 1918. 
 
 I know what Coey meant when he said home was 
 
 never far away. Down here, and it must be especially 
 
 so abroad, one looks at everything not connected with 
 
 the war, as from a peak; and all the little things fade 
 
 away, leaving home and friends outlined We 
 
 heard a rumor that this regiment will not move for a 
 couple of months. We have a full number of men, but 
 
 they do not know much about drilling I have been 
 
 somewhat disappointed in the spirit shown, but I be- 
 lieve the talk is only on the surface, and when it comes 
 to a show-down they will all be there The intel- 
 ligence work keeps me busy all day, and we are hav- 
 ing 3 classes a week. This week we have been drawing 
 maps, and locating points. 
 
 141 
 
II 
 
 GOING OVER THERE 
 
 April 30, ipi8. 
 
 The intelligence work still goes on, and takes up all 
 
 my time I am picking up French fast: woke up 
 
 the other night, and realized I had been thinking in it 
 while dreaming. Many words and phrases come back 
 with a certain familiarity, and often I can remember 
 our using them in France. 
 
 May 12, IQ18. 
 
 Preparations for something are going on down here 
 every day. Today we are having inspection for Equip- 
 ment C, foreign service Personally I am all 
 
 ready to go. The novelty is beginning to wear off the 
 life here. Also the dust is getting thicker and thicker. . 
 
 The big thing is to actually get in and help, where the 
 help is wanted. I have never lost sight of that for a 
 moment, and it helps a lot, when things don't go as 
 you would like to have them. I am very well satisfied, 
 and learning something new every day in line with my 
 job. When I get through I'll be able to do surveying 
 work, on a small scale. The other day we got out on 
 a hillside, and did sketching, estimating ranges to dif- 
 ferent targets. I never thought, when I last had drawing 
 in the Petit Lycee Condorcet, that I would ever be ac- 
 tually using it, and probably in France. 
 
 May 14, IQ18. 
 
 I feel now that the real thing is about to commence. 
 
 I am very glad to with this Co., as they are the ones I 
 
 142 
 
¥< I "^, 
 
 %: 
 
 T^ 
 
 %\ 
 
know. I realize how big a job it all is, and besides the 
 excitement, there is a lot of satisfaction in helping to 
 keep decency on the earth. 
 
 May i8, igi8. (diary) Friday. 
 
 Ever since Wednesday we were sure we were going 
 somewhere, probably this week. The Colonel made a 
 speech to the regiment after Retreat Wednesday, saying 
 we were going overseas ; to entrain Sunday morning. 
 The Colonel strikes me as being a quiet, thoughtful man, 
 very painstaking, and very much of a gentleman. From 
 then on we did little or no drilling. Intelligence school 
 
 was discontinued Heard two jolly good good-bye 
 
 talks at the Y. M. C. A. One was a talk by a Mr. 
 Wright, about "Have you got the Makings?" The end 
 of the other was "You're on your own." .... 
 
 We got aboard the train at about 12 midnight, and 
 pulled out at 5 a. m. I slept on a seat, and slept at 
 that. It was a sombre going out. No cheering crowd to 
 see us off ; cars dark when we left ; every one who could 
 sleep with a pack on, was asleep. We arrived at Ho- 
 boken 7 :30 a. m., transferred to a ferry-boat "Wash- 
 ington." and docked alongside the S. S. Nestor. By 
 noon Sunday we had moved out, and were going down 
 the river. My first impression of troop quarters was 
 awful; dirty, crowded. There were dirty heaps of 
 straw lying around, and the deck was greasy. We all 
 got nice new hammocks, however, which helped out a 
 lot. 
 
 *Folkstone, June i, ipi8. 
 Just had a M^onderful trip across old England. 
 
 *.'\I1 extracts from this point to the end are from letters. 
 
 143 
 
France, June 3, i(>i8. [near CcUais\. 
 1 will never forget our trip across England to France. 
 We slept but little, and ate cold, but it was interesting 
 all the way. I can hear distant artillery now, and 
 French airplanes are always buzzing overhead. I am 
 in fine health and spirits 
 
 144 
 
Ill 
 
 TRAINING WITH THE BRITISH 
 
 [Rety, near Marquise] June "j, ipi8. 
 
 We are now cantonnes in a beautiful section of the 
 country, the companies quartered each in a little farm. 
 The French people stay in the house, and we are every- 
 where else Since I left the States I have slept in 
 
 a hammock, on a mess table, in the sand, on the board 
 flooring of a tent, on hay, and now on the good old sod. 
 
 I believe I could sleep on a rock now The other 
 
 night we heard an air-raid on a near-by city [Calais] 
 
 Every time we are out on the road the kids come 
 
 around, asking for something, crackers and money prin- 
 cipally; they have a way of taking your hand, and in- 
 sisting on walking along with the column. It is mighty 
 hard to refuse sometimes ; you say, "Non," then they say, 
 "Mais, oui." 
 
 This is a beautiful region through here ; long, roll- 
 ing hills, with views of the countryside stretching out be- 
 fore you for miles ; old stone houses, with tile roofs ; 
 and here and there a stone chapel. Everything is either 
 old or very young. Women, boys, and old men work 
 in the fields. The farm-house where we are located is 
 kept by Belgian refugees who work it for the govern- 
 ment; barn built into the house; from the outside it is 
 hard to tell which part the cows and pigs live in. The 
 war is hard on pigs over here, as there is no garbage for 
 them ; they eat grass all day long, and it keeps them 
 busy. 
 
 The inns are filled with soldiers, English and Ameri- 
 can, but no French. Last night our regimental band 
 gave a concert in the village square. They played Sou- 
 
 145 
 
sa's "Stars and Stripes Forever," which sounded great; 
 "Darktown Strutter's Ball," which is the most popu- 
 lar rag in the army ; and ended with "God Save the 
 King," "The Marseillaise", and "Star Spangled Ban- 
 ner. Americans stand at attention while the first two 
 are played, and salute the third, always facing the mu- 
 sic. The whole was very impressive, especially as it 
 was done in that little square, with the chapel and grave- 
 yard on one side, and the two inns on the other. We 
 are here for our own country, but when you're here in 
 France, and see the women in mourning and the faded 
 light blue uniforms of the French soldiers, I feel that 
 we are here for France too. 
 
 [Selles] June ly, ipi8. 
 
 I have been sent to the signal school, and have been 
 
 here 3 days Since writing you last Sunday we 
 
 have moved up closer, perhaps 10 miles. I moved out 
 with another fellow [Tom Pollard] two days ahead of 
 the Co. on the baggage truck. We had a fine time. The 
 first night we went down to a little village "pour goiiter" ; 
 got into an ancient tavern, stone floor, big open fire- 
 place, big enough for one of us to sit in each corner, 
 with our backs against the tiles, and watch our eggs 
 and chips cook. That night we slept in the barn of 
 Jacques Leconte, a veteran of the war of 1870. He 
 was greatly pleased to find I could talk with him, and 
 he is always looking around for me now. He does 
 
 everything he can for the company He says 
 
 France will never give up. 
 
 All the non-coms are going to various schools under 
 British instructors — this signal school is one of them. 
 I am learning the Morse international code, and can 
 get about 4 words a minute so far. I don't know where 
 this will lead to, but at least it is learning something. 
 
 146 
 
I haven't heard anything about the inteUigence work 
 since we came over. 
 
 Living is rather rough. . . .Eating has been scarce, 
 but is getting better. I am eating a great deal less than 
 ever before, but don't mind it, and really feel fine. 
 
 June 27,, ipi8. 
 
 I am still in the signal school, and enjoy it \evy much. 
 Bill Anderson, a man named Norloff, and myself, are 
 
 together all the time Congenial company makes 
 
 all the difference in the world, in the ranks Our 
 
 school-house is in the orchard : every once in a while a 
 cow or a pig will come wandering into a group, and look 
 at us as if they wondered what we were doing in their 
 pasture 
 
 It is rather peculiar, but at home, before a map, and 
 with two papers a day, the fighting seems ever so much 
 nearer and more vivid than here, where we only see a 
 paper once or twice a week. Also by the head-lines of 
 the N. Y. papers, you see the seriousness of a Hun 
 drive, but by the Paris and London papers, you have to 
 look closely, and read the text, to know just what has 
 happened; and then there are so many side comments, 
 telling of small successes, that the real situation is lost. 
 You know now, where the line runs, better than L . . . 
 Haven't heard from Coey yet. 
 
 Some of these gorillas in the army are fine fighting 
 men, but it is a different proposition to be ordered 
 around by them, and live with them. That is the only 
 hard thing to stand. So far I haven't gone off the 
 handle, but it has been hard work. I talk it all over 
 with the others in the same fix as I am in, and we do 
 some quiet, heavy cursing on the side, and then laugh off 
 our luck. We are having a good time, even as buck pri- 
 vates. 
 
 147 
 
June JO, ipi8. 
 
 I actually feel rather ashamed at having so much 
 money. In the same shops I buy things, there may be 
 a French soldier who has seen two or more years' fight- 
 ing, and I get more money in one month than he in one 
 year; or a British soldier, who gets two francs a day 
 to my five. The Australians howiever, g«et $1.50 to 
 our $1.10 a day. There are a number of them around 
 here, who came from Gallipoli. 
 
 I am getting on very well with this signal work and 
 hope I can stay in it. It is a question of learning some- 
 thing from the beginning again, but it is a definite work 
 
 which I know I can do I realize, too, that this is 
 
 only training and the real test will only come on the 
 line, so I am going at it for all it is worth. 
 
 Here is that episode about the Major. The day we 
 left I was chosen to look after the Major's baggage dur- 
 ing the entrainment After we got over here he 
 
 called for me to act as his regular orderly (the English 
 call them servants) ; I asked him to relieve me, which 
 he did. Later the Colonel offered me the job, because 
 I can speak French, and I promptly turned it down. It 
 rather piqued me to be sized up for that kind of a job, 
 but I guess they were looking at the French side of it. 
 
 I wish I could tell you where we are, but I cannot. 
 We are out of any danger, and can only hear the 
 guns rumble. Americans have never been on the front 
 nearest to us.* A blimp hangs in the sky not far away, 
 and looks as if it were painted there, as in a picture. 
 
 July I J, ipi8. 
 I am still at the signal school, seemingly for an in- 
 definite time. The work is progressing, and I feel able 
 to take and receive messages, almost at the speed re- 
 
 *The Belgian front, Ypres, Armentieres, etc. 
 
 148 
 
quired at the front. It isn't so much a question of speed 
 as of accuracy in reading and sending the messages, and 
 a knowledge of the instruments in use, so as to be able 
 to repair them in emergencies, and to set them up. I 
 find that course in physics that I had in college is com- 
 ing in handy; the old A. B. degree does help out after 
 all. 
 
 [St. Pol]. July 20, ipi8. 
 
 We have moved once more, this time to within 15 
 miles of the front Yesterday was quite a day. 
 
 The signal school broke up the day before, so the four 
 men from A Co. went back home. Yesterday morning 
 we cleaned up all around, and got ready to move. Old 
 Jacques Leconte was quite affected to see us go. He 
 had been so helpful in every way, that the Co. took up 
 a collection, I heard, of about 80 francs. Just before 
 we left he installed himself on the kitchen stone step 
 with a pail of cider; I guess almost everybody had a 
 drink ; it tasted exactly like that hard cider we got at 
 Vitre. I will remember him; he was genuine; and I be- 
 lieve had a real feeling for us. 
 
 The day before, I saw him getting his hay in, with the 
 help of his big white horse, — the one which would let 
 only Madame put on the bridle — and his sister-in-law : 
 that is going some at 72 years of age 
 
 Some of the boys tried to kid themselves that we were 
 going to Boulogne, but it wasn't long before it was only 
 a question of looking out of the window, to be con- 
 vinced that our course lay toward the front. We had 
 never seen dugouts where we were staying, but pretty 
 soon we could see them all along, with the Tommies liv- 
 ing in them. At one point there were five observation 
 balloons in a line, and two squadrons of airplanes. To- 
 ward the end we came to a city, I should imagine about 
 the size of Plainfield. The station was in ruins, with 
 
 149 
 
here and there a rusty "Chocolat Menier" still on the 
 walls. The whole business section looked deserted, big 
 round holes in the brick walls, and tiles shaken off the 
 
 roofs everywhere We learned that there had been 
 
 a bombardment by artillery the night before. That is 
 the first rumor that always starts when we get to a new 
 place. At any rate the station was probably destroyed 
 in the March drive, as a calendar was hanging up, with 
 March still up. 
 
 The bunch was in unusually good spirits; yelled every 
 time we passed through a good-sized town, and espe- 
 cially when an American soldier was in sight. Those 
 we saw generally had a foolish grin on their faces ; any- 
 thing from America looks good to this crowd. I no- 
 ticed some Carnegie Steel Co. rails, and they also 
 looked friendly 
 
 July 2y, ipi8. 
 With regard to Coey. I had been thinking of making 
 some inquiries, so when you said that the last you had 
 heard was a letter from him dated May 22, I decided to 
 write his captain. I did this yesterday* The sig- 
 nal school has started again, so I am not drilling with 
 the Co. ; although they are not more than half a mile 
 from where I am. It looks now as if my job in the 
 army would definitely be along these lines. There are 
 
 four men to each company detailed to this work 
 
 In trench warfare it looks as if we would be installed 
 in the Co. hdqts. dugout : in open warfare we stay near 
 the captain, to do anything he says. 
 
 *His first news of Coleman's death came in a letter, written 
 from home July 3. That letter, with several others from home, 
 he had in his pocket on Oct. 19, in his last action. Early in 
 Nov. it was picked up on the battlefield near Grand-Pre by 
 Lieut. Harry G. Parrish, and returned by him to the family. 
 
 150 
 
July 2g, ipi8. 
 
 The nearer I get to the lines, the more does the whole 
 surrounding country seem to be wrapped up in it, and 
 hanging on it. We cannot appreciate how all-absorb- 
 ing it is. 
 
 In the first place one never gets away from the army ; 
 of course, around here, the American and especially the 
 British army. You walk along the streets, and in every 
 direction are soldiers, tents, mules or horses. Every 
 automobile that passes is a military car. In the air are 
 always airplanes or balloons. There seem to be no pas- 
 senger trains on the railroads ; all the freight cars are 
 filled with army stores, and the coaches with troops. 
 
 Every city I have been in has been half-deserted; very 
 few French people on the streets ; no delivery wagons ; 
 no hacks; stores closed up indefinitely; the estaminets 
 and little shops always filled with soldiers. The only 
 thing the people can talk about is the war. You go to 
 a farm-house to get milk or eggs, and see on the dresser 
 in the kitchen a picture of a French soldier. Many of 
 the people around here sleep in dugouts, and I guess 
 everybody who has the means has long since left. It 
 has been this way, everywhere I have been in France; 
 possibly because it looked this spring as if Calais and 
 Boulogne might be taken. 
 
 Our fellows say they wouldn't give 30 cents for the 
 whole country, but they have only seen the ground, not 
 the French people, or French life. It is just as if the 
 army had rented the whole of northern France, and the 
 French had moved out. This is one side of war be- 
 hind the lines, we didn't realize 
 
 I was made a first class private this month. 
 
 Aug. 4, ipi8. 
 
 I will write immediately to Stephen Galatti, to get 
 
 more details about Coey's death I was greatly re- 
 
 151 
 
lieved to know that Mother was all right. It is hard to 
 know that much of the sorrow of war is borne by those 
 who love you. My heart is all the more in this war, 
 now that Coey did everything he could. His example 
 
 is, and has been always, before me I'll be in it 
 
 till the end. 
 
 I recently read a French book "L'Abbe Constantin," 
 by Halevy, and came across a sentence which immedi- 
 ately put me in mind of that picture of Coey in his 
 French Officer's uniform. Here it is : C'etait un homme 
 duquel se lisaient ouvertement sur les traits, la droiture, 
 le courage, and la bonte." I can't help but compare him 
 
 in spirit with Lafayette I don't know exactly 
 
 what kind of work I'll actually be doing in the line, but 
 I'm satisfied to do almost anything, and let promotion 
 take care of itself. I have made some good friends who 
 are in the same way that I am, and we knock around 
 together a good deal 
 
 Yesterday there was an article in the paper which 
 stated that soldiers behind the lines would be allowed to 
 say where they were. I am at St. Pol, west of Arras ; 
 last month we were at Selles near Desvres, and came to 
 that town from Rety near Marquise 
 
 We and Coey made the great sacrifice, but it is not in 
 
 vain This is what war means. We can always 
 
 be thankful for what he was, and for how he lived. . . . 
 
 Aug. 10, ipi8. 
 Since writing you last week we have had a two days' 
 trip, very near the front. We started out Monday morn- 
 ing, with full packs and one cooked meal. I was with 
 the signal platoon of the Hdqts. Co., instead of witli 
 Co. A. The pack we now carry is not the first one we 
 left Dix under, but much lighter: with full ammunition 
 belt it weighs about 45 lbs. At first it rides well, and 
 gives no trouble, and it is only after 3 or 4 hours march- 
 
 152 
 
ing that it really begins to bother me. Then, with 5 to 
 10 minutes' rests every 40 minutes or so, it is not at all 
 unbearable. 
 
 At noon we fell out along the road to eat lunch, con- 
 sisting of cold beans, crackers, butter and jam. This 
 makes a fine meal, and is all you want to eat when 
 
 marching At one point near the end of the march, 
 
 we halted to let a tank crawl on to the road ahead of 
 us. At different points we passed long trains of motor 
 lorries, evidently lined up to make the trip to the front 
 after dark. 
 
 Finally pulled into our bivouac at 6 P. M. in the rain ; 
 pitched tents ; then I made a fire, which the whole pla- 
 toon appreciated.* Mess never tasted as good as it did 
 that night, almost in the dark, and in the drizzle. Every 
 army meal I have had since leaving Calais has been in 
 the open. 
 
 The next morning the signal platoon went into the 
 trenches, where the battalion had been standing to, the 
 previous night. I was in charge of A Company signal 
 light station. I got the light set up on the parados of 
 the trench, and got in touch with battalion hdqts., and 
 the Co. on my left. After that it was a question of 
 sitting there, waiting for anything that might come 
 through. The only message that did come, came at 
 about 6 P. M., and read, "Don't leave your station till 
 relieved." That meant another wait, till 10:45. Our 
 station got back to camp, in the dark, about 11:15, and 
 we managed to get a cup of coffee and hash. 
 
 The line of trenches we manned were about ten miles 
 back of the line, so of course we were in no danger. 
 We could hear everything though, and at night signal 
 lights and rockets were going all the time. Planes were 
 passing over us in groups of 4, 8, 10 and even more. 
 
 *From a little boy he was always very fond of making fires, in 
 the backyard, in the woods, everywhere. 
 
 153 
 
A Boche plane flew over us after we got in that night, 
 and must have dropped two bombs, though not near. 
 
 I am back with the Company, as the signal school has 
 disbanded. I will always look back to the days of the 
 school with pleasure. Bill Anderson, Norloff and my- 
 self stuck together, and had some mighty nice times. 
 
 The news in the paper is fine. The Allies have re- 
 gained all the ground where Coey was. 
 
 [Lathe-St. Quentin]. Aug. ly, ipi8. 
 
 We have moved again, and expect to move still again 
 tomorrow. We have been waiting to go into the sup- 
 port trenches for training purposes, but I am afraid 
 this new move has another end in view.* Every time 
 
 we move food gets meagre They have put a 
 
 guard over the town pump, on account of typhoid. . . . 
 As a further protection our quarters have been disin- 
 fected, and the typical French manure pile in the back 
 yard has been cleaned up. The Americans leave a 
 place looking better than they found it. 
 
 We were very lucky, in getting out of the other 
 place. Two or three nights after we left, the Boches 
 came over and dropped bombs on our old drill field in 
 the woods, and suspiciously near to the old battalion 
 and regimental hdqts. The place hadn't been raided 
 like that since the drive of last March. It looked like 
 underground work, but a little late. 
 
 As it is, we have plenty of excitement here, with 
 
 Jerry coming over regularly at 9:30 P. M For 
 
 the past two nights I have gone up to the anti-aircraft 
 battery up the road, and waited for something to 
 happen. The first night it was just as if the whole 
 
 *Orders had actually come for them to enter the lines, with 
 the British, near Arras ; but they were suddenly countermanded, 
 upon the adoption of the plan for an American army to make 
 the great drive, at St. Mihiel. 
 
 154 
 
performance had been planned beforehand. When we 
 got there, there was quite a crowd on hand, including 
 the Colonel. The English officers showed him the gun, 
 shot off a practice shot, lit cigarettes, and began to 
 chat, when the watch sighted a "bird." We were told 
 to sit down, and keep quiet. The officer blew a whistle, 
 and the English gini crew took positions on the run. 
 Then I heard the Boche, a deep reverberating drone. 
 We could not see him, but the hum got louder and 
 louder. The searchlights began to shoot up into the 
 sky, four of them. The officer gave the word, for 
 the kind of barrage, and the range. There was a 
 click in loading, some one yelled, and both guns let go 
 
 About 30 seconds afterward we heard the pops 
 
 from the sky. The plane wasn't hit, but he turned off. 
 We waited until another turned up, and the same per- 
 formance carried on. Then we went to bed, just as if 
 we had paid admission, and the show was all over. 
 
 It is fine to get so many letters from home. I re- 
 ceived 15 last week: from all the familv- 
 
 155 
 
IV 
 
 ON THE MOVE, FROM THE WESTERN END 
 OF THE BATTLE LINE WITH THE BRIT- 
 ISH TO THE EASTERN END WITH THE 
 AMERICANS. 
 
 [Passavant: Hante-Saone], Augitst 24, ipi8. 
 
 Since writing to you last week a good deal has hap- 
 pened, all in a peaceful way however. We moved again 
 as I thought. I am writing this under a tree on a hill- 
 side, some 3 or 4 hundred miles from the last place. 
 We must be about 50 miles from the front; no air- 
 raids, no noise of cannon. It is a fine high country- 
 side, nice-looking houses, with white walls and red 
 roofs, and you see nice people. About the only war- 
 like suggestion, is a ruined old town, with part of an 
 old wall, set on top of a little hill right in front of me. 
 It commands the fine road which runs past its base, 
 and at some tinte must have belonged to some chevalier 
 who paid homage to the Dukes of Burgundy.* 
 
 The ride down took two days, and they were the 
 most interesting that I have spent, although very un- 
 comfortable. We had 30 men living in one of those 
 little French freight cars, which have 2 wheels on each 
 side, and are marked "hommes 36, chevaux 8." It was 
 one time in my life, that I would have liked to have 
 been a horse. We slept right on the floor, and my ear 
 
 *Salter may have had in mind, in this reference, the castle 
 of La Roche-Pont, in Viollet-le-Duc's "Annals of a Fortress" : 
 the imaginary site of which the author placed in this very 
 region, Burgundy, on the upper Saone. Many an hour did the 
 little boys, snug in bed, listen to the reading of that fascinating 
 scientific, book on war ; when war, as their own future, was 
 farthest from their thoughts. 
 
 156 
 
was exactly over the wheel. It sounded exactly like 
 the engines of that boat we took from Washington to 
 Jamestown. Sometimes my feet would be on the bot- 
 tom, sometimes on the top of the pile. The first night 
 there were 76 legs in that car. When your leg went to 
 sleep, it was hard work finding it. In the morning we 
 got a dixie full of hot water from the engine, and 
 made tea. Also, at irregular intervals during the day, 
 we would open up bully beef and hard tack, and call 
 it a meal, with a little English jam. I didn't mind 
 it while it lasted, but was very glad to get ofif. 
 
 The scenery, however, made up for everything. We 
 entrained at 3 p. m., and at 10 a. m., of the next morn- 
 ing, I was looking on both sides for the church of 
 Montmartre [Paris], but couldn't see it on account of 
 the fog. The scenery along the road from 8 A. M. to 
 10 was something entirely different from anything this 
 crowd has ever seen in France. I am glad they know 
 that France is not all like the Pas de Calais section. 
 We would see respectably dressed people on the sta- 
 tion platforms, fine stone houses everywhere, neat gar- 
 dens and back yards right down to the railroad track ; 
 it was just like England, except there is a little more 
 color. I noticed that the majority of the women were 
 wearing black. We were waved to and cheered, not 
 only at every station, but by every last French man, 
 woman, or child, who saw the train go by. I saw many a 
 farmer, and many a woman working in the fields, stop 
 to look and wave. The only thing that was missing was 
 the flags. I have not seen more than two French flags 
 displayed, and during our journey only one American 
 flag, which a woman hung out of a 4th story window, 
 as we were nearing the city. I remember last year 
 how the crowds along Broadway cheered for France 
 and Jofifre. I am sure there is the same feeling over 
 here for us. It is built on the feeling Coey had, and 
 
 157 
 
it will last. As interesting as everything was in the 
 morning, for me it couldn't compare with the after- 
 noon. 
 
 The railroad took us straight along the line where 
 twice in this war, the French, with their backs to the 
 wall, have held, the last time with the Americans on 
 their left. It must have been within ten miles of where 
 Coey fell. 
 
 Some miles before we reached the real arena, we 
 passed the memorial with the word "Lusitania" worked 
 in flowers, and our flag. I believe Coey mentioned it. 
 Perhaps passed it, too. As we approached closer, shell 
 craters began to appear near the railroad, and I could 
 see barbed wire. Then we came to a station, whose 
 roof had been blown off, and several buildings near by 
 shot up. I also remember that at that point there was 
 a little graveyard, with little wooden crosses, and Ameri- 
 can flags over the graves. There we came into the line, 
 where, not two months ago, if our train had gone the 
 same way, I would have seen the Boches on one side of 
 the track — left ; and the French and Americans on my 
 right. I thought of father, and how much he would 
 have liked to take that ride with me. 
 
 It took us over three hours to cover the next 12 or 
 15 miles, and the train stopped every mile or so; so 
 that I have an exact picture of that whole battlefield, 
 just as it was then. They were then cleaning it up, but 
 there was a lot left. I guess the topography of every de- 
 cisive battle is about the same, and the tactics simple 
 This one was a great deal like Gettysburg, but grander. 
 On each side of the railroad runs a long range of hills, 
 a little higher than the Watchung mountains, and three 
 times as broad at the base, cultivated fields running in 
 many places clear to the top, very little wood. Every 
 mile or so there is a village perched up against the side, 
 or on the top, very few straggling houses between. You 
 
 158 
 
could easily count the villages from the train, looking 
 up the valley. This is the way it was laid out, looking 
 toward the German side. 
 
 Toward the French side it was very similar, 
 but the ground was rough, there was more wood, 
 less cultivation, not so many well-defined villages. 
 From summit to summit it seemed to be about three 
 miles. Straight through the centre, the river winds, 
 one hundred or so feet wide, perhaps more, the railroad 
 on the left bank, and 5 or 6 parallel roads, scattered. It 
 must have been the old story of frontal attack on in- 
 trenched positions, the Germans coming down their hill 
 and crossing the river, all under every known kind of 
 fire. I can't imagine a better defensive position than the 
 side the French held. From the top of the German hill 
 to the river is about one or two miles, hardly a tree to 
 obstruct the view, not even at the river bank, and those 
 cultivated fields extending almost to the top ; not a hillock 
 or mound in between. The only shelter I could see 
 would be in that succession of villages. Without ex- 
 ception, every one was shot to pieces ; you could see a 
 hole in every wall; the ruins looked like those pictures 
 of the old Aztec villages, published in the Nat. Geo- 
 graphic magazine. They must have been first shelled 
 by the Boches, then in turn by the French, from the other 
 side of the river. I noticed the usual example, in such a 
 scene, of poetic justice; squarely on top of the Boche 
 hill was still standing a monument closely resembling the 
 Statue of Liberty, the figure facing toward France. I 
 would give anything to go over the ground with some 
 one who had been there. 
 
 It seems to me, it must have been a good deal of a 
 running fight, for, while there were shell-holes every- 
 where, the ground was torn up, to indicate an extended 
 and continued barrage. The fact that the ground was 
 fought over only a few days might also account for 
 
 159 
 
this, and I guess the targets were men who could be seen. 
 It was just what you would expect a recent battlefield to 
 look like; trenches; barbed wire; hastily built dugouts, 
 burrowed into the railroad cut or covered with railroad 
 ties ; trees cut off half-way by shells ; holes everywhere, 
 with the wheat growing all around; places leveled off 
 in the railroad cut for g^n emplacements ; pontoons sunk 
 in mid-stream, others drawn up on the bank, shot full 
 of holes; shell-holes in the bed of the river; I saw a dead 
 horse or mule in mid-stream ; all the bridges destroyed 
 except the abutments ; Hun helmets here and there, ar- 
 ticles of clothing, unexploded shells, one or two rusty 
 machine guns. We brought a full magazine of a French 
 automatic rifle into our car, with the spring broken. 
 Here and there a grave marked with a small wooden 
 cross. On top of the Boche graves, generally a helmet or 
 cap, sometimes with a pair of shoes and a beer bottle. 
 All that part was just what you would expect, even to 
 the farmers who were cutting their wheat, and stepping 
 out when they came to a shell-hole. 
 
 The whole thing was impressive, and would be to 
 you all, as Coey was part of it, but probably his regi- 
 ment didn't come into action as far south. 
 
 For the past few days we have been resting up. We 
 seem to be a little ahead of our rations, so I have had 
 the job of buying up meat and vegetables around the 
 neighborhood. 
 
 Sept. I, ipi8. 
 We have moved again. Everybody said that place 
 we were in last week was too good to last. We were just 
 getting settled, had had one fine bath in the canal near by, 
 and I had already found two places where you could buy 
 eggs and potatoes, and have them cooked. In fact, with 
 three others, I had arranged to get a goose cooked up 
 with eggs and chips. We just managed to get in that 
 
 160 
 
meal ; it was fine. You buy things at different houses 
 and then have it cooked somewhere else. 
 
 One morning, while I was asleep, the order came to 
 pack up and join the Co. We packed extra stuff in 
 squad rolls, to go on the limbers, packed our pack, and 
 sat down, ready to move. We have become so used to 
 it now that is no event to move. That afternoon we 
 marched from 2 P. M. to 8 P. M.* and landed in the 
 first barracks we have seen since Camp Dix — simply 
 board bunks, on which you throw your slicker and blan- 
 kets. You can't understand what a godsend those bar- 
 racks seemed like. I slept like a top that night, with 
 my gas mask for a pillow. That night we had dinner 
 at nine o'clock. It was pitch-black, except for the flares 
 of the Co. kitchens, all ranged in a row. The fellows 
 lined up thick around the kitchens, clanking their mess 
 kits, and talking about food, and the length of the march, 
 where we were going the next day, wondering if there 
 wasn't a Y. M. C. A. with chocolate near by; all tired 
 out, but everybody feeling good at the prospect of hot 
 soup and clear coffee. Not far off you could hear the 
 horses stamping and drivers yelling. That's the army 
 after a day's march. 
 
 The next day was a terror; from 9 A. M. to 6 P. M. 
 with one hour out for lunch.* If we had only gone a 
 little faster, I wouldn't have minded it, but the column 
 just drooled along, so that you could hardly ever get into 
 a comfortable stride. About the only scenery I saw was 
 the hard white limestone French national highway. The 
 only times we would make up would be passing through 
 a village. If a girl was standing in a doorway, the yell- 
 ing would begin, and you'd hear "Oh ! La ! La !" from all 
 parts of the column. The girls are evidently used to it, 
 and always come back with smiles. 
 
 *From Passavant to Fresnes sur Apance, 20 km. 
 *From Fresnes sur Apance to Merrey: 31 km. 
 
 161 
 
We are again in barracks, still further from the line. 
 When we are going up nobody knows, but I would not 
 be surprised, whether we go in a few weeks, or hang 
 around for months. Training is getting tiresome. 
 
 Sept. 7, ipi8. 
 
 I have heard from Lieut. B. de Guigne of Coey's 
 regiment, and Dr. Georges Gendron, also of the same 
 
 regiment, and am enclosing their letters Don't let 
 
 anything discourage you, mother. You wouldn't want 
 me anj-where else but in France now. 
 
 We moved again, making a very hard night march from 
 9 P. M. to 5 A. M. and from 3 P. M. that same day to 
 9 P. M. that night.* I was all in at the end, but nowhere 
 near to the falling-out point. When you can do all that, 
 sleeping on the ground in between marches, and wake up 
 the next morning without being stiff and only moderately 
 tired, you are in good condition. The hard part of the 
 whole thing is that pack. 
 
 I can't tell when you'll get my next letter, as there 
 seems to be something in the wind. 
 
 *From Merrey to Viocourt, about 50 km. 
 
 162 
 
Salter: Company Signalman: April 1918. 
 
V 
 
 FIGHTING: ST. MIHIEL AND THE ARGONNE 
 
 [Vieville en Haye] Sept. i6, ipi8. 
 
 Just a line to let you know I am all right We 
 
 have been continually on the move since the last time I 
 wrote; night marches in the rain and mud, when it was 
 so dark we marched hand in hand. Once we got into 
 camp at 2 A. M., and not far away a heavy Allied bar- 
 rage just started. I distinctly remember dropping off 
 to sleep in the wet, with all that noise, just like a 
 thunderstorm in Westfield. 
 
 Another night I'll not forget was a ride from 4 P. M. 
 to 5 A. M. in a motor truck; eighteen men, with equip- 
 ment, all cramped in, and rain outside, everybody smok- 
 ing and singing. It got cold later, so we lighted up some 
 candles, closed up the canvas back of the truck and sat 
 there, eating what was left of our bread and salmon. 
 We have come to the stage where we are apt to be ahead 
 of the kitchen, and have to cook up stuff in our own 
 mess kits. 
 
 Army life in campaign is a rough affair. Just now we 
 are in among some recently captured Boche trenches, not 
 living in them, however. The dead have not all been 
 buried and you come across some gruesome sights. 
 
 The morale of our bunch is fine. Last night we lined 
 up on the road, while some troops marched by who had 
 just seen some fighting. They were certainly full of the 
 winning stuff, and said the only trouble was they couldn't 
 run as fast as the Germans. The crowd of course thinks 
 we are going to take Metz right away. No matter what 
 happens, the American victory has electrified every U. S. 
 soldier in France. 
 
 163 
 
[To C. R. C, who enlisted and was in an Officers' 
 Training Camp.] 
 
 Sept. ly, ipi8. 
 
 Can't tell you how glad I was to get your letter written 
 from Petersburg. You certainly are there, and I'll hand it 
 to you. I wish I had tried harder to get into one of 
 those O. T. S. before I was finally taken, but I took it 
 for granted that when they said "No more outsiders", it 
 
 meant just that As for myself, it begins to look 
 
 as though I would go through with O. D. buttons. Be- 
 lieve me, Nick, with Coey's life before me, I can willingly 
 go through driving a water-cart One of the hard- 
 est things about this is to know how those at home 
 worry. Coey's death is something we will never get 
 over. He had the real stuff. The doctor that was with 
 him near the end said he asked him to write home that 
 he was happy to die for France. I would give anything 
 if they could be spared any further suffering on account 
 of me. 
 
 We have just been through our first shell fire, not with- 
 out a few casualties. You hear the shell coming and 
 drop on your face and just wait for the next few trying 
 seconds. Honest, Nick, it is the hell they say it is. We 
 were under fire coming out of a woods ; and, crossing an 
 open field, I must have flopped at least fifteen times. 
 Take good care of your gas mask. The Hun mixes up 
 his shells, so that you are liable to be caught napping, as 
 
 we were I'm in a trench now, with some straw 
 
 in the bottom, and tar paper over the top With it 
 
 all I am feeling first rate and taking what comes. 
 
 [To G. L. A., who enlisted in the Canadian army.] 
 
 Sept. I/, ipi8. 
 
 I certainly appreciated what you said about poor old 
 
 Coey It certainly is as you say. For all who 
 
 164 
 
knew him his life will always be an inspiration ; and for 
 us in the war all the more so. I am glad to be the one 
 in our family to carry on his work. 
 
 I understand from Carolus that you have been shifted 
 
 to the Tanks Go to it, Mum, old boy! I hope 
 
 you get your commission out of it as well. Be sure and 
 learn how to get one of those babies out of the mud. I 
 recently saw a whole herd of them stuck alongside of the 
 road. I guess the dope on tanks is to keep them moving; 
 when they stop going forward they seem to start going 
 downward 
 
 You can read all your life about war, and shells, and 
 hardships, but one doesn't understand it until he has lived 
 it through. Our company is standing up firm, too. We 
 are ready to go anywhere we are sent, and that willingly. 
 Let me hear from you, old-timer, when you have time. 
 You must appreciate how letters bind you to home and 
 the old happy life. 
 
 [Bois des Grands Portions] Sept. 28, ipi8. 
 
 Since my last writing we have been in action; just 
 now we are resting up. You realize what has been going 
 on more afterwards than at the time. I feel the strain 
 now, and I guess every man in the company feels the 
 same. All I'll say is that it is a terrible business. I 
 know now what Coey went through both with his auto- 
 mobile and especially with his battery. It is hard to 
 appreciate the strain of being under shell fire without 
 having experienced it. I feel as if I would rather be in 
 front of all the bullets and bayonets of the German army 
 than under concentrated shell fire. I have a wholesome 
 respect for artillery fire. 
 
 We moved up at night of course and started to dig in, 
 each man digging a trench deep enough to make him 
 level with the ground. There were troops of ours ahead 
 of us, but we were constantly under observation. No 
 trench system and cut and dried trench warfare; 
 
 165 
 
this sector is all open fighting, and where we were even 
 the enemy line had not been definitely located. That night 
 I shivered in my slicker, hoping that it wouldn't rain. 
 The next day I covered my dugout with some corru- 
 gated iron, and while it rained I lit my old pipe and read 
 "The Strange Tale of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" Brabe 
 sent me. It is certainly a relief to have something to 
 read under such circumstances. One afternoon we started 
 to dig a trench near by our position, and were shelled 
 on our way home ; men all around me were gassed 
 enough to knock them out, but I got through it, losing a 
 pair of glasses in putting on my gas mask. When we 
 got to our hill the Boche started to send over high 
 explosive. 
 
 One ten-inch shell I saw explode among a group not 
 far from me and knock out two men. I will admit freely 
 I was scared. After some of the confusion had died 
 down and the shelling had nearly stopped, there was a 
 call for stretcher bearers. I jumped at the chance of 
 doing something and helped out. Some of the others 
 who helped told me they felt the same way. It is harder 
 to wait around, under conditions like that, than any- 
 thing else. If you can only get something to take your 
 m'ind off your own puny skin you can go through a lot 
 more. 
 
 After a week on the hill we went forward into the 
 real first line, with barbed wire in front, but again 
 nothing elaborate. It is characteristic of what our 
 army will do, that we don't spend any too much time 
 on trench systems around here, because we expect to go 
 ahead and keep going. I was the company signalman, 
 but all communication was by runner, so they didn't 
 use me at all. I was fortunate to have been in a dug- 
 out near the captain, but that particular spot was in- 
 cessantly shelled, and we had to keep down and keep 
 our ears open if we did go out. 
 
 166 
 
It wasn't pleasant living either, with no water for four 
 days, and two meals a day, sometimes one, and once 
 none at all. I feel fine now, however, with all those 
 letters from home, a new jacket on my back and the 
 news about Austria-Hungary. Cheer up; love to all. 
 
 Sept. so, ipi8. 
 
 I have just been through the most strenuous two weeks 
 of my life and may go up to the front again soon. [This 
 refers to the same experience and time as in letter of 
 Sept. 28. This written to E. G. C] It's an awful 
 strain, and I was pretty well all in when we got back a 
 ways out of range. When I think how long Coey was 
 in similar positions and how little he really said of that 
 side of it, I know he had courage. 
 
 I haven't seen a Boche yet, except dead ones, and 
 haven't gone over the top, but I'll take a chance on going 
 over any day in the week rather than lie in an open 
 trench and listen to high explosive shells bursting around 
 
 you. That waiting is a terrible game One night 
 
 we thought the Boche was coming over, so we stood to 
 all night, arm.ed to the teeth ; it was a relief to think 
 of fighting men and bullets rather than dodging shells. 
 
 Oct. 14, ipi8 [near Varennes]. 
 
 We are all excited over the peace news, and although 
 we are very near the line we wonder if we will go in 
 
 again Everybody wants it so much on the right 
 
 basis, it is hard to believe it near 
 
 For the past two weeks we have been hiking and living 
 in the woods.* The hikes are heart-breakers, as we now 
 carry overcoats. I wouldn't give it up for anything, 
 however. I can't get my shoulders used to a six-hour 
 drag with a 60-odd-pound load. Were it not for ten- 
 minute rests every hour I couldn't keep up. Have never 
 had foot trouble outside of an occasional blister 
 
 167 
 
I am clown to hard pan on what to carry; no changes 
 of anything but socks, and I wear both of them; one 
 blanket, and slicker, and overcoat. We are independent 
 of transports for anything but food and ammunition. If 
 you need anything real badly you can generally salvage it 
 almost anywhere. The woods in the American sector 
 near the lines are full of everything in the way of equip- 
 ment and ammunition. After the war all one would 
 
 need in France to make a fortune is a junk wagon 
 
 Have never received any of the eatables you all have 
 sent, but thanks just the same. 
 
 Oct. 14, ipi8. 
 A few days ago our regiment was encamped in the 
 woods about ten miles from the fighting, and it was 
 about noontime. We were lying around campfires, clean- 
 ing mess kits, gtuis, ammunition, shaving, and lying 
 around in general. All of a sudden down the path came 
 a real American girl with two other ladies with black 
 slickers and big waterproof vizors. They certainly looked 
 good to me. The whole regiment stared them out of 
 countenance all the way down the line. We see Ameri- 
 can women workers from time to time, and they look 
 good ; but to see an actual girl, in real civilian dress, 
 and just a bit of a self-conscious smile to show she is 
 not in the game, but only on a visit; it's like hot coffee 
 after an eight-hour hike. 
 
 [Philip E. Damon, a sergeant in the 23rd Engineers, 
 of Boone, Iowa, while walking over the battlefield of 
 Grand-Pre, some three weeks after Salter's death, 
 noticed a haversack, with helmet, rifle and gas mask 
 near-by, indicating the spot where a soldier had fallen. 
 
 *In another letter he says : We have dragged through town 
 after town, in the pitch dark, when every ray of light, through 
 a dawn blind, made me think of "Excelsior," only to emerge on 
 the other side into the open country again. 
 
 168 
 
Upon the haversack lay the letter of Oct. 14, 1918, from 
 which the above extract is taken. It was addressed to 
 Miss Virginia Merrill, and all ready to mail. A letter 
 to Salter from his miother also lay there. Searching in 
 the little near-by cemetery, Sergt. Damon found Salter's 
 new-made grave. Later, touched by the two letters, and 
 all the circumstances, he sent this letter to Miss Merrill, 
 with a sketch of the locality, and an appreciative letter 
 of his own.] 
 
 HIS LAST LETTER. 
 
 Oct. i8, ipi8 [Near Grand-Pre]. 
 I am enclosing a slip to put on a Christmas package 
 such as we sent to Carolus last year. Send some hard 
 candy and one or two handkerchiefs. Haven't time to 
 write much more, as the mail is going out. We hope the 
 war will be over soon — if the Boche is sincere in the 
 peace offers he makes. Love to all. Saullie. 
 
 On Oct. 15th the 78th Division relieved the 77th in 
 the lines, the 1st Battalion of the 311th Regiment being 
 placed in support at La Folie Ferme, and encountering a 
 hostile barrage in taking over the position. This is prob- 
 ably the place where he wrote his last letter, for on the 
 night of the 18th the 1st Battalion went into the front 
 line near the Aire river, where they received orders to 
 attack the next morning. This they did at 3 A. M., 
 Oct. 19th, Salter acting as signalman, ahead of the troops. 
 The attack was over an open, level field perhaps a mile 
 in width, and directed against certain wooded heights, 
 near the Ferme des Graves [Belle jujeunF]. 
 
 Salter had come within 200 yards of a peach orchard 
 on the slope, when they met with terrific machine gun 
 fire, and he was killed by a shot in the temple, about 
 
 169 
 
5 A. M., dying instantly. One of his companions in 
 Co. A saw him later that day with a bunch of rockets 
 still in his hand as he lay, and a smile on his face. He 
 went over the top but once. 
 
 The attack of the 19th failed at this point, and it 
 was not until Nov. 1st that the Americans came into 
 possession of this large field, "grand pre." The winning 
 of the heights beyond was the opening of the gateway to 
 Sedan. 
 
 170 
 
VI 
 
 Addenda 
 
Private Salter Storrs Clark, Jr., Co. A, 311th Infan- 
 try, was killed in action on the morning of Oct. 19, 1918, 
 during an attack on the German lines just east of Grand- 
 Pre. The attack was launched at 3 A. M., several hours 
 before daybreak. In the uncertain light it was impossi- 
 ble for us clearly to distinguish our objective, which 
 was the Bellejujeun farm, on the hill just north of 
 Grand-Pre. Lieut. Gibbons and his headquarters group, 
 to which Pvt. Clark as a signalman belonged, were in 
 the lead, investigating the ground and obstacles that lay 
 ahead of the troops. At the break of day we met terrific 
 resistance from machine gun fire from the hills beyond, 
 and Private Clark, along with other men from his com- 
 pany, was killed 
 
 I would like, as an officer of his company, to express 
 my sincere admiration for his character and my regret 
 at his death. I am sure that, under the trying conditions 
 of war, not only in battle, but also in the more common- 
 place, but equally fatiguing duties of the march and 
 camp, no one ever saw in Private Clark anything but a 
 brave soldier and cheerful, intelligent, clean-minded man. 
 
 Harry F. Bigler, 
 1st Lieut. Co. A, 311th Inf. 
 
 It is this same wonderful spirit that drew us to him 
 at the beginning, and it never left him. That's the big 
 thing that I cannot express, but it will never leave me. 
 Salter died a hero, and lived a hero. 
 
 Harry S. Parker, 
 Co. A, 311th Regt. 
 172 
 
It was on this date that Salter, Morton, and numer- 
 ous others were killed, although I believe they were offi- 
 cially reported as killed on Nov. 1, 1918. I went over 
 the top with the boys on that sad occasion, and while 
 most of the fellows who were with me were killed, I hap- 
 pened to be one of the lucky ones, and was able to crawl 
 back to our own lines after having been surrounded for 
 five days and six nights. Both Salter and Morton were 
 killed by machine gun fire. Salter was killed instantly, 
 and died with a smile on his face. 
 
 I shall remember Salter as one of the best and most 
 confidential friends I ever had. We slept together, sol- 
 diered together, went over the top together, and I talked 
 with him less than five minutes before his death. If he 
 had been my brother I would not have felt his death 
 more keenly, and I am honored to say that no better or 
 more courageous soldier ever tramped the battlefields of 
 France. 
 
 While walking along the road one night, weary, cold 
 and hungry, I became rather disgusted and felt morose. 
 He tried to cheer me up, and said that while he was as 
 sick as myself, he had come to the conclusion that it 
 didn't make so much difference when a man died, as how 
 he died, and that he knew of no other cause more noble 
 or more worthy to die for. 
 
 Herbert C. Randolph, 
 Co. A, 311th Regt. 
 
 A gentleman to the very last letter. 
 
 James T. Groff, 
 Co. A, 311th Regt. 
 173 
 
In his death all who knew him have made a great sac- 
 rifice for humanity and democracy. 
 
 Robert Malcolm Marsh. 
 
 He had one of the best minds I ever knew. I always 
 liked to see him look up through his glasses when he 
 was amused at something. 
 
 Prof. Hollon A. Farr. 
 
 174 
 
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