Return to “We Saved the Day”—the WWI Letters of William B. Moore, 6th Marine Regiment, 2nd Division, American Expeditionary Forces.
Letter 1
October 27, 1917
Dearest Mother,
This will be censored so I will have to omit a lot of interesting news which I might be able to tell otherwise. I’m sorry I couldn’t have written you a longer letter the morning we left Quantico but I didn’t have time for any more than I did write.
I am well and in the best of spirits. Perhaps I won’t be later on. Fred and I have a bet on as to who will get seasick first and I’m afraid he is apt to win as this is my first ocean trip. I’ll arrange to send you word when we reach the other side and remember as I said, that no news is good news.
There is no telling when this will reach you and remember that whether you hear from me regularly or not, I am taking care of myself and praying that I will return safely to you. Love to Papa and all the family. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 2
“Somewhere in France”
Dearest Mother,
Fred was able to get a cablegram off to Bubber yesterday and so perhaps at the time of this writing, you are aware of our safe arrival at our first destination. We have not yet reached our training camp, if such it is to be, and we might not for a couple of weeks.
I am as well as ever and happy. The trip over was not so bad. Evidently the weather was comparatively fine as very few of the passengers got sick as far as I could ascertain. I had no symptoms whatever. In fact, I think I must have put on weight as my appetite increased appreciably and I slept out on deck most of the nights. I did not have the satisfaction of seeing any German submarines but they were no doubt nearly on several occasions. The voyage was not without its moments of excitement, exclusive of submarines, the details of which I cannot divulge. You will probably imagine all sorts of things but the fact remains that I am safe in France.
We arrived in port yesterday morning and as yet we have not been allowed on shore. Fred usually gets ashore with our Major and that’s how he was able to send the cablegram which was very fortunate as I might not be able to send one myself for a week or so yet. Remember that no news is good news and if my letters are delayed in reaching you, don’t worry.
I read “Carry On” on the way over and I think it’s fine. I hope you have read it for I’m sure it will benefit you as much as it has me. The author expresses my sentiment exactly in almost every line and I want you to know that his point of view is mine and still will be when we get into the trenches. Do you remember what he said about the mother of a soldier? That she never worried but prayed? I hope you’re that way. I don’t exactly consider myself a soldier—merely a civilian in uniform, but the principle is there.
I never worry about the future. My only hope is that you are all there when I return, and if I don’t get back, I have the splendid satisfaction now of knowing that I will have done one really great thing at least, and although you “didn’t raise your boy to be a soldier,” down deep in your heart and in the hearts of all in the family, you would not dare had me done otherwise, nor would they. I know you are proud to say that one of your sons is in France and withal you would not swap places with Aunt M.
My only view of France has been from over the rail but from what I can see, it’s just as I always pictured. Little did I think this time last year that one year hence I would be in France [and] part of the melee which has shaken the whole world. My only thought was whether we would beat Yale or not, and if I can’t make a better officer than I did a footballer, I fear the Marines have picked a lemon.
Do you remember one of the young boys at Lake George the summer you were up there who was called “Moxie” by everybody at camp? His real name is George Latimer. He was coxswain of our crew one year. Well, I ran across him on board the “Von Steuben” soon after we got on board. He is only about 18 years old at the most. Soon after war was declared last April, his mother was burned to death in a hotel fire in San Francisco and being left alone in the world, he enlisted in the Navy. Another of the ship’s crew is a boy I knew at Clinton.
Just before we left Quantico, I took out a government insurance policy for $10,000. It was a good investment and the premiums will be paid out of my salary. I designated Papa as my first beneficiary, you as my second, and sister as the third. I requested that the policy be sent to Papa so perhaps he has already received it.
The letters I write to you will be for the whole family as I couldn’t write to all various members separately without a repetition of news and thoughts. I’ll write as often as I can and I want you to do the same. Tell everybody to write to me as letters will serve as something to look forward to and occasionally send over a consignment of eatables.
Your note address to me aboard the “Von Steuben” was received the day we got under way. One day later and it would not have reached me for many a day. I was surprised to receive it, but I was overjoyed to hear from you at that time. Must close now. I trust you are all well and not worrying about me. That’s the only thing I worry about—-that you are not happy over my being where I am. Pretty soon my allotments will start coming in and Papa will be reimbursed for all he has spent out for me. God bless you all. All my love, your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 3
November 18, 1917
Dearest Mother,
Just a few lines tonight as I’ve got to go to bed soon as we rise at 4:30 tomorrow morning to take our departure from the “Von Steuben.” I don’t know where we are bound for but I have an idea. There seems very little probability that we Marines will see any action soon. In fact, it’s apt to be a great deal longer than I expected. I don’t suppose that makes you feel sad but it does me. Now that I’m over here, I don’t want to do anything else.
Fred and I both are well and in excellent spirits. I wish I could write you everything I know but I can’t. The best I can do is write you as regularly as I can and let you know that I am well. I have received no mail from the U. S. as yet but it’s probably because we have not been in a position to receive any. Your letters from home will be like the first flowers in spring when I do get them so please write often and keep me posted on everything. Will close for tonight and write again when we reach our next stop. Devotedly, — Billy
Letter 4
November 22nd 1917
Dear Mama & Papa,
This is your anniversary and although I haven’t so much to write about, I am taking time out to let you know that I am thinking of you today more than ever.
We moved day before yesterday from the port of our arrival and arrived here at our camp last night in the dark. Consequently I have spent most of today looking around and getting settled. I am very favorably impressed with the camp as it is a great deal better than I had expected it would be. It is considered to be one of the best in France, I believe, and it compares very favorably with Quantico. I think we shall be here all winter. Although it is rather chilly now probably on account of the damp weather, I don’t think it will get much colder, if any, during the winter as out location doesn’t call for the coldest weather. All in all, the outlook is rather cheerful and I am quite contented.
I had a good view of France yesterday from the train. Naturally enough, there are a lot of quaint old places, the like of which are never seen in America, and the country was uniformly pretty. We were on the train for about thirty-two hours and I was greatly relieved when our journey was ended for our accommodations were not all that could be desired, but I suppose the best that present conditions in France warrants.
Christmas is just a month away and I certainly wish that I could just drop in at home for a few days and then come back. The three years previous to this, I spent pretty far away from home but I never realized that the fourth would find me fully this far away. I hope Christmas day finds you all well and happy and I trust that the thought of me over here adds joy to the day rather than worry.
Be sure and write often, all of you at home. My letters to Mama will have to do for the whole family on most occasions, but the more letters I receive from home the happier I’ll be. Some men in my battalion got mail today but I wasn’t one of the fortunate ones. Perhaps mine isn’t due yet. Must close now. Fred sends his love and mine is all for both of you this day. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 5
Somewhere in France
November 30th 1917
Dear Papa,
Your letter reached me yesterday and you can’t imagine how glad I was to hear from you. We had received word a couple of days before that a lot of mail had come in and so I was looking for a letter from home. I’m sorry to hear that Mama isn’t (or wasn’t, rather) well. I hope she is all right now and that her trouble was nothing more than a cold.
I have had a pretty bad one myself lately—-one which I absolutely could not avoid. Ever since we have been in France we have struck damp, rainy weather and it’s always cloudy. The sun doesn’t shine often enough to dry things out and consequently everybody seems to have caught cold. I am just about over mine now for which I am thankful for it was one of the worst I ever had.
I am living a life of comparative ease now and our camp is no where near the firing line so there is no cause for worry at home. If we stay here for the winter, it will be fairly pleasant for we are in comfortable quarters and there is a large French city only five miles distant.
About a week ago I received word that I am to be detached for service at the front. It is in the nature of observation & instruction and will probably last for five weeks. I have heard no more of it and I don’t know when we’re to start. There are about ten officers going altogether.
I was sorry to hear of [John Purroy] Mitchel’s defeat [as Mayor of New York City] though I suppose your candidate won. We got the word by wireless on board the Von Steuben. Of course I didn’t know much about the various platforms, but Mitchell’s attitude toward the war and preparedness always pleased me.
Yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, was a big one here in camp. There were football games & sports and a vaudeville show at night in the YMCA to say nothing of a big turkey dinner for all the men. I nearly ate myself to death. I had my dinner at noon and I was stupid for the rest of the day. I though of you all at home and I know you would have enjoyed seeing me eat. I suppose by the time you get this, it will be Christmas. I don’t know whether I’ll be here then or not, but wherever I am, I’ll be thinking of you all and the kids particularly. I hope they have Christmas trees and if it weren’t so much trouble to send packages back to the States, I would send them each a little something. However, you and Mama give them each a kiss for me—-Imogen, Harriet, Jack and Margaret. I suppose they’ll be so big I won’t recognize them when I get back.
My journey so far has been one great experience. I have learned a lot and seen a lot and the more I learn & see, the more convinced I am of the righteousness of our course. One gets such a better perspective of the whole thing over here. I certainly am glad I’m here. I am now and I know you all are proud to say you have a son in France whenever you can. It’s going to be a long war yet unless the Germans get tired of it.
You were right about my being in New York Harbor. We lay just inside the Narrows for five days and nobody could go ashore. It almost made me wild. By the time his letter reaches you, you probably will have received my first allotment of $50. As far as I can judge, the balance will be sufficient for me to live on so I will continue the allotments indefinitely and if there is another issue of Liberty Bonds, you can invest for me.
It is now almost too dark to write so I’ll have to close. I am looking forward to the Christmas box. My letters to anyone of the family will be for all. Tell Mama I will write to her in a few days. My love to all. Your devoted son, – Bill
Lt. W. B. Moore, 97th Co., 6th Regt., US Marines, American Exped. Forces
Letter 6
December 3rd, 1917
Dearest Mama,
There is a mail going out for the States in just a few minutes I have found so I’ll write a few hurried lines to let you know that I am well and happy. Papa’s letter came a few days ago and I am sorry to learn that you were sick. You are probably well by now and I hope so anyway.
I enjoyed Papa’s letters immensely as it was the first from home I had had in some time. I answered it a couple of days ago but I suppose it won’t reach its destination any sooner than this will.
Write often as I want a letter from somebody at home on every mail telling me how you all are. I must close now and get this letter in. Lots of love. Your devoted son, — Billy
Lt. W. B. Moore, 97th Co., 6th Regt. US Marines, A. E. F.
Letter 7
December 13, 1917
Dearest Mama,
Sister’s letter came day before yesterday and yours yesterday and I’ll answer both to you as I am very cramped for time nowadays. Ever since Papa’s letter came I have been a bit uneasy over your illness and you can imagine how relieved I was when sister’s letter came saying that you had just about recovered and especially so since a letter from you yourself has come. You can’t imagine how happy it makes me to receive mail from home. In fact, the last two days have been happy ones because a big shipment came in and I drew my share—-with the news that you were up and going to church again. Do take care of yourself, guard against colds and get a cook or housekeeper or help of some kind. I’ll continue my allotments after June and if necessary her wages can be paid out of that. There’s no use in you working hard and thereby weakening yourself.
I don’t see why my trunk hasn’t arrived yet. Perhaps it has by now. The morning we left Quantico I sent the trunk to the Depot Quartermaster there with the understanding that it would be sent to the address on it. Several other officers did the same, It’s either a custom or a privilege extended to officers leaving for foreign service. Anyway, a communication addressed to the Depot Quartermaster, Quantico, Va., with a description of the trunk ought to bring results. If I hadn’t been so rushed the morning we left, I could have taken it to Adams Express and played it a little safer. I don’t doubt, however, but that the trunk is now at home.
I am looking forward to the Christmas box and I hope the submarines don’t sink the boat that is carrying it. I tell you what you can do with Jim’s contribution. Get me a Marine Corps officer’s hat cord—-one of those red and gold affairs. You can get one at Horsternan’s, 18th Street & 4th Avenue or the Army & Navy Coop Store on 42nd Street. Also a pair of fleece lined kid (tan) gloves. That ought to take care of the $5. I’ll write and thank Jim at the first opportunity. I have already written to him extending Christmas greetings and to Juliette and Auntie also. Fred & I both received Christmas cards from Aunt Maud and Uncle Bob in this last mail which were appreciated.
I’m glad to know Bubber received the cable Fred sent. It was the best we could do as the office in the port in which we landed was very stingy in taking anything but official messages.
I enjoyed the clippings you sent in your letter. I certainly wish I could have seen that football game between the two training camps. I bet Frank Glick’s team won. WE have had some games here in camp between company teams. The only interesting items of news I could tell you are where we are and what we are doing but such are forbidden by censorship regulations. We are apt to move soon after Christmas but it isn’t certain.
I managed to get some news of America over here other than that contained in letters. We can get the Paris edition of the New York Herald in town and that’s the only way we can follow the progress of the war. I read the President’s Message to Congress and I consider it one of the finest things I have ever read. He sums the whole situation up concisely and the world ought to know our position in the war.
I am happy and well except for a slight cold. The weather is perfect for colds. Plenty of rain but I am taking care of my health the best I can. I changed from light to heavy underwear a couple of weeks ago and I think that’s the reason I caught the cold.
I am enclosing a piece of poetry written by one of the men in my company and I think there’s a bit of truth in it. I copied it while one of our officers was censoring the letter in which it was enclosed. Censoring, by the way, takes up a considerable portion of our time. It’s rather interesting to read other people’s love letters and messages home. Often times they are crude but the sincerity is right there.
Sister asked me to write what I needed. I could use some mistlets and helmets and heavy socks but I guess there will be some in my Christmas box. Mrs. Hill is sending mea Victrola and set of records through some relief agency. I received a note from the shore saying that such was being shipped to me, the gift of Mrs. John A. Hill. I hope it comes before Christmas for I meant to turn it over to my platoon for a Christmas present. More enjoyment will be derived from it thereby. Jean is sending me a camera, some books, and Saturday Evening Post, all without any solicitation on my part which is very nice.
All in all, now that I know you are well again, my Christmas bids fair to be a bright one, although I am many miles from home. I know you all are thinking of me and that gives me immeasurable cheer. Must close now as it’s late and I have run out of writeable news. My love to you all and a bushel for yourself. Please do take care of yourself and keep well. Your devoted don, — Billy
Lt. W. B. Moore, 97th Co., 6th Regt., US Marines, American Force.
Only a Volunteer
Why didn’t I wait to be drafted
And led to the train by a band
And put in my claim for exemption
Or didn’t hold up my hand?
Why didn’t I wait for a banquet?
Why didn’t I wait to be cheered?
For the drafted men get all the credit,
While I merely volunteered.
Nobody gave me a banquet
Nobody said a word
The puff of the engine, the grind of the wheels
Was all the goodbye I heard.
And perhaps in the future when
My little boys sits on my knee
And asks, “What did you do in this Great War?”
And his eyes look up to me
I will have to look back with a blush
In those eyes that so trustingly peer
And tell him with qualms of misgivings
“I was only a volunteer.”
Then off to the training camp
Hustling to be trained for the next half year
All in the shuffle forgotten
I was only a volunteer.
Letter 8
December 22nd 1917
Dearest Mama,
I have been trying to find time to write for the last five days but something has always come up to prevent it. I spend most of my spare moments censoring letters—-a job which has to be done promptly in justice to the men—-and the only time I have to write is at night and then it’s usually so cold that the only comfortable places are by the stove and in bed. Just now I have on all the clothes I can find and with the heat from my lantern I ought to be able to finish this tonight.
Fred showed me a letter he had received from Bubber with a P. S. asking why I hadn’t written home. I wrote on the boat coming over and after we hit port and at least once a week so far and as it takes longer for mail to travel back to the States than it does for it to come over here, the chances are that when Bubber wrote, my letters hadn’t arrived for I certainly have written. There is, of course, the possibility that mail going both ways may be lost. However, as long as we are here where we are now, I’ll write at least once a week and oftener if I can find time.
I am very happy nowadays coaching our regimental football team which is to play another regiment of Marines in our nearby city next Tuesday—-Christmas Day. The game is being written up in the French papers and there will no doubt be a large turnout of the populace there. That is my special duty now and as we practice both morning and afternoon, I am kept pretty busy. I am going to play myself and it feels like old times to get back into togs again. My friend Harry Legore of Yale is playing on the other team. I thought I had played my last game when our season ended last fall but it doesn’t seem that way. As long as we’re Americans, we’ll find time for recreation and sports even in the midst of arduous duties.
Since I wrote you last, I have enjoyed a trip to Paris. A week ago yesterday morning Fred called my attention to a notice in the New York Herald, Paris Edition, reminding all Princeton men of a Princeton dinner to be held in Paris on the following evening. I had seen an announcement in the Herald some time ago but I had forgotten all about it. I though it would be a good chance to see Paris and meet a good many of my friends and classmates so I put in for leave and got twelve hours more than I had asked for. My request was first approved by Major Evans and then I sent it to Bade Headquarters. That was Friday morning and it didn’t come back ok’d until six that night, just in time to allow me to rush into town and catch the night train for Paris. It was close work and all the time I was waiting for my request to come back. I had a strong hunch it would be disapproved but when it came back allowing me 12 hours more than I had asked for, I was tickled to death.
The sleeping accommodations on trains over here are very limited and so I had to sit up all night in a first class compartment with five Frenchmen. The train left at 10:20 p.m. and arrived in Paris about 8:20 the next morning, which was last Saturday. After I arrived I went immediately to the American University Union to find out who would be at the dinner and learned that lots of men I knew had sent in their acceptances. I spent the rest of the morning walking around, taking in the sights. I must have covered about six miles in all. After dinner I met the Princeton men in Y. M. C. A. and we took a subway ride out to some park where the Senate building is and went through the National Museum of Art nearby. The dinner was a huge success I thought. I met a good many men whom I had expected to see and some of my best friends in college were there. The dinner was devoid of the great amount of cheering and singing usually connected with such affairs, but there were some wonderful speeches instead. One by Paul Van Dyke and Herbert Adams Gibbons impressed me most. I certainly was proud of the fact that I am a Princeton man and I shall never forget that dinner. There were Princeton men there in British and French uniforms besides those in the uniform of the American Field Service (Ambulance) of the Red Cross and the YMCA and just plain civilians who are engaged in war work of some kind. There were about forty-five present in all and it was a strikingly representative bunch considering the various uniforms which I mentioned.
I spent Sunday morning sight seeing and Sunday afternoon I experienced one of the greatest disappointments of my life. I took dinner with some American aviators—Princeton men—and they asked me if I wanted to take a flight over Paris that afternoon. They were going to fly and wanted me to go along with them. I jumped at the chance and they gave me an aviator’s outfit and we got in a machine to go out to the field. It was a fifteen mile ride and on the way out it started to snow and by the time we reached the place it was snowing so hard that flying was out of the question. Now a flight over Paris may be enjoyed by very, very few and it was a chance in a life time, so naturally I was disappointed. But I doubt if you are.
I left Paris Monday morning and had an all day trip on the train. At one station we stopped at I saw some German prisoners who had evidently just recently been captured. I must say they were as nice a looking bunch (there were about five) as I ever expect to see. They weren’t over twenty. I have seen lots of P. G.’s (prisoners I’guerre) since I have been in France, but the ones I saw on my way from Paris were totally different from the usual run.
I met a very nice old couple on the train about two hours before the end of the journey. They were New Yorkers, having lived the past five years in France—a Mr. Taylor and his wife. I was standing in the passage way looking out the window when he came up and introduced himself and took me into his compartment and introduced me to his wife. They are as proud as peacocks over the American forces in France and we were all equally enthusiastic in our praise for President Wilson. They are going to send me some books and magazines for my men and they want me to get another leave and spend it with them at Biarritz where they are passing the winter. However, I’m afraid I won’t be able to do it. The French, by the way, have a very excellent system which might well be used in America. On all the railroads, soldiers are allowed to travel at one-fifth the regular fare. Of course French soldiers don’t get as much pay as we do, but it’s a mighty good idea and I wish it had been in effect in the States when I used to make my trips from Quantico to New York.
The weather we have been having lately is all that could be desired and quite a relief from all the rain we had until recently. The days are clear and crisp and not so very cold, but the thermometer drops at night. Day before yesterday was just like a day in May and we had to put the fire in the stove out. I hope it keeps this way for it’s very invigorating.
I have heard nothing of my Christmas box as yet but it will no doubt drift in by Christmas. Needless to say, I am looking forward to its arrival, not only for its contents, but also as [Coningsby] Dawson said in “Carry On,” because I know you packed it and tied it up. By the way, an officer in this shack received a letter from a friend of his in New York who said she met sister at Doctor Riley’s. Rather a coincidence, ain’t it?
Your next letter will probably mention receiving my first letter from this side. I hope so anyway. I have not changed my station as of yet and as I wrote Butler, we will all move together and within the next month, I think. We are by no means bad off here ad in that respect we are very fortunate in that we are spending the winter months fairly comfortably. The French firmly believe that the war cannot last more than six months longer and of course they look upon our coming as a God send—the beginning of a speedy end in fact. The French have played a greater, nobler part in this war than most people in America realize. We can see it over here.
But the preparations the Americans are making over here seem to indicate that we haven’t the confidence or optimism of the French or else we’re playing safe. I’m happy I’m over here and I know you are too. My hands and feet are so cold that I’ll have to close and visit the stove. Take care of yourself and don’t overwork yourself. My love to all. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 9
Somewhere in France
Christmas Day, 1917
Dearest Mother,
Although many, many miles away, I am thinking of you today. I hope these flowers will add just a little bit of happiness to the day and if they do, I shall be happy too. I am sure Christmas 1918 will find us all together again, and your “baby” none the worse for his enforced separation.”
Letter 10
December 26th
Dearest Mama,
I wanted to write to you yesterday but it was such a busy day around here that I didn’t get the chance. I spent the morning completing arrangements for our football game and doing various other little things to be done on Christmas morning. In the afternoon we had our football game in the stadium in Bordeaux followed by a big dinner in town for the team. I was so sore from the bumping I received in the game that I went to bed as soon as I got back to camp. The game was the big event of the day and a large crowd of both Marines and French attended but we lost by the score of 26–0. I had pulled our team together in six days and considering the fact that the other team had been playing together ever since they had been in France, we made a good showing—better than the score indicated.
Although I am still and sore today, I enjoyed every minute of the game and it proved to me that I am in good condition for I didn’t get half as tired as I thought I would be.
I had hoped that my box from home would arrive on Christmas Day but it didn’t turn up, nor did any other articles which were sent to me. I did get one box from Santa Claus. It was from Vantine’s and there was no card or anything with it to show who sent it. It contained eatables—jam, candy, etc. Also a pocket hand warmer which ought to come in handy sometime. All of the stuff was of Japanese manufacture and tasted mighty good. If you know who sent it, thank the person for me. Your box ought to come any day as you surely mailed it in plenty of time. All of the officers in this building have boxes coming to them which they haven’t received yet and I guess the delay is caused by the enormous amount of mail as I haven’t heard of any ships being sunk recently that might have had mail aboard. Fred is beginning to think that Aunt Maggies fruit cake has come and that I have eaten it all myself.
I hope you got my flowers yesterday; if you didn’t, let me know. I haven’t received a letter from home in two weeks but I know you have written and that the delay is in the mail. The habits of the mail are very aggravating as a matter of fact. One day I receive a letter posted November 20th and a week later one dated November 1st. But I am getting used to that sort of thing now. Let me know if my trunk has reached you yet. If it hasn’t, be sure and communicate with the Depot Quartermaster, Quantico, Va. and describe the trunk.
Will close for now as I can think of nothing else to write which would pass the censor. I thought of you all at home yesterday and tried to imagine what you were doing and pictured myself there. This makes my fourth Christmas in a row away from home but let’s hope that the succession will end this year and that Christmas 1918 will find us all together again. Take care of yourself and give my love to all at home. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 11
December 30th 1917
I was literally swamped with mail yesterday, ten letters, not including the ones from Imogen & Harriet. I was beginning to feel peeved at Uncle Sam for not keeping me supplied with news from home, but after yesterday’s bunch, I am very well satisfied. Two letters from you, dated December 1st and 11th, and one from sister dated the 9th. You can’t imagine how happy it made us feel to get those letters and to know that you are up and on your feet again. I don’t see why my first letters from France didn’t reach you as soon as those others you spoke of. I think my Captain was censoring my letters then and he might have held it up for I remember he wasn’t prompt in getting our officer’s mail off. It’s funny that somebody in the church should have heard from a nurse on board the ship; that near death episode she spoke of was the collision I think I wrote you about. It was rather exciting for aw while when we didn’t know just exactly what had happened but there never was any danger of the ship’s sinking and it’s just like one of those nurses to speak of it in such a calamitous way. What is her name and whom does she know in the church?
I know the absence of detail is tantalizing but we’ve got to live up to censorship regulations whether they are practicable or not. Perhaps some mention of the collision has appeared in the papers. It was published over here but perhaps its publication will be held up in the States. It’s awfully hard to find news to report when the only news we have to tell is what we are doing and where we are and where we are apt to go next. The mention of those things is strictly forbidden so you all will have to read between the lines and use your imagination in that respect. You no doubt have a very good idea where I am. We have been in no danger from the Huns since we landed in port and the two months so far have been spent in very comfortable circumstances besides, a lot better than any of us had expected. We wouldn’t be surprised if we moved somewhere else worse so there you have a composite history of my life since I left America, punctuated of course by my trip to Paris of which I have told you.
I doubt if anybody will ever see the contents of this letter until it reaches you but there are restrictions we are supposed to observe and as we are left more or less on our honor as to what we put in our letters, it doesn’t seem quite right that I should put some things in my letters and then turn around and cut them out of the letters I censor. Censoring by the way takes up a large part of my time and its really an education, The same men always write the same love letters to the same girls back home and it’s easy to tell when a man writes to his mother, whether he’s ever been away from home any length of time before or any great distance. There’s one man in my platoon who writes to his wife in Chicago and I like to read his letters for he’s so dead sure that the war is going to end in two or three months. His optimism is contagious. Another man usually writes to his wife in Michigan and a girl in Baltimore at the one sitting and both letters come into me together. The contents of both are substantially the same—that he misses them both and hopes they’ll be true to him while he’s away, not omitting the request, however, for eats and tobacco in each. Although under the present circumstances I have not been in touch with my men as constantly as I was in Quantico, I have learned much more about them through their letters.
Christmas boxes have ben coming in now for almost a week but my quota hasn’t been completed yet. Aunt Maggie’s fruit cake came today; that and the box from Vantine’s which I mentioned in my last letter have been my share so far. I haven’t touched the cake yet as I am waiting for Fred to come to give him his share. He is in town. It looks mighty good and I shall write and thank Aunt Maggie at the first opportunity. I suppose what you all and the Hill’s sent will be coming in some one of these days and I don’t wonder there’s some delay when I consider the enormous amount of mail which was shipped over here for Christmas. All the officers in this building have received boxes and I am full up to the next all the time with candy, cake, etc. I wish we could practice conservation for Christmas comes only once a year.
Fred, by the way, is a 1st Lieutenant now and draws back pay as such from August 28th about $100. He was in my class and as the men were ranked according to age, he was No. 1 and I am 184. About fifty were promoted and I’m now down around 130 somewhere with no immediate prospects of promotion. Among line officers, there’s practically no differences between the duties of 1st ad 2nd Lieutenants and I’m perfectly satisfied where I am as I never bother about rank, but wouldn’t mind the increase in pay. Fred deserves the promotion on merit anyway.
I certainly was surprised to hear about Travis. I’ll reserve my opinion of the Naval Reserve. That organization is divided into classes, one of which, Class IV I think, involves duty in the U. S. only. Men who enlist in that class do so for duty in the U. S. and according to law cannot be detailed for foreign expeditionary duty. It’s commonly known as the “Slacker’s Retreat” and I’m wondering if Travis chose that bullet proof job rather than run the chance of being drafted. He deserves all sorts of credit for enlisting, notwithstanding. I realize just how Jim feels and I know he’s be in the service now if it weren’t for Anne & the boy, job or no job. I know he’s be happy where the work is hardest and the fighting hottest and if he does have to go in it ought to be in the Engineers with the rank of Captain at least, and I know that you and Papa and the whole family would feel about three times as proud as you are now. I say three times for I didn’t have a career to give up temporarily or a wife and child to leave behind.
The letters from Imogen & Harriet almost brought tears to my eyes—Harriet’s particularly. I wish I could see them now and when I can find a few more spare moments, I’ll write them a letter and send them each a little something. At times I experience an awful longing to be back home, but I am well and happy and satisfied to be over here and I don’t want to go back to America right now. That’s no reflection on my love for home, but I consider myself so fortunate to be one of the first (comparatively speaking) over here that I want to stay right through to the finish—as long, anyway, as I’m able to perform a man’s duty. For a while the thought that you might be worrying about me bothered me but I know as the days pass by that you’ll see the whole thing in the same light in which it appears to me—that I am doing my duty toward God and my country; that I hope He spares me to return home. But if He will otherwise, the sacrifice could not be for a nobler cause and in that thought I am happy now. It doesn’t matter when a man dies, but how—and that little testament you gave me says, “He who seeks to save his life shall lose it.”
I received a very fine letter from Dr. Idleman yesterday. It was greatly appreciated and I shall answer it soon. My letters to you will be for the whole family for I don’t have time to write to everybody. Sister made me a fine letter but if I attempted an answer, it would be a repetition of what I have written. However, I’ll appreciate letters from all the family. Tell Ida I am thinking of her although I haven’t mentioned her in any of my letters. I have written to Jim and Juliette and Bubber and I answer sister’s letters in my letters to you. I am glad Papa comes home early every Saturday. I have appreciated his letters. Let me know if he gets my allotments regularly and also my insurance policy.
I don’t mind your sending copies of my letters to carious members of the family but please let that be the limit. Tomorrow night will be New Years Eve and I will pass the old year out as Officer of the Day which means that I will be on guard and won’t be able to attend a big dinner in town given by all the officers in this section in honor of Brig. Gen. Scott, commanding officer of the section. It seems singular that of all the officers in my Battalion, this job of being sponsor for the order of the camp should fall to me tomorrow; that when the old year passes out, my year—the year that gives its numerals to my class, I will be strictly on duty while others are enjoying a banquet & it’s an insignificant incident, but the analogy to be drawn from it is clear—that the year has been one of sacrifice for duty and that I shall end it in the spirit to which it has given with.
My love to all at home and a bushel each for you and Papa. Your devoted son, — Billy
Lieut. W. B. More. 97th Co. 6th Regt. U. S. Marines, American Force
Spared & Shared 23 