Return to “We Saved the Day”—the WWI Letters of William B. Moore, 6th Marine Regiment, 2nd Division, American Expeditionary Forces.
Letter 12
January 4th 1918
Dearest Mama,
There is quite a stir in this house today as my company and another one are moving tomorrow and everybody is packing up, Having learned from experience that we never move until we’re actually underway, I’m going to postpone what packing I have to do until tonight and utilize a few spare moments this morning in writing to you. We are not supposed to say much about the movement of troops in our letters so as usual, much detail will be lacking. For over a week there have been various rumors of moving all of which have crystallized now into an indefinite official order that the two companies are to move tomorrow. I know where we’re going but of course I can’t say. It’s really the beginning of what we came over here for and I’m glad to be moving although conditions won’t be quite as comfortable where we are going as they are here. There won’t be any immediate danger for a few months anyway so I hope you won’t worry.
We had to have some pictures taken recently to paste in our identification tags and I got an extra one which I am sending to you. It shows my mustache rather indistinctly, which was only four days old at the time, but it’s lots better now. I did it on a bet with another officer but now that it has turned out pretty good, I think I’ll leave it on for a while. The pictures aren’t so bad considering the fact that I paid only about 10 cents apiece for them. I had intended to have a few more made to send to various members of the family but I won’t have the chance now that I’m leaving.
My Christmas boxes haven’t come and I’m beginning to fear that they have been lost. However, they might come after I leave so I’m going to ask Fred to look after them for me if they come as he is not moving till later with the rest of the Battalion. On the other hand, they might have been sent ahead and are waiting for me at our next stop.
I notice continued peace rumors of German source in the papers but they are all fakes to strengthen the morale of the German troops for a big drive which they are undoubtedly soon to launch. Both sides are going to lose heavily but the drive will be repulsed and it will be the last gasp of the Huns. The minute we begin the offensive will mark the beginning of the end and it will be a comparatively speedy one, I think. Without doubt the internal conditions in Germany are critical because everything possible is being done for the troops to restore their waning enthusiasm at the sacrifice of domestic tranquility.
Ever since Christmas I have had things pretty easy and the only real job I have had is censoring. Increased activity will be acceptable and that’s why I’m happy to be moving. The censoring though grows funnier every day. Yesterday I did quite a bit of it and I was amused most of the time. One Marine wrote to his best girl and apologized for not sending her a Christmas present; said he didn’t want to take the chance of its being stolen as it had to pass through the censor first. One wrote to his mother and said, “We have a pretty good bunch in our platoon and one of the finest officers anyone would ever want to meet.” It’s the first time anyone has said anything like that and that’s why I mention it.
My orderly has just brought my “chow” in so I’ll close and pounce upon it while it’s hot. I have written to Aunt Maggie thanking her (for Fred also) for the fruit cake. [remainder of letter missing]
Letter 13
Somewhere else in France
January 12th 1918
Dearest Mama
I think I wrote you a little over a week ago that we were going to change our location but in case I omitted mention of the fact in my last letter, I’ll say now that I am no longer in the camp where I was ever since my arrival in France. We moved a good many miles and are now in a little village the likes of which I have never seen before. Of course the censorship regulations prohibit the mention of the name of the place but in this instance I am spared the temptation to disregard such prohibitions because the name of this collection of little old houses does not appear on the map and I don’t believe the inhabitants themselves know it, so if I told you it would mean nothing t you I’m sure. We were two nights and two days on the train coming from Bordeaux and we arrived here in the choicest bit of winter I have ever seen. That is, we detrained at a town six miles from here and hiked to this place in a driving snow with about a foot of it underfoot. We are that far from the nearest railroad. There are no stores in this town and all the houses have the appearance of being built at least three centuries ago. A door from the parlor leads into the stable and the inevitable manure pile is just outside the front door. The whole town is absolutely unique in appearance and at this time of the year seems almost desolate. The surrounding country is hilly and no doubt isa very pretty in the spring or summer but the winter—and winter it is—isn’t very attractive. It has snowed almost continually since we have been here and so far the sun has shown its face but once and that was for a while this morning.
From the ongoing description of my surroundings you might judge that I am having a poor time of it but such is not the case. I am wearing some good, heavy woolen underwear and with my overcoat and all sorts of rain coats, I am secure against cold and storm. I have a pair of waterproof, high-topped leather boots in addition to a pair of rubber ones so as far as outfit goes, I am extremely well provided for. But that isn’t all. I have found a mother in France to look after my comforts. You see, I am billeted in a house here in town and luckily I just happened to strike a good one—a real home, or at least it seems so under the circumstances. My room is on the second floor of the house (there are only two stories) and overlook the street. It’s about the size of sister’s room at 617 and has a marvelous French bed, an excellent stove, a rug, a couple of tables, washstands, a large cushioned chair, and several smaller ones. But the bed is my particular pride. It has a huge canopy over it and is about four feet above the floor level. When I crawl in at night, I just sink and once I am in, I can hardly see over the side. I am not in the room so very much during the daytime but when I come in at night, the stove is going full blast and it’s just as warm as toast. About eight o’clock the Madame come in and places some sort of hot brick or something all bound up in woolen in my bed, looks at the fire, sand bids me “Bon Soir!” I tell her what time I want to be called in the morning and she has hot water for me to wash with when she knocks on my door in the morning, always on the minute. She does my washing and mending and I pay her 5 francs (about 90 cents) a week for her kindness, laundry of course extra.
As far as I can ascertain, there are four in the household—a young girl of about eighteen, her father and mother (the Madame) and a very old lady, the grandmother, I presume. They are industrious people and are always doing something during the day but at night when I come in they are always seated in a semi-circle around an enormous old stove at one end of the big room downstairs, the women sewing and the old gent smoking his pipe. A more homelike scene could hardly be found anywhere for the room which is dining room, kitchen, and living room combined is always spic and span and at night is brightly illuminated by the open fire. Tonight for the first time, I joined their family circle around the fire and sat with them for half an hour laboriously talking with what little French I know and trying to understand what they said. They found it very amusing and so did I. I have a French grammar which comes in very handy and with some very kind and patient victims to practice on in the evening by the fire, I ought to learn to speak the language in time. It’s really the best way and that’s one reason why I have held on to this room, in addition to the reasons already enumerated. I had my choice between this and the officers’ barracks but having lived here for five days now, I know I’ll like it. These French people—farmers or peasants I suppose they are—are very nice and the atmosphere of the place is wholesome and home-like, a change from the barracks in which I have lived for over five months now. I don’t pay any rent for the room of course. It’s a billet and as such is paid for by our government through the French authorities. Part of the troops in this town are billeted and some are in barracks.
I often stop and think what peculiar circumstances these are in which I am living way off here in this little French village in the dead of a real winter—an adopted member of a peaceful household, to leave them after a time, just as suddenly as I came upon them—a total stranger from another part of the world. This time is out of joint as Shakespeare has put it.
Fred came in today. He was busy getting settled today and I don’t know just where in town he is located. My company was one of the first to get here and today has been the first that has not found me just hopping around all day. We are, even now, in no danger. We are no doubt here for the rest of the winter for some useful and interesting training although we are always in the dark as to just what the situation is. I can see a semblance of organization and mobilization up here but it seems that we are biding our time, standing by to deal a knockout blow to Germany in her weakest hour.
I got hold of a Paris edition of the New York Herald yesterday and read President Wilson’s Message to Congress, defining our arms and peace terms, and I am curiously waiting now to see what response it brings from Germany. I agree with everybody else that the President’s latest speech is his greatest and it’s something that is very timely. Our part in the war begins to assume shape and form with that message. If she takes the message seriously, it’s a sign that she is beaten. If she treats it sarcastically as another one of the President’s bombastic utterances, the Marines will just have to go in and get the Kaiser—that’s all. The President is a master diplomat. Germany will have to show her hand. Russia will be in [ ] favorably and the Allies are heartened. The message was the greatest move we have made in the war yet.
It’s getting late and I’ll have to close. My Christmas boxes haven’t come yet and I suppose they delay will be increased now that we have moved. All of the Christmas mail seems to be help up somewhere and it seems a shame. Things that cause a certain amount of dissatisfaction affect our men and officers alike. My experience so far has shown that it’s the little things like that that cause complaints. Our men will work hard all day, manual labor otherwise in any sort of weather, and will be perfectly happy, but if the coffee is cold at “chow” time or the beans are burnt, then there’s a mighty howl.
I’m just as happy as ever and I never felt better in my life. I know I have gained since I have been over here. In almost every letter I censor, the men say they have gained anywhere from five to twenty pounds in weight and some of them show it. I know you are not worrying about me any more. That never did do any good. If you’re not really truly proud and happy over the fact that I am over here, then you are a slacker. Do take care of yourself and make Papa [write].
Letter 14
January 17th 1918
Dearest Mama,
My life in this place is so much the same each day that there is nothing new to write about but I shall pen a few lines tonight to let you know that I am still well and just as happy as ever. I am kept fairly busy during the day but I have my evenings all to myself in my “billet.” My room, which I described to you in my last letter, is very cozy and comfortable and with my stove going full blast, I enjoy my evenings immensely, reading, studying, writing and spending my time all by myself. I usually turn in about nine o’clock and sleep like a log in my French bed until Madame calls me at 6:45. I hope you received my last letter for in it I told you all about this place, the people who live in this house, etc. And when you get my letters from here, you will perhaps find them more “interesting” if you are able to picture in a manner my surroundings. Although there is no excitement here, pleasurable or otherwise, I generally enjoy this life and that even despite the weather which as a rule is horrible. I don’t know how much I have gained in weight but I know I am getting fat. Fred told me so this afternoon and I have positive proof when I put on my uniforms which are daily growing tighter. I think my mustache makes me look stouter in the face.
We hear rumors to the effect that the Marines over here are soon to wear army uniforms and if that’s the case, I’m glad I didn’t lay in a large supply of our green uniforms. All I had when I came over was two pair of britches and one blouse. The latter is still in good shape although the neck is growing smaller and I have just about worn through one pair of britches, but what I have on hand is enough to last me till spring when we will no doubt put our khaki back on. If we switch to the army uniform, it will mean more money out of my pocket but uniforms can be secured a little more cheaply over here than in the States. One decided advantage offered by this out of the way place is that there is no way to spend money and that being the case, I’ll be able to fare even with my allotments taken out. By the end of this month, I shall have enough money to last me for a couple of months longer in this part of the country and I won’t draw anymore until that runs out. If I can find a way of sending money home safely, I shall draw each months pay and do that, say about one month’s pay out of three and after June, if I am still here, I shall increase my allotments. Maybe by then I’ll be a 1st Lieutenant. I want Papa to clear all my debts with whatever money of mine he receives and when that is done and the money still come in, I want you to use it in any way you want—for clothes, pleasure. You might not care to spend money for otherwise, and for a a servant if you haven’t already got one. When I am making money and able to save some, then it’s fine for you to be a lady of leisure. What’s left over Papa can buy Liberty Bonds with and some new ties and maybe a Ford to boot.
An idea has just struck me. Subtracting my allotment and insurance money from my monthly salary, I still receive about $100. Sometime between now and summer I am going to send you one whole month’s check which is for you and Papa to use for a trip to Utah to see Jim. I know ordinarily you would hesitate to make such a trip on account of the expense and I know Papa would hate to leave the office that long. If he starts planning ahead when this letter arrives, he’ll be able to arrange things so that his business won’t suffer. Both of you need somebody to make you go and I’m going to write Jim and tell him about it. If you would only do this you would make me just as happy as you would be yourself to see Jim and Anne and the kid.
I haven’t received any mail in over three weeks now, probably due to our change of location. But a big bunch ought to be blowing in soon. I hope you are getting my letters regularly for I have written at least once a week except on a couple of occasions when it has been impossible on account of moving. The mail service won’t be half as good here as it was before we moved but I won’t mind the increased delay if all the letters intended for me reach me.
Sister said something in one of her letters about writing to Dr. and Mrs. Riley thanking them for their share of my Christmas box from home. Although the box hasn’t as yet arrived, I would write and thank them anyway and let them know how I am getting along if I knew their address and Dr. Riley’s initials. I guess I’ll write them a note in my next letter to you and sister can give it to them explaining that I didn’t know their address.
I see by the papers that the middle west is in the throes of the worst snowstorm in twenty years. I though we had all the snow in the world over here but I guess I’m wrong. However, for the past two days it has rained considerably and the snow has almost entirely disappeared. The following piece of composition was written on a card by a man in my platoon to somebody in America and is most appropriate and rather clever.
“Everything as usual is the same—same good health, the same old snow, the same old pick of a place to go. It’s the same cold weather, the same cold sleet, the same cold rain, the same cold feet. It’s the same old work, the same old play, the same d—n thing most every day. Everything as usual.”
All of that is very true but from what I have said before, you needn’t worry about my health. I have plenty of warm clothes and water proof accessories so I think my health will remain the same. Love to everybody in the family and a bushel for yourself. Your loving son, — Billy
Lieut. W. B. Moore, 97th Co., 6th Regt Marines, A. E. F.
Letter 15
January 24th 1918
Dearest Mama,
I’ll write my weekly letter tonight if I can stay awake long enough. We are surely on the jump nowadays and as all of the work is out of doors, I am pretty tired and sleep when I return to my billet at night. There are usually some letters to be censored and that job would put almost anybody to sleep. Occasionally I strike something funny but I hate to read other people’s mail and once in a while when I wade through a long love letter full of devotion and inspiration, I feel sort of mean when I sign my name [as censor] at the end.
After two weeks of abominable weather, we have now been blessed with some bordering very closely on Spring. Yesterday and the day before were fair enough but today was perfect. Not a cloud in the sky and the sun shone with such intensity that beads of perspiration stood out over everybody during drill and whenever it was possible, we discarded our blouses. The weather reminded us of our khaki uniforms and everybody remarked that they would feel much more comfortable that our green ones.
My platoon hiked this afternoon and it was really a pleasure to have the opportunity of seeing the surrounding country under favorable circumstances. It’s all very pretty hilly, with little old towns dotting the valleys here and there, every one discernible from a distance by its one church steeple and red roofed houses. Now that the snow has disappeared, the fields are green even for this time of year and the farmers are beginning to plow. The large number of aeroplanes visible today was proof of good weather and increased activity in that line. A most gorgeous sunset marked the end of the perfect day and as dusk came on, the bells in our church tower began to toll. There was something mellow about their tone which blended perfectly with the sunset and the combination gave to our little town at the time an atmosphere of peace and tranquility. But the boom of a distant gun and the sound of the bugle calling he men to “chow” reminded me that that place was only for the simple and hospitable folk of this town and not for us.
I have received no mail for four weeks now and I am beginning to grow more and more impatient each day. I am confident that our mail reaches France regularly but then its troubles begin. it must travel as slowly as everything else and most of it, it seems, is placed indiscriminately on any train at all to find its destination as best it can. I received a letter from Paris two days ago which was mailed on the 22nd of December, just one month in reaching me whereas on the 28th of December I received a letter posted in New York on the 14th of the same month. That was before we moved, however, and I have hopes that when we have fully established communications with the world at large from our present location, things will be better. I miss news from home though like an old front tooth. Occasionally I see a Paris edition of the New York Herald or Chicago Tribune but they are not very satisfactory at best. I often wish I could have the Times dropped at my door every morning…
I am in perfect health and the rigorous training I am undergoing now is fine and particularly so when the weather conforms. I am getting along fine with my men and I have nothing at all to complain of except the slackness in the delivery of the mail. I will have almost forgotten Christmas when my Christmas box arrives.
Under the present circumstances I can easily write once a week and more if necessary but it’s hard to write oftener (with no mail from home) when the only interesting topics are barred. Nevertheless my thoughts are with you all at home constantly and I’m looking forward to the day when I shall return vastly benefitted in early May by my experience. I can feel it already. Please mention the dates of my letters you receive when you write. I can keep track of them in that way. Bushels of love. — Billy
Letter 16
January 31st 1918
Dearest Mama,
I may not be able to finish this letter tonight as it is rather late now but I shall start anyway. The long looked for mail, which was absent for over four weeks, came in yesterday and needless to say my head swam with joy. Mine was handed to me about noon and I was useless as far as work was concerned for the rest of the day. The sum total of twenty-two letters and an “Alumni Weekly” was my share and I did nothing but open and read letters and that’s why I didn’t write to you last night. I didn’t finish reading the last letter until about eight o’clock and as I usually turn in about eight thirty, I decided I would put my scattered thought o bed rather than attempt to write them down on paper…I have read them all over at least once and will no doubt re-read them many more times. The letters were all so full of cheer and made me realize more than ever how eternally blessed I am with parents, sisters and brothers. Your letter, of course, I loved most. They were so brave and optimistic and showed me that although you may feel anxious, naturally enough, you are not despondent and miserable. The thought of me doesn’t prevent you from “carrying on…” Your bravery and sacrifice are far greater than any I will ever be able to display and make and when this war is over and parades are held and medals are bestowed for gallantry in action and under fire, I for one will pin all I get on “the man behind the gun” whose spirit breathed success and whose prayers protected me.
February 3rd, Sunday night. I got this far last Thursday night when I decided to go to bed and I have been so rushed since then that I haven’t had a moments time to sit down and try to finish. Wednesday. This week has been my Christmas. Two days after all my mail came in, your Christmas box arrived (Feb. 1st) and also one from brother…
By the way, my dog turned up a few days ago. A detachment of Marines in Brest had been taking care of him and when they moved up to this vicinity, they brought him along and sent him over to me. The roads were muddy and consequently he gathered quite a bit on his person, When he spotted me (and he knew me after being separated for over two months) he jumped all over me and when he finally calmed down, I was a sight and from head to foot all over my uniform. He sleeps in my room at night and the people in the house have taken quite a fancy to him. He won’t have anything to do with anybody else when I’m around and as a rule won’t eat anything but what I give him myself, refuses the kind offerings of strangers no matter how tasty they may be. I’m glad I found him for as he was given to me, I would have hated to lose him…
Yes, the Marines are very much part of “Pershing’s Men” and I don’t mind saying they’re the best part. Every fay I appreciate more the fact that I’m a Marine and the record of the Corps so far in France is an excellent one. There are really a fine bunch of men in my company and I’m particularly proud of my own platoon. I have arranged an athletic night once a week for them with refreshments to which they look forward. It’s a relief from the routine which I enjoy as much as they do…
I must close now and I’ll write again very soon. I am in perfect health and I’m very busy which makes me happy and makes the time pass quickly. Each day brings me the nearer home. I am in no danger now and there are no prospects of moving into any time soon. The thought of going into the trenches doesn’t worry me in the least…
My love to all at home and until I am able to write each a letter, I wish you would thank everybody for me who had a hand in my box, particularly Dr. and Mrs. Riley. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 17
February 9th 1918
Dearest Mama,
We are so busy nowadays that I hardly have time to write at all. If it weren’t for Saturday afternoons and Sundays. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep up any correspondence at all. During the week, I was on the go from six in the morning until seven at night and then I have nothing to do until the next day except censor mail and after I have done that I’m almost too tired to go to bed. However, I shall avail myself of every opportunity to write which will be at least once a week and if letters from me to not reach you as often as that, if not more frequently, then you’ll know that they have been lost.
I am still enjoying my Christmas for I received some more boxes a couple of days ago including yours with the gloves, socks, and the Kodak with a dozen rolls of films from Jean. The gloves are a good fit and just what I wanted and the socks come in very handy. Santa Claus was indeed very good to me even though it took him a long time to find me…
We have been having some fine weather lately. A warm sun and very mild but of course there is mud in abundance. That’s one thing that is always present no matter whether the weather is good, bad, or indifferent.
We got the paper today telling of the sinking of the “Tuscania.” Although the loss was comparatively small, I imagine it will have a tremendous morale affect on the people at home and it’s really remarkable that the submarines have been even this long in making a sinking. I am anxious to know what troops were on board so that I can tell whether any of my friends were among the 76 officers who were saved or among the 210 or so that were lost. The German no doubt are beginning an offensive on land and sea on a grand scale. Whatever their gains, this loss in manpower will be great, and this will be their last drive and they know it and want to make it effective before the French and British can be reinforced by American troops, but they are fooling themselves with that idea.
I am thanking my lucky stars that I am with the Marines every day but I can’t tell you just why. Someday I’ll be able to. By the way, I think I’m a 1st Lieutenant now although I don’t know it officially. Whenever the bill passes Congress increasing the Marine Corps from thirty to fifty thousand, I shall be promoted automatically and I understand that the bill has already passed and if it hasn’t as yet, it will very soon. If such is the case, I won’t receive my new commission for several months but my pay as 1st Lieutenant will date from the passage of the bill and when the new commission does come, I’ll draw a lot of back pay.
I had to stop here yesterday and it’s now Sunday night. Today has been just as busy a one as an ordinary week day. General [John J.] Pershing came to inspect our battalion today and that’s the reason. He is a superb looking soldier and it was the first time I had ever seen him other than in pictures. I got just a glimpse of him as my head and eyes were straight to the front although he passed within a few feet of me…
My love to all in the family and a bushel for yourself. Fred sends his. Your devoted son, — Billy
February 17th—Soon after we arrived in France I wrote and told you that I was going to be detached and sent to an officer’s school somewhere near the front. For some reason or other that never materialized, but now it seems likely that my chance has come again as I understand some officers are to be sent from this battalion. I would rather like to go as it would be a change and nobody likes to stay in one place very long—particularly a little town like this away from everything. I would return to my company after the course of instruction is finished and I wouldn’t mind getting away for I have been with my men constantly since September 1st and a few weeks without that responsibility would no doubt prove as beneficial relief. I have been looking for Fred for the past two days to see if he knew who the officers are that are to be sent, but he has been pretty busy and I haven’t been able to see him.
Don’t fail to let me know if Papa is getting my allotments as they are being deducted from my salary each month. I am still counting on sending you a month’s check toward your trip to Utah with Papa…After four months in France a man is entitled to a seven days furlough exclusive of travel time. Theoretically mine would fall due in March 1st but I would have to wait upon the convenience of my battalion commander before I could get it. It no doubt will materialize some time after the middle of next month. It would be nice if you could come over here to see me for seven days, but I think terra firma is the best place for all concerned. I haven’t yet decided where I’ll spend my seven days of grace.
Will close now as it’s late and I can think of no other items of news. No doubt I shall get some letters from you this week and I shall make mine just as frequent as possible. I am well and happy. Lots and lots of love. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 18
February 26th 1918
Dearest Mama,
Today is Tuesday and I should have written you Sunday but just as I was sitting down to write Sunday night, the Madame of the house came up and invited me to join them downstairs in a little party. The other daughter is here now with her husband and little six month old baby. The husband was wounded at Verdun and has just come out of a hospital in Paris and they are visiting here for a while. I took pictures of the baby and the whole family Sunday afternoon and I believe the little party they had Sunday night was in my honor. I don’t speak so very much French but I can usually make myself understood with my meagre vocabulary and many motions and I understand them better so the evening was spent very pleasantly. This is the first chance I have had to write since then…
I never received the Victrola the Hills sent, nor some books from Jean. I think the Victrola has just naturally been stolen enroute.
On Washington’s Birthday, it being a holiday for us, I took a little trip up to Neufchateau to order a new uniform and do a little necessary shopping. While I was there, I dropped into see Colonel Heintzelman who was the military instructor at Princeton last year. He had found out where I was and sent word down for me to call on him if I ever got up to Neufchateau. He was very glad to see me and I talked with him for quite a while in his office. He told me not to hesitate to call on him for his influence if ever I wanted anything. He is on the general staff of the —- Army Corps and he asked me to stop and take dinner with him and the General commanding the Corps. They ate at 7 and as my train back left at 7:18 I wasn’t able to do it. He told me to let him know in advance when I would be coming up again so that he could count on me for a meal and I shall certainly do it.
A few days ago I received a letter from a fellow who was in my class at Princeton named Anderson. You may remember having heard me speak of “Andy.” He is a secretary at the American Embassy in Rome and is to be married the latter part of March in the Embassy to a Princeton girl. He wants me to come to his wedding and as I might be able to get my furlough then, there’s a fair chance of my being able to make it. I am entitled to a furlough after the 12th of March for I will have ben in France then four months, but just when I will be able to get it depends on circumstances. Ambassador Page is to give the bride away and there will be several other classmates of mine there who are aviators in Italy.
I’m glad you got that little picture I sent. I was on the verge of having some more made when we left Bordeaux and so I didn’t get the chance.
I think I told you that my dog has been recovered. I have no more news except that we are working just as hard as ever, which isn’t news any more…We have had some rain recently and everything is mud again. As one man in my platoon very aptly expressed it, “I have shoveled half of France and scraped the other half off my feet…”
My love to all at home and bushels for yourself. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 19
Somewhere else in France
March 17th 1918
Dearest Mama,
Today is a beautiful Spring Sunday and I shall write my weekly letter although I have no idea just when I’ll be able to get it off. We have moved as I told you in my last letter and as yet in our new location, our communication with the outside world hasn’t been established. We have been here now two days and even in that short space of time much has happened worthy of mention, some of which I necessarily can’t put in this letter. After about a twenty hour railroad trip we arrived at a little town miles from a city whose name is very familiar to everybody and which would thrill you if I were able to mention it here. After we detrained we started out on one of the most grueling hikes I have ever experienced. The men of course were in heavy marching order and looked more like pack animals than men. With overcoats on it was very warm and we must have made about eight or ten miles before we arrived at our camp. The last two were steadily up hill and rarely ever have I seen a more pathetic but inspiring spectacle as the men presented then. We would have to stop and rest about every twenty minutes toward the end of the journey and when we would halt, most of the men would just drop in their tracks. It was terrific but no one dropped out and we all arrived at our camp behind the lines all in but happy that our journey was ended. We have very comfortable quarters and everything is pretty nice even though we have to duck whenever an aeroplane appears over us and the action of the artillery of both sides is ever audible and causes our buildings to shake and rattle art times, Whenever a Boche plane appears the sky becomes literally dotted with puffs of smoke from bursting shrapnel from the anti-aircraft guns and just an hour or so ago I saw one brought down, or at any rate it looked that way to me. It was some distance away and I was looking at it through my glasses when I saw a shell burst right on it and I saw the place no more thereafter.
We arrived here Friday night and after straightening my things out in my room, it was ten o’clock before I got to bed. Just as I was dozing off, an orderly came saying that the Major wanted to see all the officers of the 97th at his headquarters at 7 the next morning preparatory to looking over the part of the front line which we are to occupy. We had to get up at 6 o’clock and leave without breakfast and we were a sad looking bunch when we hiked down the road that morning. We were met by a French soldier who acted as guide and he took us along a patch which I thought never would end until we finally came to a shelter occupied by the commander of the French company which we are going to relieve. He was very glad to see us and was most cordial. He showed up all through his sector and as tired as I was, I was able to realize and appreciate that I was at last in the front line. At one point the trenches ran in front of a magnificent old chateau which had been completely demolished by shell fire. It must have been a beautiful place before the war. At one place we had to cross in the open for about fifteen yards which we did one at a time running and it wasn’t five minutes before the Germans, having spotted us, opened up on the chateau. It really was fun to hear the whiz of the shells, duck down lower, and hear them burst beyond and I can truthfully say that I wasn’t the least bit scared. On the other hand, I rather enjoyed it. It was novel.
We returned from our tour to the shelter where the French officers messed, and our very good friend “El Capitan” gave us eats and coffee. We were nearly famished and we fed too with a zest which must have startled the captain and the soldier who served us. While we were eating a shell burst so near that a minute or so after its explosion a soldier brought a fragment in which was still hot. It was passed around the table and came to me last whereupon I pocketed it to save as a souvenir of my first visit to the “first line.” We ended our repast with a toast, “Vive la France la Victoire” and then returned to the captain’s shelter where we sat and talked and were shown the plans of defense and maps of the front. We then bade the French captain goodbye and filed out, quite in good spirits after our substantial briefing and enjoyable visit. The trenches were a revelation to me. They aren’t a bad place to live at all and I am very [excited at] the prospect of spending a week or so in the front line. The part we are to take over [has existed] since 1915 and one is safe as long as he keeps under cover where he can’t be seen. In my particular part of the front, the German first line is over 1,000 yards away. There are a few significant features about the part of the line my platoon is to occupy which I shall be proud to tell about it some day and which you may not be reluctant to boast about yourself. Mention of them may be cut out i[by the censors] f I made it here..
The weather is beautiful now and buds are beginning to appear on trees and birds are singing outside my window now. I’m thankful we spent the winter in billets and not in the trenches. I never felt happier in all my life and I really don’t understand it myself. It seems that everything useless in my life has been scraped off by the rough edges of this war game, leaving only those things which I find necessary for carrying on the fight. I feel as though I have been “stripped for action.” What I have left is plenty of body and plenty of spirit and that’s all I need….Now that I am right in it, the war doesn’t look so big. The principle of perspective seems to apply conversely in this case. I feel lots bigger than the war even though I am only a second lieutenant and I really feel sorry for majors and colonels and generals who don’t live in the front line with the men. They miss a lot. We go in tomorrow night but I don’t know how long my company is to stay. I think though that at the end of a month’s time, another division will relieve us and we’ll return to billets for a while, and then those who want furloughs will probably be able to get them.
Just before we left our billets, a bit of information reached my ears to which I gave more than passing attention. Beginning at some not too distant future date, one officer from each battalion in our ranks is to be sent home to instruct the 20,000 or so new Marines which Congress has added to the Corps. One officer from the battalion is to be sent back for that purpose each month, his place being taken by reserve officers from the schools here in France…
Must close now for it’s time for dinner. My love to all and bushels for yourself. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 20
Easter Sunday, March 31st 1918
Dearest Mama,
So much has happened since my last letter to you two weeks ago that I don’t know just where to start on this one. I fear the lapse in correspondence has caused you to worry a bit, but it hasn’t been my fault and now that I am settled in another place, I’ll write often and let you know in installments all that has happened in the past two weeks.
My letter to you two weeks ago today, written just before I went into the trenches, may not have reached you or may after considerable delay as when I posted it there was a rumor about that only cards would be accepted at Regimental Headquarters. I sent you one of the regulation service cards last Sunday just after I had come out of the line which I hope you will receive. Since then I have moved again and now I think perhaps I shall have more opportunities to write, once a week certainly, and I hope oftener. I won’t be able to tell you all that has happened in this letter but I shall give you the main points and leave the details to subsequent letters as I recall them.
On the night of March 18th, my company went into the trenches [in the Woëvre Sector near Verdun] and we were in the first line six days and seven nights. Things were uniformly quiet and after a couple of sleepless nights right at the start, I enjoyed my stay immensely. At times there was heavy artillery action and we could hear the shells singing over our heads but only once or twice did one burst near enough to me to make me sit up and take notice. The only casualty of which I was cognizant happened to my britches. The first night in I was out in no man’s land inspecting the barbed wire defenses and I ripped said britches in several places. As I necessarily had to sleep and live in my clothes all the time, the rips grew and grew in size and by the time we were relieved, I was beginning to be ashamed to show out of my dugout. We had two days of rain which made things rather dismal and muddy but outside of that the weather was fine and quite balmy. As far as I can ascertain, I figure that in the matter of minutes, I commanded the first platoon of Marines to enter the trenches on the Western Front.
There are a few other points concerning my stay in the line that are peculiarly significant which I can’t write. Nevertheless, they’ll cause me to hurl out my chest some day when I can talk about them. My company was relieved on the seventh night and we went to the rear a short distance in close proximity to a battery of artillery which almost shook us off our feet whenever it opened up. I was there two days when I got orders to collect my belongings and go to school—the same one I was told I was going to when we first landed in France. I was overjoyed for I had my tour in the trenches and during the rest of the time my division would spend at the front we would be behind the lines working at one thing or another. My trunk and bedding roll were stored in a town about five miles to the rear and I had to hike back to them with my britches flapping in the breeze. However, upon arriving there I made a quick change to my beat and with several other officers from the regiment who were going to the school.
I piled into a truck and was taken to the railroad which brought me eventually to my present location. Here I am responsible only for myself and I find it a great relief to be away from my company for a while with no worry for the present for the welfare of my fifty-odd men. The day I left a reserve army officer was sent to the 97th to take my place and he turned out to be a Princeton man whom I knew quite well—Bill Osborn, son William Church Osborn, the New York millionaire. In the two days I have been here so far, I have run across several old acquaintances, mostly Princeton men, officers detailed here to take the various courses of instruction. Strangely enough, my “bunkie” is none other than Harry Legore—Yale’s former pride in football and baseball. Sam Meek, whom sister knows, is in the same shack with me also.
I have done nothing since my arrival here but get settled, as the school doesn’t start until tomorrow and lasts four weeks. I believe it has rained almost the whole time so far which make it very disagreeable out of doors. There is an excellent YMCA for officers here which is an ideal place in which to spend rainy days but I hope the downfall ceases by tomorrow when we start our drills and courses of instruction.
There are officers here from every division which has been in the trenches and I have learned a lot of both current and past events just by listening—details of certain events which had been only casually mentioned in the papers.
We are of course keenly interested in the offensive which the Huns are now launching against the British. There is not a doubt in the mind of anyone over here but what the line will hold and that the British and French counterattacks, if successful, will go a long way toward breaking the morale of the German troops. If after their drive is spent the Germans have gained comparatively little to offset their loss in manpower, they are beaten right there although it may take time and the Americans to convince them of it. This is the critical period without a doubt and Germany’s last chance and the old Kaiser must realize it.
After graduation from this school. I shall be eligible to return to America as an instructor whenever the powers that be deem it proper to send me. Officers are being sent back to America every month for that purpose, I understand, and only those who have been to this school are eligible. However, I don’t want to be sent back until I get my service chevron which denotes six months active service in the zone of the advance. I have three months to my credit now and when I finish here, it will be four. When the course is over here I hope to get my furlough which I am entitled to. I hope to get down to Rome but as yet I don’t know whether it is permissible to leave the limits of France.
Today is Easter Sunday and I didn’t realize it until last night. The weather isn’t at all appropriate and I’m wondering if it will spoil the Fifth Avenue Parade in New York. I wish I were at home to go to church with you today. Services are being held in another YMCA building now, but I am devoting the whole day to catching up the broken threads of correspondence as I no doubt will be kept very busy during the coming week…
Must close now as it’s time for “chow.” Will write again at the first opportunity. Keep me posted on my allotments. Bushels of love to all. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 21
[1st Corps School, Gondrecourt, France]
April 7th, 1918
Dearest Mama,
Another Sunday has rolled around and I didn’t get to write you during the week as I had intended to. Our days are all full up with lecture and other forms of instruction and at night, one has to prepare for the following day so it has been a matter of just carrying on six day out of seven…The work is interesting and I have listened to some very interesting lectures by British and French officers. It is an American School and most of our instructors are American officers. I’m sure my four weeks here will be well worthwhile if I stay here for the full course. I might be ordered back to my company before the completion of the session but that is hardly probable. Before I left there were eight officers in my company where six is the number required so it doesn’t seem likely that they’d need me. I’m wondering what will happen when I get back to the company and there is still the surplus of officers; some are bound to be sent away eventually and therein lies y chance to be sent back to the States as an instructor—the probability which I mentioned in my last letter. Officers are being sent back as such each month. Those who graduated from British schools or this one and who have had the experiences of a tour in the trenches. On the completion of this course, I’ll certainly be qualified and I’ll learn what my chances are when I rejoin my company. They seem rather bright now but I don’t want to raise your hopes too high because I don’t know enough about the situation in regard to my own regiment to really judge accurately. I don’t want to return before summer, but if I am to return it’s a case of going when I’m ordered—or staying over here if I’m not ordered to return. Either alternative will suit me as I’m satisfied to be over here as long as there is anything doing. A trip home, however, to exploit my knowledge & experience wouldn’t be so bad if I were certain of getting back to France. And the son goes, I don’t want to come back (for good) “till it’s over, over here.” I am working hard and I am going to try and establish a good record for myself in this school which will count for me under any circumstances…
There seems to be a spirit of optimism and confidence over here among British, French, and Americans that the German drive will not succeed in taking it objectives and that if it fails, the Boche is done for. Americans and others might feel a bit ashamed of the fact that we are not able to take part on a larger scale in the present battle, but the fact remains that our presence over here means everything to the British & French. After the present crisis is over, they can look to us and we’ll be ready.
I must close now and do a little studying. Take the best care of yourself. My love to all the family & bushels for yourself. Your devoted son, — Bill
P. S. Have any of my letters ever been deleted by the censor? Letters to me are not censored.
Letter 22
[1st Corps School, Gondrecourt, France]
April 16th 1918
Dearest Mama.
I was just about to start a letter to you Sunday when a Princeton classmate of mine who is in one of the schools here, stopped by for me in an automobile and invited me for a ride and as the weather was fine, I went. We drove to an aviation camp a few miles from here and stayed for dinner and didn’t get back till late so I had to postpone my weekly letter till today as yesterday was full including the evening. At last I have received some mail. Last Thursday some mail came and yesterday some more including yours of March 4th & 7th & sisters of Feb. 27th, March 2nd, and 8th…
I have kept very busy here at this school but I enjoy the course very much and am learning a lot. I have a week and a half to go yet and then I’ll probably return to the company although I don’t know just where it will be then. I have written you something of the possibilities of being sent back as an instructor and it still seems as though there were some chance. Just yesterday the Major who is my head instructor stopped me and inquired if I had been up at the front. I told him yes and he asked for particulars which I gave him and he seemed satisfied. Undoubtedly there was some significance to his asking me for that information and I figure it out in only three possible ways. Either they are going to send some officers back to the States as instructors after the completion of this session of the school. or they are going to retain a few for instructors here for the next session, or I am booked to take some special part is some exercises that are to take place this week. The whole situation has me guessing…
One month from today is my birthday and it will mark my first half year on the soil of France. I am wondering where I’ll be then. What you said about having maps up on your wall interests me. How I wish I could tell you where I have been and now am, mentioning the places by name so that you could follow my movements the better. I have often wondered whether you were trying to follow me on the map…
I have just about exhausted my supply of thoughts & ink so I’ll close for tonight but before I do, I want you to do me a favor which has just come to my mind. Mrs. Hill has been ill and might still be so when you get this. They have been awfully nice to me and one way of showing my appreciation would be for you just to call her up on the phone sometime. They would appreciate it I know. My love to all the family and bushels for yourself. Thank sister for her letters. My letters to you are, of course, for the whole family as long as my time is limited. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 23
[Gondrecourt, France]
April 28th 1918
Dearest Mama,
Nothing of interest has happened since my last letter so I’m afraid this will be rather short. The school ended for us yesterday and most of today has been spent in packing up preparatory to my departure tomorrow morning. I am returning to my company which is still at the front, although not in exactly the same location as when I left them; a little livelier sector I understand, which is good news for time will pass much more quickly then.
My month here in school was very profitable as I learned quite a bit and in a way, enjoyed a rest. I am quite sure I have put on weight. In fact, I think I am heavier now than I have ever been in my life. The soldier life seems to agree with me for I have had never a moments illness even though circumstances haven’t been so favorable at times. The last week of school was one of continuous rain and cold—heavy mist. It was very disagreeable as we had a lot of outdoor activity, but today has really been very fine with much Spring in the air. The trees are half full now and I’m sure if the sun had come out a little more frequently, they would be in full foliage. The country around here is very pretty and this is a typical French town and I wish I could take some pictures of it…
I saw in the papers about a week ago that the House had hoped to increase the Marine Corps to 75,000. In the event that the bill passes the Senate, I will undoubtedly be made a Captain. I feel now as if I could hold down the job…
Will write again when I get back to my company but it may necessarily be only a card for a week or so. Must close now and get back to the school for dinner. My love and thoughts always. Your devoted son, — Billy
Spared & Shared 23 