Return to “We Saved the Day”—the WWI Letters of William B. Moore, 6th Marine Regiment, 2nd Division, American Expeditionary Forces.
Letter 29
Dearest Mama,
I’m not sure whether more than a week has passed since my last letter or not. One day is just like all the rest and although some seem longer than others, the weeks seem to fly past. Just three weeks ago today we arrived at this part of the front and in that small space of time we have made history. I am sure the papers at home must have been full of what the Marines have done and if they didn’t mention us by name, you will know that we were the troops who stopped the Germans in the forest by Château-Thierry and then took the town of Bouresches and Belleau Woods, to say nothing of a thousand some odd prisoners. For sixteen days we were right in the thick of it and not a day passed that we weren’t attacked at some point by the Boche or did the attacking ourselves.
Now we are resting and reorganizing preparatory to going back at them in a day or so. I don’t think it will be for long for I’m sure our division will be relieved son and given a rest no doubt when the relief comes and we return to a peaceful area. We’l be reviewed by generals and others of high rank and those who are to be decorated will have their medals and crosses pinned on at that time. The rumor is that all of that will take place on the 4th of July when we are due to parade in Paris. I have been recommended for some sort of decoration. I will be cited in orders at best and I am pretty sure to get a cross, whether American or French, I don’t know. I am unscathed and unscratched although I got some good whiff of the gas the Germans shot over at us. It so happened that our artillery gave them back more than they sent over and they quit.
The weather has been fine and the country around here is beautiful. I took a ride yesterday along a road overlooking the valley of the Marne and the scenery compared favorably with anything I have ever seen in America…
I’m afraid the pictures I mentioned in one of my letters won’t reach you for some time. I put them in my trunk just before leaving the school and when I found at the last minute that I should have to leave my trunk there, I forgot to take the pictures out. Those of us who were to return to the front after the conclusion of the course were allowed to take only our bedding rolls and the quartermaster at the school stored the trunks. I have everything I need with me and it’s a relief not to have to bother with a trunk every time I made a move…
Now don’t worry about me for I am getting along fine. I want you to be sure and find a nice quiet place for the summer and don’t do a thing but rest. Make Papa take a vacation too. Will write as often as I can. There are almost a million American troops over here now and the victory is certain. It’s just a matter of time. The U. S. has risen to a great emergency and I was inclined to doubt our ability to do so until we got into the fight up here. But we have saved the day in more ways than one and we are only just beginning.
Love to all the family and a bushel to yourself. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 30
Wednesday, June 26th [1918]
Dearest Mama,
Although I haven’t much news to impart, I’ll write a few lines today to let you know that I am well and O.K. in body, mind, and spirits. We are still at the front northwest of Château-Thierry where we have been now for almost a month. I guess you have read a great deal in the papers about our doings and I’m anxious to get your letters telling me just what has been said and giving me some sort of an idea of the impression the doings of the past month have made on America. For a while the papers over here called us “Marines” but they have been compelled to do away with that and now we are “Americans.” That’s no more than just, but all went well until the Army got jealous.
Everyday almost has been marked by some little operation in which the Marines have always come out on top, whether on the offensive or defensive. I saw quite a few prisoners this morning who were captured last night. The total number ran well up into the hundreds. Taken together they smelled like the animal ring of a circus and some of the clasped for dear life loaves of American bread which they had picked up somewhere. Let me tell you something which is absolutely true although I doubted it at first hearing. A marine was taken prisoner and was kept for two days near the front line. Last night he turned up again, leading into our lines sixty-five Germans including four officers who said they would surrender if he would show them the way. A hundred more started to come but were cut off by their own machine guns. There have also been several individual cases of desertion by Germans. At first it seems they were laboring under the impression that our motto was “take no prisoners” but evidently the word got back to them that we not only took prisoners but gave them something to eat for up to date I think we have corraled about fifteen hundred.
I was going to make mention here that it was about time I was getting some mail when your letter of June 6th with Auntie’s enclosed was handed to me. Your letters mean so much to me—especially at this time. They make me feel that I have so much to live for, yet they represent all that I am willing to die for. It makes me happy to know that you all are well and brave. Although one can’t entertain hopes of peace at an early date, there is a lot indeed to make one optimistic.. The present situation on the Italian front is most encouraging. The number of American troops now over here is enough to make one sit up and take notice and moreover the successes which our troops have invariably had don’t impress the Germans very favorably. The prisoners we have taken admit this. They are tired of fighting and one said that when the Americans got going in full force, there would surely be evidences of quitting throughout the whole German army. I was firmly convinced of that before any of them admitted it. As soon as we can throw two million men into the line with the proportionate amount of artillery and aeroplanes, then the war will be virtually over. And that time, I figure, is just about one year off. In the meantime, the Boche can do nothing but draw the noose more tightly around his neck.
There is some talk of a relief for this division but we’ll know nothing of that till the time comes. The rumor persists too that the whole, or at least a part of the Marine Brigade, will parade in Paris either on the 4th or 14th of July. It is not improbable that the Brigade will be awarded the fouragére of the Croix de Guerre by the French. That above all things would be appreciated and we’re all hoping for it. I have been recommended for a Distinguished Service Cross—our new American decoration. I don’t know when it will be forthcoming, probably sometime soon after we are relieved.
For all but about six days of our stay here, I have been with my regimental headquarters. My new job has not been very arduous and I asked to be sent back to my company where, perhaps, I could be of more service, but the colonel told me to stay here. The dog Jean gave me is with me now. During the heaviest of the fighting from June 6th to 15th, he was with the company in the thick of it, but escaped without a scratch. He’s a great favorite here at headquarters and never lets me out of his sight.
I heard from Fred a week ago. He is in a hospital near Bordeaux and expects to come back in a couple of weeks. After he was evacuated, I was unable to get any news of him for a long time except that he was suffering from shell shock. Knowing the nature of shell shock, I knew that he was in no danger so I wrote to our paymaster in Paris asking him to send a cable to Bubber which I enclosed saying that Fred’s condition was not serious and that mine was O.K. It was merely a precaution, let you should see his name in a casualty list and become alarmed. He is all right now and by the time you get this, will be back with the regiment. I hope you will send me a few clippings from the papers that mention the Marines…
Must close now as I have just about used up my supply of paper. My love to all at home and oceans for yourself. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 31
July 1st 1918
Dearest Mama,
Your two letters of June 10th and 12th came last night…and needless to say I was glad to hear from you and to get those clippings. Everybody had been anxiously awaiting some accounts from the home newspapers. We were disappointed that the clippings were devoid of the big headlines which mentioned the Marines. I hope you send more from time to time that mention the Marines, but now I don’t suppose you will have the opportunity for they don’t mention us by the name of Marines anymore. We have been showered with congratulatory letters from General Pershing and many other big guns and all in all, we think we’re right there.
Yes, I’m “Donald.” The mention of that affair in the paper humors me for I was never interviewed by anybody and although I admit I was lucky. I never told anybody about it. When I got back from Bouresches that night, I made my report to the General of some information I had gathered while in the town and thought no more of it until I saw it in the paper. I have been recommended for a Distinguished Service Cross but I don’t know when I am to get it. My recommendation is acted favorably upon by General Headquarters.
The first of Bubber’s “Times” came last night. Also May 25th. I enjoyed the pictures of the Red Cross Parade and tried to pick you out in the long column of white marching down Fifth Avenue with about as much success as you had in picking me out of a few of “the 150,000 officers in France, boarding a train somewhere over here. The troops in the pictures were not Marines but I suppose we were so much in demand at the time that they picked out anybody.
Well, here it is the 1st of July and on the 5th, I will have been a Marine for one year. Pretty soon I’ll become a veteran, especially if we stay in this place much longer… I am still located at my regimental headquarters. We are just behind the lines in a farmhouse which so far the Germans have spared. I have a good bed, nothing much to do, and as things are pretty quiet, it isn’t such a bad old war after all. I hope you have located a place for the summer and that you and Papa both will take a good rest. Love to all the family. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 32
July 7th 1918
Dearest Mama,
While waiting for breakfast, I’ll write a few lines to let you know that I am still well and O. K. We were to have been relieved several days ago but owing to certain information regarding the enemy, instead of being relieved, we merely shifted our positions and are still in the region where we have been for the past six weeks. The Boche has been quiet so long that it’s the general feeling that another attack is imminent so we are just standing by. For how long, I don’t know. At present, everything is quiet and if the Boche intends to attack on this front, he is certainly making no noise about it. Our line is very strong all along here and can’t possibly be broken—as long as the Marines are here. I guess the French are reluctant to let us get very far away from the front.
On the 4th we sent some men into Paris to parade—a few were chosen from each company in the regiment and the officers to accompany them were picked by drawing numbers out of a hat. I didn’t have any luck so I stayed behind. Those that went say the Parisians gave the American troops a wonderful reception but all along the long line of march wherever the Marine flag with its characteristic anthem came into view, the French just went wild. The cries of “Marine! Marine!” could be heard on all sides, they said. It might be that the rest of us may get our chance to parade on the 14th which is France’s holiday. That seemed to be the original intention but now that we haven’t been relieved, the chances grow slimmer every day.
I have been awarded my Distinguished Service Cross, although I haven’t received it as yet. I am sending you my citation. What I consider the most important part, however, has been omitted—that is the bringing back to the aid station of the wounded men I found in Bouresches. Whether I had been decorated or not, I still—and always will—have the satisfaction of knowing that I probably saved the lives of some of the wounded I brought back. That to me is the main thing. The decoration is only symbolical.
The outlook is assuming a more optimistic glow each day. The splendid spirit of the French is everywhere apparent. The certain knowledge that we have over a million troops here and the assurance that in four months there will be 500,000 more is most encouraging and at the same timer must be most disconcerting to the Kaiser, etc al.
The launching of 100 ships on July 4th is another one of America’s brilliant achievements. The effect of news like that on the troops over here must be just as great as it is on the people at home. Everybody’s shoulder is to the wheel and that wheel is rolling pretty fast…
I am enclosing a poem in French which concerns the Americans in the region of Château-Thierry. Get somebody to translate it for you and then save it for my scrap book… Love to all and bushels for yourself. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 33
July 11, 1918
Dearest Mama,
Your latest letter of the 18th of June was received yesterday… The clippings enclosed were rather interesting. The papers seem to be playing the Marines up quite a bit. Maj. Evans was not wounded though. He went to Paris to submit to a minor operation and has not come back yet.
We are still at the front although our men are not in the front line. It is because they are expecting the Germans to launch another drive that they are keeping us here. Evidently the high command doesn’t think it safe to let the Marines get far away when there’s a scrap in sight. Our relief was completed a few days ago and just as soon as the Boche attack somewhere else or shows no more signs of coming on here, I imagine we will move back to the rear somewhere.
However, life at present is far from unpleasant. The regimental staff occupies at chateau overlooking the Marne. We have fine rooms and beds and the view from above is beautiful. The people who own the house left everything intact and it’s almost like living at home. our dining room opens on a porch which looks right over the river which enables us to eat and admire the scenery simultaneously, Every evening our regimental band gets out in front of the chateau and plays just before and during dinner. If it weren’t for the never ending stream of motor trucks on the road below us and aeroplanes flying overhead, we would almost forget that there was a war at all. All the floors are parquet with a delightful music room on the ground floor and a studio on top with a glass roof and porch attached. This studio is full of oil paintings, evidently done by the owner of the house. Some of them are fine.
Well now I am the proud possessor of the Distinguished Service Cross. The ceremony took place yesterday and was attended by much pomp and high rank. It was held on the grounds in front of a large chateau on the banks of the Marne and General Pershing came to make the presentations in person. There were about fifty recipients and after the preliminary reviews of the guard of honor, etc., we all lined up in front of General Pershing and the rest of the dignitaries. The General and all the rest of them moved down and the decorating began. i was the seventh to be decorated. The name and the citation of each recipient was read out as the General got to him. I was so close to the head of the line that I’m sure I got in the movie which were taken of the General when he started down the line. He pinned my cross on, shook my hand, and said, “I thank you and congratulate you—a fine example for your men.” In all, including General Pershing, no less than five generals shook hands with me. General Pershing’s chief of staff, my division commander, my brigade commander, and a French general commanding the army with which this division is operating. After the ceremony was over, we came back to our chateau where we had a big dinner prepared in honor of our Brigadier General (the one whose picture you said looked like Fred.) The long table was beautifully decorated and it really was a picture. I could easily imagine the number of similar occasions which were held in that chateau in days gone by attended by French men and French ladies—not soldiers.
It had been raining intermittently during the afternoon and just as we sat down to dinner, the sun came out and the most beautiful rainbow I ever saw arched itself over the valley of the Marne. The river at this point makes a U-shaped bend, the land enclosed in the U being flat and consisting of one large wheat field. The green hills rising on each side and the rainbow arching over all made a picture I shall never forget.
I have had some good swims in the Marne since we have been here. It’s only just a step from the Chateau.
Now that I have been in France eight months, have been in the biggest of the fighting of the American forces, am wearing a service chevron and have been decorated by the Commander in Chief, I’m sure you will say I am ready to return home as an instructor. I’m not counting on it to any great extent though, for now my regiment is lacking officers and it doesn’t seem likely that they’ll release hold of any of its veterans.
Thank you for your expression and opinion about Jean. You all seem to think I am pining away my young life. I was rather perplexed at first, but on looking back I realize now that it was nothing but a good friendship which was mistaken for something else… I am sure I have never lost any sleep over it. If I thought she had blighted my life, my dog, camera, etc., etc. would be eyesores, but as it is, the dog is always with me and was lying right at my heels in plain view of everybody when I was decorated yesterday.
Must close now as it is time for chow. Saw an officer yesterday who had jus come from the hospital where Fred was. Said he was perfectly all right and expected to be let out any day. I never felt better in my life—physically or spiritually for that matter, for each day brings the war near to its end and the way things stack up now seems to indicate that we’re on the road to the last lap. Love to all the family and bushels for yourself. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 34
July 26th, 1918
Dearest Mama,
We have at last come to a stand still and now I am able to write. Almost two weeks has elapsed since my last letter but it seems more like two months. So much has happened in the interim and we have moved so much that it seems almost incredible that we have done so much in so short a space of time.
About ten days ago we again boarded in camions, or French trucks, and left our position near Château-Theirry and were hustled up to a new part of the front for us, about eight miles south of Soissons. When we arrives, everything was in readiness for a big attack. Artillery was moving forward and there were tanks and cavalry to say nothing of six or seven divisions of infantry, Americans, French, and Algerians. It was a wonderful sight.
At dark on the night of the 17th, everything started to move forward. A terrific thunderstorm set in and the rain came down in torrents which made the going terribly bad and the experience of moving forward along with everything else in the inky blackness and rain I shall never forget. At 4:30 on the morning of the 18th, the artillery started its work and the noise was terrific. The ground fairly shook with the thunder of thousands of guns along a front of forty miles. My regiment was in reserve and we did not go forward with the attacking units. Thousands of prisoners came back past us—a good many of them wounded.
The first day of the attack was a complete success where we were, the Boche fleeing a mile a minute before our troops. That night we moved up from our relief position to one from which we could continue the attack the next day. We passed over country which the Germans had only a few hours before occupied and it was a sight. Material of all kinds, even aeroplanes, was left behind in their flight and their dead were in view everywhere. We started our attack on the 19th at 7 in the morning. We found it much harder than those that made the attack the day before did for the Germans had put their reserve troops in. We advanced about two miles in 14 hours fighting but we sustained heavy losses. Fred was wounded again right at the outset but not very badly. A piece of exploding shell hit him in the elbow. The wound was very slight and I talked to him as he left the field. Of course he was able to return to the rear by himself and seemed very happy at the prospect of another sojourn away from the front and I don’t blame him.
Well, after a whole days fighting, we were relieved that night by the French and started rearward. We moved by easy spells and are now some distance behind the lines and I believe we will go still farther after a few days here. Rumor has it that we are out for six weeks which, despite its uncertain source is reasonable to expect for we will have to fill up with replacements and do considerable training before we will be fit to resume our job as attacking troops. In the meantime we will be able to get our furloughs I am sure…
I am sure this counter offensive must be making a tremendous impression at home. It really marks the beginning of the end—the passing of the upper hand from one side to another. The Germans can never more make a serious offensive and its just a matter of time until there are enough American troops here to really begin to wear the Boche down and make him tired of his own game so that the Kaiser will be ready to cry enough. American divisions are all along the front now and there are hundreds and thousands in the rear waiting their chance and millions yet to come.
I am perfectly O. K. My dog whiffed a little gas which made him sick for a few days but he is all right now. I see by the paper that you are having a hot spell in New York now. I hope you are out of the city where it is a little cooler at least… Will write again in a few days when I hope I will have received some mail from you. Love to all at home and bushels for yourself. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 35
September 2nd 1918
Dearest Mama,
I have just come back from my leave and find that we are going to move tonight…My leave was very enjoyable ad I feel must rested up, Spent two days in Paris and then went to Tronville where I did very little but eat, sleep and swim—all of which were very good. One night in Paris I went to the theatre and ran into Hal Hayes. I recognized him without trouble but he said he would not have recognized me had it not been for the newspaper picture of me that he had in his pocket. Had a long talk with him…
Letter 36
September 5th 1918
Dearest Mama,
After three days or rather nights of moving, I find myself today in a little town with nothing to do but wait. There is a YMCA out here so I am able to get in out of the rain and write. It’s rather fortunate for if I had remained where I was yesterday—in an old farmhouse miles from anywhere—I never would have been able to get a letter off to you. I was sent down here yesterday afternoon to receive instructions regarding the meeting at a railhead somewhere and conducting to the regiment of some replacement troops. Nobody seems to know when they are to arrive ad so I must wait. There’s no telling how long, and it’s quite probable that my regiment will move in the meantime and I’ll have a delightful time trying to catch up to it with a lot of green troops.
When I wrote you last we were on the verge of starting this move and consequently I was able to write only a note telling you I had returned from my furlough and that we were on the move again…
I think I told you I met Hal Hays in Paris. I had intended to drop in at Le Havre and see Fred while on leave but I learned in Paris that he had left the hospital there and had gone down near Bordeaux for a rest at some rest camp or hospital or something. The fracture to his arm is evidently all O. K. now and he’ll be back with the regiment within the next two or three weeks, if he is not sent back home. I don’t know what the chances are but I think he deserves to be sent back after what he has gone through. Then besides, a winter in France isn’t the pleasantest thing in the world to look forward to and he could probably be of just as much service in the States. Since the first of May, I have seen comparatively little of Fred. He went away to school just as I came back from it and he had been back only about a week in June when he was wounded and evacuated. I saw him a few times after he returned from the hospital and then he was wounded again. If he does come back to the regiment, he ought to be given some sort of staff duty.
You mentioned my dog in one of your letters. He has been with me all the time and is still alive which is really remarkable. He has been through every bit of fighting the Marines have been in and never seemed to mind it a bit as long as I was there. On the night of July 19th near Soissons, he was gassed and was sick for about a week. He wouldn’t eat and consequently grew thin, but he came through all right and is as well as ever now. I got mixed up in the gas too but my mask saved me. I even went to sleep with it on which is proof that I was tired. I had a mask for the dog but he would never keep it on.
Well, the passage of the manpower Bill and the plans for the fourth Liberty Loan Drive augur well for a speedier end to the war. Things have certainly been going wonderfully for the Allies since the middle of July and the reports of the past week from the British are most encouraging. The Germans are really becoming disorganized and if we keep hammering at them continually, the more complete will be the rout. Then next spring ought to be the beginning of the end and I predict an armistice by this time next year. Pretty soon there will be some news coming from this side that ought to boost the sale of Liberty Bonds considerably…
My love to all at home. I am thinking of you all, all the time, and often wish I see the children. I guess I would hardly recognize them… Tell Imogene and Harriet I’ll bring them each a German helmet when I come back. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 37
September 18th 1918
Dearest Mama,
We have been in and are not out of the all American offensive which wiped out the long-standing Saint-Mihiel Salient. Just the day before the attack, I wrote you a letter and left it behind to be mailed, but of course during the attack there was no chance to write. Still we were actively engaged for only about a week and now we are out and located in a town some twelve miles behind the lines. It seems that we will be here only a few days and then we will go back in for a renewal of the offensive or else we will go to the rear for at least two months, or perhaps the whole winter. Of course we lower downs are always in ignorance of what’s going to happen next and I am so now that I am not surprised at anything. It’s just a case of being ready to move at any time and wiling and prepared to go anywhere…
Before starting in to tell you about the last attack, I had better clear up a few points which were brought out in the letters from home while they were fresh in my mind. In the first place, I have not been wounded in the right arm, shoulder, knee or any other place. I am not the officer who had eight horses shot from under him. In fact, I never heard that story before ad as there is only one Marine Brigade over here, I am quite sure the officer in question was not a Marine officer. I have made several trips in my liaison work under such circumstances but I always went on foot and was able, therefore, to dodge and fall flat whenever I heard a shell coming my way. Besides, whenever it was a question of speed, I never wanted to be slowed up by any horse…
As for my dog, Jean named him Graf which in German means Count. He is a German police or Red Cross dog and was born before we entered the war so he can’t exactly be classed as an enemy alien, but is as good a marine as anybody.
And now I’ll tell you as much as I can about the “big show” without offending the censor or without using up all the paper I have. No doubt what I have to say will only be a repetition of what you are now reading in the papers.
On the night of the 11th-12th, we moved forward to get into position for we were to “go over: at 5 a.m. on the 12th. It was raining torrents and the night was black as pitch, just at was the case the night of the 17th July when we started the big offensive south of Soissons with the French. It was extremely uncomfortable but nobody thought of personal comfort. There was the feeling among all ranks that this was America’s first big effort and everybody was as keen as could be to see it go off without a hitch. Everything had been prepared to the minutest detail beforehand. There was some skepticism, I believe, because during four years of occupation it was well known that the Boche had prepared the positions in front of us as only he knows how—more trenches, traps, concrete pill-boxes, etc. An objective was assigned to us (2nd Division) which we were to reach in two days—an advance of about 12 kilometers in all. Well, Fritz knew this division, perhaps, but at any rate he didn’t feel like fighting that day for we reached our objective at 3 p.m. on the 12th with very little resistance and very few casualties. We walked so fast trying to keep up that we were all in when finally we did stop. Of course the artillery and supplies couldn’t follow as fast, otherwise the infantry could have gone on indefinitely—and still can for that matter.
Our first lines entered the town of Triacourt at 12:30, the Boche having departed rather hastily at noon. The inhabitants of the village were overjoyed. They fell to kissing the hands of soldiers and in some cases kissing on their necks. I got to the town about 1:30 and on my way in passed civilians coming out headed toward France with what few personal articles they could carry, some leading cows, horses, some goats—all with smiles on their faces and a cheery “Vive l’ Amerique” for all the soldiers they passed. It was an inspiring sight and I felt just a little bit of pride & satisfaction in Uncle Sam in general, and myself in particular, for having a small part in liberating these people from a virtual four years imprisonment. It was a great day in their lives as you can well imagine.
The following day all the civil population was evacuated from the town. It was sad yet a happy sight. I ran into a French woman who spoke excellent english. What she told me was most interesting. Said she was tremendously happy that we had delivered them from the Germans but when she thought of leaving the town she almost burst into tears. And it’s well they left for Fritz didn’t waste any time in training his guns on the place and when we left, the process of laying waste to one more French town was still going on. This woman had a little daughter about five years old who was as pretty as a picture and reminded me of Harriet. I told her I was a Boche but she understood everything that had happened and said in French, “He’s an American, isn’t he Mama?” I made her close her eyes while I slipped ten francs into her pocket and that capped the climax. They hadn’t seen any French money for four years nor had they had any other kind of money during that time. The Germans took anything and everything they wanted from the civilian and gave them in exchange some sort of paper—I.O.U.s—which were worthless.
There were souvenirs galore to be had and if I had had any way to carry them I could be sending a spiked helmet home to everyone of the children. However, by picking up a few little nicknacks here and there which I might be able to send back some day. The Germans left everything behind them—automobiles, horses, wagons, and multitudes of personal effects. The fact that they left rolling stock behind shows that they left in a hurry. The whole thing was a success in every detail…
I talked to some of the prisoners myself and they were absolutely frank in admitting that they are happy to be taken and that they were tired and disgusted with the war. One went so far as to say that all the German soldiers felt the same way.
I almost forgot to tell you that Sam Meek was wounded. Twenty percent of the strength of each company was left behind when the attack started and Sam was in charge of the men from his company, the 82nd. On the second day he came up to see how things were getting along and I met him in the town and had a long talk with him. He went on up the road and it wasn’t ten minutes before he came limping back with a hole in his leg below the hip where a shell fragment had entered, the shell bursting almost on top of him. Fortunately he heard it coming and dropped. Otherwise it might have been worse. He was evacuated and there’s no telling when he will get back.
While I think of it, I want to tell you. In fact, I order you, as we say in military circles, not to offer any more of my letters to newspapers for publication. There is an A. E. F. order which prohibits anybody from writing to newspapers and if relatives or friends give personal letters to newspapers and they are published, if there’s anything objectionable in them, the writer is responsible nevertheless. I am reminded of this by a letter from a New York reporter which came in yesterday’s mail. He said Papa had given him several letters of mine to read and requested that I write to him personally which if I do will only be for the purpose of thanking him.
Must close now as it’s dinner time and this is the last sheet of paper I have… This last offensive was a farce compared to the others we have been in—as far as having a hard time of it goes. Continue to feel that no news is good news, Having gone through so much, I feel confident that I will “put the rest over” as the saying goes. With much love to all. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 38
September 23rd 1918
Dearest Mama,
I was just getting ready to write to you yesterday when a classmate of mine dropped in on me with an automobile and away we went for the rest of the day. Since my last letter we have made a short move and are now farther back of the lines. We’ll probably be here about a week and then move somewhere else. I’d like to stay here a little longer though, for in spite of the fact we are not in what you might call a large town, I have a very nice room with electric light and everything is as comfortable as can be…
The classmate I spoke of was Bob Nourse who played on the football team. He is the chief of an ambulance section and has a Ford of his own to run around in. We went to Nancy where we enjoyed two excellent meals and a swim and bath in an enormous pool there. I feel much better for the bath as it was my first in—well, I won’t say how long… The last report I had from Fred was that he was in a hospital in Brest. That’s as good a jumping off place for America as any and I shouldn’t be surprised to hear any day that he had been invalided back.
While I think of it again, I want to say, please don’t give any of my letters to the newspapers. Although I shall never intentionally violate the censorship regulations, something might accidentally get through which is not exactly according to Hoyle and if it appears in the paper, I might find myself in trouble. Besides, I don’t want people sending me clippings such as these, “New Yorkers Risked Lives,” [or] “Moore and Farwell write of Deeds that won the D. S. C.” If readers want to know how it happened, tell them, but make them promise not to use quotation marks…
Will close now and write again in a few days before we move again. Guess you are back in town now but I’ll continue to send my letters to Papa’s office until I hear where you have located. Bushels of love. Your devoted son, — Billy
Letter 39
September 29th, 1918
Dearest Mama,
There’s not much news at present except that we moved from the place where I wrote you last, arriving here yesterday morning, and now we are apt to move again at a moment’s notice. It seems that every time I write you, I tell you that we have moved which means that we change stations at least once a week and that’s always the way. This division has the reputation of having moved about more than anyone in France and I can testify that if any outfit has moved more than we have, they all must be dizzy.
We are getting the news now of Bulgaria’s plight and a big Franco-American drive between Reims and Verdun. It seems rather peculiar that we are not in it at the start but it seems very likely that we’ll be in it pretty soon. [Ferdinand] Foch is doing all the hammering he can before the winter sets in and what can be done now before the middle of November will just about be the knockout punch for the Kaiser. After that I’m quite sure that we won’t be at the front for the winter but will give somebody else a chance to see something…
Will stop now and get this to the post office before it closes up if it hasn’t done so already. I am feeling fine and my appetite is bigger than it ever was. As long as I am in that condition, what personal discomfort that comes from time to time doesn’t worry or bother me at all. Love to all the family and a heartful for yourself. Your devoted son, — Billy
Spared & Shared 23 