As soon as it was dark, I was detailed along with a bunch of other
fellows to go out as reinforcements to our left flank. My friend Jones,
another fellow and I, were put on an advanced bombing post. Every once
in a while they would attempt to come over on us. It kept us pretty
busy, and also kept us from getting sleepy.
In the early morning one of Fritz's planes came flying over us. One
of our fellows couldn't resist the temptation of drawing a bead on
him, although it's against all orders for us to fire on aircraft. The
chances of hitting him are about a thousand to one. Well, the "son of
a gun" made a dive and swooped over us with his machine gun. I don't
think he got anybody, but he came so low that some of our guns got him.
He dropped like a stone. I was almost sorry to see it, for I am still
a sport and that guy certainly had got grit.
Well, these little events kept happening all day long. Then at four
o'clock in the afternoon my friend Jones got hit. It was during one of
his attacks--he got inquisitive, took a peek over the parapet, and got
it in the cheek. Two hours later I got hit--this was the second time I
had been hit. The first was so slight I didn't leave the line, but this
time I had just had about as much as I cared for. So I got first aid
and waited until things had quieted down a little, and then made my way
to a dugout to wait until it got dark.
About nine o'clock, I started to beat it for the dressing station. But
believe me, old man, it was easier said than done, for we had advanced
over a mile over No Man's Land and I had to go all over that way again.
There were three of us that started. The other two were just slightly
wounded--one in the shoulder and the other in the wrist. But poor me,
having it in the knee, was worst of the bunch. I couldn't move fast, it
had stiffened me so.
Well, we had our little adventures going across. Once I got entangled
in the barbed wire. And then when we saw several fellows ahead of
us--we just dropped in a shell hole, and waited for them to move off.
After a wait of about fifteen minutes, they didn't move. The fellow
with the hit in the shoulder crawled forward to find out who they were.
He was gone so long we were just making up our minds to make a wide
circuit of them, "for none of us were armed"--we had thrown everything
away so we could move quicker. Just as we had given him up he came back
with the news it was one of our own working parties fixing wires. The
reason he had been so long was because he had been waiting to catch
some of the conversation to see whether it was English or not.
Away we started again. We were nearing our old front line when Fritz
caught us with one of his flare-lights. Of course the next minute it
was Whiss-siss-siss-pop-pop-pop! They had turned a machine gun on
us. Then came another wait in a shell hole. Eventually I reached the
dressing station. I had my leg dressed and a few bits of sticking
plaster put on various parts of my body. I was put on a motor ambulance
and the next morning woke up in a hospital clearing station to find my
old friend Jones sitting up in a bed opposite me.
Well, we had a good laugh for we are like the Siamese twins. Wherever
one is the other is not far off--at least it has been that way since
coming to France. And the objects we looked, he with a face as big
as two, and me with my clothing all muddy and torn and various other
changes. We'd have made a good picture entitled, "After the Fight."
Later on we were taken on a hospital train to this place, but I shall
be glad when I can get about again. I feel more lonesome here than I
ever have in all my life. It's the weariness of lying here with nothing
to do that gets my "goat." Nevertheless it's great to be human again
and among civilization again. The first few days I appreciated it all
right, for I did not have a wink of sleep from the Monday night and
scarcely anything to eat or drink.
Now don't forget, old man, to drop me a line and let me know how
everything is in dear old New York. So now good-bye for the present,
hoping you WILL remember me to all old friends.
Your old friend,