Seven of us fellows met in Paris after a five days’ _permission_ and
took the train for this place. We arrived at about four in the
afternoon, and it was raining about one hundred per cent. We piled our
luggage into the truck and climbed up on top of it. It was some ride! By
the time darkness fell we had become skilful enough to keep our balance
on top of the luggage. It was very dangerous to ride that way. I
understand why they give aviators the balance test. We pulled in here in
the dark and waded half a mile through mud three inches deep, and
mounted to the second story of a one-story building where they served us
a three-course dinner in one course. We used the same half mile of mud
to get back to the barracks. The question came up as to how we were to
get our baggage into the barracks from the trucks, so we carried it in.
Meanwhile, the rain kept up its standard. I forgot to mention we had
been dressed in our best clothes. My hat was covered with mud because it
had fallen off; the rain washed the cap, and that’s how the mud got into
my eyes. We were to sleep on boards. I had my bed made when a Frenchman
came along and offered me a mattress, as he had two. I wanted to be
generous and give it to one of the other fellows, but I thought it would
hurt the Frenchman’s feelings, so I used it myself to sleep on. But
yesterday I put the mattress under the boards; I do not think he will
notice the change and it is more comfortable. The saving grace of it all
is that we have a great bunch of fellows. We have what _we_ French call
_esprit de corps_, meaning in your English language “good spirit.” We
sing when rained upon and laugh when we are sad. They are all pretty
straight fellows and do not let people stumble over their crooks. It is
only when others thrust their faults upon you that you object to their
faults. One might write a nice discourse on the moral rights of a person
to pollute the free atmosphere with the expression of poisonous
thoughts. But these fellows do not do that.
In passing through Paris, I found that I can remain in the French Army
at my option, which I choose to do for some months. I am slowly using up
the great stock of clothing I brought over with me. The hip boots are
best just now. I was dressed in my brown sweater, my American campaign
hat, black boots, and rain coat. I had just finished signing up, when I
heard the door open and smelled some one come in. It was a mixture of
Port and Burgundy wines that I smelled. Having heard that the captain
had a taste for wine, I wheeled around and came to a salute. He looked
me over, up and down, and asked me who I was. I said I was an American
in the _Legion Étranger_, and that I had purchased my clothes at
Marshall Field & Company’s on Washington Street, in Chicago. I knew he
didn’t like my camouflage, because he turned to an assistant and said,
“Dress this man in a complete French uniform.” The man took me in
another room and tried on the clothes. I let him. When he started to
hand me a blue flag, I looked at him questioningly. So he sat down on
the floor and folded the flag lengthwise, running it over his knee to
make the creases stay. When he finished, it was a two-inch band which he
wound about my neck, gave a cross hitch, and pinned it with a pin he bit
out of the lower corner of his coat. He was very serious all the time.
He gave me a cap of the type discarded by the Miners’ Union in 1883.
Except when I see the captain coming, I wear it under my coat. My new
uniform is sky blue in rainy weather. In my next letter I’ll tell you
how it looks when the sun shines. When the weather improves, we may fly.
We are in the war zone now, about thirty-two miles from the Front. We
can see the flare of artillery in the sky and hear the guns on a clear
night. Today we took a walk to a village seven miles away, and crossed a
road where many trains of trucks were passing with supplies. That begins
to sound exciting, doesn’t it? In each village the houses are marked
with the numbers of men and horses they can accommodate. I should be
excited, but I’m not, because I’ll not see the Front for another month.
Your ever lovin’ brother,