(Told by Private Joseph A. Deegan, of the Eleventh Railway Engineers)
_The daily life of the American soldiers and their relations with
those of other nations is an intimate and interesting phase of the war
concerning which little has been published. Here is a description of
them among the French, the Chinese laborers and Hindus and the German
trenches:_
Fine is no name for the way I feel. The climate in the part of France
we have finally settled in is just betwixt and between. It is lukewarm.
Over in England it was rain, rain, rain. Everything was wet and
muddy. We slept and ate in mud right up to our mustaches. However,
the blooming little isle had its good points, so I ought not to
knock it. London gave us a royal welcome, and I now have a few good
friends there. A live time also awaits me if I ever go back to Exeter,
Aldershot or Folkestone.
But turning the film back to La Belle France, here we have nice
climate, an exciting war, excellent champagne and a set of girls that
would make the boys back home green with envy. What more could a
man ask? The only trouble with the French people is their unfailing
habit of trying to overcharge us. However, we are getting on to their
curves now and take discounts off every price they ask. For instance,
when I go into a candy shop the proprietress will exclaim: "Ah, _bon
Americain_." Then she will proceed to quote me one and one-half francs
for a bar of five-cent chocolate. After a little hesitation and
figuring on my part I slip her half a franc, and even at that she is
making a 75 per cent profit. She accepts the slight reduction with a
deprecating air, and probably mutters to herself: "Those Yankees are as
stupid as foxes." Aside from our little monetary differences we and the
French are the most affectionate of comrades.
Somewhere in France we camped next door to a Chinese labor camp. There
was a small army of them. The Mongolians are the best pals we have
run into yet. They were so honored by the attention paid to them by
the whites that they broke their necks to please us. When I said to
a Chink: "Gimme a cigarette, Charlie," he would run a quarter of a
mile to his tent and come back with a fistful. Some of the Chinks even
wanted to lend money to our boys. Unfortunately, however, our bunch
got to selling them, at exorbitant prices, gold rings that after a
rainstorm resembled the Irish flag, and wrist watches with the small
item of works entirely missing. The English soldiers sort of wised up
the Yellow Perils to our tricks and before we parted company with them
they became noticeably cool toward us. Well, they were Coolies, anyhow.
That's a cool joke.
Lower down in France we were camped directly opposite a tribe of
Hindus--you know, the kind with knotted Turkish towels for hats. These
birds bury and pick the pockets of all soldiers killed on the front, so
you cannot sell them trinkets. They have carloads of them. The Hindus
are surlier and dirtier than the Chinese gentlemen, and we did not
mingle with them so freely. If you want to get them drawing knives just
holler, "Buddha _no bon!_" They are fanatics on religion. About a week
ago we visited their camp and they immediately challenged us to a tug
of war. They had about twelve on one end of the rope and we had only
seven. Evidently, however, they are not over strong, because we pulled
them almost up to the firing line. They are hard losers, and might have
drawn their bowies, but I think they suspected we were Irish, so they
remained peaceable.
The guns play a constant tattoo at night, and I am getting used to
them now. The other day a few other fellows and myself made a tour of
inspection among some recently deserted German trenches up near the
line. In them we found feather beds, a box of cigars and, last but not
least, a beautifully toned organ. The feather beds were wet and coated
with mud, so we couldn't bother with them. You will say "Impossible"
when I say I left the cigars there also. This I did, however, as the
Germans have a playful habit of poisoning such dainties. The organ was
badly warped and too far below the ground to attempt to salvage, but we
stayed there for a while and I made the subterranean passages echo to
the strains of "Ragging the Scale."
Another pet trick that the Germans employ is to leave a watch hanging
on the wall of their abandoned trenches. Said watch connects with
a high explosive bomb which explodes when the Ingersoll is removed
from the wall. The other night I was talking with a couple of English
soldiers, who told me that the English and Bavarians became so friendly
at one stage of the war that a squad of the English soldiers crossed
over to the German trenches one night, had a little souse party with
the Bavarians and returned back to the allied trenches in the morning.
For this they were court-martialled. They say that the Bavarians will
frequently holler over to the English not to fire any shots so that
they can eat their dinner in quiet, and they will reciprocate in like
manner. The English apparently have no hard feelings against the
Bavarians, but sure do hate the Prussians. Yesterday I saw a vicious
air fight. The German aviator looped the loop with his machine fully a
dozen times in order to escape the machine-gun fire from the Allies'
planes, and escape he did, for I saw him shooting over the German lines
leaving his pursuers far behind.
Any German prisoners I see I always give them a cheery, "_Wie gehts?_"
and some of them answer "Good morning" in English. They are sick of
the war and claim they are glad to be prisoners. Visited a large
French city the other day which the Germans had occupied but which was
recaptured by the French. No human being could imagine the destruction
that has been wrought there. Among the thousands of houses there is not
a single one that could be lived in. Most of them are beaten to dust,
churches and everything else. An old Frenchman there told me with tears
in his eyes how his daughter and the rest of the girls of the city had
been forcibly taken away by the Germans when they were evacuating the
city. I can now understand enough French to converse in a broken way.
The slogan here now is, "Give the Germans hell and take no prisoners."
From all stories and indications they have acted like barbarians and
deserve the worst treatment possible. Their fire is becoming weaker and
I think their days are numbered. The Americans will put the finishing
touches on them, and don't be surprised if I send you a postcard from
Berlin some day.