The Glasgow courier. [volume] (Glasgow, Mont.) 1913-current, 1918-12-06
OUR UNCLE SAMUEL
' ~ ISIS, IS Some BOY
So Says Captain Hoyt Whose Enter.
tanning Letters Are of Much In.
terest to Glasgow People.

The Courier is again permitted to
publish another of the intensely in
teresting letters from Captain Mark
D. Hoyt. This one was recently re-
ceived by Miss Permelia Clark, su-
perintendent of the Deaconess hospit-
al, and as usual the communication
abounds in descriptive and entertain
ing details that the folks at home
don't often get from over there:
American Red Cross,
October 81, 1918.
My Dear Lady:
stopped at the door just now and
again took in the, now, familiar view.
I will try and describe it, but no pen,
at any rate mine, can do it justice.
1t is beautiful, sunshiny day with
no wind and the haze of October
smoothing out the rough spots in the
landscape. We are on the west side
Of a little valley made historic by
the French, and the scene of the most
terrific fighting of the war. It is
here that the Americans are hammer
ing at the most vital and difficult
part of the Hun lines, and slowly but
surely, forcing him back.
Across the valley is little village
nesting among the trees, the omni-
present church spire marking it's To-
cation. From here the American
army is directed and even fly must
have an identification card to get in
or out. On the left is group of
aerodromes, two white roads, one on
either side, stretch their tree border
ed courses over the brow of the dis
tant hills, a never ending line of traf-
fic moves day and night as far as one
can see. Little toy engines with lit
tie toy cars squeal defiance as they
slip along the little toy railroads to-
wards the front. On the right is a
long wooded ridge, the trees in gala
dress of greens and browns, yellows
and red, from whose tops at regular
intervals comes roar that shakes
the buildings.
From the German prison camp that
from the distance resembles huge
ant hill, stretches a line of moving
figures, convoy of Huns going to
the rear. Immediately in the fore
ground, down the hill, is our receiv-
ing ward, from which the stretcher
bearers are carrying patients, the
feeding ambulances arriving in ones
and twos and backing up to discharge
their crippled human cargoes. In
the sky few fleecy clouds, and al
ways circling and circling, the great
droning birds, "the eyes of the army"
watching that no willy Hun approach
to near the holy of holies, the head
quarters of the "all highest"
And over all, and under all, DOM
mating the scene and the senses, is
the rumble of the guns, sounding like
distant thunder, ceaselessly handing
to Heine Americas answer to his
phoney plea for peace.
Just to see and be a part of this
stupendous machine amply repays one
for whatever small sacrifice one may
have made to come. 1t is absolutely
marvellous. Those of you at home will
never grasp the magnitude of it no
matter how often or how we'll des-
cribed it may be.
AS an instance, hundreds of men,
mostly prisoners, do nothing but
pound empty tin cans flat, that they
may be shipped back. The tin and
iron recovered and used over again,
not one is thrown away. There is
a small salvage camp near here,
where in one pile are enough discard
ed shoes to supply Glasgow for 20
years. Even the tops of the boots
taken from the German dead and
wounded are saved and cut into shoe
laces.
There are countless saw mills, car
penter shops, machine shops, auto
mobile repair shops and others too nu-
merous to mention, each mounted on
an immense truck, run by electricity
generated on the truck itself, ready to
60 any place at any time and ready
to do business in ten minutes after
they stop, it's efficiency developed to