The herald and news. [volume] (Newberry S.C.) 1903-1937, 1918-04-26
AMERICAN TROOPS, WHILE UNDER
CONSTANT FIRE, HIGH HIGH SPIRITED ST
Nobody Who Has Not Been in the front Line Trenches
Trenches Can Possibly Know the Horror and the
Misery of War, or Appreciate the Heroism Of Our
Fighters, Soldier Writes Mother.

rlghS for 1t Is peace at any prlce,
even If the price is life, and we are
going to pay millions of lives before
We get it.
Hero I have written few pages you
may never receive, and in thinking
over what have written I have said
nothing that can give you any real
clear idea of what this war is like.
It Is made up Of a thousand little
details and the master Of all is
Courage and Work.
Work from morn;" - the next
morning, and wor'- / you don't
know when morn ally comes.
I suppose it is in il, for all Of
our ancestors fouga like it in
spite of the hell Of noise, and sudden
death, and lingering death, and awful
work, and no water, and lice, and raped
women and mangled children, and
towns that were, and friends that were,
and the glorious life to go back to
after war. Some way it all seems as if
I had been through it before.
I remember the last letter [ started
to write you about two weeks ago, in
a dugout nearly forty feet deep, and
almost at the start a shell hit the
top, made an awful noise, put my
candle out, and made ME think had
better inspect our trenches and talk
a. little to my men, for felt a little
in need of cheering. So didn't write
any more, but started to inspect our
position, woke up again in my dug
out with a little bit of overcoat left,
very small and shallow hole in my
shoulder, a few gravel in my face
and the hate of hell in my heart for
the man who fred the shot.
The Trenches.
So it goes. You walk through
trenches so black you skin your face
against the walls Of it, curse the twist
ed shape of it, and wish to God you
could see something real to shoot at:
Sixteen long hours of blackness and
then a twilight twisted in fog and
malformed by q hidden sun. Then the
same thing over and over again. Moth
ing happens in the day, hell pops
loose at darkness. When | LETT the
trenches [ was really beginning to be
able to see in the dark.
Mother. when you get this letter l
will be back in the line. When you
are asleep l am awake for night IS
the time things happen) and when you
are awake so am I, large part OF the
time. Everything works fast here, life,
death, men, artillery, all are at con-
cert pitch and going faster than you
can imagine; so if the Boche is lucky
and one of his shells happen to hit
me ald I take the long, long sleep,
YOU must not worry a little bit. L
chose this profession and it is The only
one of the mall. If I don't come back
when peace is sounded, just remem-
Der that met it smiling and tried,
and did do all you would want me to
do.
have been so fortunate in my an
cestors and their fighting abilities,
that perhaps it is little easier on me
than some of the rest. So help them
all YOU can and know that l am happy
somewhere.
This, know, from my old remcm-
brances of things sounded little like
musb, but it isn't, it is exactly what
I mean and feel. 1t is not easy to
write, but if l could talk to you for
few minutes You would understand,
you always understood.
And now, dearest mother, good night.
1t is Christmas and l hope this letter
will reach you. I am still wretched
that when we were together you were
not as happy as you should have been,
but perhaps this helps little.
Again good night and God bless you.
Your loving son.
---O-------