TRANSCRIBED FROM THE DAILY ARKANSAS GAZETTE JANUARY 26, 1919 P. 12
We left Newport News, Va., August 5, and arrived in France August 19. Remained with by division (39th) until September 9, when I was ordered to join the 77th Division (a New York bunch). On the morning of Friday, September 13, I went over the top at St. Mihiel; I went through all that fighting, which was very easy; we lost very lightly. We enjoyed hearing the Hun holler and fall over, his worries over.
Finally, we arrived at the Argonne forest. God only knows where the sun was. It was raining and cold; the rain had a way of soaking through the skin into the body until your very heart seemed to be pumping rain water through the veins instead of blood. It was most impressive; it seemed to clog the lungs, and make breathing difficult. One gets to hungering for just one blast of clean, fresh, warming sunshine.
Dawn comes about 5 o’clock. As soon as the first streak of light begins splitting the thick mist, we lift ourselves out of ‘our graves’ into which we plastered ourselves, after we had scooped it out in the wet ground with a shovel or bayonet or even a mess plate (we call our hole in the ground our grave). It affords some protection from the shells and machine gun bullets—not every time, though. When we pull ourselves out of our shelters it makes a noise like yanking a rubber boot out of the mud. We’ve had no sleep—no man can sleep in a cold puddle with gun fire as a lullaby. We’ve had little to eat; we’ve had two weeks of unremitting hell—in fact, the comparison is hardly fair to hell.
We went “over the top” the day I was wounded, and had hand to hand fighting. The horror of it makes my very blood run cold, seeing my comrades shot down, standing up to our ankle tops in mud, blood everywhere, face, hands, clothes, bullet holes in my canteen and hat. I came in two feet of being killed by a Prussian Guard’s bayonet, but my orderly killed him. You lose all thoughts of taking life-you are anxious to see how much suffering you can inflict.
On the last afternoon I was with my division, I ordered my orderly to dig my ‘grave.’ After he reported the work done I crawled in for the night. My captain sent for me to give me some orders about going over the top the next morning. After I was through my conference with him, I started back to my grave. When in about 50 feet of it, the Huns sent over a big shell that made a direct hit in it, killing several and blew me in the air. I received three wounds from shrapnel, and with my lungs filled with gas was carried to the field hospital. I’ve just learned that all the officers of my company were killed in that battle.
NOTES: This partial letter was written by Lieutenant Boas Evans Gibson to his mother, Mrs. John S. Gibson. He attempted to enlist two times but was refused because he was too thin. The third time he was accepted in the 3rd Regiment of the Arkansas National Guard assigned to Co M 154th Infantry, 39th Div. He recovered from his wounds and was in charge of the prisoners-of-war company at Toul, France. He was born on February 24, 1894 in Hoxie, Arkansas and died on August 19, 1987. He is buried in the Saint Paul Cemetery in Randolph County, Arkansas. His military headstone identifies him as a Capt. US Army serving in World War I, II and Korea. He was described as being tall and slender with brown eyes and black hair.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT
We left Newport News, Va., August 5, and arrived in France August 19. Remained with by division (39th) until September 9, when I was ordered to join the 77th Division (a New York bunch). On the morning of Friday, September 13, I went over the top at St. Mihiel; I went through all that fighting, which was very easy; we lost very lightly. We enjoyed hearing the Hun holler and fall over, his worries over.
Finally, we arrived at the Argonne forest. God only knows where the sun was. It was raining and cold; the rain had a way of soaking through the skin into the body until your very heart seemed to be pumping rain water through the veins instead of blood. It was most impressive; it seemed to clog the lungs, and make breathing difficult. One gets to hungering for just one blast of clean, fresh, warming sunshine.
Dawn comes about 5 o’clock. As soon as the first streak of light begins splitting the thick mist, we lift ourselves out of ‘our graves’ into which we plastered ourselves, after we had scooped it out in the wet ground with a shovel or bayonet or even a mess plate (we call our hole in the ground our grave). It affords some protection from the shells and machine gun bullets—not every time, though. When we pull ourselves out of our shelters it makes a noise like yanking a rubber boot out of the mud. We’ve had no sleep—no man can sleep in a cold puddle with gun fire as a lullaby. We’ve had little to eat; we’ve had two weeks of unremitting hell—in fact, the comparison is hardly fair to hell.
We went “over the top” the day I was wounded, and had hand to hand fighting. The horror of it makes my very blood run cold, seeing my comrades shot down, standing up to our ankle tops in mud, blood everywhere, face, hands, clothes, bullet holes in my canteen and hat. I came in two feet of being killed by a Prussian Guard’s bayonet, but my orderly killed him. You lose all thoughts of taking life-you are anxious to see how much suffering you can inflict.
On the last afternoon I was with my division, I ordered my orderly to dig my ‘grave.’ After he reported the work done I crawled in for the night. My captain sent for me to give me some orders about going over the top the next morning. After I was through my conference with him, I started back to my grave. When in about 50 feet of it, the Huns sent over a big shell that made a direct hit in it, killing several and blew me in the air. I received three wounds from shrapnel, and with my lungs filled with gas was carried to the field hospital. I’ve just learned that all the officers of my company were killed in that battle.
NOTES: This partial letter was written by Lieutenant Boas Evans Gibson to his mother, Mrs. John S. Gibson. He attempted to enlist two times but was refused because he was too thin. The third time he was accepted in the 3rd Regiment of the Arkansas National Guard assigned to Co M 154th Infantry, 39th Div. He recovered from his wounds and was in charge of the prisoners-of-war company at Toul, France. He was born on February 24, 1894 in Hoxie, Arkansas and died on August 19, 1987. He is buried in the Saint Paul Cemetery in Randolph County, Arkansas. His military headstone identifies him as a Capt. US Army serving in World War I, II and Korea. He was described as being tall and slender with brown eyes and black hair.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT