TRANSCRIBED FROM THE DAILY ARKANSAS GAZETTE MARCH 1, 1919 P. 5
Yes, the war is over, and the active barbarians have for the time being become dormant. No, I did not win the war---it could have been won without me or my assistance, but I functioned as I was instructed, and did all that was possible to promote the German defeat. I saw the plain and open horrors of modern warfare, and it is nothing short of a living h—l, or as nearly so as modern war machines could render it. I saw the big coast artillery guns belching forth tons of high explosive, throwing them in the form of a big shell, 20 miles distant, and when they would fall they would blow a hole into whatever they should strike large enough to place two large boxcars. One shell alone would wreck the entire Donaghey building. Or a good example of their power. Three of them would leave the Marion hotel a pile of ruins.
On the morning of November 1, when the barrage started, the whole heavens were a solid mass of glittering flashing from the big guns. There were all sizes shooting at the same time. The whole front from Verdun to the North sea was a fine flame and destruction for the Boche, and did not think for a second the Dutch did not retaliate, for they did, and for the first three days it was an awful place for any human being to be. Men were falling in front and all around us, some wounded, some killed. We were passing over German wounded and dead by the score. Our division did not lose nearly as many men as I had thought they would. My own company lost only one man who was struck with shrapnel. It participated in two of the worst battles of the whole front and came out in fine condition.
I wa snot unnerved at all during this drive, for at St. Mihiel I had passed through the period of mental death, and that makes a man a fatalist. Most every soldier is one, and says, “O, well, if one has my number, it will get me anyway.” A man thinks of his own safety as a secondary consideration, and goes on working as you would see a big bunch of factory employes laboring amid machinery that if a false move were made would tear their life away, and never think anything about it. I saw everything with a grand offensive, such as was launched on that first day of November, and I certainly never want to witness such again as long as I live.
The Germans say that the French fought for freedom, the English for the high seas and the Yanks for souvenirs.
On the 4th of November I was sent back to school at Chattelon Sur Saine, and I sure was glad to get away, too---not that I was afraid of losing my life, but I was tired to death. For four days and nights I had been going, and not one minute’s sleep. I went to bed the minute the lieutenant told us the place belonged to us. It was at 11 o’clock in the morning and I did not awaken until 8 o’clock the next morning.
While I was en route from school to my organization, I heard a conversation between one of the negro soldiers and an Algerian (a French negro who wears a French uniform same as a French soldier). The French soldier was doing guard inside a camp at St. Dizier, France, and guarding some German prisoners who were working. Two American negro soldiers walked out of a wine house and looked over and saw the French negro, so one of them walked over and said to him, “Say, niggah; tells me how’d you come to be in dis here French army?” French negro (not understanding) “No com-paw paw.” American negro—“D’ell you don’t! If you didn’t have such a big long bayonet on dat gun, I’d make you tell me de trufe;” thereupon turning to his comrade, saying, “Come over here and see if you can figure dis niggah out, cause I sho’ ain’t got no diplomatic relations wid dat niggah.” They both decided to let him go for the time and get another glass of beer.
Well, I will tell you a little of Germany and then close. This is a rough country through here, and there are no farmhouses as you see in the states. All the people live in small towns and have primitive customs. They still plow with oxen and use dogs to pull carts. A woman’s life is valued very low; they seem to be born only for slaves. They work from daylight until dark, and are not appreciated. No one owns a car and a carriage and a horse is a fortune. They say we are spendthrifts, and I sometime agree with them.
NOTES: This partial letter was written by Corp Cecil Ernest Johnson. He was born on January 5, 1893 in Morrilton, Arkansas and died on November 6, 1955 in Colby, Kansas. He is buried in the Beulah Cemetery in Colby. His military headstone identifies him as Kansas, CPL Co B 114 Field SG BN serving in WW I. He was described as being of medium height and build with gray eyes and dark brown hair. He trained with the 98th Division in Camp Funston, Kansas before being sent to France. At the time of the letter he was serving with the Army of Occupation at Rittersdorf, Germany.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT
Yes, the war is over, and the active barbarians have for the time being become dormant. No, I did not win the war---it could have been won without me or my assistance, but I functioned as I was instructed, and did all that was possible to promote the German defeat. I saw the plain and open horrors of modern warfare, and it is nothing short of a living h—l, or as nearly so as modern war machines could render it. I saw the big coast artillery guns belching forth tons of high explosive, throwing them in the form of a big shell, 20 miles distant, and when they would fall they would blow a hole into whatever they should strike large enough to place two large boxcars. One shell alone would wreck the entire Donaghey building. Or a good example of their power. Three of them would leave the Marion hotel a pile of ruins.
On the morning of November 1, when the barrage started, the whole heavens were a solid mass of glittering flashing from the big guns. There were all sizes shooting at the same time. The whole front from Verdun to the North sea was a fine flame and destruction for the Boche, and did not think for a second the Dutch did not retaliate, for they did, and for the first three days it was an awful place for any human being to be. Men were falling in front and all around us, some wounded, some killed. We were passing over German wounded and dead by the score. Our division did not lose nearly as many men as I had thought they would. My own company lost only one man who was struck with shrapnel. It participated in two of the worst battles of the whole front and came out in fine condition.
I wa snot unnerved at all during this drive, for at St. Mihiel I had passed through the period of mental death, and that makes a man a fatalist. Most every soldier is one, and says, “O, well, if one has my number, it will get me anyway.” A man thinks of his own safety as a secondary consideration, and goes on working as you would see a big bunch of factory employes laboring amid machinery that if a false move were made would tear their life away, and never think anything about it. I saw everything with a grand offensive, such as was launched on that first day of November, and I certainly never want to witness such again as long as I live.
The Germans say that the French fought for freedom, the English for the high seas and the Yanks for souvenirs.
On the 4th of November I was sent back to school at Chattelon Sur Saine, and I sure was glad to get away, too---not that I was afraid of losing my life, but I was tired to death. For four days and nights I had been going, and not one minute’s sleep. I went to bed the minute the lieutenant told us the place belonged to us. It was at 11 o’clock in the morning and I did not awaken until 8 o’clock the next morning.
While I was en route from school to my organization, I heard a conversation between one of the negro soldiers and an Algerian (a French negro who wears a French uniform same as a French soldier). The French soldier was doing guard inside a camp at St. Dizier, France, and guarding some German prisoners who were working. Two American negro soldiers walked out of a wine house and looked over and saw the French negro, so one of them walked over and said to him, “Say, niggah; tells me how’d you come to be in dis here French army?” French negro (not understanding) “No com-paw paw.” American negro—“D’ell you don’t! If you didn’t have such a big long bayonet on dat gun, I’d make you tell me de trufe;” thereupon turning to his comrade, saying, “Come over here and see if you can figure dis niggah out, cause I sho’ ain’t got no diplomatic relations wid dat niggah.” They both decided to let him go for the time and get another glass of beer.
Well, I will tell you a little of Germany and then close. This is a rough country through here, and there are no farmhouses as you see in the states. All the people live in small towns and have primitive customs. They still plow with oxen and use dogs to pull carts. A woman’s life is valued very low; they seem to be born only for slaves. They work from daylight until dark, and are not appreciated. No one owns a car and a carriage and a horse is a fortune. They say we are spendthrifts, and I sometime agree with them.
NOTES: This partial letter was written by Corp Cecil Ernest Johnson. He was born on January 5, 1893 in Morrilton, Arkansas and died on November 6, 1955 in Colby, Kansas. He is buried in the Beulah Cemetery in Colby. His military headstone identifies him as Kansas, CPL Co B 114 Field SG BN serving in WW I. He was described as being of medium height and build with gray eyes and dark brown hair. He trained with the 98th Division in Camp Funston, Kansas before being sent to France. At the time of the letter he was serving with the Army of Occupation at Rittersdorf, Germany.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT