TRANSCRIBED FROM THE DAILY ARKANSAS GAZETTE DECEMBER 30, 1918 P. 3
where the boys gave the Dutch all they wanted and more.
I visited the headquarters of one division, which was then in the line. The headquarters were about two miles and a half behind the front line. There was not very much action that day just spasmodic firing along the line, and now and then a burst of machine gun fire. About 5 o’clock the Hun artillery opened up, searching for some crossroads in the rear, and later, just before closing up, dropped a few high explosives right close to headquarters. They can talk all they want to, but I do not believe a man lives who does not have a little sinking sensation in the stomach when he first goes under fire. We left there that night for another division. The chauffeur ran with his lights on for a little while, until a Boche plane spotted us and opened up with machine gun fire and dropped several bombs which exploded harmlessly in an adjoining field. That machine gun put put, just like the beat of an air hammer, is not a pleasant thing to hear, when you know you are the target and when you can hear bullets hitting the earth just a few yards from you. Our chauffeur was wise, turned off the lights and stopped, and Mr. Boche went on his way. That night I slept in what used to be a chicken house and was glad even for that.
The next day I saw a fight in the air between a German and an American plane. There was quite a bit of maneuvering for positions and a few bursts of ineffective fire from both planes, until the American finally got the advantage in position, being just above and behind his adversary, and there was a burst of shots and then the German went into a nose spin, the plane burst into flames and just as it broke into pieces the aviator jumped. They say they always do that. It seems to be an unwritten law that the aviator should jump when he sees there is no hope. It may be that it is an easier death than burning. Naturally a fellow is pulling for his own man to win the scrap, but when you see the other fellow falling into space to sure death a sort of sympathetic feeling for the poor devil comes over you.
There is not much of interest to me of a battlefield, but you wonder how the destruction can be so complete. There is no way of describing the scene except by calling it a desolate waste. The trees are all shot down, the houses and structures are just masses of wrecked masonry, and the fields are pitted by shell holes, and scarred with trenches, yet right on the edge of these great battlefields, the French peasants live and work their farms, often in the fields with shells falling around them.
the old home shores fading away in the distance, with a last glimpse of America about 1 p.m.
the dinner gong rang and we went into the salon to eat and when we came up, the shore line was gone. It was a pretty sight to see that long line of ships going out to the harbor, all but the battleship camouflaged, and it was all decked out in its war paint.
The Irish sea is dotted with small barren islands, inhabited only with lighthouse keepers and sea gulls. The islands seem to be of solid stone construction, apparently cast up from the sea by some powerful force. The Firth of Clyde is very narrow, and both sides are in plain view from the channel. The shores are dotted with bathing beaches and pretty stone mansions, while back in the hills stand old castles of feudal days. About five miles from Glasgow, the ship building ways commence. These are giant structures of steel and iron and are built at an angle of about 30 degrees with the stream because the river is so narrow that ships could not be launched if the ways were constructed at right angles to the river. These ways are just as close as they can be built, and are of various sizes, some to accommodate the smaller destroyer and others the largest ocean liner in the world. We saw one ship in the course of construction that was even larger than the Leviathan. Another interesting ship was one that is termed the “mother ship” for hydro-planes. The ship is large enough to carry some 10 large planes and its deck is devoid of all structures and is used as a landing place for planes. You know about how much space is required for the landing of a plane and from that you can get some idea of the immensity of that boat.
We met with the most enthusiastic reception all the way through Scotland. All along the Firth of Clyde and the Clyde river, we were cheered on our way by thousands of people mostly old men, women and children, and the same was true on our rail trip. Very few American soldiers passed through Scotland, and I guess that accounted for the great enthusiasm. The next morning we arrived in South Hampton, England, and left there that night. I did not get to see much of England, as it rained hard all that day. The trip across the channel was made in a small swift channel boat. This boat was just naturally loaded with troops as close as they could be put on the boat. Luckily, for a small consideration, I was able to secure the berth of one of the cabin boys. We landed the next morning, in the rain, at Charbourgh, France, where we spent the next four days in one of their so-called rest camps. We were lucky enough to get leave in town the last day, and believe me we sure took advantage of it. Charbourgh is a quaint old place, just like most of the French cities, with stone structures and crooked streets. We did enjoy some good meals, though, with eggs for dessert and plenty of good champagne. We had been living on British cooking for three weeks and were certainly glad to get away from it, even for the French style. I hope when I go back, they take me over on an American boat.
Believe me, the Americans, who the Germans said, wouldn’t fight and couldn’t fight if they would, have given them the lie, and have won the respect and admiration of their allies and adversaries alike. When you take into consideration that the Germans had to hold their lines in front of the American First Army, or face disaster, and that they put a sixth of their entire army on the front, which was a twentieth of the western front, and then couldn’t stop our army with the best they had with instructions to fight to the last, one cannot help feeling proud of our boys. It sure was a good thing the Germans quit, or there would have been a military disaster surpassing anything in history.
NOTES: This somewhat jumbled partial letter was written on November 24 from Chaumont, France by Chester Lawrence Johnson to his friend John W. Rose, a Little Rock attorney. He served as a field clerk in the general headquarters of General Pershing. Prior to his military service he was an attorney in the Rock Island railroad offices. He was born on May 3, 1889 in West Salem, La Crosse County, Wisconsin and died on August 12, 1945. He is buried in the Rose Hill Cemetery in Tyler, Texas. His Little Rock, Arkansas draft registration card described him as being tall and of medium build with blue eyes and light hair.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT
where the boys gave the Dutch all they wanted and more.
I visited the headquarters of one division, which was then in the line. The headquarters were about two miles and a half behind the front line. There was not very much action that day just spasmodic firing along the line, and now and then a burst of machine gun fire. About 5 o’clock the Hun artillery opened up, searching for some crossroads in the rear, and later, just before closing up, dropped a few high explosives right close to headquarters. They can talk all they want to, but I do not believe a man lives who does not have a little sinking sensation in the stomach when he first goes under fire. We left there that night for another division. The chauffeur ran with his lights on for a little while, until a Boche plane spotted us and opened up with machine gun fire and dropped several bombs which exploded harmlessly in an adjoining field. That machine gun put put, just like the beat of an air hammer, is not a pleasant thing to hear, when you know you are the target and when you can hear bullets hitting the earth just a few yards from you. Our chauffeur was wise, turned off the lights and stopped, and Mr. Boche went on his way. That night I slept in what used to be a chicken house and was glad even for that.
The next day I saw a fight in the air between a German and an American plane. There was quite a bit of maneuvering for positions and a few bursts of ineffective fire from both planes, until the American finally got the advantage in position, being just above and behind his adversary, and there was a burst of shots and then the German went into a nose spin, the plane burst into flames and just as it broke into pieces the aviator jumped. They say they always do that. It seems to be an unwritten law that the aviator should jump when he sees there is no hope. It may be that it is an easier death than burning. Naturally a fellow is pulling for his own man to win the scrap, but when you see the other fellow falling into space to sure death a sort of sympathetic feeling for the poor devil comes over you.
There is not much of interest to me of a battlefield, but you wonder how the destruction can be so complete. There is no way of describing the scene except by calling it a desolate waste. The trees are all shot down, the houses and structures are just masses of wrecked masonry, and the fields are pitted by shell holes, and scarred with trenches, yet right on the edge of these great battlefields, the French peasants live and work their farms, often in the fields with shells falling around them.
the old home shores fading away in the distance, with a last glimpse of America about 1 p.m.
the dinner gong rang and we went into the salon to eat and when we came up, the shore line was gone. It was a pretty sight to see that long line of ships going out to the harbor, all but the battleship camouflaged, and it was all decked out in its war paint.
The Irish sea is dotted with small barren islands, inhabited only with lighthouse keepers and sea gulls. The islands seem to be of solid stone construction, apparently cast up from the sea by some powerful force. The Firth of Clyde is very narrow, and both sides are in plain view from the channel. The shores are dotted with bathing beaches and pretty stone mansions, while back in the hills stand old castles of feudal days. About five miles from Glasgow, the ship building ways commence. These are giant structures of steel and iron and are built at an angle of about 30 degrees with the stream because the river is so narrow that ships could not be launched if the ways were constructed at right angles to the river. These ways are just as close as they can be built, and are of various sizes, some to accommodate the smaller destroyer and others the largest ocean liner in the world. We saw one ship in the course of construction that was even larger than the Leviathan. Another interesting ship was one that is termed the “mother ship” for hydro-planes. The ship is large enough to carry some 10 large planes and its deck is devoid of all structures and is used as a landing place for planes. You know about how much space is required for the landing of a plane and from that you can get some idea of the immensity of that boat.
We met with the most enthusiastic reception all the way through Scotland. All along the Firth of Clyde and the Clyde river, we were cheered on our way by thousands of people mostly old men, women and children, and the same was true on our rail trip. Very few American soldiers passed through Scotland, and I guess that accounted for the great enthusiasm. The next morning we arrived in South Hampton, England, and left there that night. I did not get to see much of England, as it rained hard all that day. The trip across the channel was made in a small swift channel boat. This boat was just naturally loaded with troops as close as they could be put on the boat. Luckily, for a small consideration, I was able to secure the berth of one of the cabin boys. We landed the next morning, in the rain, at Charbourgh, France, where we spent the next four days in one of their so-called rest camps. We were lucky enough to get leave in town the last day, and believe me we sure took advantage of it. Charbourgh is a quaint old place, just like most of the French cities, with stone structures and crooked streets. We did enjoy some good meals, though, with eggs for dessert and plenty of good champagne. We had been living on British cooking for three weeks and were certainly glad to get away from it, even for the French style. I hope when I go back, they take me over on an American boat.
Believe me, the Americans, who the Germans said, wouldn’t fight and couldn’t fight if they would, have given them the lie, and have won the respect and admiration of their allies and adversaries alike. When you take into consideration that the Germans had to hold their lines in front of the American First Army, or face disaster, and that they put a sixth of their entire army on the front, which was a twentieth of the western front, and then couldn’t stop our army with the best they had with instructions to fight to the last, one cannot help feeling proud of our boys. It sure was a good thing the Germans quit, or there would have been a military disaster surpassing anything in history.
NOTES: This somewhat jumbled partial letter was written on November 24 from Chaumont, France by Chester Lawrence Johnson to his friend John W. Rose, a Little Rock attorney. He served as a field clerk in the general headquarters of General Pershing. Prior to his military service he was an attorney in the Rock Island railroad offices. He was born on May 3, 1889 in West Salem, La Crosse County, Wisconsin and died on August 12, 1945. He is buried in the Rose Hill Cemetery in Tyler, Texas. His Little Rock, Arkansas draft registration card described him as being tall and of medium build with blue eyes and light hair.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT