TRANSCRIBED FROM THE DAILY ARKANSAS GAZETTE SEPTEMBER 14, 1918 P. 9
All this time were right in the midst of hell, losing boys every day, sleeping in mud and rain all the time, our packs on our backs about 75 pounds in all; had not taken shoes off for nine days; our gas equipment ready to be slipped on any minute. And, oh, the night of the ninth. All hell seemed to have broken loose. It was simply impossible to rest in any manner. We began to wonder if we would ever be relieved. But the 10th was worst of all.
Soissons had been captured the second time by the marines and we were ordered to follow them up. No trenches, nothing but shell holes and onw and then a patch of woods for shelter. We went forward all morning, taking prisoners and destroying machine gun nests; taking batches of prisoners to the rear. Germans were lying in piles. Souvenirs from Boches! Revolvers, daggers, belts, helmets, identification cards, German money, etc., we had our pockets full of ‘em.
It was about the middle of the afternoon of the 10th day when our captain turned over to me a German lieutenant to be taken to the rear. Since he was an officer and liable to possess valuable information I was given him alone to take to the rear. The captain told me he had been searched for weapons, but I kept my eye on him and it was well I did. We had not gone far when I saw his right hand go up to his chest. I thought he might be reaching for grenades in his pocket so I dropped flat and pulled my automatic. He whirled around and fired at me three times. I was about 10 paces behind him. By that time my colt had spoken and he dropped shot through the face.
I relieved the ornery cuss of his little automatic and took his iron cross, leather belt with the big buckle that had “Got Mit Un’s” on it, his big helmet. Then beneath his pants I found a dagger about six inches long. This I drove throuhg his heart and then reported to camp.
It was about dusk when the platton I was in was advancing, when a big shell bursted close by—and that is the last I remember.
NOTED: This partial letter was written by Franklin Fletcher Kelly from a French hospital where he was suffering from shell shock. He was born on May 11, 1892 in Fort Smith, Arkansas and died on February 7, 1967 in San Antonio Texas. He is buried in the Cleburne Memorial Cemetery in Cleburne,Texas. His military headstone identifies him as an Arkansas Cpl 26 Co 20 Engineers serving in World War I. He was described as being short and slender with gray eyes and brown hair. (The editor spelled his name Kelley but records including his gravestone spell it KELLY.)
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT
All this time were right in the midst of hell, losing boys every day, sleeping in mud and rain all the time, our packs on our backs about 75 pounds in all; had not taken shoes off for nine days; our gas equipment ready to be slipped on any minute. And, oh, the night of the ninth. All hell seemed to have broken loose. It was simply impossible to rest in any manner. We began to wonder if we would ever be relieved. But the 10th was worst of all.
Soissons had been captured the second time by the marines and we were ordered to follow them up. No trenches, nothing but shell holes and onw and then a patch of woods for shelter. We went forward all morning, taking prisoners and destroying machine gun nests; taking batches of prisoners to the rear. Germans were lying in piles. Souvenirs from Boches! Revolvers, daggers, belts, helmets, identification cards, German money, etc., we had our pockets full of ‘em.
It was about the middle of the afternoon of the 10th day when our captain turned over to me a German lieutenant to be taken to the rear. Since he was an officer and liable to possess valuable information I was given him alone to take to the rear. The captain told me he had been searched for weapons, but I kept my eye on him and it was well I did. We had not gone far when I saw his right hand go up to his chest. I thought he might be reaching for grenades in his pocket so I dropped flat and pulled my automatic. He whirled around and fired at me three times. I was about 10 paces behind him. By that time my colt had spoken and he dropped shot through the face.
I relieved the ornery cuss of his little automatic and took his iron cross, leather belt with the big buckle that had “Got Mit Un’s” on it, his big helmet. Then beneath his pants I found a dagger about six inches long. This I drove throuhg his heart and then reported to camp.
It was about dusk when the platton I was in was advancing, when a big shell bursted close by—and that is the last I remember.
NOTED: This partial letter was written by Franklin Fletcher Kelly from a French hospital where he was suffering from shell shock. He was born on May 11, 1892 in Fort Smith, Arkansas and died on February 7, 1967 in San Antonio Texas. He is buried in the Cleburne Memorial Cemetery in Cleburne,Texas. His military headstone identifies him as an Arkansas Cpl 26 Co 20 Engineers serving in World War I. He was described as being short and slender with gray eyes and brown hair. (The editor spelled his name Kelley but records including his gravestone spell it KELLY.)
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT