TRANSCRIBED FROM THE DAILY ARKANSAS GAZETTE JULY 3, 1918 P 3
My dear wife:
By the time you receive this no doubt you will already have received the letter from the “Red Cross,” and may be by that time the names will be in the papers, but don’t worry, as my wound is slight.
You see, I got tired of seeing all those German shots going to waste, so I stepped in front of one and saved it (sure, I have it now). I’m getting along fine, but it was great, and I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.
We went across an open field and right into the face of Fritz, whom we drove clear through the woods, and just as we came up over a little rise in the ground (about 10 of us) there were three German machine guns within 15 feet of us. We dropped, and between the 10 we picked the fellows off of two guns; then a shell lit under the other one and it was good-bye “Dutchman.” Well, we thought we were O.K., for the time at least, when all at once another gun “sounded off” real close and we couldn’t locate it until one of the boys looked up and there sat Mr. German in a tree with a gun on a platform with a steady stream of fire coming out of it, and before we could get him he killed two men along side of me and got five of us in the legs and hips—but he will never shoot again.
Two of the wounded boys I sent back and the rest of us stayed there, because we couldn’t get out. My wound stopped bleeding, and I thought it was just a scratch where a bullet had gone over, so never paid any attention to it. All that night there was quite a bit of firing and at daylight we made another drive and again ran onto more guns, so what was left of three companies formed in a half circle and we just closed in on them. It was costly, but we got them, and then I got sick, and am sorry to say had to leave before the fun was over (it lasted several days more).
So far we have two citations from the French, which means a cord on the shoulder if we are allowed to wear them. Well, I am getting pretty tired, so will have to quit for the present, but please don’t worry, as I will be out of here before long, as good as ever.
We were in a hospital in Paris, and while there I heard the big gun four times. I am pretty shaky now, but hope you can read this. Don’t forget I am coming home one of these fine days.
NOTES: Dana Clifton Lovejoy was writing to his wife who was staying with family in Little Rock. He was born August 30, 1897, Missouri and died February 22, 1974, Orange, California. He is buried Inglewood Park Cemetery, Inglewood, California. He enlisted April 6, 1917 and was released March 12, 1919.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT
My dear wife:
By the time you receive this no doubt you will already have received the letter from the “Red Cross,” and may be by that time the names will be in the papers, but don’t worry, as my wound is slight.
You see, I got tired of seeing all those German shots going to waste, so I stepped in front of one and saved it (sure, I have it now). I’m getting along fine, but it was great, and I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.
We went across an open field and right into the face of Fritz, whom we drove clear through the woods, and just as we came up over a little rise in the ground (about 10 of us) there were three German machine guns within 15 feet of us. We dropped, and between the 10 we picked the fellows off of two guns; then a shell lit under the other one and it was good-bye “Dutchman.” Well, we thought we were O.K., for the time at least, when all at once another gun “sounded off” real close and we couldn’t locate it until one of the boys looked up and there sat Mr. German in a tree with a gun on a platform with a steady stream of fire coming out of it, and before we could get him he killed two men along side of me and got five of us in the legs and hips—but he will never shoot again.
Two of the wounded boys I sent back and the rest of us stayed there, because we couldn’t get out. My wound stopped bleeding, and I thought it was just a scratch where a bullet had gone over, so never paid any attention to it. All that night there was quite a bit of firing and at daylight we made another drive and again ran onto more guns, so what was left of three companies formed in a half circle and we just closed in on them. It was costly, but we got them, and then I got sick, and am sorry to say had to leave before the fun was over (it lasted several days more).
So far we have two citations from the French, which means a cord on the shoulder if we are allowed to wear them. Well, I am getting pretty tired, so will have to quit for the present, but please don’t worry, as I will be out of here before long, as good as ever.
We were in a hospital in Paris, and while there I heard the big gun four times. I am pretty shaky now, but hope you can read this. Don’t forget I am coming home one of these fine days.
NOTES: Dana Clifton Lovejoy was writing to his wife who was staying with family in Little Rock. He was born August 30, 1897, Missouri and died February 22, 1974, Orange, California. He is buried Inglewood Park Cemetery, Inglewood, California. He enlisted April 6, 1917 and was released March 12, 1919.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT