TRANSCRIBED FROM ARKANSAS GAZETTE AUGUST 30, 1918 p 8
Dear Sister:
Am well and doing fine in a big rest camp in the Woods of Can’t Tell. Had a great time in this last push. Know you have read all about it in the papers and possibly get more information than I can give, as I saw only the country about one mile on either flank, and the censor will not allow me to tell much.
We sure enough helped the French to run the Huns out of some of France. The good old French were on both sides of us and saved our lives many times. My regiment went into the line at 11 p. m. At 4 a.m. we received the order to go over in one hour. We were surprised and very shaky and became very much frightened when the French and Hun barrage broke loose at 5 a.m. We hugged the muddy trenches until 11 a.m. and then went over, with the French lines on right and left. Fritz and Hans broke and ran to their second line when we got within 200 yards with our bayonets. The loss was very small that day. During that night we pushed him out of two big towns and two big woods. The next morning at dawn we went to fighting and soon pushed him to his third lines. This time he ran, and you should have seen the machine guns rake ‘em off the hill tops as they went over. Again in the afternoon, they ran, after putting up slight resistance. The next day they ran, when they saw us coming and were on the dead run the last we saw of them. The fourth day they were so far ahead that we quit and let the French cavalry go for them.
Property—they just simply left everything from big guns to their coats. Sure was some surprise to the Hun. The dead, wounded and prisoners were everywhere. We also lost a good many, but our loss was nothing to that of the fleeing Hun. After the fourth day we saw no more of the line and can give no definite news, except that the guns are out of hearing. Even we cannot hear the big guns on the railroad.
The 39th Infantry won the Croix de Guerre, and were cited for bravery and efficiency. We captured hundreds of prisoners, one battery of artillery, 11 machine guns, six of which we own; with plenty of German ammunition, many rifles, knives, four trench mortars, engineer’s property and clothes. The papers will tell you what the whole outfit captured.
The second night one big Indian from Oklahoma and four other Americans of their own accord went out patrolling in the German line. All at once we heard what seemed to be a regiment coming down the railroad track. One of my men wanted to open up machine gun fire, but I would not let him. About two minutes later the Indian hollowed, “Don’t shoot me. I got Germans.” And in came 20 German boys, just scared to death. The five Americans slipped through the line into a dugout and got the boys. I cannot see why the Germans didn’t fire as our men ran down the railroad track. Most of the boys were glad to be in our hands.
The French nearly love the Americans to death. As they return to their homes in the shattered villages they open a secret door that the German boy nor the Sammy could find, leading to a rich wine cellar. They give us all we want and it is as good as your cherry mixture.
Before coming up to the line, the country I was in was very cold, so cold that corn and sweet potatoes could not be grown. We had to wear coats all the time. It resembles the Dakotas and the Red river valley country of Canada.
At this place much hay had been left uncut, due to scarcity of labor. The woman do nearly all the work now since the young braves are away to war. The last Hun push scared them out—they went away, leaving everything for God and Sammy to look after, and haven’t returned. God did His part well, but Sammy took a heavy toll of chickens, geese, pigs, sheep, beef, preserves and wine. While we were there the old men came that close to the line and cut hay at night, when the Hun couldn’t see them, but the old men got only a tenth part of the hay crop. The wheat will be ready there by September. By that time the Hun will be running back or will have come over us and get the grain.
See lots of pretty country by bright—moonlight and star-shell light. We cannot travel in the daytime before the German boy, else he will get us. At night he cannot see us. The little villages are just wonderful, and each presents some new oddity that impresses one. The church is always there, unless the German artillery has destroyed it, also the village garden is wide open, but bare and unkempt. Too, you will run over a railroad depot that is sure to be shot up if within 20 miles of the line. Sometimes, if you are lucky, you will see a train pass by without a single gleam of light. It sure looks ghostly, passing by, especially the hospital trains. The worst of all is to come to a crossroad that is being shelled and have to wade through a big, dewy wheatfield. Oh, you dirty Hun!
The regiment band is giving a concert out in the bushes. They play most sacred pieces, I notice. They did not do that in the states on Sunday. The old colonel is pretty good.
Your brother,
Ray A. Martin.
NOTES: Lieutenant Ray A. Martin writing to his sister, Mrs. William Hathaway of Little Rock, Arkansas. He lived with his mother at Austin, Lonoke County, Arkansas, before joining the army. He was born January 1890.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT
Dear Sister:
Am well and doing fine in a big rest camp in the Woods of Can’t Tell. Had a great time in this last push. Know you have read all about it in the papers and possibly get more information than I can give, as I saw only the country about one mile on either flank, and the censor will not allow me to tell much.
We sure enough helped the French to run the Huns out of some of France. The good old French were on both sides of us and saved our lives many times. My regiment went into the line at 11 p. m. At 4 a.m. we received the order to go over in one hour. We were surprised and very shaky and became very much frightened when the French and Hun barrage broke loose at 5 a.m. We hugged the muddy trenches until 11 a.m. and then went over, with the French lines on right and left. Fritz and Hans broke and ran to their second line when we got within 200 yards with our bayonets. The loss was very small that day. During that night we pushed him out of two big towns and two big woods. The next morning at dawn we went to fighting and soon pushed him to his third lines. This time he ran, and you should have seen the machine guns rake ‘em off the hill tops as they went over. Again in the afternoon, they ran, after putting up slight resistance. The next day they ran, when they saw us coming and were on the dead run the last we saw of them. The fourth day they were so far ahead that we quit and let the French cavalry go for them.
Property—they just simply left everything from big guns to their coats. Sure was some surprise to the Hun. The dead, wounded and prisoners were everywhere. We also lost a good many, but our loss was nothing to that of the fleeing Hun. After the fourth day we saw no more of the line and can give no definite news, except that the guns are out of hearing. Even we cannot hear the big guns on the railroad.
The 39th Infantry won the Croix de Guerre, and were cited for bravery and efficiency. We captured hundreds of prisoners, one battery of artillery, 11 machine guns, six of which we own; with plenty of German ammunition, many rifles, knives, four trench mortars, engineer’s property and clothes. The papers will tell you what the whole outfit captured.
The second night one big Indian from Oklahoma and four other Americans of their own accord went out patrolling in the German line. All at once we heard what seemed to be a regiment coming down the railroad track. One of my men wanted to open up machine gun fire, but I would not let him. About two minutes later the Indian hollowed, “Don’t shoot me. I got Germans.” And in came 20 German boys, just scared to death. The five Americans slipped through the line into a dugout and got the boys. I cannot see why the Germans didn’t fire as our men ran down the railroad track. Most of the boys were glad to be in our hands.
The French nearly love the Americans to death. As they return to their homes in the shattered villages they open a secret door that the German boy nor the Sammy could find, leading to a rich wine cellar. They give us all we want and it is as good as your cherry mixture.
Before coming up to the line, the country I was in was very cold, so cold that corn and sweet potatoes could not be grown. We had to wear coats all the time. It resembles the Dakotas and the Red river valley country of Canada.
At this place much hay had been left uncut, due to scarcity of labor. The woman do nearly all the work now since the young braves are away to war. The last Hun push scared them out—they went away, leaving everything for God and Sammy to look after, and haven’t returned. God did His part well, but Sammy took a heavy toll of chickens, geese, pigs, sheep, beef, preserves and wine. While we were there the old men came that close to the line and cut hay at night, when the Hun couldn’t see them, but the old men got only a tenth part of the hay crop. The wheat will be ready there by September. By that time the Hun will be running back or will have come over us and get the grain.
See lots of pretty country by bright—moonlight and star-shell light. We cannot travel in the daytime before the German boy, else he will get us. At night he cannot see us. The little villages are just wonderful, and each presents some new oddity that impresses one. The church is always there, unless the German artillery has destroyed it, also the village garden is wide open, but bare and unkempt. Too, you will run over a railroad depot that is sure to be shot up if within 20 miles of the line. Sometimes, if you are lucky, you will see a train pass by without a single gleam of light. It sure looks ghostly, passing by, especially the hospital trains. The worst of all is to come to a crossroad that is being shelled and have to wade through a big, dewy wheatfield. Oh, you dirty Hun!
The regiment band is giving a concert out in the bushes. They play most sacred pieces, I notice. They did not do that in the states on Sunday. The old colonel is pretty good.
Your brother,
Ray A. Martin.
NOTES: Lieutenant Ray A. Martin writing to his sister, Mrs. William Hathaway of Little Rock, Arkansas. He lived with his mother at Austin, Lonoke County, Arkansas, before joining the army. He was born January 1890.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT