TRANSCRIBED FROM THE POCAHONTAS STAR HERALD OCTOBER 11, 1918 P. 3
Camp Travis, Texas
Dear Editor:
If you will allow me a little space, I will try to write a few lines to the people back in old Arkansas.
We cannot reckon the terribleness of the war. Little do we know of the sufferings and privations endured for four years by the people of blood drenched Europe. Were it not for the casualty list that comes home to us, and the presence of soldiers everywhere, we would have no thoughts of war. We are living in the security of a Democratic government—free of the taint of a warped existence began by autocratic dominations. Our government has called upon us to assist it in maintaining for us, that same security, which we now enjoy; and it is offering a substantial payment for that assistance. The terrible slaughter of the people of northern France and tiny Belgium must be kept from America’s shore. This unhuman master, who has covered Europe with the shadow of despair, must not come to wreck our homes, tear down our churches, and murder our women and children. We must not let the crafty demons place bomb laden toys in the paths of our children to blast them into eternity; or to frightfully maim them, as they saunter forth in the innocent morning of their lives. We must save our girls from the awful clutches of those base defilers of all that is holy, noble and good. This government of ours wants to save us. It seeks to make impossible, the coming of such awful catastrophe. To accomplish is the task upon which the whole life of the nation has been thrust. We people will learn this—have no fear of that; but, we must do more. We must send dollars, where we cannot go ourselves. We must feed the gallant army, that bears for us the brunt of battle. Shall we fulfill our trust?
The wealth of the whole world could never replace the delicate little hands of Belgian babes—torn off by the despotic crew of Germany. Nor could all our tears wipe out the scars of blighted girlhood in northern France.
From the fathomless depth of the solemn ocean, there comes to us the cries of the women and children of the Lusitania; and the moans of the wounded men on the torpedoed hospital ships, that strike sorrow to the heart of every christian. Think of the Red Cross nurses pitched into eternity, from the mercy ship, when the assassin’s foul blow comes upon them like a thief in the night. All the imagination in the world could never conjure up a picture of those noble women, making the supreme sacrifice, as they worked heroically to save their charges from an unmarked grave on the sad Atlantic’s floor. All this must stop, and the government of the United States has set itself the task of stopping it.
With your help, we will stop it. When you buy a Liberty Bond, you send a shaft of light through the night of death, that has enshrouded Europe and bought the shell, that blowed the Kaiser all to h---. So you blow the tiny Bill, and we soldier boys will go over the hill.
Respectfully yours,
Pvt. Manuel McClain.
Base Hospital.
NOTES: Mclain was born on March 5, 1888 in Brockett, Arkansas and died on July 18, 1943 in Jonesboro, Arkansas. He is buried in the Saint John Cemetery in Randolph County, Arkansas. He enlisted on April 17, 1918 and was discharged on February 26, 1919.
TRANSCRIBED BY LINDA MATTHEWS
Camp Travis, Texas
Dear Editor:
If you will allow me a little space, I will try to write a few lines to the people back in old Arkansas.
We cannot reckon the terribleness of the war. Little do we know of the sufferings and privations endured for four years by the people of blood drenched Europe. Were it not for the casualty list that comes home to us, and the presence of soldiers everywhere, we would have no thoughts of war. We are living in the security of a Democratic government—free of the taint of a warped existence began by autocratic dominations. Our government has called upon us to assist it in maintaining for us, that same security, which we now enjoy; and it is offering a substantial payment for that assistance. The terrible slaughter of the people of northern France and tiny Belgium must be kept from America’s shore. This unhuman master, who has covered Europe with the shadow of despair, must not come to wreck our homes, tear down our churches, and murder our women and children. We must not let the crafty demons place bomb laden toys in the paths of our children to blast them into eternity; or to frightfully maim them, as they saunter forth in the innocent morning of their lives. We must save our girls from the awful clutches of those base defilers of all that is holy, noble and good. This government of ours wants to save us. It seeks to make impossible, the coming of such awful catastrophe. To accomplish is the task upon which the whole life of the nation has been thrust. We people will learn this—have no fear of that; but, we must do more. We must send dollars, where we cannot go ourselves. We must feed the gallant army, that bears for us the brunt of battle. Shall we fulfill our trust?
The wealth of the whole world could never replace the delicate little hands of Belgian babes—torn off by the despotic crew of Germany. Nor could all our tears wipe out the scars of blighted girlhood in northern France.
From the fathomless depth of the solemn ocean, there comes to us the cries of the women and children of the Lusitania; and the moans of the wounded men on the torpedoed hospital ships, that strike sorrow to the heart of every christian. Think of the Red Cross nurses pitched into eternity, from the mercy ship, when the assassin’s foul blow comes upon them like a thief in the night. All the imagination in the world could never conjure up a picture of those noble women, making the supreme sacrifice, as they worked heroically to save their charges from an unmarked grave on the sad Atlantic’s floor. All this must stop, and the government of the United States has set itself the task of stopping it.
With your help, we will stop it. When you buy a Liberty Bond, you send a shaft of light through the night of death, that has enshrouded Europe and bought the shell, that blowed the Kaiser all to h---. So you blow the tiny Bill, and we soldier boys will go over the hill.
Respectfully yours,
Pvt. Manuel McClain.
Base Hospital.
NOTES: Mclain was born on March 5, 1888 in Brockett, Arkansas and died on July 18, 1943 in Jonesboro, Arkansas. He is buried in the Saint John Cemetery in Randolph County, Arkansas. He enlisted on April 17, 1918 and was discharged on February 26, 1919.
TRANSCRIBED BY LINDA MATTHEWS