TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHARP COUNTY RECORD FEBRUARY 28, 1919 P. 1
Dear Father:
Now that I have plenty of time to write, I will tell you of a few things that happened since I left. On the morning of May 20th we were told to assemble our overseas equipment, and were soon aboard a northbound train, to where we did not know. May 22nd we arrived at Camp Mills, N.Y. and were there five days. May 27th we sailed for Europe. Several days out it graw very cold and foggy, and one morning there was ice on the deck. I learned afterward that we were then 80 miles off the south coast of Iceland. The first sight of land was the north coast of Scotland, and after 12 days of nothing but water it was a welcome sight. We steamed down the west coast of Scotland, passing the Isle of Man and on through the Irish Channel into Liverpool harbor on June 7.
We went ashore next morning and straightway entrained, proceeding by rail to London, then to Dover, arriving there June 8. Next day we embarked and went across the English Channel to Calais, France. There we were attached to the British forces and moved inland, where we rested a month and learned the British signal system. We were then equipped and sent to Waton, Belgium, about 7 miles from Ypres. It was here that we first saw the firing line.
We marched across Belgium boundary line July 4. When we arrived there that front was in a quiet stage, and was an excellent place to break in new troops. It was in the first days of September when we left there, but the sector was far from quiet then, for on August 23rd we started to change the map of that section and we did it, too, and only used one brigade.
The Germans seemed to resent it--I guess because we deprived them of Kimmel Hill, which is the highest point in Belgium, and afforded an excellent view of the country and was of high military value. Then they wanted Ypres and a whole lot more that they were shoved away from. Ypres was only the finest city in Belgium, but now it is nothing but a pile of brick dust.
Leaving Belgium we went to St. Pol, France, for a few days, then to Lamucourt for a short tine, then to the Somme front in motor trucks. Now the story begins. On the night of September 22nd we arrived a few thousand yards behind the lines under heavy shell fire. Here we first met the Australians, and let me say they are an army of princes. On the morning of September 29th we went into the lines. The major of the batallion to which I was attached started up into position with his troops, and I shall never forget that morning. It was 2 a.m. when we started up, and we advanced about 2000 yards and waited and waited until zero hour. About ten minutes before zero hour about 9000 machine guns were suddenly turned loose, and more than 100,000 rounds of ammunition were fired in ten minutes. Then as suddenly as they started, they ceased. There was a deadly silence for ten or twenty seconds, and those few seconds seemed like years to us. Then the silence was broken by 15 inch naval rifles, mounted on the railway near Roisel, and then hell was let loose. It seemed to know no bounds. We were in a smoke screen that was very dense, and through it we could see the great gray forms of the tanks ambling forward over logs, through thick underbrush, mud and shell fire, for the German was getting his "wind up" and had begun shelling.
It was amusing to watch the tanks advancing despite all obstacles, turning to the right and left and crawling on and on like gigantic turtles, spitting crimson jets of flame and streams of armor piercers. All this happened in the deafening din of artillery, for the night before the Australian infantry had moved up to the support lines, and was belching at the rate of 18 or 20 shots a minute each. It was not long until our troops had passed the Hindenburg line, and were joined by the Australians, and the enemy was shoved back to Estres.
I will give you an idea of what the Hindenburg line was. It was a system of trenches that had all the advantages that enemy scientists could give. Some of the dugouts were 60 feet deep, and some of the line dugouts would accommodate a company of soldiers. The trenches were protected by well-constructed barbed wire entanglements, and in places where the ground was very soft the trenches were made of concrete. Out in No Man's Land systematically built machine gun nests, consisting of several machine guns in a cluster, were established. The tanks soon made short work of them, running over them, as well as the barbed wire, as if it were a patch of weeds. The artillery would concentrate a few guns on one certain place and fire a few shots, and there would be nothing left but the place where something was.
During this time I saw a very thrilling air battle between four Folkers and four British scout planes. The Folkers were all lost, and one scout plane landed behind our lines. I also saw an air fight one night that was made visible by what appeared to be a thousand searchlights, but of this I will tell you later. After we had accomplished in a little less than six hours the job we were given three days to do, we went out for a rest.
On October 8th we continued the march north and east 20 kilometers, and October 20th Fritz tried every means in his power to stop us. He put up his famous Prussian Guards, also his stalwart marines, but the 30th Division, U. S. A., composed principally of Tennessee, North and South Carolina troops, were determined to push the enemy backward, and nothing but orders from the commanding officer could stop them. We suffered but little loss at the Hindenburg line, while the enemy's loss was great, both in killed and prisoners. The prisoners were at once set to work rebuilding the roads they had destroyed. We soon learned not to pick up anything that was left behind by the Germans, for fear of mine explosions. One man in our division picked up a bayonet that was sticking up beside the road, and the road was blown up and the fellow crippled for life.
There are many things that I would like to tell you, but as our division is awaiting transportation back home, I hope to see you soon.
Your son,
H. R. Moore.
NOTES: Hal Robb Moore was born on March 23, 1896 and died on March 26, 1931. He is buried in the Evening Shade-Sharp County Cemetery in Evening Shade. He was writing from Le Mons to his father O. S. Moore of Evening Shade
TRANSCRIBED BY LAEL HARROD
Dear Father:
Now that I have plenty of time to write, I will tell you of a few things that happened since I left. On the morning of May 20th we were told to assemble our overseas equipment, and were soon aboard a northbound train, to where we did not know. May 22nd we arrived at Camp Mills, N.Y. and were there five days. May 27th we sailed for Europe. Several days out it graw very cold and foggy, and one morning there was ice on the deck. I learned afterward that we were then 80 miles off the south coast of Iceland. The first sight of land was the north coast of Scotland, and after 12 days of nothing but water it was a welcome sight. We steamed down the west coast of Scotland, passing the Isle of Man and on through the Irish Channel into Liverpool harbor on June 7.
We went ashore next morning and straightway entrained, proceeding by rail to London, then to Dover, arriving there June 8. Next day we embarked and went across the English Channel to Calais, France. There we were attached to the British forces and moved inland, where we rested a month and learned the British signal system. We were then equipped and sent to Waton, Belgium, about 7 miles from Ypres. It was here that we first saw the firing line.
We marched across Belgium boundary line July 4. When we arrived there that front was in a quiet stage, and was an excellent place to break in new troops. It was in the first days of September when we left there, but the sector was far from quiet then, for on August 23rd we started to change the map of that section and we did it, too, and only used one brigade.
The Germans seemed to resent it--I guess because we deprived them of Kimmel Hill, which is the highest point in Belgium, and afforded an excellent view of the country and was of high military value. Then they wanted Ypres and a whole lot more that they were shoved away from. Ypres was only the finest city in Belgium, but now it is nothing but a pile of brick dust.
Leaving Belgium we went to St. Pol, France, for a few days, then to Lamucourt for a short tine, then to the Somme front in motor trucks. Now the story begins. On the night of September 22nd we arrived a few thousand yards behind the lines under heavy shell fire. Here we first met the Australians, and let me say they are an army of princes. On the morning of September 29th we went into the lines. The major of the batallion to which I was attached started up into position with his troops, and I shall never forget that morning. It was 2 a.m. when we started up, and we advanced about 2000 yards and waited and waited until zero hour. About ten minutes before zero hour about 9000 machine guns were suddenly turned loose, and more than 100,000 rounds of ammunition were fired in ten minutes. Then as suddenly as they started, they ceased. There was a deadly silence for ten or twenty seconds, and those few seconds seemed like years to us. Then the silence was broken by 15 inch naval rifles, mounted on the railway near Roisel, and then hell was let loose. It seemed to know no bounds. We were in a smoke screen that was very dense, and through it we could see the great gray forms of the tanks ambling forward over logs, through thick underbrush, mud and shell fire, for the German was getting his "wind up" and had begun shelling.
It was amusing to watch the tanks advancing despite all obstacles, turning to the right and left and crawling on and on like gigantic turtles, spitting crimson jets of flame and streams of armor piercers. All this happened in the deafening din of artillery, for the night before the Australian infantry had moved up to the support lines, and was belching at the rate of 18 or 20 shots a minute each. It was not long until our troops had passed the Hindenburg line, and were joined by the Australians, and the enemy was shoved back to Estres.
I will give you an idea of what the Hindenburg line was. It was a system of trenches that had all the advantages that enemy scientists could give. Some of the dugouts were 60 feet deep, and some of the line dugouts would accommodate a company of soldiers. The trenches were protected by well-constructed barbed wire entanglements, and in places where the ground was very soft the trenches were made of concrete. Out in No Man's Land systematically built machine gun nests, consisting of several machine guns in a cluster, were established. The tanks soon made short work of them, running over them, as well as the barbed wire, as if it were a patch of weeds. The artillery would concentrate a few guns on one certain place and fire a few shots, and there would be nothing left but the place where something was.
During this time I saw a very thrilling air battle between four Folkers and four British scout planes. The Folkers were all lost, and one scout plane landed behind our lines. I also saw an air fight one night that was made visible by what appeared to be a thousand searchlights, but of this I will tell you later. After we had accomplished in a little less than six hours the job we were given three days to do, we went out for a rest.
On October 8th we continued the march north and east 20 kilometers, and October 20th Fritz tried every means in his power to stop us. He put up his famous Prussian Guards, also his stalwart marines, but the 30th Division, U. S. A., composed principally of Tennessee, North and South Carolina troops, were determined to push the enemy backward, and nothing but orders from the commanding officer could stop them. We suffered but little loss at the Hindenburg line, while the enemy's loss was great, both in killed and prisoners. The prisoners were at once set to work rebuilding the roads they had destroyed. We soon learned not to pick up anything that was left behind by the Germans, for fear of mine explosions. One man in our division picked up a bayonet that was sticking up beside the road, and the road was blown up and the fellow crippled for life.
There are many things that I would like to tell you, but as our division is awaiting transportation back home, I hope to see you soon.
Your son,
H. R. Moore.
NOTES: Hal Robb Moore was born on March 23, 1896 and died on March 26, 1931. He is buried in the Evening Shade-Sharp County Cemetery in Evening Shade. He was writing from Le Mons to his father O. S. Moore of Evening Shade
TRANSCRIBED BY LAEL HARROD