TRANSCRIBED FROM THE NEWPORT DAILY INDEPENDENT NOVEMBER 16, 1918 P. 1
Somewhere in France,
Oct. 15, 1918.
Dear Homefolks:
I received your letter and the clippings the other yesterday and believe me I was more than glad to get both for I don’t know of anything that makes an American soldier fight harder than letters and newspapers from home.
You have asked me several times to describe my trip over.
After leaving Camp Beauregard we passed through many interesting places in Louisiana that changed our opinion of the state greatly. We ferried the Mississippi at Baton Rouge, where were allowed to leave the train for one hour. The ladies of the local Red Cross entertained us and I don’t believe I ever tasted anything better than the lunch they served. Soon the time was up and we boarded the train again and proceeded to New Orleans, where we were delayed for several hours but were not permitted to leave the train. Our next stop was at Raleigh, N.C., where were again received and entertained by the Red Cross. Speaking of square meals, how about a “round” bath? That’s what we got anyway, and it was the real thing. Said bath accomodations were recently built by the Red Cross and are large enough for three hundred and fifty soldiers at one time. After we were thus made presentable we were received by the young ladies of Raleigh, who gave us a fine lunch. We can never forget their kindness.
Our next stop of importance was at Richmond, Virginia, and from there we went to Newport News, where we were to embark. There we met Sgt. Hook Sprigg, and several old Company E. boys who had not yet been sent.
During our first few days aboard ship the ocean was rather rough. Don’t believe I ever saw so many sick Boys. I thought I was going to be victim too, so kept close to my bunk awhile. Sgt. Alexander (a Batesville boy,) and Sgt Fisher (a Hot Springs boy,) had it bad. It was up to me to play mother, so I had to feed them the best I could. It is very hard to satisfy a sea sick man. I had to “run the mess line.” If they catch you, it means extra duty or sometimes something worse. It took a little nerve to run it every meal, but I was in luck and finally they got well.
One day we thought we were going to have a storm. The clouds were very black and the ocean was just like a great big rough, playful, St. Bernard pup. The waves dashed upon the first deck, turned over and “played dead.” We would see a wave coming and push each other out on deck. It took a good man to stand up when they hit him.
Soon we cut out this fun for the ocean calmed down, then we say many different kinds of fish and see animals.
Finally we sighted land. It was the evening of the 18th of August. The bank began to play and everybody yelled. We anchored in Brest Harbor for the night and the next morning landed on French soil.
From the port we marched six miles to a rest camp where we stayed two days. They call it a “rest camp” but I’ve got another name for it, because they certainly believe in this “sweat of your brow” business.
On the night of the third day we received orders to be ready to move the next day. We hiked five miles to a small station and boarded a French train. They are rather different from our trains. They have different classes, first, second and third. I happened to be lucky, for I got in a second class coach. The train passed through several large cities, the names of which I cannot give as our chaperone, the censorship might object.
We are now located in a quaint old village of about two thousand inhabitants. Many of the buildings bear dates as far back as 1100. Our company’s office is located in an old castle that was built in the year that Columbus discovered America, (Hindenburg discovered us in 1918) at that time it was a church but had since been made into a residence. All of the surroundings are picturesque. The tower of the building opens out into a small drawbridge, which spans a beautiful canal.
The people are so quaint and old fashioned, but they make us American so welcome among them we just love them. I have just about decided that I am backward in picking up their language but with a few and words and many signs I manage to make myself understood well enough anyhow, for the shop keeper to get all my pay roll. Really I don’t to save the money over here for it doesn’t look like the good old long green of the U.S.A.
Although I guess I’ll be sea sick on my return trip they can’t start me back too soon to suit me. There is good in everything, even sea sickness has its good points. It furnishes its victims with three extra meals daily (three down and three up.)
The mail orderly is ready to start with the company mail so I must rush on before I miss him.
Now you all write me real often please so each boat will bring me some word of the dear ones at home.
With all my love,
Your loving son and brother,
Corporal James R. Wallace,
Co. C. 154 Reg. Inf, American E. F.
NOTES: James Rutherford Wallace was born in Newport, Arkansas on September 19, 1898 and died on December 24, 1988. He is buried in the Memorial Park Cemetery in Tallulah, Louisiana. His military headstone identifies him as a Sgt. in the US Army serving in World War I.
TRANSCRIBED BY MIKE POLSTON
Somewhere in France,
Oct. 15, 1918.
Dear Homefolks:
I received your letter and the clippings the other yesterday and believe me I was more than glad to get both for I don’t know of anything that makes an American soldier fight harder than letters and newspapers from home.
You have asked me several times to describe my trip over.
After leaving Camp Beauregard we passed through many interesting places in Louisiana that changed our opinion of the state greatly. We ferried the Mississippi at Baton Rouge, where were allowed to leave the train for one hour. The ladies of the local Red Cross entertained us and I don’t believe I ever tasted anything better than the lunch they served. Soon the time was up and we boarded the train again and proceeded to New Orleans, where we were delayed for several hours but were not permitted to leave the train. Our next stop was at Raleigh, N.C., where were again received and entertained by the Red Cross. Speaking of square meals, how about a “round” bath? That’s what we got anyway, and it was the real thing. Said bath accomodations were recently built by the Red Cross and are large enough for three hundred and fifty soldiers at one time. After we were thus made presentable we were received by the young ladies of Raleigh, who gave us a fine lunch. We can never forget their kindness.
Our next stop of importance was at Richmond, Virginia, and from there we went to Newport News, where we were to embark. There we met Sgt. Hook Sprigg, and several old Company E. boys who had not yet been sent.
During our first few days aboard ship the ocean was rather rough. Don’t believe I ever saw so many sick Boys. I thought I was going to be victim too, so kept close to my bunk awhile. Sgt. Alexander (a Batesville boy,) and Sgt Fisher (a Hot Springs boy,) had it bad. It was up to me to play mother, so I had to feed them the best I could. It is very hard to satisfy a sea sick man. I had to “run the mess line.” If they catch you, it means extra duty or sometimes something worse. It took a little nerve to run it every meal, but I was in luck and finally they got well.
One day we thought we were going to have a storm. The clouds were very black and the ocean was just like a great big rough, playful, St. Bernard pup. The waves dashed upon the first deck, turned over and “played dead.” We would see a wave coming and push each other out on deck. It took a good man to stand up when they hit him.
Soon we cut out this fun for the ocean calmed down, then we say many different kinds of fish and see animals.
Finally we sighted land. It was the evening of the 18th of August. The bank began to play and everybody yelled. We anchored in Brest Harbor for the night and the next morning landed on French soil.
From the port we marched six miles to a rest camp where we stayed two days. They call it a “rest camp” but I’ve got another name for it, because they certainly believe in this “sweat of your brow” business.
On the night of the third day we received orders to be ready to move the next day. We hiked five miles to a small station and boarded a French train. They are rather different from our trains. They have different classes, first, second and third. I happened to be lucky, for I got in a second class coach. The train passed through several large cities, the names of which I cannot give as our chaperone, the censorship might object.
We are now located in a quaint old village of about two thousand inhabitants. Many of the buildings bear dates as far back as 1100. Our company’s office is located in an old castle that was built in the year that Columbus discovered America, (Hindenburg discovered us in 1918) at that time it was a church but had since been made into a residence. All of the surroundings are picturesque. The tower of the building opens out into a small drawbridge, which spans a beautiful canal.
The people are so quaint and old fashioned, but they make us American so welcome among them we just love them. I have just about decided that I am backward in picking up their language but with a few and words and many signs I manage to make myself understood well enough anyhow, for the shop keeper to get all my pay roll. Really I don’t to save the money over here for it doesn’t look like the good old long green of the U.S.A.
Although I guess I’ll be sea sick on my return trip they can’t start me back too soon to suit me. There is good in everything, even sea sickness has its good points. It furnishes its victims with three extra meals daily (three down and three up.)
The mail orderly is ready to start with the company mail so I must rush on before I miss him.
Now you all write me real often please so each boat will bring me some word of the dear ones at home.
With all my love,
Your loving son and brother,
Corporal James R. Wallace,
Co. C. 154 Reg. Inf, American E. F.
NOTES: James Rutherford Wallace was born in Newport, Arkansas on September 19, 1898 and died on December 24, 1988. He is buried in the Memorial Park Cemetery in Tallulah, Louisiana. His military headstone identifies him as a Sgt. in the US Army serving in World War I.
TRANSCRIBED BY MIKE POLSTON