TRANSCRIBED FROM THE DARDANELLE POST DISPATCH APRIL 3, 1919 P. 1
Linkenbach, Germany,
March 14, 1919
Dardanelle Post-Dispatch,
Mr. George Upton:
Doubtless you have followed the newspaper reports of the great closing drive of the world war. However, you will be interested to hear something of my experiences and impressions during the last campaign.
On Sept. 21st we left Susancourt to take up positions in the Argonne Forest, "the graveyard of a million dead."
Around Verdun, can you imagine the movement of 600,000 men, silently through the night on all roads from all directions, without light of any description, not even a cigarette glowing. By day, sleeping concealed in the woods or ruined villages, and finally going into battle, moving ever forward with irresistible force, no let up day or night. And to be a part of this machine of liberty. We were there in the thick of it and heard the last guns of the world war echo into silence near the historic battlefield of Verdun. It was a furtive life, stripped to primitive necessities. We became night-prowling animals, by day crawling into holes, caves, dugouts, ditches, trenches, or concealing ourselves among the trees and dense underbrushes of the forest. So we lived for 50 days under shell fire, pressing forward always carrying on our work. Late on Nov. 10th my regiment was near, waiting for an order to the front to relieve another division. It was thus while waiting that we received the word to stay there another day as the rumor of the armistice filtered throughout the whole country. So, on the morning of Nov. 11th, we got up, rolled our packs, and were ready to move forward. The guns were booming, as usual. It did not sound like peace. Up in the day we began to get word from passing couriers that the armistice was signed. We laughed at them, for the guns still roared away. But at 11 a.m. came the silence and we heard no more guns. From time to time during the afternoon we got news from passing truck and laisson men, but still nothing official. A drizzling rain was falling. In the gathering dusk we lined up for chow, (supper.) It was then that the Colonel came along and said, "Boys, you may build fires and have all the lights you want. It is finished." We were almost too tired to cheer. A celebration was in order. You can't celebrate much in rain and mud nor spread much joy with corned beef, hardtack and coffee. But we did celebrate. We built fires: can you realize what it meant to us? For fifty days to live and never to light even a match or cigarette in the open after dark; to sleep in a dark hole in the ground; to close every crack and cranny that might emit a little light, before we dare light a candle or a cigarette; to hear always at night the hum of airplanes overhead and to listen in the dark and identify the peculiar intermittent whir of the Hun raider, and know that death was in the air, and wonder where the next bomb would hit; to dread the moonlight and hope for the cloud and drizzle; to go to sleep and wake up and live with the never-ceasing roar of the guns; to pass through horrors daily till we became indifferent to the sight of them; to hear the zip of the machine gun bullets, or flatten out against the earth as shell fragments cut weeds and brush all around. And then to hear the word, "Boys, build your fires, it is ended." So we gathered scraps of planks and broken timbers, splinters of torn trees and fences and built fires. Then we sat around and talked and talked and talked with just the safe stars overhead. And I can tell you that the silence that night shouted to us louder than all bells, whistles and noisemaking of Christendom. We just built fires; that was our celebration. So we will come home as new beings, as those who have been born again, for life will start anew with each of us. We will all see things with new eyes and recognize their true worth. All the simple, homely objects of daily life will henceforth be precious; they will carry an enhanced value for us. We have done without and learned their worth. To just wash one's face in a clean bowl; to dry on a clean towel; to sleep in a clean bed, no matter how poor--what pleasure! To sit down once more amid decent surroundings--what joy! And to realize that the world has been purged by fire; to feel that civilization has at last fought its fight and stands triumphant, with its ideals of brotherhood of man once and forever placed before the eyes of all people. It makes life seem sweet and worth living.
So we're coming home citizens of the world and sons of the United States, proud to stand with our faces toward the light and to work for the further realization of the ideals for which we have fought.
Truly yours,
Private Edward Wesley,
Co. G, 125th Inf. 32nd Division, American E.F.
NOTES: Edward Wesley was born in Dardanelle, Arkansas on October 9, 1891 and died on September 15, 1987. He is buried in the Brearley Cemetery in Dardanelle. His military headstone identifies him as a Pvt. US Army during World War 1. He enlisted on June 24, 1918 and was discharged on May 23, 1919. He departed Newport News, Va. on August 6, 1918 onboard the Zeelandia. He was listed as a Pvt. serving in Co. D. 154th Infantry 39th Division. He departed Brest, France on May 2, 1919 onboard the Great Northern. He arrived in Hoboken, NJ on May 9, 1919. He was listed as a Pvt. serving in Co. G 125th Infantry.
TRANSCRIBED BY LAEL HARROD
Linkenbach, Germany,
March 14, 1919
Dardanelle Post-Dispatch,
Mr. George Upton:
Doubtless you have followed the newspaper reports of the great closing drive of the world war. However, you will be interested to hear something of my experiences and impressions during the last campaign.
On Sept. 21st we left Susancourt to take up positions in the Argonne Forest, "the graveyard of a million dead."
Around Verdun, can you imagine the movement of 600,000 men, silently through the night on all roads from all directions, without light of any description, not even a cigarette glowing. By day, sleeping concealed in the woods or ruined villages, and finally going into battle, moving ever forward with irresistible force, no let up day or night. And to be a part of this machine of liberty. We were there in the thick of it and heard the last guns of the world war echo into silence near the historic battlefield of Verdun. It was a furtive life, stripped to primitive necessities. We became night-prowling animals, by day crawling into holes, caves, dugouts, ditches, trenches, or concealing ourselves among the trees and dense underbrushes of the forest. So we lived for 50 days under shell fire, pressing forward always carrying on our work. Late on Nov. 10th my regiment was near, waiting for an order to the front to relieve another division. It was thus while waiting that we received the word to stay there another day as the rumor of the armistice filtered throughout the whole country. So, on the morning of Nov. 11th, we got up, rolled our packs, and were ready to move forward. The guns were booming, as usual. It did not sound like peace. Up in the day we began to get word from passing couriers that the armistice was signed. We laughed at them, for the guns still roared away. But at 11 a.m. came the silence and we heard no more guns. From time to time during the afternoon we got news from passing truck and laisson men, but still nothing official. A drizzling rain was falling. In the gathering dusk we lined up for chow, (supper.) It was then that the Colonel came along and said, "Boys, you may build fires and have all the lights you want. It is finished." We were almost too tired to cheer. A celebration was in order. You can't celebrate much in rain and mud nor spread much joy with corned beef, hardtack and coffee. But we did celebrate. We built fires: can you realize what it meant to us? For fifty days to live and never to light even a match or cigarette in the open after dark; to sleep in a dark hole in the ground; to close every crack and cranny that might emit a little light, before we dare light a candle or a cigarette; to hear always at night the hum of airplanes overhead and to listen in the dark and identify the peculiar intermittent whir of the Hun raider, and know that death was in the air, and wonder where the next bomb would hit; to dread the moonlight and hope for the cloud and drizzle; to go to sleep and wake up and live with the never-ceasing roar of the guns; to pass through horrors daily till we became indifferent to the sight of them; to hear the zip of the machine gun bullets, or flatten out against the earth as shell fragments cut weeds and brush all around. And then to hear the word, "Boys, build your fires, it is ended." So we gathered scraps of planks and broken timbers, splinters of torn trees and fences and built fires. Then we sat around and talked and talked and talked with just the safe stars overhead. And I can tell you that the silence that night shouted to us louder than all bells, whistles and noisemaking of Christendom. We just built fires; that was our celebration. So we will come home as new beings, as those who have been born again, for life will start anew with each of us. We will all see things with new eyes and recognize their true worth. All the simple, homely objects of daily life will henceforth be precious; they will carry an enhanced value for us. We have done without and learned their worth. To just wash one's face in a clean bowl; to dry on a clean towel; to sleep in a clean bed, no matter how poor--what pleasure! To sit down once more amid decent surroundings--what joy! And to realize that the world has been purged by fire; to feel that civilization has at last fought its fight and stands triumphant, with its ideals of brotherhood of man once and forever placed before the eyes of all people. It makes life seem sweet and worth living.
So we're coming home citizens of the world and sons of the United States, proud to stand with our faces toward the light and to work for the further realization of the ideals for which we have fought.
Truly yours,
Private Edward Wesley,
Co. G, 125th Inf. 32nd Division, American E.F.
NOTES: Edward Wesley was born in Dardanelle, Arkansas on October 9, 1891 and died on September 15, 1987. He is buried in the Brearley Cemetery in Dardanelle. His military headstone identifies him as a Pvt. US Army during World War 1. He enlisted on June 24, 1918 and was discharged on May 23, 1919. He departed Newport News, Va. on August 6, 1918 onboard the Zeelandia. He was listed as a Pvt. serving in Co. D. 154th Infantry 39th Division. He departed Brest, France on May 2, 1919 onboard the Great Northern. He arrived in Hoboken, NJ on May 9, 1919. He was listed as a Pvt. serving in Co. G 125th Infantry.
TRANSCRIBED BY LAEL HARROD