July, 1915, enlisted in the Hector Munro Ambulance Corps (Commissioned Lieutenant in British Red Cross). Served with French Marins. Engaged in battle of the Yser for six weeks. Enlisted October 29, 1915, as private in 28th Battalion, Royal Fusileers, British Army. Stationed at Epsom, Oxford and Edinburgh. Promoted to O.T.C. at Oxford, July 11, 1916. Commissioned 2nd Lieutenant October I6, 1916. Gazetted to 4th Battalion, King's (Liverpool) Regiment. Stationed at Pembroke Dock, Wales. Went out to France, December 8, 1916. Engaged in the Battle of the Somme-Battle of the Ancre- Battle of Arras. Led attack on Hindenburg Line at Fontaine-les-Croisilles in the Battle of Bullecourt. Wounded May 20, 1917.

Casualty Clearing Station-Duchess of Westminster Hospital at Le Touquet-London Hospital-Princess Christian's Hospital-Princess Christian's Convalescent Hospital and the Reading Military Hospital. Marked for "light duty" October, 1917.

Stationed at Fermoy, County Cork, Ireland, October, 1917, to February, 1918. Transferred to American Army, February, 1918. Commissioned 1st Lieutenant. Went out to France in A.E.F. March I7, 1918. Assigned 2nd Army Corps, A.E.F., April I, 1918. On detached duty with British from May to middle of August, 1918, at Cherbourg. Recalled to Headquarters of 2nd Army Corps August 20, 1918.

Engagements beginning September 29, 1918:
Attack on Hindenburg Line north of St. Quentin.
Capture of Bohain and Montre Bohain. Attack on Le Salle River.
Landed in U.S.A. February, 1919.
Honorably discharged March, 1919.
Died as result of wounds March 10, 1920.

The Vanderbilt Hotel,
New York, July 2, 1915.

DEAR SPENCE,

.      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .

THANKS for all you have done about getting this wonderful job for me. Luck certainly comes my way.

If I had one wish it would be that I could get America into this war. I cannot believe that it can ever be best for us to allow the greatest series of outrages in the world to go on under our eyes unrecognized. I don't in the least care what happens to this boat, for if she should be sunk and I should be lost I should count as one perfectly dead American. This smacks of Patrick Henry, but I feel like P. H. these days. Amongst your convict friends haven't you some one who feels that he just must kill some one, he doesn't much care who? Well, I will pay his fare until he lands Bryan and I'll hire good lawyers to get him off if it can be done....

Love,              
CAP.

The next day Caspar sailed from New York. On landing . at Liverpool, he went directly to London and enlisted in the Hector Munro Ambulance Corps. He was commissioned Lieutenant in the British Red Cross. This position, to which he refers in his letter to me, was secured for him before he landed in England by our cousin Lady Sandwich.

In London he encountered great difficulty and much red tape before he could procure the papers necessary for him to get to Flanders. This delay, however, proved intensely interesting, because of the novelty of meeting intimately hundreds of men on leave. They were to him an eye-opener. At this time he met some Harvard friends, Walter Oakman, "Bunnie" Morgan, Oliver Filley, Grafton Chapman and a number of other Americans who had started by driving ambulances, but who all had soon gone into the Army. They were unanimous in saying that the Red Cross was only playing with the War, and that Caspar wouldn't stick it very long. At this time also he heard a great deal of Dill Starr, who was then at Gallipoli.

MY short experience with the Ambulance is really very hard at this date even to remember. I have been since that time so much more in the war that this period seems almost unreal.

As a first view of the war, however, it was very interesting. I crossed from Folkestone to Boulogne with a man named Gurney who was taking over a new Fiat Ambulance. After much red-tape we finally got away and drove through Calais and Dunkirk to Fumes, about five miles from the front line, reaching there about midnight. I still remember the thrill of seeing my first gun-flashes and flares. In fact I remember that most of the night, which we spent in the Ambulance on stretchers, I was awake watching what I supposed was a battle. I also remember feeling I was pretty well in the midst of things!! The next day, how ever, came a big surprise. Everywhere were civilians calmly going about their business. The town was shelled a few times a week, but was still workable.

After a few days here I was moved to Coxyde, a tiny and very dirty little place, about four miles west of Nieuport. Hereafter I made from one to four trips a day to Nieuport, bringing back wounded and sick to the dressing station and then taking them on to Dunkirk. It was, of course, intensely interesting, as you had every opportunity so see everything. We were attached to the French Fusiliers Marins, and certainly never were there finer fellows or better soldiers.

With the French Fusiliers Marins

Nieuport was just about finished as a town, and was still very badly shelled, but, by using your head, you could go in just after a bombardment and get out before the next one.

This time did for me just what it had done for so many of my friends. It made me see that Germany just had to be beaten, that it was above all vital for the United States that she be beaten. I also saw that driving an ambulance wouldn't do. There were then and there always will be not only thousands, but tens of thousands of older and unfit men for this sort of work. All honor be to the men and women of that class who have done this work so well. But I have not much praise to give to the few healthy young Americans who went right through the show at this game.

Caspar, while still in the Hector Munro Ambulance Corps, was engaged in the Battle of the Yser for six weeks.

8, Portman Square, W., Oct., 1915.

DEAR MOTHER,

I HARDLY know where to begin. In one way my stay of seven weeks in Flanders was a glorious success. Firstly, the Munro people, the four who are left, wanted me to stay; and, the rest who are going to Russia wanted me to go with them. This seems to have been a great pleasure to Alberta(1). Personally I don't care much....

Secondly. It was a great success, because I am one of the last non-military people who will ever live in the zone of actual fighting. They are almost all gone now. (With the British forces entirely so.) Do you realize how the Medical and Ambulance work stands?

1. The Army Red Cross (in the English Army the Royal Army Medical Corps). These men are soldiers; there are Tommies, Lieutenants, Captains, etc. The officers are Doctors, but Soldiers. They march with, are mixed in with the other soldiers and they DO THE WORK.

2. The British and French Red Cross which are "recognized," but are not military. They do the overflow work. They are supported by charity, much of which they waste. They are rapidly being shoved back and are becoming less and less needful.

3. The unrecognized Volunteer Corps, such as ours; they hardly exist any more.

Mother, under the laudable desire to help, hundreds and hundreds of people are wasting their time and money. Of course this does not apply to hospitals, nor was any of this true during the first year of the war. In short, what is needed is skilled doctors, nurses, and about half the willing helpers (volunteers of nondescript types) many miles from the fighting. You can bet your life the Germans don't do things this way.

I personally don't consider I did a living soul any good while there. I did a few things, but there were hundreds willing to do them. Are those hundreds willing to enlist? No.

Now, Mother, one of my greatest weaknesses . . . has been the lack of ever feeling what you term a "calling." It has come at last. As you know I don't like England, and they are certainly stupid at present. But they are Right, Right, Right. One day when I saw a Taube fly straight for the base hospital (which stands about a mile from anything else, which was a huge hospital before the war, well known to the Boches, and which is covered by enormous red + +) and drop five bombs amongst those poor mangled devils and directly sail back, I made my final decision. I was about thirty yards from one bomb and saw the whole thing. I helped bury, if it can be called so, what was left of a number of wounded. This is only one example; I saw others.

My God, Mother, what is America up to ? Can the world allow a race of madmen to dominate the world ? I can't believe them fiends; I do believe them mad. Fiends or madmen, I must do my little bit. Why don't all these young fellows at home who are so violently pro-Ally join ? I suppose it is because you must see it to realize it. Practically every fellow, hardly that, but dozens of Americans who came over to drive cars have joined. I have met over fifteen of my friends who are fighting.

God knows I don't want to be killed and don't expect to be, but it is certainly a possibility which cannot be overlooked. But I don't think I am doing this from anything but the firmest conviction. I am not going to enjoy it; the training part will also be loathsome. I cannot truthfully say I do not want to kill Germans, but I can say truthfully that I want to do it from principle and not from hate. I may not even be good at it, but having seen what I have seen I must do my bit, and it is soldiers we need, not others.

I will write you definitely when I accept the King's shilling on Tuesday and become Lieutenant Burton of Lord Denman's Horse, or some such silly thing. I supposed of course that I would have to become a Tommy, but not at all. Lord Denman told me that they were plentiful. What is needed is men of sufficient education to be capable of being officers. What is more I start at full pay of Second Lieutenant the first day. I will of course go through a period of training, but nowhere near as long as the troops go through and quite different in character. It doesn't seem fair, does it, that I should go ahead of sergeants, etc. Of course cavalry nowadays never sees a horse in Flanders, but they could again become cavalry in case we got through. I met Lord Denman at the Cavendish, told him my troubles, what I thought of volunteers, and Mrs. Lewis blew my horn and there you are. Mrs. Lewis is the most remarkable person I ever knew. When I arrived she said, " Hello, Caspar, I knew you'd come. I've known you'd come. I haven't guessed wrong on anybody yet. But you won't stick with those swine, all they do is have their pictures in the papers."

The War---What struck you most?

1. The great premium on brains and science and the small premium on strength and bravery. This was the most gruesome thing of all.

2. The superiority of defence over offence. I have been in a tiny village about five hundred yards from the Germans. Every single house is down. Yet there were hundreds of soldiers about. On the first two Boche shells they got three men. Then they put in two hundred in ten minutes and only got one more. The way they get to cover is astounding. This was called a "light bombard meet." Just the single shells flying around never seemed to get anybody, or rarely so.

3. The fact that the brave men who are nervous are lunatics, though still good fighters, while the phlegmatic man is fit and very jovial and a better fighter. You see you can't do anything when you hear one coming except drop flat. Well, most of them literally are totally unaffected by a shell coming near them as long as it doesn't connect. Others equally brave shake.

4. The greatest game of brains and trying to outguess each other, for that is all it is. This all applies to what I saw, for while I was within five hundred yards of the firing trenches, I only had one peek in them.

5. The fact that in view of what is going on now few are being killed at present.

6. The fact that I have no more idea when it is going to end or how it is going to end than if I had never seen it.

Of course the hundreds of real things I do know I can't write. I had two letters stopped which I wrote you that had nothing in them that I could see.

I spent yesterday with Olga. Alberta is glorious. I love her, but she is in with the wrong set as far as things are concerned. She thinks Lord X, who is chairman of Belgian something or other, is the person to see. Well, who you want to see is somebody who has just come back from the trenches if you want to get anything. Soldiers are running this war. They will take the civilian's money, but they won't take his advice, or his assistance, except from a distance.

Now, Mother and Father, I do hope you can see that what I feel is a real call has come to me. I do hope you can do what parents here do. I believe in a Future Life and I believe that those who have died here fighting hard but clean have got a chance of being rewarded. At any rate they have done what seems to me something very fine. Any unmarried man who feels as I do and ran away would have a taint of cowardice on him which would damn him, or me at any rate, forever.

Of course all this is simply facing the worst. I haven't the slightest feeling that I will be killed. Mortality is very low now and will be all winter with the exception of one more big fight. For months, at any rate, I shall be leading a strenuous life physically and also studying hard.

One good thing, by being a cavalry regiment I won't get sent to the Dardanelles.

All love to you both. Do try not to break down. Why not come over here where you can see me and where you will be with others in your same fix? I shall be in Norfolk and being an officer (my word, isn't that amusing?) I could see lots of you.

CAP.

Had lunch at the Embassy. Page didn't seem very neutral, but then we were en famille.

When Caspar went to see Lord Denman at his headquarters, Blickling Hall, Norfolk, he found Lord Denman ill and unable to see him. Although Caspar passed all the tests of horsemanship he could not pass the red-tape between him and a commission without Lord Denman's personal assistance. In his annoyance he returned to London, leaving word they could send for him when they wanted him. They never sent.

Several friends in London promised to get him a commission through this or that influential friend. Bored by their delay and being keen to get into the War he went off by himself to enlist. As he walked along that cold, rainy morning to the Recruiting Station at the Horse Guards Parade, he said he pulled his hat down over his eyes and said to himself, "It's bad enough going off alone this way, but I'm glad I haven't a girl, with wet bedraggled feathers in her hat, hanging on to me and weeping."

London, Oct. 29, 1915.

BURTON,
             Cincinnati, Ohio.

Just enlisted Tommy.

BURTON.

 

8, Portman Square, W., Oct. 29, 1915.

DEAR MOTHER,

As I wired, I have just taken the King's shilling. In other words, I am a private in the Public Schools Battalion of the Royal Fusiliers. My address will now be Private C. Burton, Public Schools Battalion, Royal Fusiliers, Epsom, Surrey, England.

Waiting for a commission is slow work and I think I will get it just as rapidly this way, as my application is still in.

To Englishmen it is hard work to sleep in a tent with some Cockney, but I shall love it.

I must stop, as I must go directly to fall in behind a band and march off to Waterloo.

The die is cast. No changing my mind now unless I want to be shot as a deserter. All love.

CAP.

 

London, Nov. 13, 1915.

REGIMENT going Oxford for winter, probably going France March. Wish you could come. Could spend evenings with you. Probably get commission later, but don't care.

BURTON.

 

Marston Street, Oxford,
Nov. 15, 1915.

DEAR MRS. BURTON,

WE had a very great pleasure: Caspar dining with us in the King's uniform. He was at our High Mass yesterday and surprised us afterwards by appearing at the Mission House. I think it is splendid of him not to have waited for a Commission, but just to have enlisted.

I hope he may get a Commission presently, for, though he makes light of it all, there must be many things that are trying to him in his Tommy life. He told me that he delighted in every moment of his life as a soldier. How very glad he will be in years to come and how proud his children will be to think that he had a personal share in this great war. I think one feels more enthusiastic and more confident every day as to the great final issue, but it is a very long and terrible business.

.      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .

I hope we may see you and Mr. Burton here presently. Caspar said there was hope of it.

I am most truly,

GERALD S. MAXWELL,(1) S. S .J. E.

 

Oxford, Dec., 1915.

DEAR FATHER,

I DON'T know that I have any excuse for not writing. It is simply my old weakness, or whatever you want to call it, of putting off writing.

You know I was told that I was needed at once by the Ambulance Corps. On arrival in London I was given only three days to get ready. Well, by hustling I was ready. I then found that the military authorities would not allow me to cross, and, mind you, this was not because of my nationality. Meanwhile Alberta had gone to Paris for two weeks. I did what I could.

At least six Harvard men I knew told me to chuck the Red Cross and enlist (they all started as I did). I should have done this then and there, and could at that time have easily secured a commission (the regulations were less stringent). For the sake of making good on Alberta's job I did not do this.

When I got back unfortunately all my American friends were away in France. Again Alberta wanted me to go to Russia. I refused. I determined to go whole-hog or none, either come home or fight; for amateurs have no business in the fighting zone (and now they are being kicked out). I was ready to enlist at once, but everybody told me to get a commission .... Well, I worked a few days trying to see people. Nothing came of any of my efforts, so I walked down by myself and enlisted, which is just what I wanted to do in the first place.

There is only one way of stopping this war, that is to try to lay out one or two Prussians before you get laid out yourself. This is gruesome but true. Only by doing this can this war be stopped, and the awful nightmare of Prussian ideals conquering the whole world (America included) be demolished.

I am sorry for having spent so much money. As I wired you a pound a week is plenty for me now, as I have practically no expenses, except tobacco and movies. K. of K. doesn't give his Tommies much time for amusement.

Now as to when I shall get to the Front; our battalion, the 29th Royal Fusiliers (Public Schools), is a Reserve Battalion, that is to say we fill up the gaps made by casualties in the 20th and 21st, which are in the trenches. I do not see how I can be sent before February 15th, because I won't have finished the required training before then. After then I may be sent any day, or I may not be sent for months. It all depends on how much of the 20th and 21st gets wiped out. This is the best information I can give you, but this is guesswork. Also I think I have a commission if I want it, but I don't think I do. I love these rough Tommies and rather fancy throwing in my lot with my friends, for friends they are. I daily love England more and more.

It was fine the other day; the Colonel called for a hundred volunteers for the Front, and, as one man, the thousand raised their hands. England is just beginning. In two years she alone will be able to beat Germany and she will never give up.

Don't get discouraged by the papers (of course nobody in the Army reads them). The Germans are getting hell now and they are getting sick of it. If the Government (of lawyers) had not bungled in the Balkans it would be all over but the shouting.

As to my training I must say nothing. I will say, however, that it is the hardest work I ever hope to put in. One item, I weigh in full marching order 218 pounds. I only pray that you are well enough to come over soon. You, of course, alone can judge about this. But don't deliberate. Either come or stay. Every individual and every nation in any way connected with this war who has hesitated has regretted it afterwards. I am not having an easy life, and I haven't a very rosy prospect ahead, in fact I am using all the guts I have. For once I don't want money, but I should like to go to the Front (not the Red Cross Front) having been with you and Mother here. I don't feel that there is any danger crossing now. Perhaps it would be better to cross by Holland-American or American Line, but this submarine game around England has been killed or nearly so.

I had a walk with Father Strong(2) yesterday. I like him best of any of the Fathers. Wasn't Father Maxwell's death sudden? I can't see how anybody ever thought him cold. He almost kissed me the time I saw him. They, and other Englishmen, seem dumbfounded at any of us serving, yet I have counted nineteen Harvard men on active service (besides a lot having their pictures taken in Red Cross cars).

Well, good-bye, and let me say again how much it would mean to me to see you.

CAP.

 

Pte. C. Burton, 8908 A Company.
29th (R) Batt. Royal Fusiliers, Oxford.

Oxford, Jan. 19, 1916.

DEAR SCHO,

My feet are so badly blistered, owing to a two days' route march, that I am unable to crawl to the nearest pub, so I shall write to you.

As you may have heard, I was in Flanders for a time driving a Red Cross car. As an opportunity for seeing things it was unique. I was with the Belgians, and they let us go places and do things which no other army would have done. There seems to be a general opinion in the States that Red Cross people and nurses stroll about No Man's Land picking up wounded. Forget it! Except with the Belgians, Red Cross people scarcely get in the outskirts of the shelled zone. The Army Medical Corps, who are soldiers, do all the work, and the Red Cross (who are civilians) have their pictures taken and write newspaper articles. To show you how little the Government thinks of them, --under the Compulsion Bill they must join the Army, while locomotive drivers, miners, farmers, etc., are exempt. For God's sake don't let anybody you know waste money on that lot. Believe me, they have a surprise awaiting them when they get under military discipline.

As to what this damned show is like! Scho, the worst feature of the thing is the unbelievable boredom of it all. Month after month in exactly the same trench, continually risking your life, though the risk is very small except when a "show" is on, without seeming to get any results for your trouble. While I was there I only saw three scraps, one big one and two small ones, and I can assure you that while casualties were fairly heavy everybody's spirits bucked up.

What does it feel like to be under shell fire? I know this is what I was curious about. Well, Scho, bravery in the old-fashioned sense of the word doesn't exist. The bravest man who ever lived may go all to pieces nervously under it. On the other hand, a man not half so brave, who can take the thing philosophically, is all right. You can't dodge the devils, you can't do anything; you are either hit or not, so why worry. Moreover, if you do worry, you will probably end up in a strait-jacket. To a large extent I was able to do the latter, but several times I was simply petrified with fear. On one occasion I discovered myself taking shelter behind a rosebush!.

Of course we never were any place where a machine gun could be turned on us. That is the one thing that everybody is afraid of. They are hellish beyond all belief.

As to my life as a Tommy: --- not caring to be court-martialled I am unable to give you any details. It is more like perpetually running for the Dicky than anything else I can think of. Only it is very much in earnest. If you want a picture of me, walk along the street until you come to a gang of Italians digging up a gas main, translate the Italian phrases, then find a particularly small and angry one who is saying much and moving very little dirt and you have Burton. I may add that to my long list of accomplishments you may add that I think I can now make a nice bomb out of any one of 57 varieties. One thing I don't fancy is this bayonet business. They don't look nice charging down a field .... I saw Dill Starr(3) and Oliver Filley(4) in town the other day. Filley (in the Flying Corps) is slightly wounded. Dill is just back from the Dardanelles. Oliver says he will be glad to get back and get some rest flying over the Germans after playing with Dill for a week.

I wish I could give you some of the dope on the war. All I can say is that I feel more confident of victory than ever. The Germans are getting hell now, but I fear they will be able to hold out until next winter at any rate. Certainly England is growing stronger every day, and if only we weren't governed by lawyers, we should improve still more rapidly.

My days as a Tommy are about over. Inside of three weeks I will have my commission. In a way I hate to leave these chaps, but, although I can rough it with comparative ease, I must admit that it will be a pleasant change to have a servant, motor, etc., and "swank" about a bit. It will even be a pleasure to wear a wrist-watch, carry a handkerchief up my sleeve and assume a pose of boredom with life.

Please drop me a line, Scho. I am too old and hardened a sinner to be homesick, but life hasn't been all a bed of roses for me, and I would love to hear some news. Perhaps this dejection is caused largely by being on the wagon, or nearly so, as I only drink beer.

Is Eric Pearson's full name E. H. Pearson? If so, he was killed a few days ago. I saw him in July, but don't know his initials or how he spells his name.

Better write me care of Brown, Shipley & Co., 123 Pall Mall. That will always reach me. If you get to The Fly give them my address.

CAP.

 

8, Portman Square, W., Jan. 30, 1916.

DEAR COUSIN BYRD,

THANK you very much for your doll. Cousin Caspar is a very naughty boy because he doesn't write his letters when he is told. He came here today when I was out. He says he is very well, and the soldier's clothes are very nice.

Caspar isn't going to fight for a long time yet. We are all dictating this and Caspar is writing it.

With love from                                                      
FAITH, DROGO(5) and CASPAR.

Lady Sandwich, from whose house he had enlisted as his official residence, wrote us after his death this account of Caspar composing a letter:

"He didn't write to me at all, though I have often seen him take off his coat, roll up his sleeves, ruffle his hair and sit down to write to you; looking as if he were taking the tiller of a fishing smack out to sea in rough weather. Then what a letter; sometimes you'd read it to me long after!!"

By February Father, Mother and her devoted maid, Emily, were in Oxford with Caspar. He was just out of hospital, where he had been laid up for three weeks. Had it not been for this providential illness he would have gone out to France with a draft before Father and Mother reached him. As it was they had nine happy months with him in England and Scotland. During this time he wrote almost no letters, for they were with him.

While he was a Tommy in Oxford he was hard at work in training every day, but was able to dine with them. Every evening he turned up at their lodgings dead tired and footsore. He said he hated the life of a Tommy, but was glad he was leading it. He loved his new friends in the ranks and had no desire to leave them and become an officer. His friends, in the ranks and out of them, disagreed with him. His Sergeant Major, whom Caspar used to take to dine with Father and Mother, was emphatic in his opinion that Caspar should get a commission. As an old Army man he could tell Caspar how to go about getting it. Still Caspar was eager to go out as a Tommy. An Oxford friend, Mr. G. Boyce Allen, was the person to convince Caspar that he ought to be an officer. Caspar always disliked bother, red-tape and responsibility. These seemed to him unavoidable in getting and in holding a commission. He preferred the discomfort and irresponsibility of a Tommy. Mr. Allen argued, "A man of your education and experience is not giving his best if he does not get a commission."

That argument convinced Caspar, for it appealed to his generosity.

While he was still a Tommy he had to be in billet at 9.30 every evening. Imagine Cap having to be in every night by half-past nine! All glory to the British Army for such a victory! Mother drove to his billet one day to see if he were ill, as he had not turned up for dinner the night before. A hansom in Cranham Street was an event. All the women of that slum hung out of the windows. The wife of the workman, in whose house Caspar was billeted, dropped Mother a curtsey and said, "Oh! Mam, are you his mother? I always thought he must be a gentleman because he never complained of anything."

That seems to me the perfect tribute to Caspar. Living and dying, "he never complained of anything."

This remark was not surprising, but inside the house revelations awaited Mother. In a letter to me she writes, "I was shown his room (oh! my!), but above all I was taken in Granny's room (aged eighty-one). She is toothless and a regular Mrs. Gummidge. She said, 'He is a nice boy. I haven't no fault to find with him. He lets me kiss him each night. It comforts me so'!!! Caspar, who has discouraged me kissing him, ever since he was five years old! He can do no braver act in France. He ought to have the D.S.O. How strange it all is! All the discomforts of home and none of its joys."

Of his Oxford friends, when he was a Tommy, he often spoke of the members of the Conservative Club. They were mostly choirmen, upper college servants and the highly respectable of "the lower middle class." He had become a member of the Club in order to have some place to go evenings before Father and Mother joined him. As a Tommy he was not eligible to a "gentleman's" club or a first-class hotel. Shortly after he was admitted to this club (initiation fee two bob), whether as a result or as a coincidence is not known, there was posted this notice, "For the duration of the War no more new members will be admitted to this club owing to the shortage of beer."

On April 3rd Caspar was ordered to Edinburgh. On the 7th Father and Mother found him very ill in the Craigleith Hospital. It had been the Poor House and looked as if it still were. There, under dreary discomfort, they found him wonderfully plucky. He was in acute pain with adhesions from his old appendix wound. There was even talk of "boarding" him out of the Army, as physically unfit. Caspar was determined that this should not happen. He persuaded the commanding medical officer to wait and see if he did not improve. Fortunately for his military career no operation was necessary and talk of him being physically unfit stopped.

Day after day he carried on the dull routine of barracks life as one of the 5000 Royal Fusiliers in Edinburgh. Although he often brought this or that fusilier to the hotel for a bath, a loaf and dinner with Father and Mother, his talk at this time was all of the Scotch. He loved them and their humor. He acquired a large repertoire of priceless Scotch stories, gathered indiscriminately from Lady Constance Emmott, the Bishop of Argyll and the Isles, Lord Guthrie, Mrs. Haig-Ferguson, the Jocks or some chance acquaintance on the street.

All this fun was a blessing to him in those days in Edinburgh, for it was a time of discouragement. Draft after draft of men went out to France, but he had to carry on in barracks. This was because he had been recommended for a commission, and so his name was on a list of men who were not to be sent out. He was bored and discouraged. He was "sore" that his friends had ever persuaded him to apply for a commission. He had enlisted to fight Germans, and this commission business seemed to be permanently frustrating his purpose. Finally, to his great relief, he was assigned to a draft for France, got the usual six days' leave and went to London. There his friend, Col. Allen, of the 4th King's, saw him, heard his story, went straight to the War Office, cut all the impeding red-tape, and, as a result, Caspar was sent on July 11th to the O.T.C. at Oxford.

That promotion came to him as a sort of honor, on his twenty-ninth birthday. It bored him, for it meant the postponing of his escape from training and his going out to France. He honestly did not want to be an officer.

He was billeted in Keble, and after his life as a Tommy he spoke of sleeping on a mattress on the floor as if that were almost enervating luxury. He found, however, that the discipline and the work were anything but enervating. Father, with a not unwarranted curiosity, one day asked Caspar how he learned he must obey. Cap replied: "One dreary day in the meadows beyond the railroad, I was standing, waiting orders, and turned my eyes to watch a freight train crawl off to London. I got 'pack drill' for three days. It was the most innocent thing I had ever done and the heaviest punishment I had ever had."

The discipline, the work and the study put Caspar in finer trim than he had ever been in his life. His whole being was alert. He had at last an adequate motive for using his brains. It always used to exasperate me that he would not do so. I knew he was capable in college of doing A work; instead, he could get C's by overhearing what his friends said of the courses and proceeded to do so. But in the O.T.C. he recognized that study was connected with his purpose and so he studied as never before. The result was that, when it came to the final examinations, he passed third in a class of five hundred cadets. He disclaimed any intellectual superiority. "The other cadets," he said, "had not been to Harvard. We do not get an education there, but we do learn how to pass examinations."

He was gazetted 2nd Lieutenant, King's (Liverpool) Regiment, and on November 6th went to Pembroke Dock, South Wales.

Ritz Hotel, Piccadilly,
London, W., November, 1916.

DEAR SPENCE,

THANKS for the cable! For the first time I really am glad that I was finally persuaded to go in for a commission. I am also rather glad that I won it, rather than having it given me by some "brass hat" that I met at dinner.

Father looks and I believe is very well .... In his delightful way I think he is as keen about the war as anybody. I. wish he would get a regular job in a hospital, for I think he has real genius with that sort of thing. I don't think they will go home until after the war. Really I pity you having to stay in America, our poor, dear country! What is going to come of it all? One thing I can assure you of, we are hated both here and in France almost as much as the Huns.

I feel, and all the Americans in the Army feel, that we are really doing two things; our first job is to kill Huns, but we are also accomplishing something by being in the Army. For every Englishman now knows that there are lots of us with them, and their gratitude is almost embarrassing at times.

When I used to think that I didn't like these people I had only known the upper classes .... But the Tommies!! You can't beat them, and they are going to win this war in spite of everything. If only a combination of French brains and British privates could be got together!

The regiment that I am going to is the one of all others I would rather be in. With the possible exception of the Connaught Rangers it is the toughest in the Army, but I don't think I am exaggerating in saying that it is as good as any when it comes to fighting. Nothing very gentle about that lot.

Love,                   
CAP.

Isn't there anybody enterprising enough to murder Wilson?

 

Nov. 14th, 1916.
B. Coy., 3rd King's
Bangeston Camp,
Pembroke Dock.

DEAR MOTHER,

WELL, I am unable to find out what is being done with me, but the best opinion seems to be that I will be here two weeks to two months, but this is only a guess. There are three thousand King's here and B. Coy. is in huts about one mile from the town. Major Whalley is in command of B. Coy. He is charming. There are five subs under him, all nice. Had a good game of bridge last night; spent today as orderly officer; easy job. The men strike me as the best soldiers I have seen, but no first-class jail would take them, I am sure.

 

3rd Batt., The King's Regt.,
Nov. 19, 1916.

NOTHING more as to when I may be going, but I find that the general opinion is that I am not likely to be here long, and that they must give me some leave before I go.

I am so happy here and so comfortable that I am ashamed to say I am not as anxious as I was. Major Whalley and the four Subs here I like enormously. Spencer, the chap I room with, is one of the Sergeant Majors that Col. Allen sent back for a commission. He is one of the finest chaps I have ever met and very good fun. He is an old Army man and has been invaluable in putting me on to things. He worships Col. Allen; said that if he has any fault in the world it is being too kind to his men.

Major Whalley, an old Army man, is delightful, and I think we hit it off very well. I am fortunate in being at Bangeston Camp under him instead of at Hdqs. at Pembroke Dock. You can't imagine how well we live and are looked after. The work is intensely interesting and very easy and light. But the thing which pleases me most is that I had never believed it possible that a unit of the British Army could be as perfectly run. These men get just about twice as much training in a day as we got in the R.F.(1) and I haven't seen half an hour wasted yet. Literally everything (particularly cooking) which I thought poorly done in the R.F. is perfectly done here. As an example the other day after lunch the Major said, "By the way, the General of the Western Command is coming this afternoon, but carry on as usual." And we did, without losing ten minutes' training!! The men are the hardest lot I have ever seen anywhere, bar none. Tough does not do them justice. The nice youth of the rosy cheeks does not exist. I should think over half of them are "light duty" men waiting to go back. The rest are mostly wild Irishmen. A large proportion seem to live in the guard room when they are not working. In orders yesterday was, "No. 10096 Pte. McGuire has proceeded to H.M. prison Wormwood Scrubs." But one only has to look at the faces of these men to know that properly led they are the best fighting material possible.

Now for a curious thing! We had a concert the other evening. A commander (the Naval C.O. of the entire naval base here, which is considerable) came to dinner. He spent seven years commanding the British cruiser in Newfoundland. I have spent several nights in a log hut which he built in Main Brook, Hare Bay, for salmon fishing. He left his heart there. He has a house across the road from our camp. I go across in the evening and we get out his charts and spin yarns well into the morning. His poor wife, she hates me already! He even knows the same fishermen I know and worships Doctor Grenfell's work, although he scarcely knows him. He even has a rock marked in on his chart of The Labrador which I nearly hit once, as did he. He is the man who stopped the scheme for the "Open all the Winter, shortest route to America" scheme. His boyish delight in my being able to tell him that I had watched this same ice for months, and in my backing him up in saying that no boat ever will be built that can even look at it, was touching.

I had a good look at Pembroke Dock and Pembroke yesterday. Pembroke, Ont., is modelled directly on them and is an improvement! Never was anything so desolate! The best hotel is impossible. I will call on Mrs. Whalley this afternoon and see if she knows of any decent lodging place. I will let you know about this later.

I had a nice note from Col. Allen and one from Maj. Curtis which I enclose.

 

3rd Batt., The King's Regt.
Nov. 25th, 1916.

NOTHING new here as to going to France. I suppose that one day when I am least expecting it, I will get my orders (with a few days' leave) to go.

Had a long talk with three of 4th Batt. men the other evening. They all worship Allen ....

I had another evening with Commdr. Pearson. Great fun it was too.

Major Whalley, not a bit of a natural pessimist, says the war will last at least two years more!

He defines a V.C. as a decoration for an act which if unsuccessful would require a court-martial. Rich, isn't it? He is very curious; he is perfectly aware of the fact that I am an American, but doesn't officially admit it.

We have two Jews here that the men call Potash & Perlmutter.

We have a "hard guy" Sergeant named Murphy here. The other day I overheard the following to a class of recruits, doing very badly:

"Boys, you mind when I had me photo tuk the other day. Well, I sent it to me Mither; she wrote me back saying, 'Tim, ye're looking all washed out, them recruits will be the death of you, yet."

Between ourselves you can just about thank Commdr. Pearson and this place for the safety of Falmouth and the Irish Sea from submarines, I fancy. We have all the paraphernalia for U-boat hunting here, including a huge R.N.A.S. Aerodrome.

 

3rd Batt., The King's Regt.
Monday, Nov. 27, 1916.

I WAS told yesterday unofficially, by the Assistant Adjutant, that I had been selected for France. If this is so (Major Whalley doesn't think it is) I may be warned any day now. As soon as this happens I apply for leave and would be in town within twelve hours or so. But the whole thing is pretty much guesswork. Still I think you had better stand by in town till I can find out something definite ....

The work here is so light that I have taken to doing Physical Training and Bayonet Fighting with the men simply to keep fit.

Davis, a chap I knew in Oxford, is here with the Shrops. Had dinner with their mess last night. They certainly don't know how to do things as well as we do them. There is a lot of difference in that way between Old and New Army. If you dared to call this lot New Army you would get your head taken off. I don't see why it isn't New Army, but apparently it isn't.

Love,                   
CAP.

This rumor proved to be true. He went up to London on a seven-day leave. On his trip up from Pembroke Dock he characteristically lost his entire kit. That left him with two razors and a revolver, "better equipped," as he said, "for a nigger brawl in Bucktown than for a world war." Of course his kit turned up at the last minute, without his having done anything to get it. He was busy seeing Father, Mother and many friends, having good-bye parties at the Cavendish Hotel, and going to Hinchingbrooke to see his cousins there before going out to France.

Father and Mother went to Folkestone to see him off. His gratitude to them for not giving themselves the emotional luxury of a dramatic farewell he expressed in his first letter from France. He himself, after the War, added most of the footnotes to the letters that follow. These notes are indicated by asterisks.

Dec. 10, 1916.

DEAR MOTHER,

I GOT here yesterday and found Wynne(2) here, and we are now sharing the same tent, but he has just received orders to move on early tomorrow morning. I am afraid we shall be separated, but there is still a chance. Wish I could tell you of all the interesting things about here, but of course I can't. Literally things are perfectly done, as near as I can see.

I haven't seen David,(3) nor can I find out where he is, but every instant of my time is filled up with work and I shall probably only be here a short time.

I can't tell you how much I appreciate the sporting spirit with which you and Father saw me off. I shall try to show my appreciation of it by writing often.

My address for the time being is 24th Infantry Brigade Depot, B.E.F., France; just put King's (Liverpool) without the Battln. . .

CASPAR.

 

Dec. 12, 1916.

I AM going away from here for several days on a job, but shall be returning. It ought to be rather an interesting(4) job, as it will take me to a part I have always wanted to see. Things look brighter for the 4th I think, but nothing is certain.

Am afraid I have lost Wynne for good.

Lots of love,                
CASPAR.

 

Dec. 20th.

I AM here with the 4th Batt. I fought a winning fight, and so here I am. I also managed to get put in the same company with Campbell,(5) and we sit next to each other at mess and sleep next to each other. Great luck, isn't it? I have had a most interesting time and am now really in the thick of it all, or will be soon!

It seems a delightful lot of officers and the men are the right sort to my way of thinking.

You might send a parcel of food along and about two hundred cigarettes a week. I find the food very good, but as everybody insists on your eating their food it more or less behooves you to have some of your own.

I have never dreamed of such mud, but it is freezing now I am glad to say.

 

Dec. 21, 1916.

DEAR MON,

WET again today. The mud is as bad as Newfoundland in May, but the terrible churning up this country has had makes it worse.

Tell Helen(6) that Campbell is more British than I ever dreamed he could be. I fancy he has done extremely well.

I enjoy seeing a lot of the French again. They are still going strong.

Where we are we are out of reach of anything decent, but ten days ago I was in a partly shattered town a long way from here. I admired again the French woman. She is marvellous. I dined in a café, the roof of which resembled a sieve. I had a perfect dinner. Madame was everywhere looking très chic. Monsieur, who was a wash-out, did nothing; but when you paid your bill Monsieur was sent for to receive the money. By George, if I ever marry I think it will be a French woman.

Give my love to Alberta.(7) Tomorrow is her birthday, I think.

A letter written on December 6th, describing his first Christmas in the trenches, was lost. To replace this he wrote the following account for Mother's War Scrapbook:

We left Susanne about 10 A.M., and were put in motor lorries and carried just behind the hill at Maurepas. We "disembarked" there and marched through Maurepas about a mile and as it was still light we halted there. I had heard a great deal about destruction of villages on the Somme, but I would never have believed it possible. There literally isn't a brick standing in Maurepas, in fact the only thing which could indicate that it had ever been a town was the wheels of what was evidently a baby-carriage. As we were halted the Boche artillery was fairly active over Combles, about a mile ahead of us. As it grew dusk we marched on through Combles and eventually up near Rancourt. Our guides met us and led us up to our positions. It is pretty hard to judge distances on a place like this, but I should think that from where we left the road to our Coy. Headquarters was not over two miles. Yet it took us about four hours to do it. I never have conceived of such mud. When we got to our Coy. Headquarters we found a very good deep French dug-out. The short trench above it was almost knee deep in mud. Campbell went off at once with his platoon to occupy an isolated position about two hundred yards on the right flank and about two hundred yards in front of Coy. H.Q., and Lashmar took his platoon to another isolated position about two hundred yards directly in front of us. Both of these positions were nothing but shell holes connected up. Things were very quiet that night except that we were on the left flank of our division and had lost touch with the division on our left. We had heard that the 2nd Rifle Brigade had been forced to evacuate their first position, but it had not been confirmed and I was sent out with Pte. Machin to try and get in touch with them. We floundered about, going by my compass which I had set on a very problematical bearing. It was most confusing, as we were tempted to follow along old water-logged communication trenches, but after all a compass doesn't lie and by jumping over these trenches we finally ran into the Rifle Brigade trying to clear out and make defensible a trench only a few yards behind the one they had abandoned. I, of course, reversed my compass and started back, but we went a bit wrong and floundered about in the mud for some time, almost lost, before we stumbled on our trench.

The next day was very quiet except that the Hun constantly shelled the ruins of Rancourt, where as a matter of fact we had nothing; but then, as Campbell says, if we had the sense which the Germans apparently credit us with having, that's where we would be instead of in these mud holes. Bangham sent me over after it was dark with my platoon to relieve Campbell, as it was considered that Campbell's position was the muddiest one of the lot. Campbell went back to the dug-out to have some food and expected to come back and relieve me, but Bangham wouldn't let him. He turned up about 1 A.M., and was very angry and equally amusing, to give me advice and instructions about holding this position. It wasn't at all a dangerous position, but it certainly was uncomfortable. The mud was so bad that the only weapon in working order was the Mills bomb. We got a bit of shelling about daybreak and again about noon, but it was fairly obvious that the Boche didn't know where we were.

About 9 P.M. I got a chit by an orderly saying that I was to put up the barrage signal, simply as practice for the artillery, sometime between 10 and 11, and was to report on the elapsed time and the effectiveness of the barrage.

The artillery reply came in a few seconds over a minute and it seemed to me that it was perfect. I wonder what the Hun thought we were up to?

At about 1 A.M. we were relieved by a platoon of B Coy. Certainly a most peculiar Christmas Eve. We had a beastly time getting back to the support trenches, where we arrived at near 5 A.M. Christmas morning. We found a very deep and dry but small dug-out, on the chalk walls of which was written:

"Do You Know Dolly?"

As there wasn't enough room in the dug-out Campbell and I found a little hole in the chalk underneath, where some of our men were sleeping, and we curled up and slept like tops.(8) We got up about 11 o'clock Christmas morning and made a determined effort to try and get the rifles and Lewis guns clean, but didn't have much luck. Incidentally the Sergeant-Major got hit by a nose-cap which must have been almost spent.

About this time our batteries really cut loose and gave the Hun a pretty bad dressing down. We were relieved by the 2nd Argylls about 10 o'clock at night. They were grousing terrifically over the fact that they had no rum ration and were very amusing. We marched back to Maurepas and got fixed up very comfortably, in fact we had a plum pudding and really had a very jolly Christmas dinner.

It was daylight of the 26th. We weren't, of course, in at all a dangerous position, but I must say I really enjoyed it. This is most inconsistent and is a tendency to be guarded against. The Prussian doctrine of war being a glorious thing is like many other doctrines, it has just enough truth in it to make it doubly dangerous.

From a letter from Lieut. Campbell R. Fraser to his wife:

I had arranged with the Captain that when my platoon was relieved that night, I would carry on with the other platoon for the next twenty-four hours; the reason was that Caspar's platoon was coming in and it wasn't fair to give him a front line job in an isolated position in his first tour in trenches. But much to my annoyance about 8 P.M., I heard some one calling my name at the other end of the trench, and here was Caspar with a guide come up from the supports line. The orders were that I was to go back to supports for a hot meal, and that later I was to take up his platoon and then go back with my own. I felt rather sick over it, because the plug back to supports, which I had to do three times in all, wasn't worth the price of admission, and then I knew the line, and he hadn't seen it.

So I plugged back to see if I could change the order, but couldn't, and after all, the trench was safe as a church, only I should have liked to have been there along with Caspar. He is a most game little sport, and we are all very fond of him here. He made an instantly good impression. An American who volunteers for trenches rather appeals to these fellows, especially the professional soldiers.

 

Dec. 27, 1916.

DEAR MOTHER,

.      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .

WE are well back now for some rest and everybody seems bucked up.

I have just read Wilson's note. I don't think I was ever so disgusted!

Could you send me a pair of leather gloves with a warm lining? My others went West. Also send me about one dozen pairs of socks and two dozen handkerchiefs. The only way to keep from getting bad feet is to keep changing and I find that the fact that I have had practically all my toes frozen before is going to be a source of trouble. As for boots, I don't see that anything between slippers and a diver's suit is any good. However, if your feet are O.K. you are very comfortable.

It seems a terrible thing to say, but I rather enjoyed this last affair. Certainly "cunning" was never at a higher premium.

Love to France.(9)

 

Jan. 1, 1917.

DEAR FATHER,

MANY Happy Returns! I haven't been able to write for several days, but am now way back of the line. Our lot are resting, but I have been sent off with a fatigue party to do a lot of boring and bucolic labor. It is a bore, but I don't see how it can be helped and besides it won't last over two weeks.

We are near a town where the most perfect cathedral in the world is. I enjoyed seeing it again .... I ran into most of the Escadrille Américaine of the French Flying Corps, but didn't see Cowdin or Rumsey. They are a great lot. I also met an old friend who used to be a bartender in the Lenox Hotel, Boston, and is now plying his trade in ------.

Everybody is hoping that our Division will be moved to some other part of the line, but it is only a hope.

I haven't heard from you yet and am not giving you my present address, because I shall be leaving here probably before you could reach me, and then I never would get the letters.

I have a perfect gem for a servant. He is a dyed-in-the-wool crook, but we get on beautifully. He beats the gun every time when it comes to getting me the best of everything. Never does he go out that he doesn't return with an egg, a spare strap, a canvas bucket or something. Where he gets them I don't know, for he has the strongest principles about parting with coin to French people. In fact he positively refuses. He is now washing all my things himself, as he simply would not take them to any of the French people near here. He is also a good cook, and to see him collect heaps of firewood from a place where there isn't a house left standing is a sight for the gods.

I will try to write every day now.

 

January 9th, 1917.

DEAR MOTHER,

I HAVE been in a Casualty Clearing Station for a week, but get out tomorrow well. A lot of my men have gone sick with dysentery, and I have every reason to suppose I had it. The men have all gone to the Base and possibly England, but I persuaded them to keep me here, and now the tests have been made and I am O.K. I join my Battalion tomorrow. I am so glad I worked it as I did. I am still a little weak, as they starve you, but will be top hole in a few days. I have no doubt that the men "swing the lead" a bit.

I got my letters yesterday and don't think I ever enjoyed letters so much. Somebody has got the parcels, who I don't know. Possibly our own Mess is enjoying them now.

Tell Father I like Balkan cigarettes, the kind they have at the Cavendish. It seems good to get in a bed again even in a tent. I can tell you I am feeling pretty happy, for I really had wind up.

I had several notes from Alberta, but I really can't read a word of them. Also a lovely letter from Ruth and one from Judith.

Went to the movies the other day. They had a Western picture --- Indians attacking wagons, etc. In the midst of the attack when the settlers were getting licked, my servant just behind me shouted out, "Where in bloody hell is them Lewis gunners?" He is a gem. In the last trenches we were in, there really wasn't much trench at all and water knee high, he said, "Well, Sir, there's one good thing about these trenches, we'll never see a brass hat(10) here." I don't know how I will ever live without him. Instead of putting my things away he stands and looks at them and then both he and I know exactly where everything is.

He never refers to stealing or pinching anything. He calls it "winning." "Think I'll just go and see if I can win some coal."

Tell Helen I think she really ought to know the worst. Campbell, on his own initiative, went to see the movies and stayed through them sitting on a very narrow board!

 

France, Jan. 9th, 1917.

DEAR BESSIE,(11)

I JUST picked up a magazine and saw a thing by Amy Lowell about sand. Tell her to substitute mud for sand and it fits in here very well.

We are out of the trenches for a few days: they say we are "resting." They lie. In fact we are so far back that we are in the "Parson, Trained Nurse Zone."

What I am really writing you for is to tell you of my terrific and growing admiration for your Church. I saw a lot of both the French and Belgian priests, and where we are now we see much of the French. I have knocked about a bit and met some splendid types, but never anything to touch the R.C. priest in this War. Sometime I hope to tell you about them at length. In fact if I didn't believe that some of the doctrines of your Church are fundamentally untrue I would become a R.C. tomorrow. Your Church certainly works, but I hope I am less of a pragmatist every day and I won't accept anything because it seems to work. My great hope of this war is that pragmatism or whatever you call most modern thinking is getting absolutely shelled to bits. One thing isn't about as good as another and everybody here knows it.

On top of all this to read Wilson's speeches about both sides fighting for the same thing is particularly exasperating. For God's sake use all the influence you have to keep the U.S. from meddling in peace. We are really beating these blighters. They are putting in the most unpleasant winter they will ever experience --- unless it is next winter. I certainly think their discipline is going to crack long before the fighting spirit and cheerfulness goes from us.

Certainly the Boche doesn't show the slightest desire to fight on our little bit of front. All he asks is to be let alone and that we won't do. But he is as clever as ever and the conditions here at any rate are absolutely impossible, or so it seems to me.

I never cease being astounded at the British race. Xmas night we were relieved. We were in a trench, the walls of which were very largely built of Hun dead, and not very freshly dead either, and yet our relief was delayed under shelling because the bottom of the trench had been untidy! I could only think of Sunday School picnics. But they really are rather old dears and they certainly have sticking power.

My servant is a great joy to me. He is T.A. boiled down. His humor is a thing unequalled. I heard him say to a French girl yesterday, "I don't know much about making love in French (which is a lie), but give us a kiss for a starter."

There is very little danger here now and I don't expect there will be any until we push again.

I get terribly homesick at times. I notice that a few big ones coming over, and particularly those exceedingly horrid machine guns, tend to increase this feeling enormously.

I do love the French bourgeoise woman. Talk about nurses, Red Cross women, etc. Why French women run restaurants and excellent ones too at great profit ten miles nearer the line than any of these much photographed ladies in riding breeches ever get. When they get shelled out of one house they move to another. It is a pleasure to be robbed by such clever women. I really believe they are clever enough for me to marry one of them. I believe a French bourgeoise could manage the life out of me without my knowing that I was being managed at all. Of course they are not interested in Suffrage, etc. They absolutely rule France and everything they come in contact with already. They are absolutely sound, absolutely practical (more so than anything on Beacon Hill), and absolutely fascinating.

Give my love to all the Perkins family. How I should love to see you again!

If anybody tells you I am in this show for fun, adventure, etc., make a note of his or her name. I want to have a word with them "après la guerre est finie."

Mother seems in splendid health and Father like a different man since he landed.

CASPAR.

 

Jan. 17th, 1917.

DEAR MOTHER,

I HAVE been back with the Battalion several days now and am absolutely O.K. It took me a bit longer to get fit than I thought it would.

I found three parcels of cigarettes, one of food, a lot of glorious socks, etc., and some toilet things, also lots of letters which I loved getting. Also a splendid torch. I left my Sam Browne belt in a public bath at -------- on my way here and I fear it has gone West. Astin, my servant, I am sure could "win" me one, but I have forbidden him to do so. I never wear one here, so will wait till I get leave, as I will have to have one then.

We move tomorrow, and I have got a temporary job which will give me a two days' horseback ride ahead of the Battalion.(12) Ought to be good fun and will put the finishing touches on getting me fit.

This is a terribly dull letter, but spending two weeks in a W.C. doesn't tend to make you sparkling.

I think the post in these parts isn't as good as it might be, as all the men are complaining of parcels going West.

I shall be glad to get down to work again.

Give my love to Alberta,(13) I think, if I remember, next Tuesday is her birthday.

Lots of love,                     
CAP.

 

Jan. 21, 1917.

FINISHED my job and am with the Battalion again marking time for a day or so. Glad you saw Campbell.

News! I find that the chance of getting three days in Paris after we come out of the trenches are excellent. Sometime from about the 10th to 20th of February most likely. Have a look about and see if you can get to Paris. Plan to go there and then if I can turn up, splendid, if not you ought to enjoy it at any rate.

I am absolutely fit, and love getting news. Will write you again tomorrow. Snow on the ground and frozen! I feel like an old circus horse smelling the tanbark. It is splendid, no mud. Saw the most marvellous flying today I have ever dreamt of. A famous French and a British Airman were showing off. .

 

Jan. 29, 1917.

CAMPBELL came in yesterday afternoon. Also seven parcels arrived. I think this accounts for the lot. Where they have been I don't know. I have a fine job, only temporary, of course, but still! I am acting Transport Officer and am living behind the line in a splendid dug-out built by the Boche, and believe me the German officer who had this built believed in Safety First. I have about six hours' hard work a day and that is all. But the responsibility I find wearing. Finding your way for several miles with nothing to guide you but dead mules is not all it's cracked up to be. I am not in the trenches and anything back of the line is better than in it.

I didn't look for this job. They found out that I knew something about horses, and --- here I am. To show you how safe it is, our Transport Officer has been here twenty months and has never been hit. In fact he is the only officer left of the original Battalion.

My servant is having the time of his life. There are dozens of dug-outs which have been vacated near here, and he goes "souveniring" every few minutes. He has a huge pile of relics, and has already given me a pair of spurs, a crop, a flask, a compass and a watch! I hope he hasn't been gravedigging, but I have my doubts. . . .

 

February 4th, 1917.

I HAVEN'T been able to write for some time, but will be able to do so now. Paris leave looks years away now. In fact I have got over thinking about it, but you never can tell. Campbell has gone away on a course; it came at a lucky time for him.

By all means send a S. B. belt if you care to. I haven't needed one, but could have used one once or twice. Don't get a thick, heavy or a "yaller" one.

Somehow or other I am so heart and soul in my job that I can't seem to get up any interest over politics, etc. I haven't seen a paper for ten days, but would rather enjoy one now and then, also a book or so, not about the war. Don't send an avalanche of papers and books, as I can't stow them away.

I am hoping I get my leave to England before leave closes, as I suppose it will do.

I have noticed an interesting fact. Ask any Jock how far a place is and he will say -----kilos. Ask a Tommy and it is always miles. Here is another true Scotch story. During the last push we were relieving the ----- ------Highlanders. Our Coy. Commander said to the Scotch guide who was conducting the relief, "What sort of a time have you been having, Jock?" A pause, then, "Our relations wie yon --have been verra strained, Sir." A long pause, then, "There's only me and twa privates o' the platoon left, Sir."

Here is a definition. "Cavalry" --- A fairly large and very smart body of men maintained in the more fashionable parts of France at considerable expense to add color to an otherwise drab army. They still live in the delusion that a mounted man armed with a fishing rod and knife can fight a Boche in a shell hole with a machine gun.

Astin disappeared yesterday for the day without leave. At dusk he returned with four Mallard duck!! He has built a sort of system of wire nets, oats, etc., and it seems to work.

Still cold and it makes me feel like a king.

Don't get blue. The primary duty of everybody who wants to win this war is to be optimistic about life in general and the War in particular.

 

Feb. 6th, 1917.

I FEEL as if I must get more news about America or "bust." I don't think I ever was so excited in my life. I am so happy I can't keep still. What is America going to do? Send me anything about the situation.

Is Wilson going to ask for Americans who are now serving with the Allies? For of course they can do nothing themselves. Tell Walter(14) to write me his views at once. I can't seem to get any perspective on the situation here.

Fritz seems annoyed! At least he gave me a pretty hot time last night.

 

Feb. 10th, 1917

I CAN'T make out yet what America has done or is going to do. I expect we shall have to "wait and see"! In the meantime there is nothing to do but "smile at yourself and carry on." There seems to be a curious feeling going about that the War is nearly over. What it is based on I don't in the least know. It certainly does not sound or look here as if it was anywhere nearly over.

A Lewis gunner came to me the other day to see if I would cash an American Express order for seven francs. Such a fine lad, comes from Somerville, Boston, and has been here seven months. There are, I am sure, thousands in the ranks. God bless and spare them.

Here is a typical Scotism. Last night in the dark a Lance Corporal of the-----and ------Highlanders came up to me and said, "Could you tak a mon back to ------- in a limber?" Then a long pause. "The mon's deid."(15)

Whether my present job is permanent or not I don't know, but I don't think I have made many blunders yet and am kept pretty busy. I like it because it is both hard and exciting work while it lasts and then it is finished with. Moreover, it is work which requires "cunning." Then I think what I know about horses helps. Moreover, it is much safer in that when the push comes we don't go over the top; in fact it is a safer job all round. I didn't go looking for the job; it was offered me and I think I should be Quixotic if I hadn't accepted.

Our transport is known throughout this Division as the "God's Own." Its luck has been absolutely phenomenal. But Captain Boumphrey deserves most of the credit. He is one of the craftiest men I have met and he has put me on to some very sound tips. He is really Brigade Transport Officer now and thank God looks after all the red-tape, etc. He simply tells me where to go and what to deliver and I do it.

 

Monday, Feb. 11, 1917.

WHAT does all the American thing mean? Have you any inside information?

Here is a puzzle competition. I am staying at a place whose name describes the weather.(16) Guess it and get three green coupons. We hope to go back for a rest soon. I am afraid there will be no Paris leave for me, as my English leave will be due about the time we get really back for a long rest.

This will make you laugh. I find I take a great pleasure in having such a splendid kit. I am even getting a little fussy about things.

It is very expensive messing here. Captain Boumphrey has lots of money, is of a hospitable disposition and we always have guests for meals. During most of the day men are dropping in for a drink. It all adds up, but we do live well.

One thing I like about the King's is that the men are intelligent. They have the intelligence of the newspaper boy, the barkeeper or the barber. They are in marked contrast to a splendid county Battalion with whom we are brigaded. Those chaps "compris" absolutely nil except just what is their own business.

A Lance Corporal in my Platoon was badly wounded. His name was Lopez and he claimed to be a South American, but if ever I saw a yaller nigger from the U.S.A. he was one. I had great confidence in him. Yesterday noon I went to inspect the mules and horses. I was a bit late, as I had been up all night. This is what I found. The Huns left this place in such a hurry that they left in a dug-out about twenty typical German trombones, horns, etc., now of course absolutely spoiled. Nevertheless my men were standing in a circle imitating a German band playing the German Hymn of Hate which they were humming. In the centre was a hard guy named Riley wearing a Boche helmet and standing on some ammunition boxes conducting. They had a large audience and a chap named Gabriel was going about to imaginary houses holding up a huge battered horn and soliciting contributions. He eventually came to a crowd of about fifty Highlanders and was just about to solicit when Riley, with an oath, stopped the band sharp with "Gabriel, you bloody--fool! A fine bloody ----- ----- collector you make! Wasting yer time on bloody Scotchmen. Don't you know sure that there ain't no farthin's in French money?"

This broke off the band and I appeared and found the horses filthy, particularly his pack mule, who is a lady, but goes by the name of Lousy. He curses that mule continually until things get a bit hot, then he starts calling her "Me dear," etc. He is a great lad and has won the D.C.M.

 

Feb. 13th, 1917.

I CAN'T remember what you said Bill Wendell was doing in Paris or what his address is. I would like to write him.

Have found out that there are very few officers ahead of me for leave, so that I have hopes of getting it about the middle of March.

Henry's(17) fame amused me, and to tell the truth made me quite what I suppose is homesick. At any rate, I know I did my work last night with my mind wandering in a curious way. Before me seemed to pass like a kaleidoscope memories of all the good times I have had. This seemed to go on for hours! Then I got rather morbid and got to thinking what a damnable mess I have really made of life; then I got to wondering what was going to be the end of it all after the war, for it never seems to occur to me that it may all end here. (I don't think it will.) At about this time external circumstances made me acutely conscious of the fact that there was a war on and I got my eye on the ball again. It's a weird old war. I don't want another, but I am really not having a bad time in my curious sort of way. Of course I am better off than I might be.

The belt is getting licked into shape splendidly. Astin ticked me off for putting it on before he had polished it this morning.

Will you get me a pair of spurs, some that are "almost too proud to fight"? The Colonel, who can't ride for nuts, ticked me off for having none on this job.

We ought to go back for a rest in a few days.

Love,                    
CAP.

P.S. If I don't mention Father's boils, etc., it isn't because I don't think of you, but it just isn't my way to do this sort of thing.

 

Feb. 14, 1917.

I HAVEN'T had a letter from you for about a week, but I suppose they will all come at once.

There has been a Sub staying here for several days who has absolutely got my wind up. He is a perfect gentleman, well educated, I believe is, in a stupid way, brave; I am sure he is a splendid son; but he nearly drives me wild. He is the most hopelessly bored man I ever saw; he potters about his kit, nagging his poor servant, keeps talking about how the "blighters" need watching (meaning the ranks); he speaks at great length of the uncleanliness and filthy habits of the French, thinks that a mixture of blood is always fatal, hence America's weakness, and all this in the kind of English voice which nearly drives me mad. Of course I have called him everything from a damn fool up, but it isn't much of a relief cursing out this kind. I will say that nobody here likes him.

All leave is closed, but I suspect only for a short time.

Found out yesterday that one of my mule drivers is a barber and had a much-needed hair cut. I must say he is a better mule driver than barber, but he honed my razors very well. A nice chap he is; he tells me he taught his trade to his wife and she is keeping his shop open. He also does a bit of tattooing as a side line.

I also had the Sergeant Bootmaker sole and nail my field boots which are a great joy to me.

Had a holiday last night. Captain Boumphrey went up the line to see the C.O.

Today is the most perfect day I have ever seen and the R.F.C. are everywhere, as are the Boche aeroplanes. I have been watching what the papers call "aerial activity" with my excellent glasses until my neck is stiff. It is the one side of this war which is really thrilling and dramatic. No wonder men are so keen to get in it.

I am interested in censoring letters to find so many references such as, "Well, I hear old Bill has been finally combed out, the ------"

"Hope this finds you in the pink as it finds me."

CAP.

I have made several bets that America will declare war by March 1st. This paper is très bon. The only envelopes I have seen which don't get stuck together. Send more in a week or so ....

 

Feb. 15th, 1917.

Two letters from you and a parcel from F & M last night. Tell Father the cigarettes arrive O.K. and are splendid, just about the right number per week.

So glad John and Daisy(18) were with you. You must have enjoyed them.

I don't think for a minute Germany will sink these "test" ships. Why should she? They know what they are sinking and it wouldn't be worth their while. In fact I am pessimistic about the whole situation, but I can't do anything about it, so I am not going to allow myself to worry. We can only hope and pray for the best to happen.

I have never in my life seen such gorgeous weather. It makes me feel like a fighting cock. Apparently it has the same effect on everybody, for things are bucking up a lot.

We are probably coming out tomorrow for just a few days' rest, but one never knows.

I hear people in England seem to think the War is nearing an end, and that people generally seemed bucked up. Is this so? What has Leverton(19) to say about things in general?

Send me Wilde's "Picture of Dorian Grey." I read part of it, then somebody won the book from me. There isn't much danger of my kit being too heavy as long as I hold this job!!

Find out Oliver Filley's address for me, please.

Just heard that we are having a very few days' rest.

No leave is being given. By the time we really get back for a decent rest my leave should be due, but I don't for one minute suppose I will get it.

I do like doing my work at night. The night always makes me feel keen and somehow or other I always feel as if I was just as good a man as the next fellow in the dark, and perhaps a little better.

The Transport Officer of the ------ Highlanders is a character. An old Army man, of excellent family, he ran through a fortune, got disinherited, was with the North West Mounted Police, was a remittance man, broke ponies in Wyoming and Arizona, made another small fortune which he has stuck to and is now married. Every time he sees me he shouts out, "How is Gawd's country this morning?" We are great pals. I think he is one of the finest horsemen I have ever seen, and believe me, I never want to have that man point a revolver at me! He gave an exhibition the other day.

Wouldn't it be funny if Mrs. ------ was the American who caused America to go to war. Seems rather a cattish thing to say! But with the exception of you and Father I would be glad to see any friend I have drowned if it would get America into the War.

Tell Walter I see his lot (20) walking about, but that I haven't ascended to the height of meeting any of them as yet.

I made a terrible blunder the other day! I gave Astin the devil for not waking me up in time. He has been worthless since! He does everything just wrong. I was a damn fool; he knew he had overslept and was sorry for it and if I had said nothing all would have gone well. He was, I believe, a wonderful servant for a long time for a Captain Beck who was killed. The next three officers he had all fired him; they couldn't get him to do anything. I reckon it will take me a week of pretending that things are O.K. to get him around again. Just to rub it in he spent yesterday afternoon turning Captain Boumphrey's dug-out into a wind-proof, rat-proof affair, from the dreariest, windiest hole I have ever been in. He's whipped me and I know it, and he knows that I know it, and he knows that I know that he knows it. Well, I must be off.

Good-night,              
CAP.