Racine County, Wisconsin - Chapter 27: A Racine Man's Experiences in the Army, 1920

Chapter 27: A Racine Man's Experiences in the Army

NO two men viewed army life in exactly the same way. No two saw previsely the same things. The opinions, experiences and deductions of any soldier may arouse varying emotions of agreement, anger, disapproval or disbelief when related in the presence of another. Nevertheless almost every man in the service went through certain adventures which were about the same as those experienced by others. In publishing the following story of one Racine man's life in service, the author believes that every veteran will find many things which will recall to mind amusing and interesting incidents which may have been forgotten, and that is the only purpose in publishing it. It would be manifestly impossible to try to present in print all of the letters and diaries which have been submitted for publication, and which would deserve space were this volume larger than it is.

Some liberties have been taken with the original document. At places, extracts from other diax'ies have been Inserted. Purely personal matters have been omitted. By combining several documents it has been possible to give an idea of army life which no single diary would be likely to show. The wi-iter of the article which forms the basis for the chapter is a Racine young man who went overseas in September, saw action in the Argonne, and was wounded. He offered his private diary and a number of letters to the author of this work with the proviso that his name be not used.

On the 27th of July, 1918, I reported to my local board that I was disqualified for class 2 (essential industrial occupation) and would thenceforth qualify in Class 1. I had been employed at a factory in the city, but had come to the conclusion that I might be doingmore effective work if I got into the army. There were quite a number of men who had the same idea about the same time, inspired, perhaps, by the big draft that left Racine on the 26th. On that day 447 men marched to the railway stations and amid one of the most impi'essive demonstrations ever seen in Racine, entrained for their camps. By this time the draft contingents were moving with considerable ease; the confusion that marked the first entrainments having disappeared and the uncertainties among the selectives was more or less dispelled. From the experiences of those who went early the men learned what they needed to carry for their personal comfort until they were uniformed and outfitted at the camp to which they were sent.

The reply of the board was a notice to appear on Aug. 1 for physical examination and I reported on that day at the rooms of Local board No. 2, out in Washington avenue. Three physicians gave me the double "once-over." One was an eye specialist, one a general physical examiner and a third conferred. I was pronounced fit and I was certified as qualified to go into the draft. That part over with I got ready to answer the call. It came on the 8th and we were ordered to appear at the board rooms on the 9th, ready to move.

With a dozen others I reported about the middle of. the morning and we were lined up, tagged and instructed as to the trip and then turned loose for the final good-byes. These were said over again until evening, when we went to the station, boarded a train bound for Chicago and said farewell to old Racine - for how long none of us knew. We rode to the station in automobiles and joined the No. 1 contingent and all boarded the train.

When we arrived at Chicago we joined a train load of draft men from all parts of the northwest for the trip into St. Louis. Our captain, selected from one of our number, marshalled our pai'ty into the station at Chicago and with a blanket meal-ticket entertained the crowd, which had begun to get pretty hungry.

The trainload of recruits seemed to enjoy the party and there was all kinds of fun on the way down, though we rode in day coaches and were cramped for sleeping quarters; as a matter of fact there was little sleeping. At every stop along the i-oute there were crowds at the stations and the boys sprang from the cars to the platforms to sing a little - there being several quartettes - or yell a little - regular recruit's yelling having developed early in the evening. This kept up until late into the night, but finally the boys got tired enough to curl up in the seats and get a little nap. We had breakfast at St. Louis and some of us - myself included - who had worked the board for extra meal tickets, had a real feed in the morning. From the St. Louis Union station we were hauled out to Jefferson Barracks and arrived there before noon.

When we left the train at Jefferson Barracks most of the men were ready to turn around and start home again. The heat was insufferable. The water was dirty and warm and not much of a treat for northerners just from home comforts. The tents of the recruits which were pouring in by the thousands stretched as far as the eye could see and all in all it was not a very tempting outlook.

As we left the train we were met by a squad of "receiving men," who lined us up, niai'ched us onto the reservation and alongside a big building, where we were told off into squads and turned over to sergeants who showed us to our quarters, where we waited for our next physical examination and equipment.

With fully a thousand other men I lined up in my "birthday clothes" for what proved to be a real physical examination. The men all bathed and then got their positions for appearing before the long line of physicians who were giving the men a most thorough examination at the rate of 1,000 a day. We were in line at 9 o'clock and I waited in the same costume as mentioned until 5 o'clock that evening, when I was turned out as "fit," plus a shot of typhoid vaccine.

As I walked out past the last surgeon I was startled and half bowled over by a parcel which struck me in the chest. I found that it was a barrack bag. From that point I acquired a new piece of wearing apparel at every step until I had the whole outfit, and after a day of nakedness was glad to climb into whatever I had - and did. We were, by this time, back to the room where we undressed in the morning and we found our clothes, which we put into the suit cases. Some of the boys shipped them home by express and some sold

The fitting of the uniforms was weii'd. There was no time for tailored alterations, and a man was lucky if he got the jacket and trousers large enough for him.

One man who had received a pair of trousers that came up under his shoulders and a jacket that hit him about the knees, was ambling aimlessly around looking himself over when an officer passed. The rooky didn't see him and the officer turned back and startled the poor fellow into consciousness by shouting: "Here! Why didn't you salute? Did you see this uniform?"

From that point the men were taken to their quarters and made themselves as much at home as possible waiting for the notice that they would be shipped out to some training camp.

Within a week we were shipped to Camp MacArthur, Texas, where the weather was a few degrees hotter and the water a little less appetizing, and we started in for what looked like the training spell. At MacArthur we were separated into detention companies and kept in quarantine for two weeks. Our quai-ters were tents -svith floors and open sides. The weeds had shot up through the floors and grown around the sides, completely shutting them in. We lived there two weeks and then started in our daily drills and the regular course of training. The men were all very anxious to get down town to Waco and when the time for release came all had made plans for the excursion. Hopes wei'e dashed, however, when the commanding officer on Saturday night detailed all our squad on k.p. for the next day and they were kept busy in camp.

I had the usual experiences of a recruit. After being put into a provisional infantry company, I spent every morning from 7:30 to noon in learning the rudiments of drill and discovering that it was not the easiest thing in the world to get eight men to execute "squads right" according to the manual. Eventually we all got so we could do this, and "face to the right in marching" without falling over our owai feet or stepping on some one else's.

Many Racine Families Had Several Members In Service

At the top, left, are Lt. and Mrs. Ed. Millstead ; at the right Lt. and Mrs. Arthur Naleid : at left of second row are Evald, Charlotte and Kdmund Strand and at right Arthur Nels and Harry Peter Johnson and their sister. Lower, left, are Oscar, Einer and Arnold Fischer and at right A. C. Mickelson, who served in the Home Guard, and his son Roland, who

There was nothing especially pleasant about the training period, excepting its brevity. Fortunately I did not have to spend months at drill, as most men did. We worked hard every minute, and for our pains we seldom got any greater reward than silence on the part of some officer who watched our efforts. When we slipped on some command, then we got a bawling out that in civil life would be cause for homicide. One of the hardest things to learn was to perform instinctively those acts classified as "military courtesies," such as standing at attention whenever an officer appeared in the vicinity, saluting, and addressing our commissioned superiors in the third person. It does not come natural to an American young man to reel off such a thing as, "Sir, does the Captain wish to speak to Private Jones?" when you want to ask him, "Say, did you want me?" At first I felt ridiculous when performing these rites, but in time I accepted it like the others did. Many generations have maintained that such things are necessary, and this was no time or place to try to dispute their wisdom. It helped a little to know that the captain, in turn, had to do the same thing when addressing the colonel, and also that where I had to salute some "looey" whom I disliked, he had to return the salutes of several hundred men in the same length of time.

My squad consisted of eight men of five nationalities. The corporal was a young lawyer who tried hard for advancement. He studied the regulations every evening and tried to get us to keep our equipment clean and appear as neat as possible at all times. We learned that it was almost impossible to dodge drills. Going to sick call did no good, because we were returned to the company unless we had a fever of more than 100 degrees. Nothing else counted. If w^e had ailments on the outside, we were painted with iodine. If we complained of internal troubles, we got "C.C." pills. Sick call was not held during drill hours, so there was nothing to gain by going to it without fever. We had a dentist to care for our teeth, but he either painted the gums with iodine or pulled out the ailing tooth so most of us kept away from him. I heard of one man who had had six molars pulled out to evade the first draft, and then had been rejected upon his first examination for heart trouble without anyone looking at his teeth at all! Most of the boys seemed to be willing to serve, however, and the complaints were mostly against little things such as too much work, food they didn't like, refusal of passes, etc.

police) as often as possible to get an occasional respite from drill. Then they ruled that a K. P. should work before and after drill in the kitchen and go to the field with the i-est. Then it became a real nightmare and was used for punishment. If there was no one to punish, all took their regular turns.

In the afternoons we learned the manual of arms, and had bayonet practice vdth bundles of cornstalks representing our German victims. After the second week we spent five afternoons on the range firing, and learned how to hit things 500 yards away with a high power bullet.

Our cooks didn't know very much about fancy cooking. Two of them had been merchandise clerks in civil life and the third was a painter. I remember the first two or three days I used to pi'aise their stew, or "slum" as it was called. It was a sort of mixture of meat and everything else at hand and was quite nourishing and toothsome. Pretty soon, however, I noticed that we got it every day at least once, and sometimes twice. After a while it got pretty tiresome. Rations were issued to the comjjany in bulk and prepared in the company kitchen for about 250 men of each mess. The raw material was first class and there was plenty of it. When the cooks did not draw all they were entitled to, a credit slip was given and this was redeemed for cash at the end of the month. T?ie proceeds went into the company mess fund.

The hardest job at camp for me was getting up at daybreak when the buglers blew "reveille." The sounding of this rousing tune, five minutes after "first call," was always followed by a subdued murmur of curses upon the bugler, and railing at the army in general, as sleepy men fumbled in the semi-darkness with shoes, shirts and laced leggings.

Our first pay day came after we had been instructed to take out war risk insurance, make an allotment and buy Liberty bonds. We all lined up on the first of the month and signed the payroll. It was quite astonishing to find the large number of men who did not know how to wi'ite or spell their names. Some of these were given easier names by the ready-witted and "hard-boiled" top-kicker, or first sergeant. The "top" usually is the most hated man in the outfit. He is the ranking non-com, and administers the routine affairs of the company. As one of them told me, he gives all the disagreeable orders, while the captain steps down to tell us any pleasant news he may have. A week after signing the payroll, we lined up again and got our money. I had $6 of my month's pay coming. Many others were in the same fix, and we strolled around jingling a few coins and singing, "All we do is sign the pay roll, and we never get a gosh darned cent," to the tune of "Glory, Glory, Hallelujah." During our stay at Camp MacArthur the camp welfare people were lavish in their entertainments, although the boys were pretty well tired out at nights, after the vigorous training to which so few were used. But when word came that the various companies were to move in a few days there was great joy, and every unit that was notified held a "farewell banquet" in the company mess hall. There were banquets being held every night that week. The men generally wanted to get out of the southern camps but by far the most outstanding sentiment was the hope that they would get stai-ted on the journey "over there." The men lost a good deal of weight in that two weeks. They would come in from the drill fields wringing wet and all but exhausted. The bath houses were jammed with burning humanity. But along after midnight the chill winds from the plains came up and the whole outfit would nearly freeze, though it was still in August. Each man had two single blankets for cover.

On the last of August our company was sent to Camp Merritt for embarking overseas as replacements. There was lots of bustling around and getting equipment in order. All surplus stuff was to be disposed of. Nothing but issue equipment was to be taken.

We travelled east in day coaches, with a field range set up in the baggage car to prepare meals with, and a freight car behind to carry baggage. The officers, ten of them, had a car to themselves.

Two young officers on our train stopped to talk a little too long with some of the fair hostesses at a Red Cross depot lunch room and missed the train. They were able to charter a taxi cab and catch us at the next station, but their commanding officer gave them a dressing down and those little stopovers were made rather unpopular from that time on.

Arriving at Camp Merritt late at night we were ushered into barracks and the next day we began to prepare for sailing. This was the last time we were to have the privilege of sleeping on cots or beds, excepting on shipboard. Here we had our hair cut - all of it.

Each man turned in his old campaign hat - the most practical style of hat on earth, by the way - and received a dinky "overseas hat" without a forepiece or brim, and apparently designed to let all the sunshine possible in one's eyes, and all the rain possible in one's neck. We rolled our packs prior to entraining for Hoboken early one morning and marched to the depot at Cresskill before dawn. Each man carried with him or wore on his person the following:

Certain of the non-commissioned officers were also furnished with a wrist watch, compass and field glasses. Most of us carried a couple of candles, some \vriting paper and pencils, a watch and matches. In addition to this equipment, officers were allowed one small trunk and a bedding roll which will hold nearly as much as a trunk. They were ordered to carry at least two uniforms, several styles of footwear including rubber boots, a lot of books and official documents, a trench coat with inner lining, map case and drawing instruments, and numerous other things. Everyone of us smuggled aboard as much tobacco, candy and cigarettes as we could and armed ourselves with patent pipe lighters of various kinds.

Our equipment was now very much as it remained during the war. In France we received gas masks and steel helmets but I can think of no other changes in our apparel. The officers overseas wore Sam Brov^Tie leather belts which were adopted universally by the Allied armies, but these were discarded at

When we reached Hoboken and marched to the pier where the transport was waiting, we were each of us given a postal card to address to our home folks. On the back it said, "I have arrived safely overseas." This was signed and we were told it would be mailed when the cables announced our arrival in France. We were also given instruction regarding the censorship. We were told that from now on all letters would be read by an officer before being mailed and we must say nothing about dates, places, names of ships, or anything else that might be interesting to the folks at home. I have saved one of the censorship regulations handed us at the dock. It reads as follows:

"Details which are apparently unimportant may be combined with other details gathered by the enemy and become information of great importance to him. Do not forget that news travels so quickly under modern conditions that the bits of information you home may be in the hands of the enemy a short time afterward.

"DON'T put too much faith in the discretion of the people you -^vi-ite to. They may be very patriotic, yet quite unable to recognize an enemy agent or what information may be of value to the enemy.

"ABOVE ALL DON'T attempt to formulate or use any system of code, cipher, shorthand, or any other means of concealing the true meaning of your letters. It is the surest road to a court martial and severe punishment.

"REMEMBER that wTiting or receiving of letters in war time is a privilege, not a right. In many wars of the past soldiers were not allowed to viTite letters at all.

"YOU MAY SEND, to the United States only, picture post cards, except those showing localities or places; personal photographs; or small articles, such as gloves, laces or handkerchiefs, etc., as gifts. A PERSONAL photograph means one in which a person alone appears, without any suggestion of background that might indicate where it was taken.

"YOU MAY NOT WRITE: - To ANYONE in the countries with which we are at war, except: American or allied prisoners of war, in which case letters must be sent to the Base Censor, unsealed. You may not write, not talk to, nor hold any communication whatever with enemy prisoners of war.

"THERE ARE ONLY TWO WAYS TO MAIL LETTERS: - 1 - Hand them unsealed to your company officer. Remember that he reads many letters in his capacity of company censor and your letter is to him an entirely impersonal communication, of which he does not remember the details or the writer once it has been read.

"2 - Place your letters unsealed in a 'blue envelope,' seal the envelope, and mail it to the Base Censor, A. E. F., Paris. Each blue envelope may contain several letters, providing all are wTitten by the same man and that each is enclosed within its properly addressed envelope, and that the certificate on the 'blue envelope' is signed by the WTiter. It is forbidden to use 'Blue Envelopes' except for strictly family matters.

"If you know who is going to censor your letters, save his time and help your company mail service by putting his rank at the bottom of the letter and in the lower left-hand corner of the envelope, ready for his signature.

"As soon as he has read the letter, the officer will SIGN his name above his rank, and as soon as it has been stamped with the censor stamp the censor will post your letter. Nothing else should appear on the envelope.

"OiRcers, enlisted men, and militarized civilians with the American Expeditionary Forces in France are forbidden to discuss or mention in public places, or to impart to anyone except in the official discharge of their duties, anything of military nature or anything whatever concerning information directly or indirectly obtained through their connection with the A. E. F.

"Never forget that we are at war and that the enemy is always listening. Always look with suspicion on strangers, and never tell anything of a confidential nature to a woman, as women are the most successful of enemy spies. Be suspicious of anyone who asks questions of a military nature, or who appears unduly interested in military information, even though he may be or may appear an American officer. Don't offer unsolicited information. You have no right to tell ANYONE where any unit is, or what military information has come into your possession, unless it is your official duty to do so. Any stranger, man, woman, or child, even a man in an American or an allied uniform, may be a spy. Do not tell him anything you would not be willing for the enemy to hear. For similar reasons, never enter into correspondence with strangers. It is one of the many schemes used by enemy agents to gather information. On the street or in public places remember that 'the walls have ears.'

"Do not express your opinion on military matters nor on the general situation. Be loyal to your Government and your superiors. Trust them to conduct the war while you attend to your ovra particular part in it.

"Avoid in any way giving the impression of pessimism either in your conversation or your attitude. In all ways be confident in the success of our armies and of our cause.

"DON'T CARRY WITH YOU: - Maps, documents or private papers of a military nature nor a diary or notebook containing military hints of value to the enemy, except when it is your official duty to do so. These will be of danger to your comrades in case you are captured; enemy pickpockets may get them even if you are not captured.

"On the other hand, if any enemy property comes into your possession, under any circumstance whatever, turn it over at once to your company commander, who will deliver it to an Intelligence officer. If the trophy is not of

"IF YOU ARE CAPTURED: - Don't remember any more than you can help. Try particularly to forget organizations and the places in which they are stationed. Every bit of military information you give to your captors is a danger to you and to the comrades that have been left behind to fight your battles.

After receiving a lunch from the Red Cross workers at the wharf, we were lined up in accordance with a muster roll previously prepared and marched up an inclined gang-plank into the ship. Each man was handed a ticket containing the number of his bei'th, the letter of his section and the designation "foi-ward," "aft" or "amidships," and as he proceeded he showed this to successive sailor guides who steered him to his bunk. We had no staterooms. The entire lower part of the vessel had been cleared of everything but waterproof bulkheads, and in the open space on each deck had been placed bunks of gas pipe and canvas, four deep. The lowest one was three inches from the deck, the upper one a foot from the ceiling. Between these tiers of bunks there was passageway eighteen inches wide. The holds were dark and smelled overpoweringly of disinfectants. There was little ventilation. When the transport pulled out, we were kept between decks for an hour and then allowed above in time to catch a glimpse of New York harbor. From that time on we generally were allowed on deck for three or four hours a day. There was not room for all of us at once, there.

We were all scared of submarines. There seemed little chance of anyone getting out alive if we should be hit, despite the boat drills. These drills merely showed us that there were not enough boats or rafts to care for a quarter of us in time of danger, and also served the purpose of teaching us how to get out of the sections below decks. I asked our captain what we were to do if torpedoed, as no boats were assigned to us. He said we were to jump overboard and try to find something to support us in the water.

There was little excitement on the voyage. One of the ships of the convoy became separated one evening, but turned up the next noon. She appeared to have lost a portion of her stern, and it was talked about that she had been rammed during the night and that many men had been killed. But of course these stories could not be verified, though they served to keep the boys busy talking.

The naval gunners also took a half a dozen shots at a school of porpoises which were hurdling alongside the ship. The schools were considered as excellent telltale marks for submarine commanders and it was a general ijraetice for the transport gunners to fire a few shots and get them to sheer off from the ship's course.

About a day and a half out of Brest a convoy of half a dozen destroyers hove in sight and from then until we went into harbor the swift little craft circled and twisted in our course and cut didoes to the port and starboai'd, nosing out traces of submarines. But they encountered none.

We came to anchor late Friday afternoon. As th>i shore line, which is rocky and rugged, came into view the shipload gave vent to continuous cheering. There were very few who didn't feel that land was a welcome place, after the uncertainties of the U-boat menace, and a large proportion had other reasons for wishing to get their two feet under them on solid earth.

The men were taken off in lighters and marched out to the Napoleon (Pontanezon) barracks. Our outfit marched right past the barracks and into the little hedged-in fields where we laid out our camp, pitched our puptents and turned in to get some rest. It rained terrifically that night, but it didn't interfere with the sleep of the newly landed recruits.

The next day, being Sunday, we looked for a nice day of rest. At about 7 o'clock a number of us were lined up and told off for detail. We were marched out into the country for a few miles. Before starting we were given shovels and picks and they helped to make the traveling more exciting.

After a long hike we brought up at a cemetery and our officer showed us a piece of ground and told us to dig. We dug all day. It was fearfully hot and few were used to using this sort of implement. By evening we had excavated sufficiently to provide graves for about forty soldiers who had died the day before at the base hospital.

As they brought the bodies out on trucks we helped unload them and acted as pallbearers, carrying the rough coffins to the holes we had dug, and then we turned to and filled in the graves. We started back to camp, a pretty tii'ed lot, about 7:30 o'clock.

On the other hand we could not help but be impressed by the presence of a large number of French women and girls who had come out to the cemetery with their arms filled with flowers. They rounded up the graves, set the markers and sti'ewed their flowers over the mounds, so that when we were leaving, the portion of the rapidly growing cemetery we had helped to make, had every appearance of being the subject of loving care from those left behind.

When we got into camp we learned that we were to move at 1 o'clock that night. We hung around waiting, after we had pulled up our tents and got our equipment together, and finally were marched to a train of small boxcars - the first of that sort to travel we had encoimtered. We got aboard and waited till 6 o'clock in the morning when the train pulled out and we started away on our trip to the front. There were 36 of us in each car and we barely had room to lie down.

After a day and a half of travel we brought up at LeMans, a classification camp where we were examined again and given new equipment calculated for the field. From there we were sent to the infantry training area we were to occupy and were issued whatever we appeared to be short at the time.

Few of the boys believed what they were told and thought it was a dodge on the part of the officers to get the men more interested in their training. This was our first experience with billets. We were distributed around town in the barns of the residents and had fairly comfortable quarters. Some men rented rooms the officers had overlooked.

On Sunday morning it was announced that all who wanted to go to church would be excused from drills. The religious fervor that developed was universal. Men who didn't know what church looked like nor how it was spelled became suddenly anxious to attend one. It was the first day of rest since arriving at Jefferson Barracks seven weeks befoi'e. The little village was dark at night, all lights being under the ban in this area, to keep from attracting German aerial observers.

The top panel shows what camp life was like at Douglas. The view was photographed after a rain and first discomforts of soldiering were entering the warriors' lives. In the center are a lot of Racine boys who have just dropped off a French troop train for coffee. At the bottom is pictured the interior of a Red Cross hut where "chow" could be acquired by the

On the tenth day of training we were marched to another train of box ears and after a three-day ride landed in a casual camp at Nivieville. This was rather close to the front and we heard for the first time the roar of the heavy guns at the front and at night the flashes from the artillery could be seen. We were there two nights, sleeping one night in a field and the other in town. The camp was the depot for replacement troops for the division, and we were all checked over and assigned for replacement service in various units to be called. The airmen were above us and no lights were allowed at night, as a protective measure.

Here we saw the first men we had seen from the front. They came marching back, dogtired, covered with mud and dirt, but happy and many carried souvenirs of various kinds. They told stories of the hell going on out toward the German lines, and we got a pretty good idea of what we were in for when they got ready to send us forward.

At every stopping place in France back of the zone of the advance, we saw lots of German prisoners working on the roads or in railroad yards. They seemed to be fairly contented and certainly got good treatment. Whenever we had a chance we talked v^rith them and most of the boys slipped the "P. G." in green-grey some cigarettes when they found an opportunity.

Long after the war when these prisoners were returned home, I understand that they were agreeably surprised by receiving pay from the Americans equal to that given a Yankee soldier. They had more money in their pockets than they ever saw before and many an M. P. guarding them cursed against the "non-fraternizing" rule which prevented them from getting up a little crap game and relieving Heinie of his surplus cash.

Where we now were we saw many types of soldiers - ^French, African, Hindu and others. Some wore quaint and gaudy costumes. Lots of Chinese coolies were working under direction of British or French officers.

As the replacement men advanced they found each stopping place a little worse than the last, but they felt that they would be satisfied if they could hurry and move on to the next. From barracks and tents in America to rooms in homes in France the quai-ters were changed into cowstables, barns and outhouses and then to out of doors entirely.

The unpopular little cootie put in his appearance at about that time and added a little more to the growing burden of troubles for the doughboys.

In our little shack a lieutenant entered. He was WTiggling and shaking himself and finally began looking up one of his sleeves. I asked him to show me wh.at cooties were like.

The great American game among the soldiers was craps. It was a natural result of conditions prevalent in the army. No allowance was made for transporting any games. In spite of numerous attempts to provide entertainment for the A. E. F., it is a fact that very few troops ever saw an entertainment before the armistice while in France. Cards were fairly easy to carry in a pack, but after a few nights spent in the open and in the rain, anything that water could destroy was destroyed. A pack of cai-ds had a short life when spent in a pack. On the other hand dice were not harmed by water. They could be carried easily in any pocket and the game of craps needed nothing more than the two "bones" and willing hands to roll them. If a blanket was handy to serve as a table, so much the better, but it was not essential.

Whenever men on the march or in billets had a few moments to spare from duty, the onlooker might have heard at any hour of day or night, the mystical commands, "Come seven," "Fighter from Decatur," "There's my little Joe," "Oh, you Big Dick," and pleading voices appealing to "My Lady Luck" and "My natural point" and "Phoebe."

Considering that the great majority of men were drawing but $15 or $20 in actual cash per month in France, the size of some of the craps games was astounding. In many companies one or two men would possess the whole sum of the payi'oll within a day or two after pay day - for it must be understood that craps is not a game that is played for the fun of it,

Going And Coming. The Racine Units Were Lionized

When the boys left in 1917 they were escorted to their trains by seething crowds which jammed streets, viaducts and every place of vantage to spectators. The upper picture shows a departure. In the center an idea of the welcome is pictured. The returning unit was squeezed into the middle of the street and the crowds swarmed into the ranks. As can be seen in the picture the men shouted responses to grii-_''tinKs from the crowds that marched with them through town. At the bottom is shown the head of the parade of the 121st Field Artillery on May 20, 1918. The crowds kept to the curb until like croquet or jack-straws. Usually a game would start off by the participants "shooting a quarter" or a franc, but by the time the money began to get a little concentrated it was not uncommon to hear the possessor of the dice offering to "shoot the 500 francs or any part of it," while willing hands sent showers of bills onto the blanket to match the wagers.

One lad in my squad cleaned up $500 in an hour, starting out with $1.50. On the transports crossing the Atlantic, where several thousand men were packed in the holds with nothing to occupy their time, many enthusiasts collected hundreds of dollars. As no one had much to start with, none of the losers were out more than $15 or $20 in most cases. The general attitude of soldiers toward money was that it was made to be spent. If they wanted something which could not be purchased with the amount in their pockets, the only way to get more was to gamble. If there was nothing they desired to purchase, they might as well gamble as do anything else. One of the reasons for the popularity of gambling was the fact that in France, at least, there was little at the stores to tempt anyone to make a purchase. Food was the main desire of most A. E. F. members, but it was only upon occasions that they could buy eggs, fruit and other delicacies which they craved.

Whenever a marching column of troops passed a town, they cleaned out the stock of edibles in the little stores in short order. Men would rush in the store, slam a five franc note on the counter and ask for whatever looked edible on the shelves. Sometimes this would be a can of preserves of some sort. At other times, the chagrined customer would find, upon opening a can, that he had obtained paint or shoe polish or washing powder. These errors were less frequent after the doughboys got so they could read French more efficiently.

The company to which I was assigned was resting, early in October in a patch of woods not far from Montfaucon, in the Meuse-Argonne sector and I was sent foi-ward vnth twenty other men to join them there. We moved up in trucks as far as Esnes and then were marched ten miles over a muddy, crowded road which had been built through a shell torn section which had been No-Man's land for three years. The barbed wire entanglements were still in place excepting for gaps opened by the infantry in their advance and by high explosive shells. The shell holes, varying in size from one which would barely hold a bushel basket, to one which could conceal an auto truck, were half filled with water. The road we were on was the only one in sight, but there must have been others as this was used for north bound traffic only. Artillery, ammunition trucks, supply wagons and tanks were passing slowly along it, concealed from enemy observation by the mist and rain. Usually movements were made at night. Aeroplanes were passing overhead, but at such a height as to be barely visible. We infantrymen had no rights on the road and had to turn out on the ditch whenever a vehicle needed room.

A mile north of Montfaucon we passed long, six inch guns which were firing at long intervals. At a distance of two hundred yards, the blast of the discharge seemed likely to break our eardrums. All the men we saw were muddy and plainly unfamiliar with a bath tub, but I noticed that most of them were shaved.

I reported to the first sergeant of my new outfit at supper time and sat down in the mud to a meal of corned beef, water-soaked bread and luke-warm coffee. There was plenty of those dainties, but not much else. The men had pitched their pup-tents in the underbrush with no attempt at regularity, the main thing being to get under cover of some bi'anches which would serve as camouflage. Inside the tents most everyone dug a trench about eighteen inches deep and six feet long in which to sleep, as the sides of this gave protection against possible shell fire or splinters from aerial bombs. That night I was under fire for the first time, as six large shells hit near the edge of our woods. My first idea was to run somewhere, but as everyone else seemed to remain where they were I decided I was as safe there as anywhere. Some of the weary men did not even wake up. No one was injured by these explosions, but one shell blew a baggage wagon all to pieces. I could hear the shell coming for a second or two before it struck; it made a sort of whistling noise, not very shrill, however.

Later I learned that each sort of shell has a different sound, and this sound varies according to the point from which it is heard. For instance, as a shell approaches, it makes one kind of noise and when it passes over the tune changes immediately for its departure from the vicinity. Shrapnel bursting in air gives off a dull, vibrating "boom." Shells bursting on impact make an ear-splitting "whang" or "wow," according to size, but if the explosion takes place after the shell entered the ground a few inches the main crash of the explosion is preceded by a sort of "g-r-r," as if the sound were struggling through the ground for an instant before it

There were scores of Racine men among the returning soldiers who arrived in America in May, 1919. The boys were eager to get home and took the discomforts of travel good naturedly: there was plenty to eat and the "makings" of some burst forth. Shells from our owti guns, passing overhead, seem to make a sort of sighing noise, like wind in a pine woods. Rifle bullets hiss or buzz almost like some sort of insect when they pass close by. One kind of shell, the Austrian .88, explodes before you can hear it coming, because its rate of speed is more rapid than that of sound. These are called "whizz-bangs," the name being an imitation of the noise they make if they go over you and explode to the real'.

We stayed in this reserve position one more day. I was pretty scared most of the time, but the veteran soldiers didn't seem to mind the danger. They said they were "fed up" on war, however; many had been under fire almost continuously for months. They couldn't see why the new divisions shouldn't be brought up to relieve the old outfits, while they went back into billets somewhere to get a bath and taste a little "vin rouge" and an omelet. Most all of them had cooties, and many were afflicted \\'ith dysentery as well as a form of itch. All were confident of their ability to lick the Germans at any time or place. The army had shown the Allies something about methods of warfare, and by keeping on the ofi'ensive all the time had gradually reduced the opposing German divisions to mere skeletons of their former selves.

At six o'clock (or eighteen o'clock, as it was termed officially) one evening we packed up our duds and prepared to move foi'ward. We marched for eight hours and the memory of the hike is a sort of a nightmai'e to me. Our owTi artillery was active and as we passed along the muddy trail through the fields near Romagne the blasts from the 155 and 75 mm. pieces kept me in a state of extreme nervousness. I thought they were shells exploding, and soon some enemy shells did land near us. One man was hit by a fragment, which I had heard whizzing through the air toward our group. Two soldiers bound up his wound, which was in the leg, and he was ordei'ed to turn back to a dressing station. He did so, with a brief "So long, fellows," to the men he had served ^v^th for months and was now to leave, perhaps permanently.

In this front zone no lights were allowed - not even a match could be struck or a cigarette lighted. Up ahead we saw some beautiful fireworks. I learned that these were flares sent up between the opposing lines to disclose prowling parties on raids or patrol. The light from them was very bright and as the balls of fire were attached to tiny parachutes, they floated about in the air for half a minute. On

When we reached the front lines, I found that there was no trench system established, although our platoon was to be located in what had been an old German battery position, and there was some protection in front of us. Most of the men on this line had dug deep "fox holes" for protection, and the idea was to connect these up into a continuous trench four or more feet deep. However, as we always expected to advance every day or two, these trenches were seldom completed by Americans. I had already seen the elaborate, deep German and French trenches south of Montfaucon and was somewhat surprised to learn that we didn't have at least that much shelter.

The company we relieved disappeared in the dark after we had exchanged a few whispers, and the lieutenant in charge of us had obtained what information he could about the conditions out in front and the whereabouts of outfits on either flank of us. I laid down in a fox hole and went to sleep at about 3 a. m., but at 5 I was awakened by a terrific cannonading from our own artillery. There was a continuous roar of firing, and up ahead we could hear the shells exploding and occasionally see clouds of dirt arise. It was still quite dark however. A corporal came along and said we were going to go over the top at 6:30 o'clock and to eat some of the corned beef sandwiches we had brought at once. I did so, although I was feeling somewhat nervous and my mouth was as dry as sandpaper. I won't say just how scared I was, but I imagine I felt about the same as a prisoner walking out to be hung. Machine guns were opening up, straight ahead of my shelter, and I could hear the bullets passing near in bursts occasionally. Evidently the Germans were nervous, too.

As the time approached to go over, the lieutenant and our sergeant began comparing watches very frequently and talking in low tones. I took a drink from my canteen every minute or two and wished I could get a broken leg before time to start. However, everyone else seemed cool enough so I decided to go through with it no matter what happened. It was just as safe to go ahead as any other way, I figured, and I surely couldn't stay still when my outfit advanced.

The Yanks Owned The Transports On The Journey Home

When troops went eastward they were kept under a very strict discipline, but when it came to returning they were given wide range and plenty of leeway. This picture shows th:m all over the ship - even on the skipper's sacred bridge.

minute later he whispered, "Come on," and we stepped up from our ditch and went forward in bunches of six or eight, each squad in single file. I don't know what it looked like at first as I kept my head down so my helmet would catch any stray bullets. I was fourth in the squad column.

Suddenly our artillery stopped firing and the silence was oppressive for half a minute. We went forward at a trot looking for Germans. We probably were 150 yards ahead of the jumping off place when our artillery opened up again, the shells being visible as they exploded quite a ways ahead of us. The barage was creeping forward to protect us. I remember hearing a "wh-z-z" and the sergeant yelled, "Dowm!" and we all dove just as a shell exploded twenty yards away. Another followed nearby, and another. I saw the man ahead of me start to arise and then fall again limply. He muttered something. I saw his face was all bloody, and as he lay on his side his left hand was badly mangled. Even as I watched him, he turned on his face and after a convulsive movement became still. I knew that he was dead. Somehow, the shock to me was not as great as 1 had anticipated. I had prepared myself to expect to see death, and as long as I was still alive I did not get much excited. Another shell hit forty yards to our left. There was a sharp, buzzing sound, and my head jerked back. There was a noise as though a hammer had struck an iron pipe. I gasped in fear, and then realized that a shell fragment had hit my helmet without injuring me.

he dropped. "I got him," I remarked, and then I became aware that the man next behind me was saying the same thing. We reloaded as we kept on.

I saw other Yanks at a distance on either side. Suddenly one of the groups to my right just melted away and at the same time I heard a loud rattling noise at our right front. It was a German machine gun. Our sergeant dashed for it, all of our squad following. We reached it before it could be turned on us, but a Gei'man fired his pistol at the sergeant and killed him when we were within six feet of the hedge behind which the enemy were. Four of us leaped the hedge. There were three Germans. One fell to the ground when big Pete leaped upon him and struck him a terrific blow with the butt of his rifle. I saw one struggling to get his pistol working and I shot from the hip with my rifle. Luckily the bullet struck him between the eyes and he rolled over. The third one gave a yell and threw up his hands, but if he wanted to surrender he got no chance for an American bayonet went into his abdomen. He gave a sickening moan, half sigh and half cough, and keeled over.

The man who stuck him called to me "Keep coming, buddy," and I ran foi-ward in his footsteps. I knew that we were supposed to get to an old road up ahead and assemble there at 7:10 to reform our line. I was feeling better. I saw that one could be in battle without getting killed and I was gaining confidence as I went along, seeking shelter behind stumps and clumps of grass as I advanced. The firing from the concealed German lines was continuous and shells were dropping on both sides of us, and in front and rear. The Germans had no ti-enches along here, only strong points for infantry and lots of machine gun nests.

1st Sgt. J. E. Wilson and Sgts. P. F. Peterson. T. .7. Pryce, A. W. Johnson. W. J. Kennedy, J. E. Craig. Ed. Rasmussen, T. L. Hei-manson and A. W. Clutter. Corporals L. J. Breylinger, Evan Catterall, S. E. Craig, L. A. Filiatreau, Wm. Meyers. Nels Nielsen, D. C. Washburn, and A. E. Wilkins.

lets pass near me. I clucked my head and started to dive for a shell hole. As I did so I felt a blow on my right hip and fell to the ground. At the same time there was a crash as though I had been hit on the head with a club. I sank quietly into sleep.

When I opened my eyes I realized that I had been wounded and in despei-ate haste I squirmed around to see what had happened to me. I could not move my right leg, but it was not shot off. It was bleeding a little about eight inches below my waist. My cheek was bloody but evidently the bullet had passed through my helmet and only torn the flesh along my jaw.

I got out my first aid packet and bandaged the hole in my hip as best I could and let the other wound alone. I crept painfully a few feet and found a shell hole in which I could curl up. Soon a shell exploded near me which smelled strange and I realized instantly that it was mustard gas. I put on my gas mask and for an hour wore it, much to my discomfort. At about noon it started to rain, and feeling safe from observation I crawled back to our old front line. The trip took me nearly an hour. There I was found by two stretcher bearers, who carried me down the road a bit to an old dugout, where there was a surgeon and a squad of medical corps men. The doctor gave me a shot of anti-tetanus serum and redressed my wounds. Four men then carried me to a little village a mile distant where they placed me in an ambulance with three other litter cases. We were given a wild and rough ride for six mile.s, and at last reached the field hospital where I was placed on an operating table and had the bullet extracted from my leg. When I woke up I was in a cot and an orderly was bringing me some soup. It tasted pretty

It was two days later when I was carried back to Souilly and put on a crowded hospital train for shipment to the Bordeaux hospital section. There, in a nice bed in a base hospital, I remained for two months while the war ended and the army was starting to move again - one part toward home and the other to Germany.

As my wounds did not have any permanent bad results, I feel that I had a very interesting and, on the whole, enjoyable experience in the army. I missed the long period of training, and the long dreary siege of trench and field warfare that so many of our men underwent, and at the same time I saw a little of everything. I think that, on the whole, the army was well handled and cared for. I know the food was ample, even though the menu did not have much variety. In the field, the soldiers usually were given fresh meat three or four times a week, and they had canned corn or tomatoes or beans once a day in addition to plenty - oh, a great plenty - of corned beef, corned beef hash and canned salmon. Bread was supplied whenever the wagons could make daily trips from the railhead to the field kitchens, and otherwise there was hard tack which was not so terribly hard. When the infantry was in the front lines, hot food was brought up once each night in containers which retained the heat. The kitchens and baggage were always left at the rear. Danger was always present, but after a few days at the front, everyone gets used to this and doesn't worry over the possibility of getting hit. The longer one remains unscathed, the more confident he becomes of his immunity.

The roster of Co. K (see opposite page) contained the following : Many of the boys who were in K's ranks were later in the service of the U. S. army or navy.

the front was the ahiiost universal bravery of members of the human race. Knowing that they were in constant danger of their lives, the American soldier almost without exception showed no sign of fear in battle, and I am told that the same is true of other nations. Men who, at home, would be afraid to climb a ladder for fear of falling, perform the most astounding feats of bravery and think nothing of it.

There is not a man who served in France from Racine who, were he to do the same acts here that he did at the front, time and time again, would not be hailed as a hero worthy of public acclaim. In war, however, individual acts of heroism ai'e lost sight of in the mass of them. In the brief time that I was in the Argonne sector I saw engineers calmly building roads while enemy shells were bursting all around them. I saw artillerymen driving their teams foi-ward over shell torn roads and across open fields while German aeroplanes raked their column with machine gun fire and hurled grenades upon them from the air, and the cannoneers of other batteries were serving their guns with missiles exploding in their vicinity constantly. Infantrymen wooed death in every form for days at a time and advanced to the mouths of machine guns and rifles, or charged against deadly bayonets, as though they wei'e advancing in a game of football. Aviators flew across the lines to gather information knowing that they Would be subjected to shell fire as well as to attack from enemy avions, and that a comparatively minor injury to pilot or plane at thousands of feet above the ground would mean cei-tain death. Ambulance drivers and crews of ammunition trucks faced death almost every hour while carrying on in their prosaic occupations. Yet not one man in a thousand ever seemed to hesitate in the least over the performance of all of his duty, or even more, on account of any personal danger. The discomforts of war were more detested than its perils. Sleeping and marching in mud and rain, eating like animals, existing in holes by day and venturing forth at night on their missions of death; unwashed, unclean, lousy and often sick, the American soldier preferred the dangers of an attack to the miserable monotony of trench life and its comparative safety. Artillerymen might go for weeks without washing their faces, but they kept their guns clean as a banquet table. Infantrymen might go wdthout socks, but they always tried to have plenty of cartridges on hand. Canteens might get empty, but horses were watered if there was water to be had. "Let's win this damned war quick," was the motto, and as long as this objective seemed possible of attainment the American soldier was willing to undergo almost anything. They knew they were in France until it was over, and they asked nothing more than they be allowed to finish it. They had the chance, thanks to Pershing's confidence in them, and did the job.