Dear Paul:
Received your letter from Château-Thierry yesterday, first I had heard for a long while. I wrote one letter and one card to Montmirail, telling what I had been doing and of Weideman’s death. I have just got back this morning from another four days in the village death-trap; had about five hours sleep during the four days, being on petit poste every night. Night before last I crouched by the wall for fourteen hours in the sleet and snow, with my gun loaded and the magazine open. There were four of us and a corporal, with orders that if we moved from the posts, no matter what happened, we would be courtmartialed. We got away all right, but this morning about fifteen minutes after the poste I was on was relieved by Bon D. they got shot up; don’t know how many were killed.
I have been well ever since you left, perfect health, have gotten strong and hardy and stood it better than anyone, but the mental and physical strain we have been under this month is breaking us all down. It has been worse than if we had been having big battles. I have experienced more and done more work and guard than anyone else in the section and it is telling on me now. That terrible guard night before last was with the first section, only three men from the third section, because the first was short three men for the different posts. The others of the third had a rest.
There are all kinds of rumors to-day. You have probably heard bad news about the line a little way north of here. Well, we know we are going to change in the next day or so. We don’t know whether it means the rear for a rest, or whether it means real hard action. Anyway, we move. I may get to some place where money will be useful, and I want to take a bath and clean up generally, as soon as I get a chance. So you might send me some money; it wouldn’t be a bad idea to wire it, as the Bureau Central would forward, regardless of where I am. I suppose you have gotten in touch with the account mamma has started for us in England.
I don’t know about the English Volunteers. Rapier has left. If you can get me into a French regiment, get busy, for I want to get out of the Legion. This regiment is no good; the officers are no good. It is just luck I am not dead, owing to their d——d ignorance and neglect. The only thing in their favor is that they have fed us well lately. They brought hot tea to us at midnight last night on guard; rations have been increased all around.
I am going to sleep now.
Kiffin.