Jan. 11, 1915.
Dear Paul:
Haven’t heard from you for a long while; will not mail this letter until to-morrow, in hopes of having your address. If I don’t hear, will send this, and forward other mail. Have been unable to write myself, owing to what I have been going through. There were six days and five nights that I practically didn’t sleep. Four days and nights of it I was on petit poste at different sides of the town that our first trenches faced. The first night, I was on guard at a wall surrounding a château. We were right on the German trenches, and they were higher than we were, so had the advantage. At about ten-thirty o’clock, I was watching at a place along the wall where a shell had blown a hole through it. There was a door propped up by a ladder against it, leaving a small opening at the side out of which I watched, once in a while crawling up the ladder to look over. The petit poste was about fifty yards along the wall from me, on the other side it was about two hundred yards to the next sentinel. Seeger was the communication sentinel. It was a case of three men watching a position, where there should have been twenty.
At about ten-thirty, Seeger had just come up to me, when something fell at my feet and sputtered a little, then went out. I picked it up. It was a hand grenade. Seeger ran for Corporal Weideman; as they came rushing back up, Weideman yelled, “Garde à vous, Rockwell,” and I heard something fall beside me. I jumped over the ladder towards the Corporal. As I reached his side, the grenade exploded. We both yelled, “Aux armes.” At the same time the door came in, and we caught the flash of rifle fire. Seeger had jumped to the woods. Weideman and I were exposed and taken by surprise. We jumped towards cover, went about ten feet, and I saw the rifles flash again. I dropped to the ground; as I did so, Weideman fell beside me, and I knew by his fall that he was dead. I arose crouching and ran, three bullets whizzing by me before I reached the woods. When all this happened the five fellows at the poste jumped up on a platform by the wall. The Germans at the doorway, the Germans in the trenches and other Germans who had slipped over the wall at some unprotected point all opened fire on them. A bullet clipped “Cap’s” ear, another went between Zinn’s fingers, skinning each of them, another shattered Buchanan’s rifle. They all fell off the platform and lay flat in the mud, afraid to fire for fear of hitting some of us.
I lay in the woods, covering the path to the poste, but afraid to move or be seen. My rifle had jammed, and I could not fire. While we were in this position the disgraceful thing to the Ninth Squad happened: without our firing a shot the Germans passed through the doorway, knocked the top of Weideman’s head off with the butt of -a. rifle, took his gun, coat and equipment, and all got away.
Soon, Teresien came running through the woods with two men. Seeger had joined me, and we halted them; then we five advanced to the doorway and closed it up. The rest of that night and the next three days and night I spent on guard, and so did everyone except the ones out prowling in search of Germans. The whole town was demolished; everywhere were barricades and dead bodies. It was a hell of a time, and everyone’s nerves were shattered when we came back here for a rest. I would like to write you a good description of it all but am not in condition to do so. Probably go back some place to-morrow night.
Love,
Kiffin.
