W ar Service Letters 



465 



anything but a romantic situation to be in, but an interesting one, to say 

 the least. I am at last where everyone appreciates enjoying good 

 health and hopes to continue so. Since last writing you we have been 

 "forward marching" almost continuously. Many times I have thanked 

 my lucky stars that my days of hiking with the Sierra Club were not 

 for naught. We have been put to the test "road pounding," and I have, 

 so far, come in on schedule time always. More power to the club ! if 

 it does nothing more than teach a person how to keep going. 



Incidentally, I might add here that we carry all our worldly posses- 

 sions on our backs. These bundles weigh on an average of from forty 

 to sixty pounds, depending upon how much personal stuff one thinks he 

 can lug. Many fellows started out with a vanload, but as the miles grew 

 larger the packs grew lighter. We are now down to bare necessities, 

 and we are continually scheming how and what we can get rid of. 

 When I get back and join you all again on the overnight trips, I'll be 

 fully able to add a few suggestions as how to carry the field-range in 

 your hip pocket and your sleeping-bag in a handkerchief. 



After a number of days traveling we finally pulled up at our present 

 location, and things are proving mighty interesting. The Huns are no 

 respecters of feelings or nerves. 



While on our way here we went through our baptism of shell-fire. 

 My first experience at this "enjoyable" little game was anything but 

 pleasant. I can best describe the sensation as one of helplessness. The 

 only time I ever had this same feeling was the morning of the San 

 Francisco earthquake. Strange as it may seem, after the first three or 

 four "bangs" my feelings were changed and I was itching to get a crack 

 at the Dutchman who was causing all the rumpus. It must have been 

 his night off, for his aim was poor and all the damage done was the 

 disfiguring of the landscape about 200 yards from us. This particular 

 gun shoots over our heads every evening at regular intervals — evidently 

 wants to destroy some particular railroad point or some crossroad. 



A few days ago the most popular man in camp, the mail orderly (the 

 Y. M. C. A. man comes second), delivered to us a bunch of mail from 

 home. Among those for me was a copy of the T. C. C. "out-of-doors." 

 It certainly was a pleasure to get it, and I read it through from head- 

 ing to printer's name. I started to read the copy of a letter to you from 

 one of the boys, and as I read on the wording seemed familiar. I 

 looked at the signature and — well, you know everyone hates to see his 

 own name in print. It was a bit of a surprise. 



We have passed through villages that have suffered from German 

 kultur. The best comparison I can make is to say they look like Mar- 

 ket Street after the San Francisco fire. The Huns are thorough in 

 their destruction. They strip a village of every movable thing and de- 

 stroy the balance, including the town itself. 



(Several days later:) Did not get a chance to finish this last Sunday. 

 The last few days have been exceedingly interesting ones. The Dutch- 



