An American soldier; letters of Edwin Austin Abbey, 2d.

Front matter

HMEFlIGmN SOLMER

Letters of EDWIN HUSTIN HBBEY, 2D

Class \A -^^

Foreword

The letters are printed, with little or no editing, as they were written from the engineers' shack in the Canadian woods, or from ''overseas " in camp, trench, or hospital. There was, of course, no idea in the mind of the writer that they would ever be published. That they are is due to the insistent request of many who have found in them both illumination and inspiration. They tell their own story. ^

The summer of 1915 was spent in superintending the construction of the bridge at Shaw's Creek, which was completed at the end of September. On October 2d, the writer of the letters enlisted in the Second Canadian Pioneer Battalion, in Toronto, going overseas on December 6th, and arriving at the Flanders Front on the 11th of March, 1916. Early in the morning of April 23d, Easter Day, "Lance Corporal" E. A. Abbey was wounded, and a week later sent to England, where he remained seven months. On December 1st he was returned to France, gazetted Lieutenant, Fourth Canadian Mounted Rifles, and went at once to the front, where he was "killed in action" at Vimy Ridge, on the morning of Easter Tuesday, April 10, 1917.

Philadelphia, June, 1917

Contents

I. Prefatory Letters — Canada, May-October, 1915 3

II. Letters from the Flanders Front — March- April, 1916 ,23

III. Letters from the French Front — Decem-

II Letters From The Flanders Front

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was bom across the sea^ With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me : As He died to make men holy^ let us die to make men free.

II

LETTERS FROM THE FLANDERS FRONT

France^ March 8, 1916

We arrived here early this morning, but did not disembark until daylight. The trip across was very smooth. I slept most of the time, but as far as I can see no one at all w^as sick. Rather a pleasant surprise, for every one expected it to be rough. I can't tell you the name of the place, though I do not suppose you vrill have much trouble guessing. We are in camp about five miles outside the city. Twelve men to a tent about half the size of the old National Guard tents at Sea Girt.

We are only here temporarily, but where we go or when, I do not know and could n't tell you if I did. It is rather hard to write under this censor system ; I suppose I will get used to it. I am on the city piquet to-night, so I am looking forward to seeing the city under more comfortable circumstances than I did this a.m., during the march, when the weight of the pack on back and shoulders was enough to crack a man's spine; though this morning, even, I was so interested most of the time that I forgot I was being tortured. It is still fairly cold, but the snow is melting. I hope it will soon be warm so that we can discard overcoats and have one less thing to carry.

This is really just a note to let you know that I am safe in France. I will write a decent letter as soon as I get turned round. Much love to

mother.

Your son,

Edwin

We are at the front much sooner than we expected. I wrote father from France on the 8 th, but I do not know whether he wdll get it, for I did not put any stamp on it. They tell me now that to go through it is best to put " via Canada " on the envelope, or else put on some English stamps, and I have not any. Be sure and tell me whether these letters without stamps get through all right, and when you write, enclose an envelope and paper for an answer, because it may be hard to get paper. One thing I need is a good strong jackknife with one blade and a can-opener blade. I have lost mine and cannot get hold of one here.

Our billet is right on one of the main communication roads running back of the line, and it is interesting to watch the traffic that goes by. There is a constant stream of transports, dispatch riders, and parties of infantry going in and out of the trenches. The transports are of every possible description, starting with big motor trucks and coming down to little carts. To-day I even saw one of the London motor busses with the winding staircase in the back. It is certainly an interesting place to be, and Belgium, or this part of it, is like the pictures in the Sunday papers. It is rather hard to write an interesting letter under the censoring conditions, because one is constantly thinking of interesting things to say and then cannot say them. It is late now, so I must stop, but I will write often, and, as I get more settled, will do better.

I have not got quite settled for letter writing. I do hope these will reach you all right. As soon as I can get some English stamps I will put them on my letters and make assurance doubly sure. I wrote you Saturday evening just before we went up to the trenches for the first time. . . .

I am short of time, for lights go out here at eight o'clock, but I will get off a good letter before the end of the week. Everything is fine and we were lucky to get here so quickly. Much love to you both.

I have finally gotten a green envelope, which will let my letters be censored at the base, so I can write without feeling that my own officers are reading the letter, which is uncomfortable.

I am going to start with our leaving Hazeley Down, and try to give you a consecutive narrative up to the present. We started out about 7 a.m. on Tuesday, the 7th, as you know, and marched to our port of embarkation in England. We carried all our worldly possessions on our backs, which is an uncomfortable operation. It was a very cold morning when we started, and a slight snow had turned into ice on the road, making walking very difficult. At noon we halted for lunch, and it started to snow, thick, heavy, wet flakes which had us soaked through in half an hour and lasted all the afternoon. We arrived in the steamboat sheds at

about 3 P.M. , pretty well done up with the

hard marching and heavy load and the wet. There was a refreshment stand in the shed, where they sold hot coffee and buns, and it was the storm centre of a riot in about five minutes. I managed to get two mugs of coffee and half a dozen buns, so was very comfortable.

We stayed around the shed until about 6 and then went aboard the steamer and sailed about 6.30. The steamer was a low gray boat, somewhat the shape of the Sandy Hook boats, only smaller, and it travelled like an express train. I was never on a boat that cut through the water at such speed. It was dark, of course, when we started, and cold. I stayed on deck an hour or so, and got some supper of ' ' bully -beef ' ' (canned beef pressed) , biscuit, and tea. We were distributed about the ship in various cabins, etc., so that there was room to lie down, but no floor space to spare if you did.

It was cold enough to wake one up after sleeping an hour or so, even wearing an overcoat and all. I slept for an hour or two, and, when I woke up stiff and cold, wandered about the boat until I got warmed up, and then went to sleep again. After one of these sleeps, about 1 a.m., I guess, I woke up and went on deck and found that we were tied up to a dock. I always imagined that a Channel passage was very rough, but certainly it was n't by our course, for I never even felt a motion. The dock and harbor were brightly lighted and searchlights were flashing around. I noticed then that the deck was seven or eight feet above the dock, but when we landed at seven o'clock, the deck was away below the dock, about ten feet, I should think, a tremendous tide.

I went to sleep again, and, after several more hours of discomfort, managed to get some hot tea from the second-class pantry, which put a fresh face on affairs. Shortly after that, we got our own breakfast of tea, cheese, and biscuits, the latter to last us for lunch with a tin of bully-beef. As the dawn broke, I watched the city grow into form, just as I had Plymouth about five months earlier, and it was just as satisfying to see this new country take the expected shape. The buildings were tall and thin, white with green shutters and little balconies. One could make out the signs on the shops and see people walking along the streets; and soon the street cars began to run.

At seven o'clock we disembarked and marched through the city, at first the docks and railway yards. In some of the latter there were German prisoners w^orking, unloading cars under French guards. The latter were quite picturesque with long black beards, light blue frock coats, and guns with bayonets about a yard long. The Germans looked rather indifferent, or at any rate non-committal. They wore the little round caps you see in pictures. The central part of the city was very pretty, and it was interesting to see the people, though the few men seemed to be soldiers as in England. I say few, because it was a large city.

There were thousands of small boys who ran along and held our hands and begged insistently and continually for '' Bees-keet," occasionally varying with ''cigarette," evidently aware that the British soldier usually carries a ration of biscuits with him and is inclined to give them away, rather than sacrifice his teeth in the effort to nibble a corner off for nourishment. Some seemed dressed very prettily, and it was surprising to see them running loose ; then they graded off to the typical urchin, but not miserable at all, happy and laughing. The invariable costume was a smock sort of apron tied behind ; their legs were bare, and some wore sabots and Tam-o'-Shanter caps.

When we got through the city, we climbed up a long high bluff at the rear of the town and made our way to the camp ; about a five-mile journey altogether, with a hard hill. It grew warm and our overcoats got unbearable before we arrived, so we took them off and carried them, en bandouliere^ which increased our load to the elastic limit of the spine, I think. We arrived at the camp about eleven and got a good wash and stayed there until night. At 8.30 we started back to the city, and about midnight were loaded into a train at the freight station. There were thirty-three of us in a box car about half the size of an American box car, so that when we found room for our equipment, there was n't room to lie on the floor, even like sardines, to sleep. I was in the car with the bugle band, and that meant about six kettle-drums and a bass-drum to accommodate.

The train travelled through France all day Thursday. The country was interesting to watch. There were lots of French soldiers, and we went by many camps, but no city that I knew, no large city at all. We had cheese and biscuits and bully-beef to eat, and at two stations hot tea was passed in. We reached our destination about midnight, Thursday, and as soon as we got off" the train we could hear the big guns and have heard them ever since ; but now one is so accustomed to them that it blends in with ordinary noises, like the surf at the seashore. We had a march of about four miles to a hut camp, not Hazeley Down huts, by a long shot, but real huts, half buried in the ground, protection from shell lire. We piled into these so tired we could hardly move, and slept until well into the next morning. There was not much water visible, so I washed in the snow and we got some more biscuit, bully-beef, and tea.

At two o'clock, *' B " Company fell in and we moved again, this time only a couple of miles up the road to a billet in the barn of a farmhouse.

There was plenty of straw and we were fixed up comfortably. Saturday morning we spent fixing up the billets, and at five o'clock we started out to the trenches. We went right out to the front line, — Canadian front, of course, — and helped a company of engineers building a support trench about thirty or forty yards back of the front trenches. This was March 11th, so I was in the front line trenches just five months and nine days after I enlisted. That is not a very long wait.

We are to receive our training right here, working for a month with the engineers and then taking over their work. Sunday night we went in again on the same work. Monday, I was sent back to our base camp of huts to attend a school of trench construction, with part of the company, and we have been working all this week building trenches and fortifications for the third line way back from the line of fire, under the instruction of experienced engineers. I expect that most of my platoon will be here next week, too, and I may stay on, but after that we will be back at the real work, strengthening and repairing the front line.

The weather for the last week has been beautiful, warm, and sunny, and the snow has long since disappeared. I am in fine health and looking forward to an interesting spring. The chief thing I need is letter paper (it is hard to get), and tooth-cleaning accessories every six weeks or so. I wrote to father on the 8 th and to you on the 11th, 16th, and to-day. I hope they will arrive safely. I will try to write regularly, and you must know how eagerly I look for mail. Papers of any sort are very welcome. They are hard to get hold of.

As I guess you know from my letters by now, I have reached the scene of action and am taking my humble part in the operations. Since I have been here, I have had three letters from you and five from mother, all forwarded, of course, from Hazeley Down. The mail service here is marvellous — incoming and outgoing every day ; and I do not think so far as my receiving is concerned, that there will be any additional delay. To-day is the twelfth of my sojourn in this country and the tenth since my first visit to the trenches. We arrived in the small hours of a Friday morning after a twenty-fourhour run, cramped up in one of those little French box cars, and after marching three or four miles were glad to turn into a temporary camp of huts, throw off" our packs, which had gained several pounds weight with every step, and get to sleep. The whole battalion was so dead tired that even the fact that we could hear the guns from the moment we tumbled out of the train, failed to stimulate us.

I woke up about 8 a.m. and turned out of the hut to see how the land lay. The camp was at the side of one of the big main roads that divide this country up almost like a big city, they are so regular, although it is nothing but farm land. They are lined with very regular, tall elms with the branches trimmed about thirty feet above the ground and that stand out very prominently, because there are few trees, practically none, elsewhere; and are paved continuously with Belgian blocks, which are all right for transports, but make marching a nightmare. We were on a rise and the country stretched out almost flat in every direction, dotted with farmhouses with thatched or red-tiled roofs and windmills. In the distance, one could make out the spires and other indications of a fairly large city.

I followed some other men into a little cottage at the side of the road, and got a cup of black coffee and some coarse bread and butter for tuppence. There was still a lot of snow on the ground, and as search failed to produce a pump or well, I washed the railway dirt off as well as I could with that. About eleven, our cooks managed to make a little tea and we were served with hardtack, bully-beef, and cheese. At 2 p.m. B Company lined up again with kits packed and resumed the march, leaving the rest of the battalion to its fate. B Company was the first to get away and the first in the trenches. We marched up the road a few miles and were put into a billet, the barn of a big farmhouse, with lots of straw on the floor and in the loft. We were told that there would be no more duty that day, and it did n't take me very long to get into the straw again and roll off about ten more hours of sleep.

Saturday we spent the morning cleaning up the billet, and at 4.30 in the afternoon we fell in with guns, ammunition, and spades and started for the trenches. On the way we picked up a party of engineers who took us in charge. It was good and dark when we came up to the line, and the Germans had started their nightly illumination with star shells, something like rockets, only they burst into one luminous ball, instead of stars, which is so brilliant that it lights up the surrounding ground with a glare like a searchlight, and floats down slowly, burning brightly for several seconds after it reaches the ground. We send them up, too, but ours are not nearly so bright and often fizzle. These stars go up continuously, all along the line as far as you can see, so you can imagine the effect as one approaches. You feel as though you were puUing into Manhattan Beach or Atlantic City on the Fourth.

It was n't long before we were in the communication trench that leads out to the front line. You have seen hundreds of pictures of the trenches and read the descriptions, but it certainly was thrilling to be actually in. The trenches in this part of the line have been pretty well perfected. It is well over the height of a man from the bottom to the top of the parapets, so that there is no stooping to be done, and the bottom is floored with "trenchmats," a sort of latticed board walk lifted up off the ground on stakes, so that the water or mud underneath does not matter. The bottoms, of course, are sloped toward any available low point for drainage. The sides of the trench are revetted with screens of chicken wire over canvas, which is quickly put up and fairly permanent in good weather, and the top two or three feet is built of sand bags to prevent crumbling on the edge.

My candle has only half a second left, so I will have to stop and finish to-morrow.

The trenches twist and turn so, a precaution

against enfilade fire in the event of the enemy's

occupying any position, that we seemed to walk

miles before we reached our destination. It was a new support trench about forty yards back of the front line. Saturday night I was on a " carrying party," whose duty was to carry timber, wire, etc., from a material pile to the working party. Sunday .night we went in again and I was in a digginggang. Some of the new work had fallen in and we had to remove the sand bags and dig down in front of the screens and push the latter out, wire them back, fill up behind them, and put back the bags. It sounds simple enough, but the digging was the worst I ever struck. Sticky mud that clings to your shovel, so that you can only get rid of one shovel full out of every three, and that by effort. After two or three hours of it, I am all in and ready to admit it. We usually work from sundown till about midnight, although whatever task is given has to be finished.

Monday morning I was sent back to our first camp, which has been made battalion headquarters, and sent to a school of trench construction with a detail from the company. We spent the week building different sorts of trenches and dug-outs under the instruction of N.C.O.'s from the engineers and infantry battalions, who have been doing the work for the last year. This week my platoon is at the school, so the few of us who went last week are staying on at the camp, doing guard and fatigues. I am on guard now. Next Monday we will go back to our billets and work and let another platoon take the instruction course.

One of the chief interests here on clear days is to watch the aeroplanes. Sometimes the sky is full of them and a good proportion are German. Our aircraft guns shell them, and one can watch the shells burst around them. They get pretty close, but I never saw one hit. When they get overhead, the shells, or bits of them, drop around you, which is uncomfortable.

The weather was fine last week, warm and sunny every day ; but it is raining again. I will be glad to get any newspapers you can send. The only news here consists of rumors that travel up and down the line and grow like the black crows in the Second Reader. Whenever you write, enclose envelope and paper for an answer. It is hard to get anything in that line here.

You know by this time that the draft came through all right. I have not touched any of it yet, and do not think I will for the present. We are getting a franc a day, which is sufficient to eke out rations with fried eggs and coffee at the cookshops along the road.

I am glad the badges reached you all right. They were designed by one of the officers. Our musketry was rather rough and ready. None of the fine points you speak of. We are always supposed to carry guns, but I do not think we will have much opportunity to use them. Our main aim is to get our work done, attracting the least attention possible.

March 25, 1916 Dearest Mother :

I have had five letters from you since I have been here, dated February 22d and 29th, March 1st, 1st, and 3d, the last four together. You can imagine what it was for me to have them in this strange place and experience, for certainly it is that. The letter you wrote speaking of the Sacrament was the one I liked the best, I mean was especially a help, for I had been wondering how I could ever manage it here. Of course, there are occasional Roman churches, but that is all, and of course, now we are on active service, always on duty, bounds are short and strict, and one's time is seldom one's own ; but you have taken all that anxiety from me. Were I in one of the English regiments, I know that opportunity would be made, for I suppose one of the most notable things in all this war has been the earnest, brave, and never ceasing work of the English chaplains.

My two weeks back of the line end to-day. It is four o'clock now, and at six we start for the trenches. This time we are to stay right in them, working day and night for about three days, as the infantry does. It has been a good rest. The hard journey here and quick and uninterrupted heavy work at the end was a test of endurance. Now that I have been back and doing work with no rush or strain attached to it I am refreshed in every way and looking forward to a real start.

You remember I sent a bundle to Aunt Gertrude, extra socks, etc. Well, I had bad luck. I allowed four pairs, which really was lots ; but one pair failed to come back from the wash just before I left, and the second day here I was drying two pairs in front of a fire, and managed to burn holes in the bottoms of one pair, and one of the other pair disappeared while hanging on the line, which brought me down to one pair. There was a lot of walking to be done in water and mud, so that was n't enough. I wrote to H. and Aunt G. both, and the day before yesterday I had a wonderful package from H., with three fine pairs of socks, and things to eat ; and yesterday, another splendid package from Aunt G., with cake, chocolate, and the socks, three pairs ; so now I have seven pairs, all splendid, and my feet are cared for, for a long time to come. Miss McM. and Mr. B. just wrote that some are on the way from each, so I will hardly be able to carry them all.

People seem to be sending me too many things, but I will tell you the special things I want : toothpaste and brush as often as you think they are needed, and sometimes a towel or a comb. These things are hard to buy, and keeping clean is the one nearly impossible thing. I will tell you of things when I need them. There are no shops here, save those that sell eatables of different sorts.

We had lovely weather last week, but this has been stormy and cold. Last night and the night before very cold, and yesterday driving snow, which turned the world white again. However, to-day the temperature rose tremendously, and now the afternoon sun is shining brightly on ground bare of snow and drying rapidly.

There was one letter that I received here among the first, I forgot to tell you: a colored picture of a soldier, with '* from Billy" printed on the back. To think that that dear little fellow should have been one of the first to greet me here at the front !

All last week I did sentry duty on the big road. It seemed strange to be there under the stars, in sound of the nightly guns, and challenging the Allies' soldiers as they passed.

The time is getting on, and I must go and get my cheese and bread and tea for supper. Dearest mother, your letters are such a joy. I will try to write often, and, as time goes on, share the experiences with you and father. I am in fine health and spirits, and facing the work ahead with a good heart. Good-bye for a little time, dearest riiother.

March 30, 1916 Dearest Mother:

Your letter of March 10th, and one from Phillips, each enclosing a picture, came on Tuesday. I liked the one you enclosed the best. They are both beautiful, and yet I think that he could have done better. There is an inside glint of warmth and sweetness that the little man on Ninth Street caught and Phillips seemed to miss. Still, I love them and will always keep them with me.

I wrote you on Saturday, and Saturday night we went into the trenches for two days, acting as infantry, coming out again on Monday night. Part of our training, I suppose, to teach us the actual use of the trenches. It was long enough to make me think that the infantry deserves most of the credit of the war. They usually go in for three days at a time, and then are out for three days, though sometimes the shifts are longer. While they are in, they are practically on duty all the time, and much of their duty exposes them to rifle and shell fire ; then there is the prospect of a shelling at almost any time. The trenches we were in were dry, but they must have been terrible last winter, for they say the water was often over the tops of their high boots. I suppose the German trenches, where we were, were about a hundred yards away, but they looked very near.

Now we are billeted at another farm and go out on working parties every night, as before. It has been quite cold, but to-day was sunny and warmer, and I think good weather is coming. This morning we were marched to a neighboring town and given a warm bath and clean underclothes. The first bath I have had since I left Hazeley Down, and I certainly was glad to get it. I put on the extra underwear and shirt that I brought with me. The clothes that are given out are washed, but not very thoroughly, and are often infested, so it is just as well not to take them. If you have not given away my underclothes, it would be a comfort, if you would send me a suit now and then, one every month, for I do not think that we will get a bath oftener than that. If you have given them away, don't buy good ones, but get the cheapest you can, for I just throw away the ones I take off. There is no place to get them washed, and no water to do my own washing, for it is very hot here in the summer, and water of any kind is scarce.