Went on front duty this A.M. at 7 o’clock. Am now at La Source waiting 
for blessés (1 P.M.). The brancardiers have a fine time with Johnny out here. They call him “Baby” and ask him about his wife and children back in New York. They call me the “Black man” (because of my beard, I guess). Eddie Berry they call the “whiskey man” and Townsend of Sec. I the “rum man.” They like to have us out here and do all they can to make us comfortable. They feed us well and treat us well. The Boche, however, do all they can to make things uncomfortable. They started shelling the place about 5 P.M. today and kept it up until well into the morning, except for about two hours from 8 to 10 P.M. These two hours they were too busy keeping under shelter from the French barrage fire which was terrific while it lasted. I asked the corporal if it would be possible for us to mount the hill back of the poste and watch the fire. He gladly put on his helmet and led the 
way. It was truly a wonderful sight. The moon was shining brightly, almost full. We could see Ft. Vaux which is nothing more than a slight mound of earth, about 200 yards from where we stood almost as clearly as if it were day. Looking off toward the German lines, which are about 2 kilometers at this point, the French barrage fire in the foreground blinded our view and prevented our seeing further. It was one continuous roar of 75’s and quick succession of flashes as these little “terrors” send their “best regards” to the Boche. The ground on which we stood was once Boche territory and severe fighting had taken place there when they were forced to evacuate. It is now part of that district called “no man’s land.” No human being can stand on this ground in the daytime and expect to return alive. The air is sickening with the stench of dead and Boche helmets can be seen among the French with heads still in them. The ground is dotted with shell holes and there is
not a tree in sight. Do you wonder I had a terrible dream later?
for blessés (1 P.M.). The brancardiers have a fine time with Johnny out here. They call him “Baby” and ask him about his wife and children back in New York. They call me the “Black man” (because of my beard, I guess). Eddie Berry they call the “whiskey man” and Townsend of Sec. I the “rum man.” They like to have us out here and do all they can to make us comfortable. They feed us well and treat us well. The Boche, however, do all they can to make things uncomfortable. They started shelling the place about 5 P.M. today and kept it up until well into the morning, except for about two hours from 8 to 10 P.M. These two hours they were too busy keeping under shelter from the French barrage fire which was terrific while it lasted. I asked the corporal if it would be possible for us to mount the hill back of the poste and watch the fire. He gladly put on his helmet and led the 
way. It was truly a wonderful sight. The moon was shining brightly, almost full. We could see Ft. Vaux which is nothing more than a slight mound of earth, about 200 yards from where we stood almost as clearly as if it were day. Looking off toward the German lines, which are about 2 kilometers at this point, the French barrage fire in the foreground blinded our view and prevented our seeing further. It was one continuous roar of 75’s and quick succession of flashes as these little “terrors” send their “best regards” to the Boche. The ground on which we stood was once Boche territory and severe fighting had taken place there when they were forced to evacuate. It is now part of that district called “no man’s land.” No human being can stand on this ground in the daytime and expect to return alive. The air is sickening with the stench of dead and Boche helmets can be seen among the French with heads still in them. The ground is dotted with shell holes and there is
not a tree in sight. Do you wonder I had a terrible dream later?
Tried to sleep, as usual, in stretcher under the man with consumption. Spent a restless night though I did manage to catch a wink now and then. I dreamed of war, of course, and my family was horribly involved. I can’t recall the details, but it was horrible and I was the bloodthirsty, heartless villan. Of course I don’t blame the brancardier for having consumption; any one living in a hole like that for any length of time would indeed be fortunate if he escaped it. But it did seem too bad that he had to keep everybody else in misery. Such is war!
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