The battlefield was covered
with dead, dying, & wounded.
Many a man in the throes
of death would call loudly
for his mother or some other
loved one. Others in their last
moments read the Bible or
died, clutching a crucifix.
George Yerkes, a very good
friend of mind was
mortally wounded when we
went over the top, & died
a few minutes later. He
fell face forward, & when
stretcher bearers went to
pick him up, he waved
them away, as though to
say - no use - I'm done
for. Other friends of mine
were killed or wounded &
all told, my division lost
about 11,000 men in the
days attack. One lad, not
far from me, was wounded
in the shoulder. He pulled
off his shirt & lay in
a shell hole waiting to
be carried to the rear but
suddenly, a big shell
landed directly on top of
him & he went skyward
in pieces. The air was
full of gas. Fritz first
gave us a dose of sneezing
gas so that we sneezed
violently & could hardly
wear our masks. Then he
put over phosgene & tear
gas, while shrapnel &
bullets were singing all
around. I got plenty of
his gas, but it didn't
bother me as much as
wearing my beastly

Oct. 1 - 18.

It is a long time since I
have slept. I am very
tired, very muddy, very
wet & very haggard.