On November 11, 1918, at 11 a.m., a cease-fire was declared in the trenches of World War I. On November 14, Captain Mike Hogg, Company D, lst Battalion, 180th Infantry Brigade, 360th Regiment, 90th Division, wrote to his sister.
. . . I am now only a few kilometers from where I was when we got the almost unbelievable news that there was to be a suspension of all hostilities at eleven o’clock. The Germans were only a few yards away and we were preparing to make a desperate attack that morning. I had already given up all idea of coming through. You should have seen the place where we spent the night—and such a night! Everybody and everything was frozen stiff.
We got the news at about ten-thirty. There was absolutely no demonstration. We could not make a sign or move, because of danger. Shells were still falling. At eleven, we heard the German bugles blow and the men shout. We then saw them get right up from in front of us and “beat it” back. All firing ceased. MY! But it was great. We were too tired and chilled, though, to realize what great luck we and the world in general were in. We have been through a great deal of fighting and I suppose are very lucky. . . .
Raymond came around in his car today, and we had a long and wonderful ride over the great battlefield. I took him to the very spot where my company and myself were waiting through the night to “jump off” in the morning.
He can tell you about my abode that night. , . .
You should see the town we are in. It is in better shape than most any around here and, at that, there is not a single house left whole. I am in one of the best and it has three rooms left. They are only baby rooms. I have a warm fire, just the same, and so have the men. We have all had a bath and have on warm and clean clothes—always get hot and good food after a fight. Sis, if she [the war] had not been over the day she was, you would have been minus one young brother. You know, there is a limit to everything, and I had reached mine. . . . No, I have not written very often, because it has been impossible to write at times. I have been on the front for almost four months and in places where it was not healthy to do any writing. . . . The Americans have had the hardest fighting of the war. You should see this region that we have hacked and carved our way through. It is, truly, a tragic sight. The last time I wrote you, I was some twenty miles in rear of where I now am. It is all the same—an enumeration would be a duplication. . . .
With much love—
P.S. I am enumerating a few of the things I saw one day. I am doing it on separate paper, so that if the censor does not like it, he can take it out.
Here is just an enumeration of things which I saw one day while we were on a hill in reserve, on the night we went up to relieve another outfit:
A marsh just below the hill, full of dead horses, torn-up wagons, and cannon. A road just beyond the marsh, winding up a hill in one direction to where a town once stood, but now nothing but white bricks mark the place—in the other direction, the road stretched as far as the eye could see over almost level country. From the top of the hill to as far as could be seen, the road was chucked and blocked with trucks, troops, cannon, horses, ration and munition trains.
All along the slope of the hill where I was, torn helmets of Americans and Germans. Fresh American and German graves, old French graves, pieces of rifles, shreds of uniforms, packs, shoes, grenades, small holes in the ground all over the side of the hill where men had dug in.
A railroad track, just this side of the marsh, all torn to pieces. Old pieces of machine guns and ammunition belts of Germans, where they had tried to make a stand.
The top of the hill all around me covered with what used to be brush, but which was now chewed up by machine gun bullets and looked as if rats had been eating it. Three large observation balloons, one of which was brought down by a Boche [Allied slang for “German”]. The air alive with aeroplanes. Some were throwing propaganda, which looked like snow falling. Shells falling and knocking up the earth every few minutes. Our boys sticking close to the ground; cook stoves camouflaged and in full blast. Every hill in sight full of American Infantry or Artillery soldiers; litter-bearers going after someone just hit by a piece of shell.
These are a few of the things I saw from that one spot.
In 1954 November 11 became “Veterans Day” --to honor the veterans of all our wars.