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—
Your brother,
Mike.
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.
