Private Godwin’s Letter Home
Sunday, at Cherubusco, about 8.30 A. M.
Sitting in the sun, in my overcoat, at the tent door.
Dear Mother:—
After finishing my letter at the farmhouse last night, and getting from the good woman my second pair of dry stockings, I put on everything warm that I had, and went to bed. Fires were burning everywhere, with little groups of talking men around them; but the camp settled down very quickly. It pleased me to hear the first sergeant rounding up men to help in unloading the overcoats; but then I slept, and except for periods when I woke in the night and as usual told time by Orion, I slept sound. The men are all declaring that they slept well, all but one man, who said he was miserably cold, and looks it. It was a cold night, with a heavy frost forming even inside my tent, and ice in my canteen when I tried to drink from it this morning. But now, warm and full, I am very comfortable, waiting for the call at 9.45 to go out and inspect the outposts which the first battalion are now setting. The captain has been up and down the street, inquiring how we are; he stopped to speak to me, feeling, I think, less constraint with me than he used.
It was very busy in camp for an hour after breakfast. Men were cleaning their shoes—and some were mourning over them, not having taken warning against leaving them too close to the fire, when though the leather may not be really burned it will lose its life and crack. Others were spreading blankets and clothes to dry, preparing the short pack (without the roll) for our tour of inspection, recleaning rifles, shaving, mending their clothes. Smoke is now drifting from a hundred fires, and towels and underwear are spread on the tents or flapping from improvised clothes lines. But the camp is slowly settling down into quiet, for work is done, the sun keeps us warm, and everybody is quite content.
I have just listened to the story that Newbold, the corporal of Squad Nine, tells of the fetching of the overcoats. On arriving at camp yesterday, wet through, he found that the new shoes which he bought at the camp exchange in Plattsburg just before leaving for the hike, were too small, and asked the captain’s permission to go to the village here and try to get another pair. The captain, after finding out his need, said “You can change them in Plattsburg. Be ready in five minutes to start with the truck.” So Newbold found himself in command of a five-ton truck, wallowing through these roads till they struck the macadam, forty-five miles in all to Plattsburg. There he presented his written orders, started the loading of the truck, and went out swinging his shoes by the strings till he found a shop where he could make a swap, the camp exchange being closed. Forty-five miles over the road again, he dozing in a nest he made among the overcoats, and arriving in time to go to bed at Taps.
The overcoats will keep us safe from now on. But the hard work of the past two days has knocked out a few more men. Hale, who felt the cold night so severely, proves to be threatened with bronchitis, and has been sent in to the hospital. Hageman, with digestion on strike, has to leave us for good. I may mention men to you for the first time, but you must understand that I have acquaintance with a great many now, and when in future I hear their cities mentioned, Kansas City, Cleveland, wherever else, I shall always remember that I have friends there.