There were humorous incidents; that is, humorous when we look back on them, safely in camp. One goes as follows: Three cars running out to the poste about thirty yards apart. The whistle of shells and a great increase in speed in the cars. (Somehow speed seems to give the feeling of more security.) Road getting too hot—shells falling between the cars as they run. First car stopped short and driver jumped about thirty feet into a trench by the roadside. Landed in six inches of water and stayed. Car No. 2 stopped, but not short enough to prevent smashing into tail-board of No. 1. Driver made jump and splash No. 2 into trench. Ditto for Car No. 3 (me). Whistle and bang of shell, crash of hitting cars, and splash of falling men in water. Here we remained until the "storm blew over."
I am mighty glad we are through and out of it all. Whatever action we go into again, it cannot be harder or more dangerous than what we have been through. That will be impossible. I don't know yet whether I am glad or not to have had such an experience. It was all so gigantic and terrifying. It was war in its worst butchery. We all of us lost weight, but health and morale are O.K., and we are ready for more work after our repose. When you read this, remember I am out of it and in less dangerous parts....
The French military is giving half of us forty-eight hours permission for the Fourth of July. We are going for a two days' spree in Paris!
My debits to date are one letter from mother of the 7th; one shirt, chocolate, and corduroy suit.
I would rather you didn't pass this letter around much. It is too hurried and slapdash, and I may have quite different opinions after we have calmed down a bit.
Edward
(Tinkham)
P.S. Barber was given the Médaille Militaire—most coveted of military honors.
IV
——France, June 30