Friday, October 11
We met with some countrymen of German descent whom we had known as civilians and ate a sorry breakfast of cold meat and dry crackers. We had not yet caught up with the 1st Battalion. As far as we can tell, they left yesterday morning for Toul. We began our march to Toul after breakfast. Onward to Toul, again. The four of us who stuck together said little, only what was necessary. There was reason for our bad mood. I had a very bad headache and was tired due to sleepless nights, the cold, and hunger, but especially because of the lack of coffee.
We were fortunate to come across a truck heading in the same direction. We got on the truck, but sadly, it turned in a different direction, so we had to get off and continue on foot. A short while later, another truck appeared that was traveling to Toul. We boarded it and went on our way.
While on the march, we had time to take in the beautiful roads and the territory we had crossed at night on our way to the front. We could hear the cannon from a greater distance than on the previous occasion when we were here. We had forced the stubborn Germans to retreat a good distance. In several cases, we had pushed them back as far as the trenches on their own soil, something many of them would have thought impossible.
The last truck we boarded dropped us off at a lovely village close to the historic town of Toul. The general discomfort my headache caused and the pressing need to reach our regiment kept me from visiting the surrounding historic villages.
The command post was set up at Choloy. The rest of the units are located in the nearby villages. Once I located the post, I wandered through the narrow, muddy streets brimming with the commotion of war. Some men arrived while others left. French soldiers were running in all directions. The civilians were engaged in their various routines.
After a long conversation with Gómez and Barrera, they took me to their hiding place, a large stable on the outskirts of town. I claimed a spot I liked, next door to the kitchen. We are going to sleep where they store hay for the cattle. Everything is forgiven and forgotten as we build up our love for the war.
The entire day was very cloudy and the skies threatened a downpour; however, our troubles were over, at least for the moment. A soldier’s woes are not eternal! Take courage, those of you who will be in the next war. I inquired about my responsibilities and was told that all I had to do was rest, which was fine by me. I immediately headed for my pile of grass and prepared my sleeping nest. My friends are going to have a difficult time finding me to read them the French papers with news from the front and the world, especially the reports on the peace initiatives. This is what we really care about.
Saturday, October 12
We received welcomed news about the war at a time when many are reporting an imminent peace. The Journal reports that the Kaiser is meeting with all his royalty to talk about concluding the war. Rumors are already going around that the Kaiser has abdicated his throne. I get a kick out of my buddies who are anxious about hearing the news from me. I also find it heartwarming. Only those of us “who are feeling the heat of the fire” can understand what this means “for the men whose lives hang by a thread.” We are glad things are getting hotter for the Kaiser. My friends are always buying newspapers for me to read. I just arrived and already my stable looks like a veritable mess of papers. Think about it, an unending line of soldiers coming in and going out, all of them with the one thought in mind. Our sleeping area is so dark I have a difficult time finding my way. The light of a weak paraffin candle that always burns near my bed attracts them like a swarm of captivated butterflies. Groups of soldiers are always waiting for me to read them the news. I do not charge my poor friends because I am just as curious as they are. Oh, how misery is able to turn us into brothers! It would be so good to inject this feeling on our uncaring citizens! My friends buy me papers and candles without my asking. Several French soldiers who sleep with us join in and help me share the news. They do not speak English and I cannot say that I can speak French, but they understand me and are impressed with my abilities. One of them is well educated and smart and has good manners. This is why I like exchanging views with him. The others are charlatans and uncouth. Whenever I talk with the more sensible one, the others just look on without protesting. These are the lovely scenes from our everyday life.
We visited the delousing station. They disinfected us like cattle with brooms dipped in foul-smelling water, after which we bathed. We are sacrificing decency, false modesty, and discretion for health, and may destiny continue finding its way. This brings to mind our buddy Francisco de Hoyos. They allowed him to keep his mustache. He looks like a happy follower of Confucius. We disinfected our clothes, an easier task. We placed them in large cylinders and steamed them until the wool began to wrinkle. Once we wear them, our looks say everything. We look like sheep with our well-formed curls. As our fellow Mexican soldiers say, “Someone will sooner or later search for our horns.”1 At any rate, we were happy to return to our nest of hay with a lighter load and fewer pests.
I saw my friends from the 2nd Battalion as I was waiting my turn at the delousing station. No one can escape it. Everything around us mostly has the sad, unattractive, desolate, and monotonous appearance of war. Only a soldier can tolerate this.
Sunday, October 13
We had a beautiful day after a heavy rain and low temperatures. The rumors and news about peace continue to arrive. The soldiers do not speak, nor are they interested in anything else. My buddies are always stopping me to see if I have heard anything new. This keeps me from leaving my rat hole and moving about freely to become acquainted with the town, its people, language, and customs. They are not satisfied with the little I know. I feel as though they want me to say that “The war is over, let’s go home.” They think I am hiding something, that I am keeping things from them. What simplemindedness, no one wants this more than me, and I would scream it at the top of my lungs if true! Of course, the soldiers say more than what appears in the papers. After all, they can add to the news at will. Some are not happy with my translations because they have already heard so much more through the rumor mill. Their buddies add details that do not appear in the press. The idea of peace is building among everyone. The news in a telegram that arrived late today hit us like a bombshell. It reported that Germany had accepted President’s Wilson famous fourteen points for peace. The Herald confirmed this. We can hardly believe the good news although we want it with all our hearts. Oh, the sweetness of peace! Millions of souls would agree with me?
I find it interesting that after the press has confirmed the news of peace, my buddies doubt it and few of them are as happy of its possibility as before. What more do they want?
I saw all my Mexican friends except Julián Martínez. Pablo Pérez is in a French hospital. I learned the details about how he was gassed at Saint-Mihiel. As the Germans were about to move, they noticed the movement of our troops and fired a barrage of gas shells. One of them hit the foxhole hiding Pérez and his buddies. We had heard the more disturbing story that Pablo had died. We were happy to hear this was not so.
We passed the day like the revolutionary Pablo Martínez in the work of Juan A. Mateos. We read news about the war in our hideout while a rainstorm passed over us. Only the ghosts were missing because we already have plenty of old, ugly, and abandoned hovels like the bishop’s quarters that Mateos describes.2
Sergeant Schwarz and I were told during supper to pack our things. We were anxious because the order surely means we are being sent to the trenches in the line of fire. We especially feared we would be sent to do battle against Hindenburg’s formidable line of trenches. If this is true, we are going up against the network of trenches that are so impregnable only prisoners of war can cross them. We will test the bravery of the German soldiers who are considered demigods. This is saying much, but we know that men are being born daily who can go beyond those who have fallen before them. These are men of courage and with no less intelligence than Hindenburg.
We spent most of the night packing our things. With every article we put away, we bundled memories and would say, as Hans Andersen once did, “The end may be near.”3
Monday, October 14
Our customary good mood reigned during breakfast because man may forget everything except that he is human with basic needs. Someone once noted this truth, “Everything in the world is a lie; only hunger is real.”4 This explains why we are glad to feed the monster gnawing in our gut. Meanwhile, our final hour has not yet arrived, as it has for many of our buddies who have fallen. The soldiers have their utensils and are sitting on the ground where they usually eat and engage in conversation. The full-blown laughter was a sight to behold.
During breakfast, a friend informed me that my lieutenant, a man I believe has treated me somewhat unfairly, was very ill, perhaps with the flu. On hearing this, I thought about our important sense of fellowship and took him something to eat at his room. His fever was very high. I suppose my visit took him by surprise, but he was courteous and friendly. He drank the coffee with great pleasure but was not interested in the rest of his breakfast. I offered to help and he asked that I help him get up. He thanked me; I said good-bye and went on with my daily routine.
The certainty of peace appears to be going the way of soap bubbles. The papers are no longer saying anything.
Our band played, and we were happy for this because we had not heard them since August 19. This could be the last time we enjoy them.
Tuesday, October 15
The day began with a heavy rain that made the muddy streets worse. The bugle called on the 3rd Battalion to fall in with a sound that has impressed us so much during these unforgettable times. We were tired of being stuck in our nests and took to the streets to see the few places worth seeing. Most of the soldiers gather where liquor is sold. The tobacco smoke in those places is unbearable. I prefer to walk the streets even when it is raining. I walk through the town, studying everything, and then I return to my rabbit’s den to write and read, or to chat with the French.
Valente de la Rosa brought us the sad news that José “Pepe” González, the band’s second bugler, had died of pneumonia in the hospital and that he was to be buried right away. De la Rosa, Gómez, and I left immediately to see if we could make it to the funeral. We walked through roads, meadows, and sown fields until we reached the makeshift cemetery for fallen soldiers in Toul. Everything was well arranged. Each grave had a white cross and stood out only by the number on an aluminum tag. The soldiers wear this tag around their neck when they are alive. They actually wear two. One is affixed to the blanket containing the remains and the other is sent to Washington for identification and to inform the family of the deceased. By the time we arrived, our friend’s remains were already resting under the wet and cold ground. All we could do was stand at attention next to the grave of our companion who was such a friend during the good and bad times. We prayed that he rest in peace and that his sacrifice not be in vain.
On our return to town, we found some news on the kitchen bulletin board. The orders stated: (1) be up by 4 a.m.; (2) breakfast at 5 a.m.; (3) march at 7 a.m. These are familiar orders. They mean our day is near. After supper I wrote a letter to José González’s bereaving father
360th Inf., 90th Div.
October 15, 1918
Falfurrias, Texas
Mr. Doroteo González
The government must have already informed you of your son’s death. You do not know me, but it is not improper for me to write you especially since I was so close to your departed son. May you find in this sad letter the message that should be received by every single parent who has lost sons in this global crusade for the rights of our suffering humankind, a war in which many Mexicans are fighting and representing our people with pride.
Your son succumbed while in the clutches of the cruel pneumonia he contracted because he was exposed to the elements in the field of battle. He fell as all the brave should fall, defending nation, home, and family.
Several of us went to his funeral hoping to reach the burial of his remains, but we did not arrive on time. Nevertheless, we offered a prayer by his grave, beseeching the Supreme Being that these sacrifices not have been in vain, but that they contribute to the betterment of our poorly understood and even less appreciated raza.
Mr. González, we trust that after a period of bitter pain you will be able to finally accept his passing. Know that your son was not the first nor will he be the last member of our raza to sacrifice his life. We who are still alive are also committed to fulfill our serious responsibility to the nation.
You and your dear family should know that if we fall in battle, we hope with all our hearts that one of our own survives and knows that he is to inform our parents about how we carried ourselves to the very end.
We share your loss at the same time we praise the comportment of our comrade who knew how to bear all the miseries so that he could fulfill his duty as a brave citizen.
Sincerely,
J. LUZ SÁENZ
Yesterday’s orders were followed to the letter. We had eaten breakfast, readied our backpacks, and prepared for the long march by 7 a.m. As soon as the trucks arrived, twenty men started boarding each of the Fords.
I began the very cold day with a serious headache.
The trucks drove without a stop and completed the trip quickly. We ate at a small picturesque, squalid, and seemingly abandoned town. The buildings did not show damage from artillery fire. I was not able to write down the names of the other towns we passed. On the other hand, my headache did not encourage me to note down anything. It was very late when we arrived at the outskirts of Rampondt, where we were to spend the night. Our trucks dropped us off and continued on their way to deliver food and war provisions to the soldiers at the next front. The town is small but a very important rail center. We are southeast of the great Verdun front. As expected, I saw many French soldiers.
We had to march about a mile on roads that were knee-deep in mud in order to reach Rampondt. The shack where we are staying barely provides cover from the rain. We do not know how long we will stay in this town, but I do not think it will be much more because of the great movement of men and supplies to the front. This means we are needed there. We finally reached a place where the poor and the nameless are needed and will not be rejected because of race or color!
Our shack is located at the foot of a hill. We have been using the surrounding trees for fuel and have made mattresses out of some bales of hay meant for horses but that we also use to keep dry on the wet ground. This is where Gómez, Barrera, and I will sleep. Other soldiers are also with us. We pass the time as usual, talking, telling jokes, singing, and reading. The other fellows play dice and cards, and they brag about what they did or had in civilian life. They exaggerate so much that they almost always end up quarreling. This becomes another form of free entertainment for us. They cannot understand and benefit from what we do or say because they only speak one language.
We can hear the distant rumbling of the constant bombardment at the wretched front. It sounds like a huge mill with large stones grinding human flesh. The front cannot be far because the trucks are coming and going, one after the other, and fast.
My Dear Wife,
I am doing well and hope that it is God’s Will that all of you are doing well too. I am sending you a certificate. Visit the Red Cross so that someone can better explain how to use it. If you are able and would like to send me something, do it as soon as possible so that I can receive it by Christmas. I would prefer some thick socks. Although I must admit that we have enough of them, I also have to say that we spend many days in damp places, as well as in mud, and even in water itself. Changing socks is a great relief these days. Many soldiers throw away their socks at night and are left with only wet ones to wear day and night. This has caused many deaths due to pneumonia. I do not care for excuses, when death calls on me I want it to come straight and swift.
Loving all of you forever,
LUZ
Thursday, October 17
We barely ate breakfast because our kitchen is not here and the ones that are in the area have very limited rations for the soldiers. Jesse Pérez and I had a good time talking about our experiences. I saw several of the boys from Alice, the town where “I came to be a man,” as our elders say. Running into them brought back many pleasant memories.
Some of the fellows in our sleeping area say they do not like the place and they leave, but new people keep arriving. We have the best spot in the shack. This may be why we do not say anything and are comfortable with everything, like the shrewd rabbit of lore.
I went out in the afternoon to explore a beautiful forest to the northeast where one can catch a beautiful panoramic view of the area. A large number of wheat fields have been planted on the hill. This makes the mesa even more beautiful, surrounded as it is by trees destined for the mill. Although the day was peaceful and cold, the view was grand, but for some reason it also brought me profound sadness. We will come to appreciate the area’s entire natural beauty as we become accustomed to its unavoidable gray appearance. The rail traffic is intense and noisy. The noise caused by the constant movement of trucks to and from the front also tells us much of the strategic importance of this place.
The serious pain I had last night kept me from sleeping well. I hardly had an appetite this morning. The sun was in full splendor and the view of the town and its surroundings seemed even more beautiful from our shack on top of the hill. The town is full of activity. Today’s traffic is greater than yesterday. A good number of planes have been flying over us today. We hear that German airplanes will raid the town and, as a consequence, have been ordered to turn in early and keep all lights out.
I received a letter from my brother Eugenio telling me that everything is going well. I answered his letter and others I have received.
We have discovered many rats and lice in this place. They are an enemy and are feared as much as the Germans. The reason for the rats could be the large number of warehouses with food. The lice are brought in by the soldiers who have been moving between our position and the front. The lice are so numerous that even the rats carry them.
The night arrives, and while this should be a time of quiet and rest, we begin to hear the sound of cannon fire in a constant duel to the death. We are not far from that horrible fight, a mirror image of hell.
Saturday, October 19
I have been in a bad mood today. A fellow soldier insulted me in a cowardly way, but I did not allow him to drag me down to his level. Before moving on, I am going to investigate why he would act that way. Fortunately, we are in the right place to resolve this.
I had nothing to do this afternoon so I spent some time in the quiet and dark forest. I enjoyed thinking about the past and musing about the future, not caring about the uncertainty of the moment because it does not bother me anymore.
My good friend Amado Cásares, who was with the sappers, has joined the band just as we had asked him to do a long time ago. This pleases us because he is in a better position to be treated fairly and appreciated for his artistic skills. His poor physical condition puts him in a disadvantage as a foot soldier, but he is brave and has intellectual qualities that are worth noting.
I woke up late and barely made it for breakfast. I then went to the office to copy a note for Lieutenant Williams. While there, I was given poor materials to complete a task and received little credit for my work. I wrote some letters describing how we live in these surroundings.
We participated in a review and were read a speech by our division’s commander in chief. We learned that we were moving to the most feared front near Verdun to destroy Hindenburg’s unassailable trenches. We also heard that our nation was expecting every one of us to fulfill our highest duty as brave soldiers and that our nation’s pride and future depended on how we did at the front. The sound of the words was so beautiful because they represented The Truth! Who would have thought this! “The future of the nation” depends on these humble men who will probably be forgotten. As soldiers who have left loved ones behind, we will make the ultimate sacrifice for them. Our chests are filled with pride and we burn with the desire to triumph or die in glory for our children.
The newspapers brought some very promising news regarding the Anglo-Belgian victory over the Germans.
Lieutenant George is not feeling well. Some of us are also ill but we do not want to be placed on the infirmary list while we can still fight. This is what we the Mexicans have decided. If we are to fall, we want to die on the battlefield and not in a hospital.
Monday, October 21
Nothing out of the ordinary happened during our first hours of the day. I worked a good while in the office and had time to wash my handkerchiefs and towels. The sun began shining beautifully by ten, although the day remained cold.
The preparations have started. This means we are about to move to the front. The rumors are setting off the soldiers like a disturbed ant colony. If it was not for the misfortune that hangs over the poor—the cannon fodder—we could acknowledge the beauty in the spirit of the men about to face death.
The evening was moonlit and clear. Several planes of possible German origin flew over us on the way to the central part of France. The sound of their motors is different from the French and American airplanes. Our survival instinct teaches us many things.