{ title: 'The Rio Grande rattler. ([McAllen], Hidalgo County, Tex.) 1916-1917, February 09, 1918, Page 7, Image 7', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/sn87030234/1918-02-09/ed-1/seq-7/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn87030234/1918-02-09/ed-1/seq-7.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn87030234/1918-02-09/ed-1/seq-7/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn87030234/1918-02-09/ed-1/seq-7/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
Image provided by: New York State Military History Museum
THE WADSWORTH GAS ATTACK a n d RIO GRANDE RATTLER 5 A SOLDIER’S LETTER TO HIS SWEETHEART. Oere Mable I been thinkin of you a lot durin the last week, Mable, havin nothin else to do. I been in the hospital w ith the Bronxitis. I guess I caught it from Joe Loomis. He comes from there. Id have w rote you in bed but I dropped my fountain pen on the floor and bent it. Im all right now. I got some news for you, Mable. The cook says we only drew ten days supply of food last time. He says he guesses when we eat th a t up we’ll go to France. Hes an aw ful sm a rt fello, the cook. Hes got a bet on th a t if the allys dont buck up an win the germ ans is comin out ahead. Max Gluckos, a fello in the tent, is refere. W e ’re all eatin as fast as we can. Perhaps we can eat it all in less than ten days. So maybe we'll be gone, Mable, before I w rite you from here again. T h e re’s a french sargent comes round once in a while an says the w a r is goin to be over quick. He ought to know cause hes been over there an seen the whole thing. He smokes cigarets som ething aw ful an dont say much. T h a t because the poor cus cant talk much English. It m u st be awful not to talk English. Think of not bein able to say nothin all your life w ithout wavin jmur arm s round and then lookin it up in a dickshunary. I feel so sorry for these fellos th a t I’m studin french a lot harder sos theyll have someone to ta l k ‘to when we get over there. Im readin a book now thats w rote all in french. No E n g lish in it anyw h ere, Mable. A fello told me th a t was the only way to talk it good. I dont understand it very well so far. The only way I know its french is by the pictures. Some day Im goin to find out w h a t the nam e is. Then Im goin to get the E n g lish of it. Those are some pic tures. A int I fierce, Mable, I guess thats why I get on w ith wimin so 'well. I gave up readin it out loud cause the fello s . said it made em think they was in P a ris so much th a t they got restless. I cant speak no better yet. I guess th a t com es all at once at the end of the book. As soon as we got the hot shouers all fixed the pipes busted. So the other day the Captin walked us all in town to take a bath. I didnt need one much. I used my head more than m o st of em. L a st fall when it was warm I took as m any as two a week and got away ahead of the game. I w ent along, though. More for the walk than any thing. I saw the Captin didnt m ake no move to take a bath him self. I thought he m ight be shy. He dont mix very well w ith the fellos. I felt sorry for him. Everyone else was laffin an throw in things around w ith him standin off an no one throw in nothin at him. I w e n t up an says “A int you goin to take a bath this w inter to, Captain?\’ Just jolly, Mable, thats all. I says: “You dont w ant to mind the bunch. They dont care a bit. T h e re as dirty as you are, anyway. Probably m o re.” An I bet they were, Mable, cause I aint seen the Captin do a stroke of work since we come here. Ju s t stands round givin orders. I says, “If no one won’t lend you a towel you can use mine. I was just goin’ to have it w ashed anyw ay.” He got awful red and em b arased, Mable. I thought he was goin to choke. Hes awful queer. Ju s t like the other m o rnin he calls me over an says, “Smith, my orderlies sick. You can shine my boots this m o rnin.” He said it like Id been beggin him to for a month. An then he says “Sm ith you can lite the fire in my stove.” He had me think in he was doing me favors. He said I m ight put some oil on his boots if I wished. I says th a t would be a great treat an I wished he wouldnt be so kind or the fellos would think he was playin favorites. I guess he didnt hear me Mable cause hed ju s t gone out. I said it anyway. I didnt care if he w a snt there. Spunky. T h a ts me all over. I couidnt find no oil for his boots any where, Mable, so I poured some out of his lamp. And then I dont think th a t suited him. Queer fello, the Captin. I keep herein more about this fello Brog- gins. I suppose he belongs to the Home Cards an w ares his uniform round in the evenin. An I suppose he has an A m erican flag on his w ritin paper. It dont m ean nothin in my life, though. I aint goin to put up no argum e n ts or get nasty like most fellos would. Dignity. T h a ts me all over, Mable. Let me tell you though if I ever come home and find him shinin his elbos on the top of your baby grand 111 kick him down the front steps if I only have one leg to do it. Im w ritin this in the YMCA in the after noon cause Im goin on guard tonite. I dont see why they dont m ake it a perm e- nant detail and be done w ith it. Someone said the top sargents a m an of one idea. I guess Im the idea. I didnt go out to drill this afternoon. I didnt say nothin to the sargent though cause sargents have an idea th a t if they dont get a lot of fellos to go out to drill w ith them they dont look poplar. I got to go now sos to get in my tent before they come from drill. as ever on guard, BILL. (E. S.) SAY, “AH!” Sad Story of a Private With a Sore Throat. My th r o a t felt as if I had swallowed a spiney cactus. My voice sounded like a sea-lion. I spoke to my captain. H e threw me a fish. So I spelled out, w ith dots and dashes, th a t I w a n ted to go on sick re port. O. K. said the K. O. I w e n t to the company M.D. He pushed an electric light bulb down my throat. He followed it w ith a m ean eye. “Say ‘Ah,’ ” he said. I said “G wussssh.” It was all I could say. “Sore throat,” he said, after deliberating five or fifteen m inutes. He gave me two O. D. golusses. Also a scrap of paper. “P a int w ith iodine,” it said. I w ent to the lair of the hospital corps to be painted. H o spital corps m en are al ways cheerful. The fa t one who painted me was chuckling gleefully as he tied up the thum b of a m an who had been too inti m ate w ith a mule. He also said, “Say ‘Ah.’ ” I said ‘Ah.’ I repeated “Ah.” I prolonged the note. The mules in the distance took up the refrain. I thought he was adm iring my voice. I was wrong. Ju s t as I brought “Ah” up to high C, he stuffed a bale of cotton soaked in iodine (or was it shellac?) down my throat, and began to clean me as if I were a rifle barrel. W h en he had presum ably rem oved all the sm oke rings, he turned me loose. I w e n t back to my company street m a r k ed for “Light Duty.” Visions of blissful bunk fatigue took my thoughts from my painted throat, which tasted like an incin erator smells. My top sergeant fixed me w ith a g litter ing eye. “L ight duty? H u m p h !” he said. “T h a t m eans you exercise two horses in stead of four.” R. E. C. Don’t w o rry if you miss your daily new s paper. The Gas A ttack covers the live news in its “W o rld B revities.”
