he wind came
up and we had to dodge falling trees and branches. As it was, we lost--
two killed and one wounded from that cause.

That night the Germans shelled us and got three killed and seventeen
wounded. We moved a bit further back to the crossroad and after burying
a few Germans, some of whom showed signs of having been wounded before,
we settled down to a short stay.

It looked like rain, and so Wilmer and I went to an old dressing station
to salvage some cover. We collected a lot of bloody shelter halves and
ponchos that had been tied to poles to make stretchers, and were about
to go, when we stopped to look at a new grave. A rude cross made of two
slats from a box had written on it:

"Lester S. Wass, Captain U. S. Marines, July 18, 1918"

The old crowd at St. Nazaire and Bordeaux, Wass and Sumner killed,
Baston and Hunt wounded, the latter on the 18th, a clean wound, I hear,
through the left shoulder. We then moved further to the rear and camped
for the night. Dunlap came to look us over. His car was driven by a
sailor who got out to talk to a few of the marines, when one of the
latter yelled out, "Hey, fellows! Anyone want to see a real live gob,
right this way." The gob held a regular reception. A carrier pigeon
perched on a tree with a message. We decided to shoot him. It was then
quite dark, so the shot missed. I then heard the following as I tried to
sleep: "Hell; he only turned around;" "Send up a flare;" "Call for a
barrage," etc. The next day further to the rear still, a Ford was towed
by with its front wheels on a truck.

We are now back in a town for some rest and to lick our wounds.

As I rode down the battalion, where once companies 250 strong used to
march, now you see fifty men, with a kid second lieutenant in command;
one company commander is not yet twenty-one.

After the last attack I cashed in the gold you gave me and sent it home
along with my back pay. I have no idea of being "bumped off" with money
on my person, as if you fall into the enemy's hands you are first robbed
then buried perhaps, but the first is sure.

Baston, the lieutenant that went to Quantico with father and myself, and
of whom father took some pictures, was wounded in both legs in the Bois
de Belleau. He nearly lost his legs, I am told, but is coming out O. K.
Hunt was wounded in the last attack, got his wounds fixed up and went
back again till he had to be sent out. Coffenburg was hit in the
hand,--all near him wer