6. Finally -- Armistice!
FINALLY CAME NEWS of the Armistice. Somehow we could not believe it was true the war was actually over. Then, on Dec. 7, we saw a beautiful sight. Here came a passenger train flying U.S. flags. We climbed aboard. We were leaving German territory. I had been in a prison camp only 58 days, but felt as if I had been there 58 years.
On arrival in Switzerland, the men, women and children of that nation met us at every station with cheers and flowers.
Coming through the Swiss Alps - and I do mean through as we were in tunnels most of the time - we landed in Vichy, France. Here I was placed in the hospital till New Year's Day, 1919.
On Jan. 1, we left Vichy for Heyers where we arrived on Jan. 11. We were in the hospital there for a week or ten days, then were on our way to Bordeaux. From Bordeaux, on Feb. 23, we sailed for home.
It took 12 days to reach the States. Twelve days of misery. Owing to my weakened condition, I was very sick, sea sick, for the entire voyage. The doctors did not give me much encouragement. They wanted me to eat, which I could not do. They said, "If you don't eat, we can only tell you that you'll never reach the States." This writing serves to prove that a determined mind can often rule a not-so-determined body.
We disembarked at Camp Merritt, New Jersey. From there we were sent to Camp Grant, Ill., where on March 5, 1919, we were discharged from service by our Government.
Discharged from service, but not from the memories which constantly invade our minds. Ghosts of the past constantly parade before us whenever we close our eyes. Our minds gaze out over the battlefields at the lifeless, bleeding forms. Pale faces, half-starved, half-conscious, silent, grim, yet determined, they march -- the boys of battle. Determined youths with torn, muddy uniforms, marching through hell to either death or disablement. Life-long infirmities caused from wounds, poison gas, or nervous strain. All these pry at our minds. Dragged up through a clouded memory from a distant past these grotesque figures dance crazily amidst a hideous hell of glare from bursting shells. In our ears there is a din that gets louder and louder. Shells and bombs screaming and hissing through the air. Destruction and death.
This was written when I came home from the war. Many years have passed since then. Other wars have come and gone. Memories have grown dim, are not quite so vivid now. Even the terrible nightmares come but seldom.
The sweetheart I left behind became my wife when I returned. From this union came four children. I thank God for my family, for the grandchildren, who with their many interruptions keep my mind from wandering too far back.
Always in my heart, as in the hearts of many, many other men, is this fervent prayer: "God, please never let there be another war."