Page 25 of Where the Rivers Merge
Horses, donkeys, and mules served two missions during World War I: in harness, pulling guns, supply wagons, and other vehicles; and as saddle horses and, rarely, as the mounts for cavalry soldiers. They were the true “horsepower”
of the war effort.
1918
The next few months our lives circled around the delivery of mail. The winter air was crisp, the icy rain fell, but every day around three p.m. Mr. Deveraux, the mailman, came ambling along East Bay Street.
Heyward was true to his word and wrote regularly. He was typically thoughtful, making sure that everyone got an individual letter from him. Once we had them in hand, we all scurried off with our missives to read in private. Then later, usually before dinner, we gathered in the living room to share our letters, treasuring each word. Some of the lines were redacted, to keep location and other information private. Some lines or sections we chose to keep private. For the most part, however, we were eager to read them aloud. He wrote to each of us about different aspects of his life. To Mama, Heyward often wrote about the food.
Dearest Mama,
The food on the ship was surprisingly delicious. The officers were put into the first-class cabins and the food wasn’t all that different from what I might expect from a transatlantic crossing. The usual cabin stewards and waiters were in attendance. I admit, I did enjoy those two weeks.
Once on land, however, military life reasserted itself. We usually have two meals a day as rations are quite limited. We get a lot of canned food, mostly meat and salmon. We eat this with hard bread, or beans, or potatoes. On occasion, we get canned tomatoes and powdered eggs. Ah yes, and corn syrup. Liberal amounts of corn syrup.
Heyward’s letters to me were often about his whereabouts and what he saw. We grew accustomed to the deletions in the letters whenever whereabouts were mentioned.
My dear sister,
We arrived in France in the city of Saint-Nazaire on the western coast. The water in the port was partially frozen. Ice formed along the shoreline, piers, and on the ships, the port was crowded with American troops. From there we were promptly transported to training areas.
In this arena, the powers that be learned of Hugh and my knowledge of horses, and we were assigned to the cavalry. Believe it or not, we get about 10,000 horses and mules a week, so you can see why our help is needed. They’re great beasts. My heart goes out to them. They pull guns and supply wagons, even under fire. We’d be lost without them. They’re the unsung heroes of the war. Some of them are shell-shocked and timid or wild when they come back to us, or just old, or blind in one eye. Hugh and I do our best. In truth, the horses are like us. We are all being prepared for what we will face on the Western Front.
To Covey he described the flora and fauna, which delighted her.
Dear Covey,
Hugh and I have been sent to a forested area outside of Paris, a place suitable to train in various aspects of warfare—infantry tactics, marksmanship, physical fitness, and coordination. Eliza would do well with her eagle eye shot!
One creature that never fails to grab our attention is the European red deer. Majestic and proud, they roam the forest with an air of regality, their antlers held high. It’s a sight many hunters at home would like to behold. Being in the forest reminds me of the delicate balance between man and nature. In nature, life and death, beauty and hideous, prey and hunter seem to find a balance. Animals follow their instincts for survival, not power. Coexistence and a kind of peace exists. I wonder why we humans cannot get along as well as animals in the wild.
To Lesesne, Heyward gave brotherly advice.
Dear Brother,
You are the only son at home, Daddy’s right hand. Be a pillar of strength and support for our family. While I may not be there physically, I know you have the capacity to be a source of comfort and encouragement to those around you. Offer a listening ear, lend a helping hand, and be there for our parents and sister. I depend on you. And, remember little brother, I am proud of you. Keep shining your light in the world. I eagerly await the day when we can be reunited.
The letters from Hugh I did not share. They were meant for my eyes only. Hugh had a poet’s soul, observant and philosophical. He could be quite tender at times, so much so that after reading a line I’d bring the letter to my heart and hold it there, eyes closed, committing the line to memory.
My darling Lizzie,
As I walk through the forest I am surrounded by the symphony of birdsong. So many different species! From the melodious trills of nightingales to the rhythmic tapping of woodpeckers, their presence provides a soothing backdrop to all the training.
Yesterday I spotted a red fox on our patrol. It moved with a stealth and agility I admired. I often smile, thinking how you would love it here, marveling at and identifying the different species. We are alike that way, finding solace in quiet moments, connecting with the natural world. Do you remember our many woodland rides together on horseback? Our time at Sweetwater Pond . . . I think of those days often. The memories sustain me. I hope I’ll have the chance to share these sights with you, to walk together through Bois de Belleau hand in hand. Perhaps we should return after the war on our honeymoon?
Until then, I’ll continue to write. Please know I treasure your letters and read them over and over.
You are always in my thoughts.
Hugh
Through the winter and early spring, the letters arrived in batches in a feast-or-famine manner. One day we’d receive a week’s worth of letters. This was followed by a dry spell before they resumed.
Then in May, the letters stopped. We grew frantic as we waited for word. Our only source of daily updates, battlefront accounts, and, worst of all, casualty reports came in the daily Charleston News and Courier newspaper. Mr. Deveraux told us that it was likely Heyward and Hugh had been moved to the front and that mail delivery from there was exceedingly spotty. Sure enough, in late May, letters began again. We cried with relief when the mud-splattered, wrinkled post arrived. The boys had indeed arrived in the trenches. The tone of their letters had materially changed.
Dear Mother,
I’m alive and well and hoping you are too. At present, Hugh and I are in the trenches, grateful to be together. The weather! Rain, rain, and more rain has plagued us. Day after day, night after night. I’m soaked through to the skin, clothes, boots, and all. Up to our knees in water. Trench foot is a serious problem, and the regiment is attentive. It’s a laugh to see a line of men sitting with their feet in the air for inspection. Water, water, everywhere . . . but do not worry, Mother. I’ve always been a good swimmer!
Dear Eliza,
Good news. Lately the line has been quiet. Only now and then do we get a shelling. How to explain shelling? I suppose it would be like asking how to explain hell. When it begins the air is filled with a deafening cacophony of thunderous explosions and sharp whistling. Remember the last big hurricane when we huddled together all night and the wind howled high and fierce? It’s like that only much worse. When the shells hit, the ground shakes violently, shattering our trenches. Mud, dirt and debris fall upon us like rain. Pity the poor fellow who gets hit with shrapnel. But we persevere. Our will is strong. Our faith in the outcome is unshakable.
I look at those words and laugh at my hubris. In truth, I don’t feel such bravado. Instead, oddly, I am numb. I know my duty and will fight when called. God save us all.
Stay safe, little sister, and live a life that brings you joy, vitality, and fulfillment. Support our troops from afar, honor our fallen heroes, and pray that my name will not be among them. If fate declares it so, I trust you will strive to create a world where war is but a distant memory.
Dear Covey,
I thought you’d like to know we have canaries in the trenches. The sweet little birds are kept in small cages and positioned in strategic locations in the trench. They are clever, lively, and full of cheer. They remind me of you. And they are heroes.
They are our early warning system. Their sensitivity to fumes signals the presence of poison gas. If they flutter in agitation or gasp, it gives us a warning and time to quickly don our gas masks. I know your tender heart is worried about the wee birds. We take great care of our feathered friends, feed them well, and protect them as best we can. Their song provides much-needed joy in the trenches. I defy anyone not to smile when a canary sings.
Dear Lesesne,
I loathe to think of you being here, little brother. Do not share this with the ladies, but death is a constant companion. The trenches are a bleak and unforgiving place, where the air is thick with the stench of death and despair. The trenches are narrow and crawling with non-human occupants, mostly flies and rats. We cannot rid ourselves of them. How can we, as fallen bodies litter the field? There are some left too long, that have swollen and burst.
I have witnessed friends and comrades fall in battle, their lives cut short in an instant. These haunting memories will forever be etched in my mind. I share this with you not to scare you, but because I want to protect you from the horrors I’ve seen. I cannot bear the thought of you facing this heartache. I beg you not to add your name to the list of casualties. I may not make it back, and as the second son it will be up to you to assume the mantle of family and Mayfield.
Stay safe, little brother.
Hugh’s words were introspective:
My darling Lizzie,
I’ve sat down to write so many times, but words have failed me. All that I want to say to you, words of love and commitment, poetry and romance—they feel so out of place in this arena of despair. One harsh day flows into another as we wait for relief. Too soon our break is over, and we return to the trenches. We do our best to keep our home tidy. I’ve brought flowers in and take joy in seeing the colors brighten the mud.
But tonight, the moon is full and the stars above shine faintly. I think back to sitting with you in the gazebo, holding your hand as you spoke of your dreams and hoped they would include me. Tonight, I put pen to paper to write about my dreams.
I do believe the war will end soon and at long last I will leave this wretched place, board the ship, and return home to you. Home to the great rice fields, the winding rivers and creeks, the Marsh Tacky horses, and to our families. We are bound by geography, friendship, and soon, marriage.
In recent letters my father has assured me that upon my return Magnolia Bluff Plantation will be deeded in my name so that I can marry. Mother is thrilled at the prospect of a wedding, and dare I say, grandchildren. Lizzie, I know you love Mayfield. My hope is you will feel as much a connection to Magnolia Bluff when you are the mistress and make our humble acres your home. I want to marry you and begin our life together immediately upon my return. I’ve seen how quickly life can be snuffed out and I do not want to waste a single moment of our life as husband and wife. As I sit under this full moon that shines over us both, I promise I will do everything in my power to make certain you are happy when you are my wife, my soulmate—Mrs. Hugh Rhodes.
My love is yours forever,
Hugh
In June, the letters stopped again. Covey and I graduated from high school, but with the war on there was little fanfare. Our thoughts were consumed with the war, always waiting for Mr. Deveraux to deliver any missive from Europe. The only letters we received were from Daddy, asking when we would return to Mayfield. Then, in late June, Mother returned from shopping pale-faced and drawn. In her hand, she carried a copy of the Charleston News and Courier.
June 26, 1918, Belleau Wood, Bois de Belleau, France
The Battle of Belleau Wood was part of the Allied offensive to push back German forces and regain control of the strategically important Bois de Belleau. Fierce fighting ensued, notable for the resilience and bravery displayed by the U.S. Marines who launched multiple assaults, often engaging in hand-to-hand combat. They fought against heavily fortified machine gun nests, artillery fire, and mustard gas attacks. Though victorious, it was to date the bloodiest and most ferocious battles in the war with over 9,000 American casualties, including more than 1,800 fatalities.