"October 10 found the company in the St. Mihiel sector, and on October 22 it moved into Belgium. All this meant miles of weary hiking under a full pack; but Fred remained the same cheerful fellow as ever. He amused the whole company with his doings. He found an old hair-clipper among some salvage and immediately opened a barber shop where lieutenants as well as privates got their hair cut. Another thing that I recognized as characteristic were the remarks pertaining to his appetite. He never lost it. He was known to have 'eats' on his person all the time. He had a special knack of hunting out farm houses, engaging _madame_ in conversation, and coming away with bread, eggs, or cheese in his knapsack. Occasionally he did some sketching and his letters were a joy to the lieutenant who censored them because of the excellent descriptions they contained.... "The company went over the top early in the morning of October 31. Fred was wounded in the left side by a piece of high explosive shell at about 5:30 A.M. It was before daylight and few knew he had been hit. When they did hear it, they were far in advance and Fred had been carried to Evacuation Hospital Number Five, at Staden, Belgium. He died there on November 2. One of the boys who helped carry him to the rear says that he was fully conscious despite the serious nature of his wound, and tells of how he directed them what to do--how he told them to leave him when the shells fell too fast (which they wouldn't do)--of how they left him, quite himself, at the first-aid station.... "He was never referred to as a bully or even as a fighter--he was spared the grewsome experience of hand-to-hand fighting, for from the first the Germans were in full flight; but he was remembered for his cheerfulness, his kindness toward others and especially for his lack of harsh words. His favorite text from the Bible was that part of the Sermon on the Mount known as the beatitudes, _and he often wondered why ministers did not preach on it more_. _He constantly spoke of this to the men._ (The italics are not in the original.) "His fire has gone out, but he left a glow in the hearts of these men which will never go out." * * * * * And now it is time that a few questions be asked, simple and direct. It is due him. Why is it that when he set himself to create he had to contend against that dead-weight of indifference if not the active hostility of organized society recorded in these pages; but when he was commandeered to destroy, that society clothed him, fed him, sheltered him, trained him, transported him, paid him, nursed him, and buried him? It is well that we should know what has been squandered. He that might have ennobled generations of men with his great visions and his splendid dreams is mingling his clay with the soil of Belgium. He had the seeds of genius. Capitalism made him a machine gunner.