We have been out to dig trenches a couple of times and believe me we sure do work. Imagine getting up and working on the ground about two hundred and fifty yards from the German line with them shooting all the time. Work! you bet the men work with a will and it does not take long to get a good trench dug. They have a poor system here. We walk about seven miles from this town where we are now to the first line, dig a trench and walk back. We leave at six p. m. and get back at five a. m.—the idea of walking seven miles to work. There is not much left of the Legion of May 9th; the Italians have been liberated to return to their own army. Our company had fifty-five men out of a full company of two hundred and fifty, but we expect to be filled up again with the men from Valbonne and Lyon. I should judge one thousand have already been sent up here from those places. Well, this war is a great game. The next person who mentions the glories of war should be jumped on with both feet. Picture the charge with the band playing and the men singing—what tommy-rot. In the first place the instruments never get near the actual fighting, and in the second place the men at that time don’t care a hang for a song. We have some fun with the boxing gloves, a new set having been sent to us from Paris. It is surprising to know how many good boxers there are around here. The other day two Zouaves who weighed about one hundred and eighty pounds each turned up and were very clever. One had boxed for the amateur championship of Tunis. They would give many professional fighters a run for the money. Two French cavalrymen had a bout that resulted in a knockout. Time surely does fly: here it is nearly eight months since the old Goddess of Liberty disappeared into the distance in New York bay. It does not seem possible. The ball that hit Rockwell’s leg just missed the bone, so he is recovering rapidly and hopes to be back with us soon. We are all in the best of health and getting plenty to eat. We are unanimous in wishing for the war to end soon. Those who clamor for war the most in the States are those who know nothing about it. War is an asinine waste and I take my hat off to President Wilson for his level headedness.[4] Footnote 4: The above was the last letter received; the communication on the following page was written on a military postal card. _(Place Unknown) June 15, 1915._ Dear Dad: All well. Received your letter of May 30, 1915. We were there all right. Will write later. Love to all. RUSSELL. * * * * * The First Regiment was cited in the official Order of the Day, as follows: