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This 132-page diary chronicles the experiences of Bert C. Whitney, of Washington, Michigan, who served with the 304th Sanitary Train in France during World War I. Whitney described his transatlantic voyages, his experiences near the front line at Verdun in late 1918, and his travels around France after the armistice.

This 132-page diary chronicles the experiences of Bert C. Whitney, of Washington, Michigan, who served with the 304th Sanitary Train in France during World War I. Whitney described both of his transatlantic voyages, his experiences near the front line at Verdun in late 1918, and his travels around France after the armistice. The journal is housed in a leather wallet, and has a drawing of a flag on its inside cover.

Whitney began his account in early July 1918, while en route to Brooklyn, New York, where his regiment embarked for France on July 10. During his time at sea, he described the ships in his convoy, submarine scares, and daily life onboard the transport ship Lutetia. Shortly after their arrival at Brest on July 21, Whitney recounted his movements in France until mid-September, when he reached the front lines. Though he did not participate directly in active combat, he described life behind the lines and witnessed artillery barrages, gas attacks, and aerial battles. Near the end of the war, he remarked about the destruction of the area around Verdun and anticipated an armistice, particularly after he saw a German delegation on their way to meet with General John J. Pershing. On November 11, 1918, Whitney counted down the final minutes of active combat, noting the ferocity of the fire until the stroke of 11:00 a.m. After the armistice, he recorded his travels around France and his negative opinions of French soldiers. He embarked for the United States in the spring of 1919 and wrote his final entry on May 30, 1919, as the ship approached the United States. Enclosures include poppies taken from a battlefield (pressed into the volume around October 22, 1918), 2 military documents related to his promotion to sergeant, and a poem entitled "Romeo to Verdun," printed in the Romeo Observer.

The Harold Kamp journal is an account of a young man's life serving in the United States Army in World War I, including time spent at the front lines.

Harold Kamp's diary from the First World War is well written, direct, and packed with action. Reflecting the active part taken by the 146th Field Artillery in three of the major offensives to involve American troops -- the Aisne-Marne, St. Mihiel, and Meuse-Argonne -- Kamp's diary provides a well-rounded sense of artillery service during the First World War, from training with shells to raining shells. A well educated man, Kamp was an accomplished writer, fond of displaying his interest in the ancient history of the fields over which he fought. At the same time, his diary is very economically written, conveying the intense fear and repulsion felt by a young man confronted by the horrors of modern warfare. At some point, probably after the war, Kamp's diary was edited by striking through or emending certain passages. In many cases Kamp's (?) efforts to strike through his writing did not fully obscure the original passage, and in deciphering these sections, it appears that the editing was aimed more at readability than censorship.

Kamp's writing conveys a particularly profound sense of the terror of modern, large-scale war and of the chaos and tumult of battle during his first exposure to fire in the Aisne-Marne offensive in July, 1918. His best writing, however, was reserved for the Meuse-Argonne offensive of September and October, and particularly for the entries of September 25, 26, and 27. On the 25th, contemplating the utter destruction near Verdun, Kamp's literary penchant worked strongly in his favor:

The guns are in position, four of them, on a roadway, where once the villagers gossiped and lived their daily life. But all that is past. Now every lane and street and corner is the retreat for a death dealing gun. How strange it is that no matter in what direction the eye may turn not a sign of human life is visible. A sort of nightmare seems to have taken hold on the war stricken area. Everything is as still as death; birds have f[org]otten their song, the trees no longer have life; little children have ceased their play.

The entry for September 26 is by far the longest in the journal, continuing for several pages. Begun when he was awakened by the first artillery salvoes marking the opening of the Meuse-Argonne offensive, Kamp's excitement is palpable, but the passage includes particularly detailed accounts of watching an American plane shoot down a German, and watching German planes bring down an observation balloon in a dramatic display. The entries throughout the Meuse-Argonne offensive are uniformly informative.