While fluffing out Dad‘s side of the family tree this week, I came across an interesting fellow by the name of Harry Melbourn Nightingale.

He was born in New Brunswick, Canada, on August 21, 1883. One of 11 children to Enoch and Martha.

The family immigrated to Maine in 1890 and settled in Aroostook County.

Harry went to school, grew up, labored sometimes as a farmer and sometimes “in the woods.” He worked at several shoe shops and the Turner Center Creamery. He married Hazel Cookson in 1911, the same year his father died.

In his younger years Harry’s mother wouldn’t sign off on him joining the military. When World War I broke out, he was 35. He signed up.

Harry enlisted in Auburn, Maine, in June of 1917. By September, he was on an Army transport ship – the RMS Saxonia – on the Atlantic Ocean.

Here’s the letter he wrote to his mother those early days:

We left the good old U.S. the 25th of September for “Somewhere in France” and as the good old ship stood out to sea everyone was in good spirits and wondering about that place called “over there.”

There were ten vessels and ours was in the lead. The accommodations were not what I would call first class being only bunks about six feet long and two feet wide, two tiers deep and in sections, about 60 men to a section.

The food was scarce of variety but we got along very nicely as we are always taught to wear a smile, you know.

The beginning of the trip was very pleasant to all, mostly because it was new and the endless stretch of tumbling water was fascinating, but as the days went by it became rather tiresome and all began to wonder how much longer it would last.

We had physical drill each day and also lifeboat drill.

For boat drill each person on the ship, at the call to arms had to put on a lifebelt and go to his proper boat station.

This was to avoid confusion in case we should get in the way of a submarine. As soon as we reached the danger zone all had to wear lifebelts day and night and let me say for the benefit of any of my friends who are thinking of taking a trip across the puddle, wait until the submarines are safe on the bottom and can no longer endanger people’s lives because these lifebelts are the most uncomfortable things imagineable.

The whole trip was uneventful, one vessel and a few fish such as whales, sharks and porpoises being the only things we saw except the water. After several days we saw indistinctly low on the horizon a vessel and then another and off on the other side appeared more of them and the first thing we knew they were all around us. They were small, low craft and seemed to skip along over the waves as though they liked it.

We had met our convoy which was to guard us through the danger zone.

You can bet we were mighty pleased to see them for they represented the homeland that we had left. After a few more days spent wearing belts watching for “subs” and cursing Germans in general as the cause of our troubles we sighted land. It certainly looked good to us and after sailing all day up the coast we dropped anchor in an English port.

Our Sergeant told us to get ready as we would land that night. Not long after we disembarked, we stood on the dock waiting for our train. Before leaving the ship we were given two sandwiches, two boiled eggs, a piece of cheese and two apples. Very soon we were placed on trains. I had read of them in books but the reality was actually laughable.

The cars are made in compartments with the door at the side. Eight men were placed in a compartment with all their equipment. They were spaces about six by eight and as you can see we didn’t have any spare room. Most of our equipment had to be placed on the floor under our feet or in the seat under us.

If a fellow should go to sleep he usually discovered when he woke up that he couldn’t move for stuff piled on top of him.

The country through which we traveled was beautiful, the fields well kept and surrounded by hedges very neatly trimmed. The farm houses were all of red brick and very old looking. The barns were small and nearly all had hay stacked outside and covered with a sort of thatch.

After riding about a day and a half we saw away off on our left an American flag, my but Old Glory looked good to us and very soon we were told to get out. We marched about two miles and soon came to some barracks, our spirits rose but soon dropped again for we kept on marching and soon saw our tents.

They were small, round affairs and eight men were placed in each. It was so cold that the only way one could keep warm was to roll up in a blanket and stay there. There was nothing but mud, mud, mud everywhere and we were covered with it.

I believe the sun shone one whole day while we were there, ten days in all.

One day word came to move on and, although our stay with the Tommies had been a pleasant one, except for the mud, we were glad to move on.

Another short ride on a train and we were taken aboard a vessel for the beginning of the end of our travels. We were all night on the boat and as if to compensate us for the disagreeable mud we had enjoyed in England, the historic channel, usually so rough, was as calm as the most sheltered lake in Maine.

In the early morning we landed in France and after a few days’ ride we landed in the place called “somewhere in France” and went into the barracks in a small town. As this was to be our home for quite a while we went to look the place over, of course you must understand we didn’t go until we had been fed, for during our trip our meals were few and far between.

The people of France are very good to us.

They are generous and we have a great time making ourselves understood. The women do the most of the work as the men are at the front, where we are anxious to be.

The houses for the most part are very old and built of rocks and mud. We saw one little church over four hundred years old. It is in as good condition as when Napoleon’s men probably worshipped there.

The teams are very odd to us who are used to seeing good horses. They sometimes use three horses hitched one before the other and sometimes they use one horse and an ox, just whatever they happen to have.

The women dress like most women except for their shoes which are wooden and very clumsy. On Sundays and holidays everyone dresses in their best.

Now I guess I have written almost all I can think of at present so I will close with a song some of the boys made up.

This is the chorus, which is sung to the tune of “There is a Long, Long Trail”:

There’s a long, long trail a-winding
Up to No-Man’s land in France,
Where the shrapnel shells are bursting.
But we must advance.
There’ll be lots of drills and hikings
’Till all our dreams come true.
But we must show the Kaiser
What the yankee boys can do.

Ever your loving son,
Pvt. Harry M. Nightingale
Co. F, 103 U.S. Inf.
A.E.F. via New York
Published on April 29, 1918, in the Waterville Morning Sentinel

No other letters from Harry appeared in the paper. He was slightly injured on February 22 of 1918, but soon returned to battle.

On September 12, just two months before the end of the war, Corporal Nightingale was gravely injured on the battlefield. He died two days later.

The Adjutant General for the State of Maine’s Report included the following:

Corporal Nightingale received the Distinguished Service Cross posthumously.

Harry Nightingale’s widow married again. The groom, Fred Smart, is my first cousin, three times removed. (His mother was a sister to my great-great grandmother Olive Lambert Vayo.)

Although Harry Nightingale was not a blood relative, I’ll proudly add him to our family tree and remember that letter to his mom from “somewhere in France” with the greatest of admiration.

---

Sign up here to receive an email notice when there’s a new Too Much Brudders story: