Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Pocket Relief

Oh, what a cool little find. While looking for a good map of the White Mountains for our current exhibit, "Corresponding Friendships: Robert Frost's Letters," we stumbled on The Pocket Relief Map--Franconia Notch Region (R. D. Woodard, 1930). It is made of pressed plastic, and is just three and a half inches by five inches. The box has a line drawing of the Old Man of the Mountain.

What's it for?  It is hard to imagine carrying it in your pocket for reference. You couldn't really pull it out on a  hike and say, "Ah, now I know where I am!" Our guess is that it was just a souvenir for tourists vacationing in the area and it was never carried in anyone's pocket.

To see it, ask for White Mountains G3741.C18 1930 W6.  The Frost exhibit is on display from now until November 1st in the Class of 1965 Galleries in Rauner.  We found an even better map for that!

Friday, September 26, 2014

A Hebrew Grammar

When John Smith was persuaded by his tutor Samuel Moody to enter Dartmouth College in 1771, he had already spent many years in the study of ancient languages. According to his wife Susan, he "had then read through Homer twice, and all the minor Greek poets he could find." He entered Dartmouth as a junior and by the following year had "mastered the Hebrew and Chaldee languages as to lay the foundation of his Hebrew and Chaldee Grammars." After he graduated from Dartmouth in 1773, he became preceptor at Moor's Charity School for a year before being hired by Dartmouth as a tutor for its students. During that time he worked on a revision of the Hebrew Grammar he had completed in 1772, for the purpose of facilitating "the study of the scriptures of the Old Testament in the original." He emphasized the fact that his Grammar would be particularly useful for those students of the language who did not have instructors.

Letters of the Alphabet
However, the road to its publication was a long one. At one point in the process Eleazar Wheelock wrote to the trustees in London suggesting that Smith's Grammar "should be published as a specimen of the progress some of his scholars were making in this new institution." But, according to Mrs. Smith, "Mr. Smith declined or [had] otherwise given up."

Perfect Verbs
In 1777, John Smith was appointed Professor of Greek, Latin, Hebrew and Oriental languages at Dartmouth College. He was the first academic hired by Wheelock who, until then, had been doing all of the teaching with the help of the tutors. For his services, Smith was promised one hundred pounds annually, "half in money and the other half … in such necessary articles for a family as wheat, Indian corn, rye, beef, pork, mutton … ." In return Smith had to continue as tutor as well.

Smith stayed connected to the College for the rest of his life. In addition to teaching he served as the pastor for the Church of Christ at Dartmouth College and introduced the practice of giving commencement sermons to the Senior Class on the Sunday before Commencement Day. He also became a trustee in 1788.

Chaldaic Grammar
Smith's Hebrew Grammar Without Points was finally published by John West in 1803. It was only the second Hebrew Grammar book published in the Unites States and the first using no points.

If you would like to take a look at the original manuscript and its revision ask for MS-1266. To see a printed edition ask for Alumni S652h.

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

A War to End All Wars: Whining the War

As a young man at Dartmouth and in the military, Harold Pinkham, Class of 1915, was a confused and unhappy outsider. At Dartmouth, he was not athletic enough to make a sports team nor popular enough to make a fraternity and recalled being targeted during the customary freshman hazing of the period. After one year at Dartmouth, he transferred to Bowdoin, but stayed there only one year before leaving to live as a self-described hobo in the American West.

On April 17, 1917, in his father’s shop in Milton, New Hampshire, Pinkham read the headline announcing America’s Declaration of War. He had always supported Wilson’s neutrality as “a beacon of light in the darkest age of mankind” and saw no justification to assume that France and Britain were right, or that Germany was wrong.[1] Pinkham realized that, as a healthy, unemployed, single man of 22, he would be drafted.[2] He could not register as a conscientious objector, because he did not belong to a recognized religious sect that prohibited fighting in wars. He chose to evade the draft and went west when the draft was announced. During his sojourn in the American West, Pinkham held a variety of jobs, including laying railroad track in Idaho and working in a lumberyard in Everett, Washington.

In June 1917 Pinkham had a sudden change of heart. On his birthday, June 16, 1917, Pinkham signed up for the Washington State National Guard and was given the rank of corporal because of his college education. In his edited war journal, Pinkham claims to have been unaware that he was not joining the U.S. Army. In April 1918, the distinction between the National Guard and U.S. Army was erased, but it seems implausible that a year before this merger Pinkham would not have known which division of the military he was joining.[3] Pinkham attributes his change of mind to financial need and renewed faith in Woodrow Wilson’s idealism.[4]

Pinkham was chronically dissatisfied with his duties during the war. After attempting to evade the draft, he complained that his six months in Seattle were too tame. When he was finally sent to France in December 1917, he was indignant and insulted that his section’s job was to lay track in Is Sur Tille in the Cote d’Or, the same occupation he had pursued in Idaho. Pinkham considered himself “practically a prisoner” and compared his condition as a soldier to the position of German P.O.W.s. After falling ill from “weak kidneys and a violent back ache,” he was reassigned to sorting boxes for the quartermaster while the rest of his section dug trenches and set up machine guns to protect against air raids.[5] Pinkham argued that other units should be doing the digging, and that his unit should be dispatched to the front.

Pinkham’s dissatisfaction continued throughout the war. In May 1918, Pinkham’s unit left Is Sur Tille and he wrote eagerly that he hoped to be done with “drill and senseless games.”[6] Instead of going to the front, however, he was transferred to Pont Levoy to train newly arrived infantry sections, who “a month earlier were in civilian clothes . . . many of them ignorant to how to load a rifle and destined for slaughter, just as surely as the lambs in the Chicago stock yard.”[7] He was then summoned to St. Dizier, Marne, a city close enough to hear the gunshots from the fighting in the Argonne Forest, but instead of fighting, he cared for casualties. Pinkham was extremely disappointed by what he perceived as his disgraceful war record: “it seemed that all my life had been a failure, in college, business, art, and love. And now, within earshot of the guns, I was to fail at war.”[8] Pinkham had hoped that his service would be a source of personal redemption.

In the beginning of November 1918, he sensed an approaching Allied victory and complained to a Marine Sergeant that he would never have the opportunity for combat experience. According to Pinkham’s journal, the sergeant suggested that he join his section by impersonating an AWOL private and advance on Verdun with them. Pinkham took his suggestion and marched with them out of the camp, but the unit took the wrong route. They turned around and returned to Froidos, and Pinkham took advantage of the change to steal back to his quarters. Despite his persistent demands to be placed at the front, Pinkham lost his nerve and decided not to advance with the Marines. This did not prevent him from complaining that he was kept in France as part of the Army of Occupation when others went home. When Secretary of War Newton Baker visited the troops, Pinkham joined the others in crying, “We want to go home!”[9] Pinkham maintained no clear ideology, but was instead guided by persistent melancholy.

Like many soldiers, Pinkham tried to alleviate his depression through escapism. He drank with his fellow soldiers regularly and sometimes to excess. When he vomited in his quarters, he blamed the monotony of the noncombatant life and excused his behavior as the natural result of war.[10] During his time in the military Pinkham frequently pursued sexual relationships with women. In Seattle he saw the daughter of one of his older friends and visited Seattle’s red light district. In France he had an affair with a young French widow and later hired a prostitute while on leave. Pinkham derived little comfort from these distractions and could not live up to his own shifting expectations about his military career.

Pinkham considered himself in a personal crisis during his war years, and used literature to develop his beliefs. When he read Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, he saw his own religious struggle in the philosophical agnostic protagonist, Levin. Later when reading Maurice Hewlitt’s Open Country, he identified with the wandering poet protagonist. For a while he read novels by H.G. Wells and tried to adopt a fatalistic attitude. Finally his reading of the New Testament converted him to Christianity. He handled the strains of war both stereotypically through sex and alcohol but also more individually through his philosophical and literary interests. Throughout his war years, Pinkham futilely searched for a philosophy that seemed meaningful to him and an antidote to his persistent malaise. After the war, Pinkham felt strangely uncomfortable in America after so long an absence. He continued his wandering life, but then settled down as the postmaster in his hometown of Milton, New Hampshire.

Harold Pinkham ‘15
Milton, New Hampshire
Corporal, 161st Infantry, Formerly the Washington National Guard

This Series: During World War I, 3,407 Dartmouth men were uprooted from campus, graduate school, or their early careers to serve in a modern war unlike any previous American military engagement.[11] Four of them, Harold Pinkham ’15, George Dock ’16, Edward Kirkland ’16, and Wainwright Merrill ’19, left records of their war experience in the Rauner Special Collections Library. All four matched the demographics of the College at the time and were united by their experiences at progressive prewar Dartmouth, but despite their somewhat similar backgrounds, their personalities were quite different. Their stories speak to the diverse beliefs, experiences, and sources of comfort of Dartmouth men involved in World War I.

Ask for MS-62.

1Harold Pinkham, “War Years,” Dartmouth College. The Papers of Harold Batchelder Pinkham at Dartmouth College. 1978, 2.
2Keene, 8.
3Keene, 15.
4Harold Pinkham, “War Years,” Dartmouth College. The Papers of Harold Batchelder Pinkham at Dartmouth College. 1978, 7.
5Harold Pinkham, “War Years,” Dartmouth College. The Papers of Harold Batchelder Pinkham at Dartmouth College. 1978, 32.
6Harold Pinkham, “War Years,” Dartmouth College. The Papers of Harold Batchelder Pinkham at Dartmouth College. 1978, 71.
7Harold Pinkham, “War Years,” Dartmouth College. The Papers of Harold Batchelder Pinkham at Dartmouth College. 1978, 94.
8Harold Pinkham, “War Years,” Dartmouth College. The Papers of Harold Batchelder Pinkham at Dartmouth College. 1978, 105.
9Harold Pinkham, “War Years,” Dartmouth College. The Papers of Harold Batchelder Pinkham at Dartmouth College. 1978, 142.
10Harold Pinkham, “War Years,” Dartmouth College. The Papers of Harold Batchelder Pinkham at Dartmouth College. 1978, 50.
11Charles Wood, The Hill Winds Know Their Name: A Guide to Dartmouth’s War Memorials. Hanover N.H.: Dartmouth College Office of Public Affairs, 2001, 6.  

Friday, September 19, 2014

North Britain or Scotland?

In the wake of the Scottish referendum, we thought we'd share a little gem in our collection that has varying degrees of connection to independence, Scotland, and Great Britain (although not to the West Lothian question). George Taylor and Andrew Skinner were Scottish surveyors from Aberdeen who initially rose to prominence through their careful mapping of the post road between London and Bath. For their next endeavor, in 1776, the two men published what amounted to the first road map ever made of Scotland.  Needless to say, this was also an important year for yet another group of oppressed colonists of England. Less than a decade later, Taylor and Skinner would journey west across the Atlantic to ply their trade in the new country of the United States of America.

The atlas consists of 62 plates, each containing three side-by-side sections of a long strip of road. All but one radiate outward from Edinburgh at a one inch to one mile scale. The atlas includes a detailed chart at the front of the book that gives the distances between each stage of the journey as well as the total distance from Edinburgh. In their explanation of the chart,Taylor and Skinner assure the nervous traveler that "There are good inns on all the Roads, with Post Chaises and Horses at every Stage, as far North as Inverness by Aberdeen," an area with which they were well acquainted. In closing, the two express their confidence that the public road system will be soon completed in the north because "a Spirit of Improvement prevails throughout Scotland." One might venture to say that the recent referendum suggests that such a spirit still lives on in the hearts and minds of the Scottish people, even though there may be some differences of opinion as to what form that improvement should take.


To see our copy of Taylor and Skinner's Survey of the Roads of North Britain or Scotland, walk into Rauner and ask to see Rare G1826.P2 T3 1776. If you aren't able to come by but would like to see more, the National Library of Scotland has scanned the book in its entirety and made it available online to the public.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

A War to End All Wars: "Necessary, Just & Righteous"

Kirkland at Bowdoin
Edward C. Kirkland, Class of 1916, was an intellectual through and though. At Dartmouth, he was in the first honor group and a member of Phi Beta Kappa.[1] After graduating in the spring of 1916, Kirkland enrolled in a PhD program in economic history at Harvard. When America declared war, despite opposing military solutions to the conflict, Kirkland shelved his PhD studies and volunteered for the Harvard Ambulance Corps on June 2, 1917. Now that Americans were involved, Kirkland felt a duty to act and believed that volunteering quickly would relieve his conscience from “fretting, worrying, and doubting.”[2] Kirkland’s parents had difficulty accepting his decision to volunteer, but Kirkland was thereby able to select the Ambulance Corps. One soldier pithily summarized the advantages of volunteering, “You can pick any branch you want now, later they pick you.”[3] Still, only 28% of Americans who fought in World War I volunteered, while 72% waited for their service to be conscripted.

After volunteering, Kirkland was sent to a training camp in Allentown, Pennsylvania. Kirkland left Boston amidst a crowd of crying mothers and waving American flags but considered the talk of heroics unjustified. To Kirkland, his role in the war was practical, but not valiant. At camp he reported that after being paraded around town he felt like “such a superficial hero.”[4] Otherwise he adjusted well to military camp life. He joked to his mother in a letter, “I thank my bringing up for many things, but just now for the ability to eat everything.”[5] During the Harvard section’s week on kitchen service, Kirkland and a friend were placed on butter duty. In his letters Kirkland hilariously recounted the challenges of mixing 300 pounds of oleo margarine with yellow coloring every day for a week.[6] After spending more than two months training, Kirkland arrived in France on August 21, 1917.

Like George Dock, Class of 1916, Kirkland was first stationed at Bar-Le-Duc. In October, he moved to La Grange aux Bois in the Argonne. During the war, he was also stationed in Haudainville, near the Verdun front, and in the Chateau-Thierry Sector during the allied offensive of August 1918. Kirkland seemed content with his noncombat role. He downplayed the risks of his position by joking that helmets were very handy for preventing bumping one’s head and regretted that gas masks were not necessary in his region because they gave one “a snappy appearance.”[7] In November 1917 all of Kirkland’s ambulance work was ferrying the wounded to hospitals behind the line, so he could easily pen these jokes to comfort his anxious family.

Kirkland's Alumni War Record
During the winter of 1917-1918, though, he was stationed close to Verdun’s front line, and he admitted to feeling more vulnerable. He was disturbed by the cries of the wounded in his ambulance, but comforted himself with the thought that “if the [wounded] are making a racket they are probably not intending to die on you.”[8] On one mission Kirkland was hit by a gas bombardment while driving up a very steep hill near the front. He could not stop because of the grade of the hill, but his gas mask was stuck between the seats out of reach. His nose smarted as he drove, and he started to cough, but the gas cleared by the time they reached the top. He received a Croix de Guerre for his bravery. Kirkland acknowledged that the “Croix de Guerre may be as common as Phi Beta Kappa keys in Cambridge, but still I am happy.”[9] Within his ambulance unit, Kirkland found a group of like minded men. His compatriots nicknamed the group “the intellectuals.”[10] In their unit the group established a renting library and offered books for 50 cents a week. The proceeds went towards the purchase of new volumes. Kirkland and two others also wrote a newspaper for their unit called, Every Little Detail.

Kirkland comforted himself throughout the war with these intellectual pursuits, but at the end of the war, the joy of the Armistice was coupled with the distressing news of the death of his good Dartmouth friend, Harold Bridgman Stedman, Class of 1916, who contracted influenza and died in a training camp at Fort Slocum, New York. Reminded so recently of the human costs of war, Kirkland greeted the news of the Armistice with an increased determination that the peace should be a righteous one that would “purge our minds of prejudices and hate.” Though most of the allied countries held the Germans in contempt and called them “Brute, Barbarians, and Huns,” Kirkland believed that their sins were sins of the mind that could be remedied through education, not sins of the heart.[11]

Kirkland, who at the beginning of the war disapproved of the conflict and saw it as the result of irresponsible militarist governments, admitted, “I have changed my view, you see, since I entered the army. The war was necessary and just and righteous in order to overthrow a pernicious philosophy, the philosophy of brute force.” Kirkland believed that the war could usher in a new era of peace, or at least a time where war would be less common. He was concerned, though, that “America was as unprepared for peace as she had been for war” and that if a spirit of vindictiveness prevailed at peace talks, the great suffering on both sides would have been for nothing. As an ambulance driver Kirkland knew intimately the human suffering caused by war, and was “not anxious for another war.”[12] He considered the ideologies at stake and ultimately agreed with Wilson that fighting “a war to end all wars” was justifiable. Kirkland, however, lived to see WWII. After completing his PhD course at Harvard, he taught history for many years at Bowdoin College.

Written by Ellen Nye '14.

This Series: During World War I, 3,407 Dartmouth men were uprooted from campus, graduate school, or their early careers to serve in a modern war unlike any previous American military engagement.[13] Four of them, Harold Pinkham ’15, George Dock ’16, Edward Kirkland ’16, and Wainwright Merrill ’19, left records of their war experience in the Rauner Special Collections Library. All four matched the demographics of the College at the time and were united by their experiences at progressive prewar Dartmouth, but despite their somewhat similar backgrounds, their personalities were quite different. Their stories speak to the diverse beliefs, experiences, and sources of comfort of Dartmouth men involved in World War I.

Edward C. Kirkland ’16
Bellows Falls, Vermont
Private First Class, Section Sanitaire Americaine No. 510

Ask for Rauner Alumni K635l.

1Joseph M. Larimer, “Voice of the People.” The Dartmouth: November 9, 1915.
2Kirkland, Edward C. Letter to his parents, June 3, 1918. The Letters of an Ambulance Driver. Rauner Special Collections Library, 1919.
3Keene, 15.
4Kirkland, Edward C. Letter to his parents, July 1, 1917. The Letters of an Ambulance Driver. Rauner Special Collections Library.
5Kirkland, Edward C. Letter to his parents, June 24, 1917. The Letters of an Ambulance Driver. Rauner Special Collections Library, 1919.
6Kirkland, Edward C. Letter to his parents, July 1, 1917. The Letters of an Ambulance Driver. Rauner Special Collections Library, 1919.
7Ibid.
8Kirkland, Edward C. Letter to his parents, February 1, 1918. The Letters of an Ambulance Driver. Rauner Special Collections Library, 1919.
9Kirkland, Edward C. Letter to his parents, January 11, 1918. The Letters of an Ambulance Driver. Rauner Special Collections Library, 1919.
10Kirkland, Edward C. The Letters of an Ambulance Driver. Rauner Special Collections Library, 1919, “Dear Ma and Pa,” February 17, 1918.
11Kirkland, Edward C. Letter to his parents, November 13, 1918. The Letters of an Ambulance Driver. Rauner Special Collections Library, 1919.
12Ibid.
13Charles Wood, The Hill Winds Know Their Name: A Guide to Dartmouth’s War Memorials. Hanover N.H.: Dartmouth College Office of Public Affairs, 2001, 6.  

Friday, September 12, 2014

Oh, that I had a Steam Launch

It's our 500th posting on this blog, and yesterday was our fifth anniversary. What to blog for such an auspicious occasion? The traditional fifth anniversary gift is made of wood--we did that once, no wait twice, and so many of our books have wood in them that would be too easy. The most glamorous "500" item we can think of is the publisher's mock up for Dr. Seuss's second book, the 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins.  But, really, we blog Seuss all the time. There is always the line in Richard Hovey's "Eleazer Wheelock" satirically referring to five hundred gallons of New England rum, but we're not sure we want to celebrate that way.... Luckily, current events have stepped in, and we always try to be timely.

Earlier this week the Canadian government discovered one of the lost ships belonging to the John Franklin expedition. The most recent search has been going since 2008, but it was the intensive search for Franklin spearheaded by his wife, Lady Jane Franklin, that captured the world's attention in the 1850s and successfully mapped vast regions of the Arctic. The story does not have a happy ending. In 1854 John Rae discovered relics from Franklin's expedition and interviewed Inuit witnesses that established the death of the crew.

You would think that Rae would have been seen as a hero for his efforts, but he also discovered evidence of cannibalism that cast a shadow on the men the world had made lost heroes. Even after Rae's discovery, Lady Franklin continued her efforts to not only find possible survivors but exonerate them of any behavior not fitting a British Naval officer. In this letter, she conveys the frustration of one of the searchers, who felt that large sailing ships were at a disadvantage in polar seas, stating, "Oh that I had a steam launch, or a small vessel of 100 tons but chiefly a steam vessel!"

Our extensive Stefansson Collection on Polar Exploration has dozens of items related to the Franklin Expedition and the ensuing search.

You can see some of Lady Franklin's letters by asking for Stef Ms-180. And to read a sensational pamphlet on Rae's find, ask for The Dreadful Fate of Sir J. Franklin and the Brave Crews in the Arctic Expeditions (London, Saunders, Brothers, 185-) at Stef G660.D72.

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

A War to End All Wars: "Dying for a Cause"

Training Trenches at
Dartmouth College

Wainwright Merrill's, Class of 1919, war correspondence oozes with good-humor, idealism, and enthusiasm. He spent only one year studying English literature at Dartmouth (1915-1916), but even as a 17-year-old Dartmouth freshman, he believed in preparing the United States for war. He was an active member of the first controversial military drill battalion at Dartmouth that began training in February of 1916.[1] The group practiced marching in formation on the green, learned about artillery, and simulated the war experience by digging trenches near the football field. In addition to his training at Dartmouth he attended camp at Plattsburg, New York, a well-known volunteer pre-enlistment military training program organized by private citizens.[2] In the fall of 1916, Merrill transferred to Harvard, perhaps to be closer to his family in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Despite his premature departure, Merrill remembered Dartmouth fondly and believed that he could recognize a Dartmouth man anywhere, because the school “does put a sort of brand upon a man.”[3]

Merrill’s love of English literature extended to all people and things English. He occasionally referred to the English as “his countrymen” and admitted, “I like England very, very much. I could easily love it as a home, and it is surely greatly worth fighting for.” After the British had endured two years of combat, Merrill decided that he could no longer continue drilling and waiting. He left his home at Cambridge in November of 1916 to volunteer as a gunner in the Canadian Field Artillery. Only eighteen, he was considered a minor by the Canadian military, and his father did not consent to his involvement, so Merrill assumed the false name Arthur A. Stanley.[4] In a letter home to his father, Merrill explained that he “could not, in honour, stay out if America should take no action.”[5] So, Merrill’s great love of all things English propelled him into war and he soon found himself on his way to England.
Students on Parade, Dartmouth College
From November 1916 to October 1917 at a training camp in England, Merrill was instructed specifically on operating the 8-inch Howitzers, massive guns fired from far behind the front lines. During his adjustment to military life in England, he decided that saying “Cheerio” was the best cure for war gloom.[6] When on leave, he explored the English countryside and overstayed his leave of absence several times. Finally he was placed in “the clink,” a solitary cell, as punishment for absence without leave. Merrill was unperturbed though, and simply brought his large collection of reading material with him: Shakespeare, Tennyson, Canterbury Tales, Vergil’s Aeneid I-VI, Wilhelm Tell, The Golden Treasury, Pickwick, poems by Rudyard Kipling, French, German, and English Dictionaries, the Daily Telegraph, Horace, The Iliad, and Don Quixote. He also penned a short poem titled “Ye Ballad of ye Clink” while confined.

One of Merrill’s only frustrations was that he was just a private. Merrill does not explain why his college education and previous training experience did not earn him a commission as an officer, but it may have been a consequence of using an assumed name. On October 18, 1917, Merrill was posted to Boulogne-sur-Mer, France, and was then stationed near Ypres in Flanders, Belgium. There he operated guns at the front, firing at unseen targets and relying on aviator’s reports to determine if the shots met their mark. During combat, he kept his optimism joking, “the Front is not so black as it is painted—though it is quite as brown with khaki and no end of Flanders mud.”[7]

Merrill’s cheerful determination ended on November 6, 1917, when a German artillery shell exploded in his barracks, killing him. Merrill was only nineteen and had been in Belgium less than a month. Ten days before his death when he was assigned to the front, Merrill wrote to his friend from Harvard, Edward Hubbard, and contemplated the possibility of his death:
It's mighty hard, Ed leaving everything back there, perhaps for good and all. So if it should be that, friend, I'll say good-bye—but God! how can one—a couple of simple words and it’s over, and you go up to the Line, and try to laugh, or smile at least, and swallow it down. But it's part of the game, of course, and it is a noble end which we seek out of the ruck and jetsam of death and broken men and lasting sorrow.[8]
Merrill died when he had just begun to experience the realities of war. He never wrote regretfully about his decision to join the military, and as this passage shows, he considered dying in the war “a noble end.” Wainwright Merrill was one of the many young, good-humored, and idealistic men whose lives were ended prematurely by the war.

Written by Ellen Nye '14.

This Series: During World War I, 3,407 Dartmouth men were uprooted from campus, graduate school, or their early careers to serve in a modern war unlike any previous American military engagement.[9] Four of them, Harold Pinkham ’15, George Dock ’16, Edward Kirkland ’16, and Wainwright Merrill ’19, left records of their war experience in the Rauner Special Collections Library. All four matched the demographics of the College at the time and were united by their experiences at progressive prewar Dartmouth, but despite their somewhat similar backgrounds, their personalities were quite different. Their stories speak to the diverse beliefs, experiences, and sources of comfort of Dartmouth men involved in World War I.

Wainwright Merrill ’19 
Cambridge, Massachusetts 
Private, Canadian Field Artillery 

Ask for Rauner Alumni M5525c.

1“Military Advocates to Organize Monday Night: Elementary Drill will be begun under direction of Army Officer.” The Dartmouth: January 13, 1916, “Over 500 Men Attend Preparedness Meeting.” The Dartmouth: January 22, 1916, and “Battalion Drill Begins.” The Dartmouth: February 5, 1916
2Wainwright Merrill and Charles Miner Stearns. A College Man in Khaki, Letters of an American in the British Artillery. New York: George H. Doran Co, 1918, vii.
3Merilll, Letter to Charles Miner Stearns, his English professor at Dartmouth, November 5, 1917.
4Merrill, vii.
5Merilll, Letter to his father, June 29, 1917.
6Merrill, Letter to Mrs. Clark, August 18, 1917.
7Merrill, Letter to his father, November 2, 1917.
8Merrill, To Edward Hubbard, October 28, 1917.
9Charles Wood, The Hill Winds Know Their Name: A Guide to Dartmouth’s War Memorials. Hanover N.H.: Dartmouth College Office of Public Affairs, 2001, 6.