AFTERNOON TEA
One day in my turn I went out on service to the small town of B——.
The front-line trenches were located just outside the village. Upon our
arrival, shortly after noon, in this town we obtained our meal from
a soup kitchen that was tucked away in a sort of a driveway between
two demolished houses. It was an ideal location for a soup kitchen,
for, from all outward appearances, no one would ever think that this
desolate spot would be picked out or utilized by anyone for any purpose
whatsoever. After eating we started out for the post. This was the
first time we had gone up to the front-line trenches covering this
particular sector of the front.
After we had proceeded some three hundred yards, we came to a place
where the trenches passed through a small clump of woods, in which was
located one of our advanced artillery observation posts. Here we were
met by a sergeant major, who informed us that we had better exercise
a great deal of caution in our advance of the next hundred yards,
which was the distance that separated us from our front line. It was
necessary to pass through a gulley and the trench we were in was only
shoulder high. The Boche trenches were so close to our front line that
the enemy, by posting men in the trees behind their lines, were in a
position to observe what transpired in the gulley, we were about to
enter.
We climbed out of the trench, and, with the aid of field glasses,
carefully scrutinized the taller trees to ascertain whether or not the
Boche at this time was on the lookout. As we did not see anything that
attracted undue attention, we decided to take a chance and proceed.
Crouching, we advanced some fifty yards. In passing one place that was
particularly low, we were observed and the next second brought a hail
of machine-gun bullets which kicked up the dust all about us. In front
of us, some fifteen or twenty feet away, I noticed another spot where
the side walls of the trench did not afford much protection and at the
same instant, or just long enough for a man to proceed from one opening
to another, came a stream of machine-gun bullets in front of us.
It was a case of being between the devil and the deep sea; all we could
do was to remain in the position where we were protected. We finally
decided that by crawling on our hands and knees we could get past the
second opening. This we did without being observed and the last we
heard of our sniping Boche friend was a few shots intermittently fired
in the hope of picking us off.
Arriving at the front line, we proceeded along the machine-gun
positions, and, finally, entered a small communicating trench which
led into the lieutenant’s dug-out. We descended and found our friend
seated at a table, pondering over military maps and familiarizing
himself with this particular sector which our division had just taken
over. While we were conversing, one of the under officers reported the
completion of a “_Petit Post_” (listening post). The lieutenant
inquired if I would care to accompany him in looking it over. Of course
I would.
The general direction we took immediately impressed me as being toward
the location of our Boche friend, who was planted in a tree based upon
the angle that the machine-gun bullets came from. But we did not have
to give much consideration to him, as the side wall of our trench
nearest to his position was over six feet high and afforded complete
cover. We soon arrived at our destination—sixty feet from the Boche
front line.
The instruction completed, two soldiers were stationed here and became
a part of the defense for this sector. We were soon on our way to the
rear. We passed through the gulley where we had been held up on the way
out without attracting any attention. Arriving at the town of B——, we
obtained our tinned meat with four large potatoes, sought a quiet spot
and built a fire to prepare our evening meal.
Suddenly we were startled by the hum of a shell, as it passed over
us and burst in a field just beyond. Then came a second, which burst
closer; then a third. My companion and I looked at each other in
amazement—then, thinking that the smoke from our fire was the cause of
the shelling, we quickly stamped it out and poured water on the spot
where our spoiled dinner had been sending up delightful odors only a
moment before. We ran as fast as good legs could carry us into an old
house near by that afforded better protection in the event of a shell
breaking near us.
The shells kept coming for about ten minutes, then stopped. Cautiously,
we returned to where our fire had been and were considering the
possible salvage when the hum of a motor attracted our attention to a
Boche aviator flying directly over our heads. We were only about five
hundred yards back of our first-line trench, toward which the Boche
plane proceeded. It went directly over the trench, swooped down and
raked it from one end to the other with machine-gun fire. Circling
back, he returned as far in the rear as we were and then again made a
run for the front line to open up with his machine gun as he dived for
it.
In the open we afforded him a fine mark, but each time as he flew
back toward us we saw to it that there was a brick wall between him
and ourselves. By this time he had attracted the attention of our
anti-aircraft guns and they began shooting shrapnel at him as he
circled, and the machine guns in our front-line trenches also shot in
our direction as they followed the flyer to the rear. As the shrapnel
and pieces of the exploded shells fell like rain around us, we decided
to give up our supper as a bad job, and went to sleep hungry that
night.
We walked up the street and passed the _Post du Succors_. The
stretcher-bearers had begun to bring in the wounded. One man had lost
most of his head. Accustomed as I was to such scenes, the sight of this
man’s condition was the last straw in the way of gruesome experiences,
and I was glad to get away and to bed.