I slept in my blanket, my first night under fire, with a lump of cheese
at my feet, as a bribe to the rats to spare my face. Not that I slept
much. The night rocked with sound. The night is the true time for
fighting, and the wire-cutters were creeping about on their dangerous
errands between the trenches. The rockets now and then hissed skyward,
throwing their powerful flares of light over the darkened world.
Wounded men groaned. And rats, like flies in Summer, scuttled about,
making queer noises, which we could hear in momentary lulls. I had not
lain there long before an officer called for volunteers to examine
the land between our trench and the enemy's and repair our broken
barbed wire entanglements. The wires are destroyed every day by the
bombardment, and must be repaired every night. It is a most dangerous
duty. Yet, I gladly volunteer, with Aurele, Auguste, and other friends.
While we were at work upon the wires the Germans threw up some flares
and turned our protecting darkness into the glare of midday. They
poured upon us a deadly fire. We dropped among the dead bodies which
littered the ground. And long I lay, sprawled across the corpse of some
brave German lad killed there many days before--constrained to feign
death to save my life. But we did not all escape. Martin of Montreal
was killed and many of our little party were wounded. But, as usual,
I came back at last, moving painfully on my stomach, uninjured. I
reported to Captain Desserre and told him all that I had heard and
seen. And then I went back to sleep upon empty sandbags; and a cold,
cold night it was.
I awoke at 7 o'clock, sore and stiff. I soon had kindled a little fire
and cooked a slice of bacon and steeped a little tea for my chum,
Aurele Roy of Montreal, and myself.
"I can lick the whole German Army alone this morning!" I exclaimed in
French, warmed by the tea.
"Not alone!" cried Roy, reviving also under the influence of our
breakfast, "for if you begin to lick 'em, I'll be beside you." And we
laughed together, little dreaming how soon our brave words would be put
to the test.
I did my turn at guard duty almost cheerfully. I cleaned my rifle and
bayonet, shaved myself, and washed up a little, and then thought I
would get a little more rest while I could. But, alas, some one had
stolen my two empty sandbags! So I took off my overcoat and spread it
on the ground and covered myself with a blanket. The sun meanwhile
was shining hotly on the heaps of dead bodies which lay not far away
outside the trench. I was glad to cover my head with a blanket to shut
out some of the awful stench. And that is how the smell of decaying
bodies saved my life.
Arthur Robillard, a car conductor back in Montreal, was on guard duty.
I was roused when he fell over me. As I sat up something got me by the
throat and began to strangle out my life. The air was rent with awful
cries. Many of my comrades lay dying and dead about me. I hurled myself
in semi-madness into a huge crater near by, made by a bursting shell.
There was a little muddy water at the bottom, and I fell in it, face
down.
The water relieved me a little, and I wet my handkerchief in it and
covered my face. The green, stinking air was thus shut out, and I
began to breathe easier. I crawled out, and half blindly sought my
unconscious chum, dragging him back ten yards into the crater where
the water was. I laid him face downward there, and he, too, revived a
little, and there we lay, waiting for death.
Ten minutes later, I heard a shouting, and knew that the Germans were
coming fast. Then I ran back into my trench, got my gun, and began
firing as fast as I could. The rifle soon became so hot that it burned
my hands. I threw it down and began throwing bombs. The order to
retreat to the next trench came. My half-strangled comrade was with
me. We ran together and, looking back, saw the big, strapping gray
fellows of the Teuton army leaping down into our trench.
I forgot the rheumatism from which I had been suffering for several
days when I saw them come, (we all suffer from rheumatism, it is one of
the curses of the trenches). Meanwhile, the French had retired to their
fourth line, and we were left, almost surrounded, with our left flank
exposed and annihilation threatening us.
Somehow we got hold of two machine-guns, and placed them where they
would do the most good. One of these was running 560 shots a minute,
and the other--blessed French destroyer!--was pouring out death at the
rate of 700 shots a minute.