THE LAST FIGHT
Midnight; we were sleeping in an orchard about a mile back of the
lines; I was awakened by a sergeant and told to "Fall in." We did
so, and the captain told us what we had to do.
"Boys, you are going to try and take Redoubt B; the artillery, what
we have of it, will shell their first line for half an hour, and then
will lift and play on their second line. While they are doing this
you will go over. There's a lot of us who are not going to come
back, but the job must be done and I know you will do it."
While he was speaking, thoughts of mother, father and home surged
more vividly through my mind than at any other time, but moments for
reflection were few. We swung out of the orchard on to the road and
nothing could be heard except the dull sound of trudging feet.
Flares would shoot up into the sky, to hang suspended for a moment,
and die away leaving everything in gloom once more. Every now and
then a muffled shriek or a coughing gurgle would tell of the passing
or wounding of some gallant lad.
By that corner of hell we trudged silently, every man busy with his
own thoughts. At last we turned up the death trap to our left, on
the famous Z---- road. Over its ghastly piles of dead we filed on
for many yards without touching solid ground, so thickly lay the dead.
At this time we were sighted by the Huns and treated to a fusillade
of machine guns and rifle fire. We were now almost to shelter and
the men made their way, as only men under fire can, to the safety of
a well-constructed trench.
A short rest, then on again, this time up a shallow communication
trench and then out behind a low-lying parapet. Three or four huge
Bavarians lay with faces to the stars; they had been hurriedly laid
to one side by our leading files.
The fitful light of the flares intensified the mute horror of the
fallen jaw and the unspeakable terror of the dead faces. Still, such
sights now failed to move us, and with but a perfunctory glance we
passed on.
Here we waited in silence for the word. What an hour of mental
agony. The steady hammer, hammer of the light guns, the monotonous
bass muttering of the heavies, the shrill, hysterical crackle of
machine gun and rifle and the shrieking and cracking of bursting
shells seemed to sing hell's requiem to us poor mortals waiting. My
God! that waiting. At such a time man's trivial thoughts sink into
utter oblivion and the naked soul shows bare.
Apparently calm and indifferent, yet filled with a fear, the like of
which no one except those who have waited as we waited can
understand, we listened for the word.
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[Illustration: READY FOR A RAID ON THE ENEMY'S TRENCHES.
THE RAIDING PARTY GOING TO "GIVE 'EM HELL."]
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"Over and at them," and the next thing I remember I was plunging
forward through the mud of No Man's Land. On each side of me men
were falling, cursing, praying and gasping, but unscathed I went on,
two things mingling queerly in my head: One was the words of a
doggerel song we sang on the march,
Wash me in the water that you wash the dixies in
And I shall be whiter than the whitewash on the wall,
and the other, a dull wonder why I was not killed. After an
"eternity" of plunging forward, we, a pitiful few, reached our
objective, the Huns hurriedly leaving, that is those of them who had
not joined their comrades in hell. Still our work was not yet done.
The ground had been won, but to take it is one thing, to hold it
another, and with all our officers gone and sixty per cent of the
men, we must work to consolidate.
Just as I seized a sandbag full of earth to place in front of me, I
felt a stinging smack on my ankle, as though I had been kicked. I
turned to curse the man who I thought had kicked me and then I fell
over with a scream of pain. My left foot was smashed completely by a
soft-nosed bullet.
I had merely commenced to feel the sting of the pain when the Huns
rushed us again and it was hand to hand. A Bavarian lunged toward me
with rifle clubbed; I closed my eyes, as I was utterly helpless and
waited for my skull to be smashed. The blow did not fall. I opened
my eyes just in time to see our sergeant-major plunge his bayonet
through the Bavarian's neck. Down flopped the Hun on all fours, with
his hands one on each side convulsively clutching the bayonet, and he
sat immediately opposite me, just a bare few yards intervening,
during all the hours I was there, with a hellish grin on his face.
When the pain of the wound would subside and I would doze away for a
few minutes I would awaken with a shudder, as I thought the dead Hun
was moving his face closer and closer toward mine.
At this time I had an undying instance of the devotion of my chum,
Morgan. He also was wounded, not so badly as I was, but time and
again, at a terrible risk to himself, he would crawl over and help me
regain a more comfortable position, all the time suffering intensely
from his own wound, which was very painful.
Nothing could be done for any of the wounded, so serious was the
position of the remnant of the boys. Their business was to hold what
they had won and the wounded must do the best they could. The
remnant, however, were of the Fifth and they held until relieved and
reinforcements arrived twenty-four hours later.