"INTO THE TRENCH"
The next morning the draft was inspected by our General, and we were
assigned to different companies. The boys in the Brigade had nicknamed
this general Old Pepper, and he certainly earned the sobriquet. I was
assigned to B Company with another American named Stewart.
For the next ten days we "rested," repairing roads for the Frenchies,
drilling, and digging bombing trenches.
One morning we were informed that we were going up the line, and our
march began.
It took us three days to reach reserve billets--each day's march
bringing the sound of the guns nearer and nearer. At night, way off in
the distance we could see their flashes, which lighted up the sky with
a red glare.
Against the horizon we could see numerous observation balloons or
"sausages" as they are called.
On the afternoon of the third day's march I witnessed my first
aeroplane being shelled. A thrill ran through me and I gazed in awe.
The aeroplane was making wide circles in the air, while little puffs
of white smoke were bursting all around it. These puffs appeared like
tiny balls of cotton while after each burst could be heard a dull
"plop." The Sergeant of my platoon informed us that it was a German
aeroplane and I wondered how he could tell from such a distance
because the plane deemed like a little black speck in the sky. I
expressed my doubt as to whether it was English, French, or German.
With a look of contempt he further informed us that the allied
anti-aircraft shells when exploding emitted white smoke while the
German shells gave forth black smoke, and, as he expressed it, "It
must be an Allemand because our pom-poms are shelling, and I know our
batteries are not off their bally nappers and are certainly not
strafeing our own planes, and another piece of advice--don't chuck
your weight about until you've been up the line and learnt something."
I immediately quit "chucking my weight about" from that time on.
Just before reaching reserve billets we were marching along, laughing,
and singing one of Tommy's trench ditties--
"I want to go home,
I want to go home,
I don't want to go to the trenches no more
Where sausages and whizz-bangs are galore.
Take me over the sea, where the Allemand can't get at me,
Oh, my, I don't want to die,
I want to go home"--
when overhead came a "swish" through the air, rapidly followed by
three others. Then about two hundred yards to our left in a large
field, four columns of black earth and smoke rose into the air, and
the ground trembled from the report,--the explosion of four German
five-nine's, or "coal-boxes." A sharp whistle blast, immediately
followed by two short ones, rang out from the head of our column. This
was to take up "artillery formation." We divided into small squads and
went into the fields on the right and left of the road, and crouched
on the ground. No other shells followed this salvo. It was our first
baptism by shell fire. From the waist up I was all enthusiasm, but
from there down, everything was missing. I thought I should die with
fright.
After awhile, we re-formed into columns of fours, and proceeded on our
way.
About five that night, we reached the ruined village of H--, and I got
my first sight of the awful destruction caused by German Kultur.
Marching down the main street we came to the heart of the village, and
took up quarters in shell-proof cellars (shell proof until hit by a
shell). Shells were constantly whistling over the village and bursting
in our rear, searching for our artillery.
These cellars were cold, damp, and smelly, and overrun with large
rats--big black fellows. Most of the Tommies slept with their overcoats
over their faces. I did not. In the middle of the night I woke up in
terror. The cold, clammy feet of a rat had passed over my face. I
immediately smothered myself in my overcoat, but could not sleep for
the rest of that night.
Next evening, we took over our sector of the line. In single file we
wended our way through a zigzag communication trench, six inches deep
with mud. This trench was called "Whiskey Street." On our way up to
the front line an occasional flare of bursting shrapnel would light up
the sky and we could hear the fragments slapping the ground above us
on our right and left. Then a Fritz would traverse back and forth with
his "typewriter" or machine gun. The bullets made a sharp cracking
noise overhead.
{Illustration: Diagram Showing Typical Front-Line and Communication
Trenches.}
The boy in front of me named Prentice crumpled up without a word. A
piece of shell had gone through his shrapnel-proof helmet. I felt sick
and weak.
In about thirty minutes we reached the front Hue. It was dark as
pitch. Every now and then a German star shell would pierce the
blackness out in front with its silvery light. I was trembling all
over, and felt very lonely and afraid. All orders were given in
whispers. The company we relieved filed past us and disappeared into
the blackness of the communication trench leading to the rear. As they
passed us, they whispered, "The best o' luck mates."
I sat on the fire step of the trench with the rest of the men. In each
traverse two of the older men had been put on guard with their heads
sticking over the top, and with their eyes trying to pierce the
blackness in "No Man's Land." In this trench there were only two
dugouts, and these were used by Lewis and Vickers, machine gunners, so
it was the fire step for ours. Pretty soon it started to rain. We put
on our "macks," but they were not much protection. The rain trickled
down our backs, and it was not long before we were wet and cold. How I
passed that night I will never know, but without any unusual
occurrence, dawn arrived.
The word "stand down" was passed along the line, and the sentries got
down off the fire step. Pretty soon the rum issue came along, and it
was a Godsend. It warmed our chilled bodies and put new life into us.
Then from the communication trenches came dixies or iron pots, filled
with steaming tea, which had two wooden stakes through their handles,
and were carried by two men. I filled my canteen and drank the hot tea
without taking it from my lips. It was not long before I was asleep in
the mud on the fire step.
My ambition had been attained! I was in a front-line trench on the
Western Front, and oh, how I wished I were back in Jersey City.