OUT IN FRONT
After tea, Lieutenant Stores of our section came into the dugout and
informed me that I was "for" a reconnoitering patrol and would carry
six Mills bombs.
At 11.30 that night twelve men, our Lieutenant, and myself went out in
front on a patrol in No Man's Land.
We cruised around in the dark for about two hours, just knocking about
looking for trouble, on the lookout for Boche working parties to see
what they were doing.
Around two in the morning we were carefully picking our way, about
thirty yards in front of the German barbed wire, when we walked into a
Boche covering party nearly thirty strong. Then the music started, the
fiddler rendered his bill, and we paid.
Fighting in the dark with a bayonet is not very pleasant. The Germans
took it on the run, but our officer was no novice at the game and
didn't follow them. He gave the order "down on the ground, hug it
close."
Just in time, too, because a volley skimmed over our heads. Then in
low tones we were told to separate and crawl back to our trenches,
each man on his own.
We could see the flashes of their rifles in the darkness, but the
bullets were going over our heads.
We lost three men killed and one wounded in the arm. If it hadn't been
for our officers' quick thinking the whole patrol would have probably
been wiped out.
After about twenty minutes' wait we went out again and discovered that
the Germans had a wiring party working on their barbed wire. We
returned to our trenches unobserved with the information and our
machine guns immediately got busy.
The next night four men were sent out to go over and examine the
German barbed wire and see if they had cut lanes through it; if so,
this presaged an early morning attack on our trenches.
Of course, I had to be one of the four selected for the job. It was
just like sending a fellow to the undertakers to order his own coffin.
At ten o'clock we started out, armed with three bombs, a bayonet, and
revolver. After getting into No Man's Land we separated. Crawling four
or five feet at a time, ducking star shells, with strays cracking over
head, I reached their wire. I scouted along this inch by inch,
scarcely breathing. I could hear them talking in their trench, my
heart was pounding against my ribs. One false move or the least noise
from me meant discovery and almost certain death.
After covering my sector I quietly crawled back. I had gotten about
half-way, when I noticed that my revolver was missing. It was pitch
dark. I turned about to see if I could find it; it couldn't be far
away, because about three or four minutes previously I had felt the
butt in the holster. I crawled around in circles and at last found it,
then started on my way back to our trenches, as I thought.
Pretty soon I reached barbed wire, and was just going to give the
password, when something told me not to. I put out my hand and touched
one of the barbed wire stakes. It was iron. The British are of wood,
while the German are iron. My heart stopped beating; by mistake I had
crawled back to the German lines.
I turned slowly about and my tunic caught on the wire and made a loud
ripping noise.
A sharp challenge rang out. I sprang to my feet, ducking low, and ran
madly back toward our lines. The Germans started firing. The bullets
were biting all around me, when bang! I ran smash into our wire, and a
sharp challenge "'Alt, who comes there?" rang out. I gasped out the
password and groping my way through the lane in the wire, tearing my
hands and uniform, I tumbled into our trench and was safe, but I was a
nervous wreck for an hour, until a drink of rum brought me round.