_Night Duty_
A few days after our arrival at the front I had my first experience
of a night call. It was very dark and we had to feel our way forward.
Nothing gives one a stronger sense of the nearness of war than such a
trip. The dark houses, deserted streets, the dim shape of the sentry
at the end of the town, the night scents of the fields as one passes
slowly along them, are things not to be forgotten. We strained our
eyes in the darkness to avoid other vehicles, all, like our own, going
without lights. In those days, not being so well known as we are
now, the sentries challenged us: their "_Halte-là_" in the darkness
brought us frequently to an abrupt stop. As we drew near the trenches
we heard the guns very clearly, and saw over the crest of a hill the
illuminating rockets with which both armies throw a glare over their
attacks. They throw a greenish and ghastly light over the country,
hanging in the air a few seconds before falling. At our destination
everything was dark. We left the cars in the road and went up under
the trees to the _poste de secours_. Here we found some men sleeping
on straw, but had to wait close upon two hours before our wounded were
ready. From time to time a battery of 75's startled us in the woods
near by. At last in a drizzling rain we came back to quarters, passing
several small bodies of soldiers marching silently up to the trenches.
Another night, remaining near the trenches till half-past four in the
morning, I saw the wounded brought in, in the gray of dawn, from a
series of attacks and counter-attacks. I had been waiting in one of
the _postes de secours_, where, by candlelight, particulars were being
written down of the various wounded. The surgeon, in a long white linen
coat, in many places stained with blood, was busy with his scissors.
Many wounded lay on straw round the room, and at rare intervals one
heard a groan. The air was warm and heavy, full of the smell of wounds
and iodine. A window was opened, the light of morning making the
candles dim and smoky, and it was pleasant to go out into the cool air.
The wounded being brought in looked cold and wretched. There were many
who had been hit in the face or head--more than one was blind.
I overheard a few words spoken between a _brancardier_ and a wounded
man who--rare sign of suffering--was weeping. "You will be safe
now--you are going to your wife," spoken in tones of sympathy for
comfort, and the reply: "No, no, I am dying."... Later, as the sun was
rising and lifting the blue mist in the hollows of the hill, I watched
some shells bursting in a field; a brown splash of earth, a ball of
smoke which drifted slowly away.