NIGHTS IN NO MAN'S LAND
"How little I thought that my time was coming
Sudden and splendid, supreme and soon;
And here I am with the bullets humming
As I crawl and I curse the light of the moon.
Out alone, for adventure thirsting,
Out in mysterious No Man's Land;
Prone with the dead when a star-shell, bursting,
Flares on the horrors on every hand.
Yet oh, it's great to be here with danger,
Here in the weird, death-pregnant dark,
In the devil's pasture a stealthy ranger,
When the moon is decently hiding. Hark!
What was that? Was it just the shiver
Of an eerie wind or a clammy hand?
The rustle of grass, or the passing quiver
Of one of the ghosts of No Man's Land?" [1]
The first night "out there." The memory of it still quickens the pulse
and makes the cheek grow pale. How my teeth chattered, my heart beat
almost to suffocation, every splash of a rat was an enemy scout, and
every blade of grass magnified itself into a post for their barbed
wire. I had but gone a few yards when I expected the next instant to
bump into the enemy trenches.
There are strange sounds in No Man's Land; not human sounds, for such
carry far--the beat of a hammer on a post, the sharp twang of unrolling
barbed wire as it catches, and then springs away--voices even come as
through a megaphone in the eerie silence--but these are long-drawn
sighs that penetrate the inner consciousness and hushed murmurs that
fall on the ear of the soul. I have felt a touch on the shoulder as
though one would speak to me when there has been no one by.
It is the grave of ten thousand unburied dead, but the grinning skulls
and quivering jelly or the few rags that flutter in the wind are not
the comrades that we knew. I think their spirits hover near, for they
cannot go to their abiding-place till victory has been won. They are
ever seeking to pierce the veil of sense so that they may add their
strength to our arms, and these make for us of No Man's Land "no
strange place," and give to our sentries encouragement until the land
of No Man vanishes and our possession reaches to the barrier of the
enemy barbed wire. My nights in No Man's Land if added together would
total many months, and I grew to feel that it was one of the safest
places on the whole front.
There was one night when I got a huge fright. I was crawling alongside
a ridge--it had been an old irrigation farm, and this was a low levee
running across--I heard on the other side a splash which I thought was
made by one of the innumerable rats, but I put up my head and looked
over--so did Fritz, not a yard away! We both stared blankly in each
other's face for a long second and then both of us turned and bolted.
This was excusable for a German, but I have no defense. When I went
back to look for him, after a court martial by my own conscience, he
was nowhere to be seen.
There was another night when Fritz got the better of me. In my
explorations I came across a path through his barbed wire which was
evidently the place where his patrols came out. I thought I would
provide a surprise-party for him, so I planted some percussion bombs
and put a small Union Jack in the centre. In the morning the Union
Jack was gone and a German flag in its place. Everybody from the
brigadier down rubbed it in that Fritz was too smart for me.
But after this the tide turned and came in in a flood of ill luck for
Fritz. It was a pitch-black night and the occasional star-shells only
served to make the black more intense when they faded. As we crawled
out one behind the other each had to keep a hand on the foot ahead so
as not to get separated. We made several ineffectual attempts to find
the opening in our barbed wire and then cut a new one. Was this like
the darkness after Calvary? The red signal-rockets ascending from the
enemy's trenches gave no light, but only burnt for a second or two as a
ruddy star. And the green lights turned the vaporous fog a sickly
yellowish green as though it were some new poison-gas of the devils
over there. I led the way straight across. It was too dark to pick a
path and we committed no sacrilege as we trod on the bodies of
forgotten comrades. It was impossible to repress a shudder as the hand
met the clammy flesh, and the spilt light from a rocket exposed the
marble eyeballs and whitened flesh of the cheek with the bared teeth
gleaming yet more white. Our mission was to wait for a German patrol
at the gap in their wire I had previously discovered. We were seeking
identification of the regiments opposing us, and we desired to take at
least one of them alive.
We waited drawn-out minutes while the dark smothered us and our
thoughts haunted us. Minute piled on minute while we suffered the
torture of the heretic who was fastened so that the falling drops of
ice-water would follow each on the selfsame spot. Home and "Love of
Life" sought to drag us back to the shelter of our trenches, but Duty
like an iron stake pinned us there. But the stake was fast loosening
in the soil of our resolution, when we heard the guttural gruntings
that announced the approach of our quarry. We let them pass us and get
well away from their trenches, then silently, like hunters stalking
wild beasts, we followed them. When we were close enough to be almost
overpowered by the smell of sauerkraut and sausage mingling with stale
sweat, my voice rapped out, though muffled by the thick air: "Hands
up!" There was no hesitation in obeying, although there were eight of
them and only six of us. We pointed out the direction for them to go,
and reminded them with our boots that there was no time to waste. We
had only crossed a couple of shell-holes, however, when we came to a
full stop. Presently I understood that they had discovered we were
Australians and were terrified. Probably they had been fed up with
tales about our savagery, that we tortured our prisoners. Anyway, they
would not budge, and we could not carry eight hulking Germans and had
no means of tying them together. Presently, the disturbance attracted
notice from both trenches and there was only one thing to do. My
sergeant called out: "Look out, sir! We'll be seen in a minute. What
will we do?" The contest was short and sharp; they outnumbered us, but
we went to it with a will. It was sheer butchery, but I had rather
send a thousand of the swine down to the fatherland than lose one of my
boys. And perhaps it was charity to some wife and daughter who would
now be free from the brutality of her Teutonic lord and master.
There is nothing so easy as to be lost in No Man's Land. A compass is
useless, for you may be lying on a fifteen-inch shell just covered with
a few inches of earth, and the stars refuse to look down on its pain,
and the sky is always thickly veiled. Turn round three times, and you
don't know which trench to return to. It is an awkward predicament,
and many a time I went blindly forward praying that it was in the right
direction. The German's horn-rimmed glasses but bewilder him the more,
and we have had several of them walk into our arms without intention,
though they soon found that thereby they had bettered themselves.
There was one young Bavarian officer who made this miscalculation. I
saw him moving near our wire in the early dawn. I called to some men
to draw a bead on him but he came toward us and at the last with a run
jumped down into our trench. "Good morning!" I said to him, looking
down my automatic, and you never saw such a crestfallen countenance in
your life. It must have been some shock, expecting to join his own
people and suddenly finding himself in the camp of his enemies. I
found out afterward that he was a young cadet qualifying for his
commission, and this was his first night in the trenches. He evidently
was seeking an iron cross very early in his career. I spat question
after question at him: "What's your regiment?" "How long have you been
in the trenches?" etc., but in English he replied: "I won't tell you
anything. You can't make me!" "All right, old chap, don't get
excited! Come along with me." I took him to the dugout which I shared
with the medical officer in the support-trenches and sent Pat, my
batman, to get together the best meal he could. Pat was a genius as a
provider. None of the other officers liked him, for they suspected he
was the medium for the loss of some of their luxuries, and I always had
a blind eye. On this occasion Pat got together a real slap-up
feed--some tinned sausages, mashed potatoes, strawberry jam, preserved
pears and cream, not forgetting a bottle of champagne. I sent for the
doctor and we fell to with gusto, and never offered his nibs a bite,
though the eyes were popping out of his head, and his mouth watering
with hunger. Toward the end of the meal I said to him: "I can't compel
you to tell me anything, but I am not compelled to feed you. But you
know how to earn something to eat." He began to tell me something I
knew was all rubbish and I swung at him with "You swine! If you tell
me those lies I'll strip your badges off you and send you in as a
private." I was surprised at the effect this threat had on him, though
I knew that was the one thing that never failed in bringing a German
officer to book. He trembled and paled and gave me a lot of
information that I afterward proved to be correct.
Here's a good story of Pat, my old batman, who had been a shearer's
cook in Australia, and looked after me like a father. He was really
too old for the trenches, but this job just suited him. I was very
surprised one day to see him with a German prisoner. He was never in a
charge, and had no business having this man. Probably he had borrowed
him from some other chap. I said to him; "Pat, what on earth are you
doing with Fritz?" "To tell yer the truth, sorr-r, Oi haven't yet made
up my moind!" "Let us have no humbug, take him back to the cage!"
"Very well, sorr-r!" About ten minutes later I saw Pat without his
prisoner. "Here, Pat, what on earth did you do with Fritz?" "Well,
sorr-r, he kept beggin' and beggin' to be let go, so Oi just put a
Mills in his pocket with the pin out, and tould him to run for his
loife!" He would not get fifty yards before it went off!
The trained scout moves very cautiously in No Man's Land, with all his
senses at high tension. After moving from one shell-hole to the next
he lies and listens for a full minute. If there are any human beings
near they will likely betray themselves by loud breathing, a muffled
sneeze, or some rattle of equipment. If satisfied that the way is
clear, he moves forward into another hole. Should he suddenly come
into sight of the enemy, he is taught to freeze instantly, and the
chances are he will not be noticed.
There was one night when I was making a way through the German wire,
and had my hand up cutting a strand, when a sentry poked his head over
the top and looked straight at me not three yards away. I froze
instantly in that attitude but he fired a shot at me which, of course,
went wide, being aimed in the dark. He then sent up a flare, but the
firing of this dazzles a man for several seconds, and then so many
shadows are thrown that I was no more distinct than previously. He
went away, returning a minute or two later to have another look. By
this time I was feeling quite stiff, but he was quite satisfied that no
live man could be there. Had I jumped into a shell-hole, as fear
prompted me to do, he would have roused the whole line, and a bomb
would likely have got me. However, I thought this would be a good
opportunity to take a look into the trench, for I reasoned that this
sentry must be alone or some one else would have put up the flare while
he fired the shot. Probably the rest of his regiment were on a working
fatigue not far away. It was a breastwork trench and I climbed up the
sand-bags, but tripped over a wire at the top and came down with a
clatter. A red flare went up and I heard the feet of many soldiers
running along the duck-boards. I only had time to roll into the ditch
at the foot of the back of the parapet, where I was quite safe from
observation, when they manned their trench to repel the "raid." After
several minutes when about a hundred rifles, several machine-guns, and
a trench-mortar were pouring their fire into No Man's Land, I began to
recover my nerve and saw that it would be a good opportunity to mark
the position of one of these machine-guns which was firing just above
my head. In fact, I could, with ease, have had my hand drilled just by
holding it up. I tore a page out of my note-book and placed it in a
crevice between the sand-bags, just under the gun. Hours afterward
when all was quiet I returned to our own trenches and fastened another
piece of white paper to a bush half-way across No Man's Land that I
noticed was in line with a dead tree close to our "sally-port," and my
first piece of paper. In the morning the artillery observation officer
could see these two pieces of paper quite plainly with his glasses, and
that trench was levelled for fifty yards.
No Man's Land is a place of surprises where death plucks its victims
without warning. There have been some strange deaths there when bodies
lay with unbroken skin, having neither mark of bullet nor shell. Times
when the spirit laid the body down, fair and unmarred human flesh, but
other times when the flesh was rent to ribbons and the bones smashed to
splinters by the force imprisoned in a shell.
Such was the death meted out by justice to six Germans in a listening
post fifty yards in advance of their trench. This party was in the way
of our raid. We could not enter their trench by surprise without first
removing it, and the job fell on me. I prepared a mine of my own. I
took two Stokes shells, changed the time-fuse for instantaneous, took
out the safety-pins holding the lever down by means of an iron ring. I
crept out with these shells just a little before dark so as to arrive
at the position before the Germans. I then put the shells, one on
either side, and connected them with a fine trip-wire tied to each
ring. I hurried from the spot as though the pestilence were after me,
and got back safely--to the surprise of my brother officers who very
consolingly said that they all expected I would blow myself up. At
half past eight, however, there was music in our ears of a loud
explosion in the direction of my mine. Next morning, through the
telescope, could be seen what remained of several Hun carcasses. Pat,
my batman, who was always a Job's comforter, informed me that the
Germans would lie in wait for me to revenge this outrage; but if I had
taken any notice of him, I would never have been able to do my job. He
would come to me some mornings and beg me not to go out in No Man's
Land that night as he had dreamed that I was "kilt," when I generally
consigned him to a place where the English cease from troubling, and
the Irish are at rest.
The enemy did his share in surprises. There was one occasion when I
received word from the Tommies on our right that a large German patrol
had been out on their front all night. As they did not attack I was
considerably worried as to what they were up to, knowing they would not
be there for the benefit of their health. I was responsible that our
portion of the line should be guarded from surprise, and fear of some
unknown calamity that might spring upon us from the dark made me so
concerned that I lay pretty nearly all day on top of the parapet
covered with sand-bags searching every inch of No Man's Land for a sign
of the cause of their nocturnal activity. The setting sun revealed
something shining that looked like the barrel of a Lewis gun. I
determined to go out and get it after dark. When I went out I found I
could not get near the place, for a machine-gun was playing round it to
discourage curiosity, which it very effectively did. I reported next
morning that the only chance of seeing what it was was to go out in the
daytime; and it was suspicious enough to justify the risk. I donned a
green suit and with a snail's progress crawled through the long grass
and discovered that the Germans had laid a five-inch pipe from their
trenches to within fifty yards of an indentation in our own. They
would be able to enfilade us with gas before we could don our masks.
We looked on our dangerous wind being one that blew across No Man's
Land, but with this pipe we would be gassed when the wind blew down the
line from the Tommies to us. The engineer officer wanted to blow up
the pipe, but I thought if we blocked it up the enemy might not
discover it, and put through gas which would come back on himself.
Some concrete dugouts were being constructed at this time, and I took
out a bucket of concrete and dumped it over the end of the pipe in
broad daylight without having a shot fired at me or being seen.
Afterward I found crawling in the daylight in No Man's Land to be less
dangerous than at night. On a quiet front there is very little rifle
or machine-gun fire by day for fear of betraying machine-gun and sniper
positions. Never once in two or three daylight excursions into No
Man's Land was I seen by the enemy or our own sentries.
Darkness always holds fear for the human heart, and it is the unknown
danger that makes the bravest quail, and not so many are cowards in the
daylight. But who can tell which holds the more peril for the soldier?
He faces the terror that cometh by night, the destruction that walketh
by day, and the pestilence that wasteth at noonday. But night is often
kindly--it brings the balm of sleep to our tired bodies and covers
coarseness and filth with a softening veil. No Man's Land at night is
more beautiful than by day, for we need not know of the horror we do
not see, and it shuts us off from sight of our enemies, and lets us
feel that the wall is thick and strong that stands between our homes
and women kin, and the savagery and bestiality of the monster who
ravaged the homes and raped the women of Belgium and France.
"But if there's horror, there's beauty, wonder;
The trench lights gleam and the rockets play.
That flood of magnificent orange yonder
Is a battery blazing miles away." [2]
[1] Robert W. Service.
[2] Robert W. Service.