We saw a small body of Germans, and, having nothing better to do, we
were told to go and capture them. There were thirty, and they all
gave in except one, who made a rush for it right back past our convoy.
Two of us went after him. The men on the lorries fired, but they were
afraid of hitting us. He led us through the village, and turned up a
back lane into a sort of builder’s yard. In that yard was a pit of soft
lime, and we were all running so fast that we did not see it. It looked
like sand. In he falls. I am following; in I goes; can’t stop in time;
up to our waists. This bloke makes a grab at me; we have a struggle;
we are going in further, gun and all. The other man is shouting, “Why
don’t you shoot him?” but I couldn’t. The barrel was choked with lime.
Then he spit in my face. That done it. I hit him just a tap with the
butt end of my rifle on the napper, and down he went. Meanwhile my
pal had gone for help. They fetched planks, ladders, and all sorts of
things. At last they pulled me out by sticking my head and shoulders
through the rungs. You should have seen me when I did get out--a very
pretty sight. When the women saw me they tore all the things off me and
threw pails of water over me and thoroughly dowsed me. One woman gave
me an old skirt to put on, and I marched back like that. As far as I
know, that “sausage” is there now, as he did not wake up after that tap
for luck: _An Infantry Private_.
“Culture” for Them
The Germans are great on night attacks, but they soon found out that
they had to be out very early if they wanted to catch us napping. One
night we got a hint that something might be looked for, so we made
preparations to give them a very nice reception when they paid their
early morning call. Strong parties of picked shots were thrown out all
along the line towards the German trenches and their orders were to lie
in wait until the Germans came up to drive back the pickets. Just when
we were getting impatient and wanting to shout, “Hurry up! Hurry up!”
like they do in the music halls when the turns are slow at coming on,
rifles began to crack in front, and the pickets fell back more quickly
than usual. That was our chance. The Germans came on like the great
big brave chaps they are when they’re twenty to one, and we let them
come until the head of their force was level with a tree that had been
marked for range. “Now!” the officer in command whispered, and we gave
it them right where they carry their rations after dinner. We poured
another volley into them, and then went after them with the bayonets.
They beat us easily in the sprinting; besides, we had orders not to
venture too far from camp, so we came back and lay down to wait for
the next turn. They came back again, and when they got to the tree
they stopped to look around. They got the same old sauce as before, and
they were off again. The entertainment wasn’t altogether over, for half
an hour later a big body of Germans falling back from another little
surprise on our left walked right into us. We blazed right into them,
and they didn’t wait to ask what sort of culture it was that made it
possible to grow rifles in the wood at night-time: _A Lance-Corporal of
the East Yorkshire Regiment_.