Semi-weekly herald., 1915-03-29

the gulch of the trench fills with early
night. 1t begins to grow cold and
the frost crystals form on the muddy
sides of the trenches, giving the eff
feet of tinsel or bits of bright stones.
The darkness of the trench is broken,
now and then, by the flare of Gig
arctic, puffed nervously, or by the
flare of rifle.
Silhouetted against the red sky is the
erect figure Of a legion soldier, his
glistening bayonet protruding above
the trench walls, and catching the
dying glare of the suns light Fur
ther along are the ugly shadows of
the machine guns, frightened by the
polished brass work.
AS the darkness grows deeper you
.atch a glimpse of a sharp pin point
# light on distant hill, which flick
ers in the Morse code, message
from French battery to its COM
rades many miles distant. They are
talking of some new plot to kill hu-
man beings. There is a rattle Of
rifles, and their quick flashes, first at
one point in your trench and then in
another. From afar comes the putt
putt! putt! of a Maxim gun. Night
fail is the machine guns hour. Dur
ing the hours of daylight, machine
gun men have got their ranges and
fixed their aims, and now in the dark
ness, when their precious guns are
safest from sharpshooters, they flare
out the result of the days work.
From distant corners of the COM
pass, comes the roar of deep throated
batteries.
The stars seem all the brighter be-
cause you are gazing at them from
the bottom of your black trench SUD -
denly the sky is bi-sected by an are
of sparks, terminated by u beautiful
glare of pure white light, which
transforms night into day for the
space of many seconds. 1t is a night
light sent up by the enemy so that
they can see what they are doing;
we might possibly, they think, be out
of our trenches, with our bayonets
fixed, charging on them through the
darkness. After the white light fades
the night seems darker than ever.
The bullets whistle and shrek over
head almost instantly, and all the
night it will be like this, noises and
lights, noises and lights. The night
is filled with danger and surprises.
Daylight charges were never made;
it was in the night time, in the SMALL
est wierdest hours, that either the
Germans left their trenches or we left
ours, to run ahead into hand-to-
hand stabbing affray with the enemy.
The grey Of morning is a sight of
good cheer. In our trench we meas
ured the morning light by whether or
not we could see the legs Of "The
Juggler" fluttering in the wind.
"The Juggler' was the corpse of a
Frenchman which for six weeks lay
some two hundred feet in front of our
trenches, lying on his back, with his
arms outstretehed, a canvas water
busket clutched in each hand, his legs
sticking up into the air in a spot so
deadly from rifle fire that no one
could reach him. The dead man lay
there through the nights and days.
The French called this grotesque heap
THE Juggler" because they remem-
bered that Japanese athletes stretched
themselves out in this dead French
mans posture and tossed things about
in the air with their feet.
When the rags on the legs of the
"Juggler' were plainly seen, then we
knew that morning had come, another
night of madness had passed. and we
might sleep until the night lights and
the night noises broke out again at
sunset.