Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1915-10-26
LAUGHING" SN|PER
CRATES ON NERVES
''Weird Whinny" Through
Megaphone Follows Each
Shot at French Trenches.
STORY is QUIETLY TOLD
AT CAFE TERRASSE TABLE
Something in the Voice" Which
Created Mirth Among Comrades
: of Men Who Suffered.
BY HERBERT COREY.
Copyright. 1881

BY HERBERT COREY.
| Copyright. 1872
| PARIS, October 6-No doubt mon
sieur would regard it incredible. 1t Is
| not in the French nature, one compre-
| bends, to laugh at the suffering of
| comrade. But whenever the laughing
sniper gave out that weird whinny
| through his megaphone the whole
| trench would laugh with him.
"Hysteria, perhaps" he said, thought
| fully. Some of the men caught their
breath in sobs. There was something
! in his voice.
| He had been sitting at the next table
on the cafe terrasse. most attrac-
| tive boy One had to look closely to
| find the inch of ribbon that told his
rank as lieutenant. After a time he
! joined frankly in the conversation.
It am lonesome, you see,' said he.
candidly. To-day my four days leave
| in Paris ends, and ! have seen no
friends My home is in the north
He seemed to enjoy talking of the
trenches, although he needed prompt
ing. A question would start him on a
story, but at the end he would relapse
probation the pretty women as they
passed and repassed in front of the
tables Slender, bIue-eyed, blond, he
seemed modest as girl. and yet one
could feel the fire and spirit under
Meath A distinctly French type, but a
most unusual one.
1t Is the sniper who is particularly
dreaded by the man In the trench. ne
said. A shell storm is very shock
ing thing, of course. Under it the
moral fiber of the human targets dis
integrates in harmony with the de-
struction of their trenches. But ordi-
nary shellfre is hardly regarded. 1t
is always going on, and one can usual
ly hear the missile on it's way in time
to dodge. 1t is quite different with
snipers. A moments forgetfulness-a
| seconds pause in an exposed section
of the line-and you are dead.
"Here,">said he. taking a match from
the box on the table. Just like that.
He broke the match sharply in two.
German SHIPPER in a Tree.
The laughing sniper had been at work
in one of those canyons in the Vosges
where the enemy trenches approach
each other closely, among the tall. slen-
der pine trees He was man of inf
mite daring, this German, and infinite
skill At night he would hide himself
where he could get clear view
/ through the nulutuCe VI
| boles Then he waited with a deadly
patience for his victims. He rarely
fired more than twice from the same
hiding place. When night came he
not often miss a shot. He was known
all along the line because he laughed
when he killed his man.
That was devilish," said the other
man.
NO" said the boy. thoughtfully. ut
was. not the laughter of a wicked man.
1t was as though he were very greatly
amused There was something in his
voice One laughed with him
The laughing sniper must have car
ried a megaphone to his daily post, the
boy thought. Perhaps. he explained, 1t
was merely a roll of bark or a bootleg,
| phones that take up little space. At
| first the French soldiers cursed this
laughing killer. Then the laughter got
on their nerves. They jeered back at
he missed his shot, but laughed because
| he thought he had been successful. At
such times a perfect storm of laughter
rocked up and down the trench. Men
| held their sides and gasped weakly
when they could laugh no more.
IT do not understand, now said he
But 1T was very funny.
He was an irritation, this laughing
man. Usually one fights, the boy said,
without feeling the unpleasantness of
personal hate. AS Frenchman one
hates the Boche, of course. But after
! a time the feeling becomes impersonal
especially if the Boche has been fairly
quiet for time. 1t seems rather silly
! TO hate men one has never seen. He
| had known men to spend a month in
i the trenches without having once
caught sight of German. Ihe men
were too apt to fraternize across the
lines. The officers were forever forbid
ding these amenities.
But He Didn't Like the Laugh.
The boy himself is a sniper. But he
did not go out to kill in any spirit Of
| hate. That would seem-the boy blush
ed as he tried to make plain the way he
feIt-rather petty. He was trying to
| kill for his country's sake. No doubt
| the man he was trying to kill felt the
same Ii was that large charity that
gave a dignity to war. 1t was this
dignity that the laughter of the sniper
disturbed. The animosity it seemed to
suggest was distasteful. The uneven
laughter of his own men in reply seem
ed womanish and spiteful. He tried to
trepress it. 1t seemed indicative of a
nervous weakness.
| yet | laughed with them" he said.
There was something in his voice.
Every one had tried for the laughing
sniper, the boy said. The best shots
had been told off against him. When
his exultant cackle was hedro OF a
morning sharpshooters came from all
along the line. Sometimes days would
go by in which he was not heard, for
he was very careful and methodical
He never took up an unsafe position
Ind never fired unless he were sure.
But every night. after he had aban-
doned his covert for the day and was
crawling back to his own lines through
the company of the dead the growing
grass is trying to shroud, he would
laugh loudly.
at was hideous," the boy murmured
1T was like nothing human, that
laughter from the darkness. amid the
decaying dead. There was something In
his voice.
Get Used to It in Time.
AS time went the men became
used to the laughter. Perhaps their
nerves were under better control. The
IL h