Bismarck daily tribune. [volume] (Bismarck, Dakota [N.D.]) 1881-1916, 1915-02-06
Nv CAPT. f. e. KLEINSCHMIDT.

from the broad m~acadamNed highway
into a muddy country road. Out of the
darkness looms a large farmhouse
surrounded by stables and a large
barn; it is their destination for the
night. Behind the reserve battalion
follows a battery. S%tealthily, with
out sound, they have all arrived, for
the Russians are not far away, very
likely yonder, where the dark line
shows the beginning of a forest.
The leader raps on the window.
'''Open, please. Quarters for tonight"
The door is opened and a room is
made ready for the officers. The men
must find a place to sleep in the barn,
which is full of hay and straw, but
before turning in, some want the
warmth Of the fire and a cup of coffee.
They open the kitchen and an elderly
man from the reserve, a "landwehr'
man." formerly a rural letter carrier,
makes a fire and begins to grind cof-
fee.
Are there any Russians around
here?" someone asks the farmer.
mo, they were here yesterday. All
are away now"
The officers are looking around in
the rooms not used by their host and
family, and then stretch their weary
legs on the wooden benches in the
large living room. In the barn on the
threshing floor filled with straw, the
men are making themselves comfort.
able. Like a "willo'-the-wisp" flashes
here and there a pocket lamp or a
cigar igniter, careful that not a glim-
mer of light may be seen towards the
forest, Strict orders for the greatest
secrecy have been given.
One of the men has a creepy feel
ing, imagining that something is not
quite right, and voices his feelings,
but he Is Knocked by his comrades,
who are too tired to bother about
spooks. Another, climbing the straw.
pile, suddenly feels something NOV.
ing under his foot. r
g.. Hidden In the Straw.
"There is somebody here. Make a
light! Here! Here!" -.
Out of the straw a gray cap. a sec.
ond, a third. Bearded faces pop up
everywhere. The whole threshing
floor. of straw Is alive in a moment.
A petty officer jumps out of the barn
door, seizes his gun, and now levels
it at the dark forms.
Hands up, I say! Don't you novel"
One, gets a rap with the butt. He
fires, and a second one rolls insensible
down the straw-pile. g..,sl a,
Hands up. l say" ...:
Everywhere gray forms are stretch
ing hands toward heaven. At the same
time. outside the barn commences
a furious firing. The men jump to
their rifles; and out Of the yard. Or
ders, are being shouted, but how to
where to 60, in this pitch dark
ness, and out Of this hell-hole-is the
question. You can't see your next
man, let alone the enemy. The Rus
sians-there, yonder, on the edge. Of
the forest!
Yes, yonder flash a hundred lights.
They rattle and crack like whips, and
bullets patter on the walls or splash
on the ground. In the kitchen stands
the grizzly old veteran, busy with his
cofee.pot. "Oh bosh, it won't amount
to anything" he growls to himself.
A window-pane skaters and the man
falls headlong to the, floor. Here q
cry, there a groan, but now the rifles
begin to bank on the Prussian side
also. The men have jumped behind
the stone wall, behind trees and stone
fences, and are firing as best they can
into the darkness in the face of spit
ting lightning on the edge Of the for.
est. Who can aim in this pitch dark.
ness?
Behind the barn, the battery is just
Numbering. The horses ear and
stampede. The riders are hanging to
the bits and some manage to swing
themselves into the saddle. It is USE
less. The stampede cannot be pre-.
vented, and away thunders the battery
into the ink-black night. All 60 but
one, with an empty timber. A gun
ner has loosened his caisson, opened
the box, and torn out the wicker bask-
cts holding the shells.
"HeiI Hounds" Roar.
Now he turns the muzzle Of the gun
towards the forest, loads, and the
first shot booms above the din of the
rifle-hre into the night. The gunner
has commanded two in%fantrymen to
reach him the ammunition. Solid
shot, shrapnel, anything, it makes no
difference. Who can judge the dis
lance? Who a get a time fuse?
Into the barrel with 1t and toward
. the forest where the enemy's fire is
blazing the strongest. The cannon
roars above the rattle and cracking
and swapping Of rifle and machine
gun. Whether he hits a few or many
never mind, the Russians have a
terrible respect for one of the German
"hell-hounds"-too often and mos,
painfully have they bitten them.
At last the evenings fire slackens
and finally dies out altogether. The
Russians have gone back in the forest
In the barn on the thresling tlool
stand a crowd of prisoners. A lieu
tenant and a reserve of1icer-in one