Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume] (Wabeno, Wis.) 1898-1925, 1916-11-24
Fields Torn Up, Village Ruins
Scattered, and Forests Torn
to Shreds.
DUST covers EVERYTHING
Aspect of Newiy-Conquered Territory
Described by Correspondent on
British Front-Gone Are Days
of Ammunition SHORTAGE.


trunks of the Mametz wood stand out
naked against the skyline, stripped of
their branches and foliage. The bark
+, is gashed, showing many gaping
wounds. The white heart of the wood,
barred to the fierce suns glare is a
palpable image of patient suffering.
Along the roads leading south great
dust columns rise in spirals heaven
! ward, hiding the slow-moving horse
transports. Further ON broad eddies
of dust ride on the passing heat cur
rents scattering across the fields like
spent smoke.
The landscape is of leaden gray,
buried under this heavy manure of
| dust. Ashen gray are the tunics, the
| rifle barrels, even the faces of q col
umn of men who have just come in
| from the firSt-line trenches. Their
eyes stare out of their deepened sock
| cts, rimmed around with dust. Their
steel helmets, of darkened green. have
taken on the dull-hued patina of a
| Greek bronze.
The water carts, the field kitchens,
| the heavy batteries which are being
| moved forward, the great lorries in
long, serpent lines extending mile up
on mile, all wear this pail of dust. AS
| far as the eye can see are low, rolling
hills, bare and treeless save for small
patches of woodland here and there.
| The fields are thickly grown with this
| ties, nettles, and lusty weeds which are
waist-high.
Can this be the land of France? Can
| these fields be the same which, two
years ago, stood rich with golden
| grain? The bad lands of the DakOtas,
| the wastes of the Sahara, the dust
swept desert of Cobb seem fair in COM
| pariSOn with this region of the SOmme.
My throat is parched, my eyes seem
| to be bleeding, though l have been
walking but half an hour, picking my
| way through shell craters and upturned
| soil, jumping across abandoned Ger
| man trenches, through a terrain lit
| tered with uneXplOded shells of all cal
| ibers and kinds. Here lies an innocent
| looking little Mills" bomb not much
larger than a ducks egg. The man
who threw it forgot to pull out the
cotter pin, SO that it did not go off.
Here it lies, apparently harmless, yet
it has the potential strength to blow
half a platoon into kingdom come"
Next to it lies what looks like giants
dumb-bell. The great iron balls at
each end are larger than mans head.
| squirt forward ,inStinctively as | trip
against the connecting bar of the bomb.
Nothing happens. Yet this mighty en-
CINE of war can wipe out company.
AS I advance the dust grows deep
err underfOOt, thicker in the air, the
suns rays more intense, more relent-
less. Overhead strung out like mon
ster snubnosed whales on line-a
mighty catch the captive balloons of
the observation officers hang Imply.
I count % such craft within one short
sector. Though the German lines are
in plain view, opposite us, | can only
find three of their balloons.
"Our airmen shoot them down as
fast as the 'Boches' put them up" my
guide remarks in a matter-Of-fact
voice, as we watch four British air
craft sweeping across the enemy lines.
We push forward. The brisk explo-
sion of departing shells, with a sharp,
bark-like note, rendS the air. 1t is
new experience to listen to the big
howitzers fire in battery salvos as
though they were mere 1S-pounders.
The smaller calibers then take up the
melody, and the 'forte" of the big
guns, followed by the piano" of the
smaller ones, an "adagio" motif, and
then "scherzo," make a continuous
music which must be pleasant to Brit
iSh ears.
Here to the right is a great mound
of brass, empty shell cartridge cases,
10 feet high and 10 long. 1t is only
one of many such heaps which l have
seen here. When it is recalled that it
is only the two smallest calibers of
shells, the 1Sa and the 6O-pounder,
which leave any trace of having been
fired in the hands of their users, and
that for every two of these at least
one of the larger caliber shells is sent
into "Bocheland," as they call it out
here, something of the work done by
the munition makers in England can
be grasped. Gone are the days when
British batteries were on starvation
rations, when only ten rounds were al
lotted to a gun, and the German how
itzers could pound British trenches
with impunity. Now, for every shell
case empty a new one is waiting to
take its place.
And yet as a gunner said to me,
"For every shell in hand we still need
two new ones. and we know We'll get
them" For the Germans have in no
way slackened their fire. On the con-
trary, they have brought up new big
guns and are still answering almost
shell for shell TO the British fire. Yet
there is something aggressive in the
British cannon roar which proclaims
TO all who would hear that the day OF
smashing superiority is at hand.