The Hartford republican., 1916-03-10
THERE Is VERY LITTLE TALKING
AND VOICES SOUND
STRANGE.
CHARGING A TRENCH
The Roar of Cannon Ceases, n Death
Like StiIl, and Men Go Mad
With Excitement.
(By William T. Martin.) }

incessant rumbling and clinking as
the endless line of overladen vehicles
bear into town. The train rolls in
over the sloppy road from the hori-
zon in the rear. Passing through
the village the consuming rattle of
chains and the weighted, drawn out
.creak of heavy wheels stifle the
senses.
The soldiers passing along the
road, sitting at windows or standing
in doorways feel an ominous tense
ness in the monotony of 1t and the
murky, choking atmosphere sinks
deep in the chest and suffocates with
a feeling of an impending crash.
For the last four days the long
line of wagons passing up to the
trenches with supplies has been dou-
bled and the soldiers say there will
be an attack. The younger of the
reserves of the famous Iron Division
in the town six miles back would
rather face it at once. The hard
strain is printed on their faces.
Among the thousands there is a little
common speculation to relieve
thought somehow and the writing of
many letters. The last mails have
been big ones.
Close to the trenches in the last
wreck of a town before the wilder
ness of utter devastation, the first
line of men quartered here while off
duty also feel the strain. Here it
seems to embrace everything. In the
air there is something that is not
dust, for it has rained for many days,
but that seeks to strangle with its
heaviness. 1t is the result of the
heavy bombarding of the last few
days.
The sun through the yellow haze is
sinking blood red. 1t has been thus
for four days past. Sometimes SOL
dier reels across the road, unsteady
with vim rouge, which thing is rari-
ity even among the soldiers.
About a half mile to the right
through the forest of blackened
stumps and torn earth run the
trenches. Fighting has been terri
BILE here for five months back. In the
last attack hardly more than a week
ago a thousand soldiers were wiped
away while trying to take the crest
of little hill now vagely seen from
the road at the end of the village.
Since then the Germans have been
bombarding the first line. They are
tearing yawning holes may feet
across with mines, wiping trenches
out of existence and all in them.
When the mines explode the town
shakes as though in terror. The men
say that at present it is land of
gnashing teeth and the strain is al
most too great to bear.
: So occasionally, almost periodically
they see drag into town from
the road that leads down from the
trenches at the far end of the street
something like man struggling and
with eyes wide and foaming at the
mouth, saying wild things.
The soldiers in the town are gath
cred along the side of the road still
lined with occasional houses. They
pass the minutes making little to-
kens, souvenirs for cherished ones
hack home There is but little talk
ing and when some one speaks his
voice sounds strange. There are 9TH
,er times when in the face of almost
certain death these men are merry
and joke on their way to it. 1t is the
internal thinking, they say. Some
times a shell whistles over and breaks
into the street. Then generally the
brancardiers rush out of an ambul- |
ance post and picking up something
in the road take it back with them
In few minutes the soldiers forget
about it.
The long wagon train pours into
this town also. Here II stops and
the stuff is unloaded. The drivers
then drive their teams back to safety
once more. If they are forced to
remain here it would be different,
perhaps, but the drivers are glad to
get back again and lose little time in
their work. Tomorrow they return,
but that is another day.
Suddenly come a number Of can
yas-bodied ambulances along the
street. They purr into town one by
one and pull up at the right hand
side Of the road near string OF low
buildings through some freak OF
chance left intact by the shells that
batter their way into town daily.
The cars are drawn up with inter-
walls between them in case OF sudden
bombardment.
Soon there is line of dozen ann