Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1916-06-28
BREATHING FIRE IN
THE TRENCHES HELL
MAN WHO HAS LIVED IT TELLS
OF HORRORS OF DEADLY
GAS FUMES.
Romeo Houle in n. Y. Times.l


Ypres CBelguim) to Polecappelle road.
me. I was sent out between the lines
with another man to examine the wire
entangIements We heard a sound as
of someone hauling pipes, but discOv-
cred nothing more. Then the BOches
sent up their flares (skyrockets whose
bursting bombs turned night into day
light, and we lay on the ground mo-
tionIess. In the darkness which fol-
lowed, we crept back over the heaps
of dead toward our line. When I
had almost reached the trench another
great flare burst right over US, and I
had to lie still for several long mo-
ments until the welcome darkness
gave me an opportunity to drop into
the trench again.
Horrible Death by Gas.
Men were dying from the gas, their
eyes popping, their faces green, and
crying: "Wateri I'm choking! Air!
Air! Air!" 1t is a frightful thing to
hear your friends crying like that. I
saw one die right before my eyes, roll
ing upon the ground as if mad, tear
ing at his chest. His fingers were
crooked after his death, his body full
of blue spots and his mouth white.
Another poor wretch fell two or three
feet from me, dying from the gas. He
was sucking water from a dirty
handkerchief.
Listen! Suppose you were fighting
in a trench. The wind comes toward
you, foul with the odors from name
less, twisted, torn bodies unburied be
tween you and Les Boches. Near you
are your brave comrades. Some lie
wounded and dying in agony on the
trench bottom. The bullets zing-zing
eternally over your head. There is a
mighty swelling from an organ more
sOnorous than ever homan organist
played. The rockets are bursting; the
flares shedding white glares over the
torn ground. Your coffee grinders are
moving them down.
You Breathe Fire.
Then rising from somewhere nearby,
comes the gas, yellow and green. Then
comes a sudden singing in your nose.
Your eyes water and run. You breathe
file. You suffOcate. You burn alive.
There are razors and needles in your
throat. 1t is as if you drank boiling
hot tea. Your lungs flame. You want
to scratch and tear your body. You
become half blind, half wild. Your
head aches beyond description, you
vomit, you drop exhausted, you die
quickly.
My platoon was under a whitening
fire, before which we crumpled and
melted away. We left the trench,
pressing forward All hell seemed to
rise suddenly from the bowels of the
earth and pour over us flame and mol
ten lead. The ground seethed from
the exploding shells. The mitrailleus-
es vomited death.
"IntO Their Trench"
Our thinned lines gave a yell. 1
saw black hole in the ground. Sergt.
Albert Pitchette shouted, Into their
trenches!" / leaped in. Four Ger
mans were trying to escape on the
farther side. 1 did not fire, intending
to make them prisoners. But the on
" thing I took was a great blow on
the side of my head, and away went
my prisoners.
/ cFawled up the trench few feet
and came upon two men trying to
strangle each other. I thought, then,
of motion pictures had watched back
home Here was a more terrible
drama than ever the movie camera
showed.
A bayOnet charge is a street fight
made 10000 times more fierce
1t becomes at close range almost i'm
possible to use your bayonets. So we
fought with fists and feet and used
our guns, when possible, as clubs. We
lay in our prize trench for about four
hours. The boys, excited because they
still lived, sang and TESTED, and told of
queer experiences and narrow es-
capes they had had.
We were relieved by a British regi-
ment before morning and marched
back to our billets to have a rest. L
slept all the rest of the night until
II o'clock the next morning. 1t was
the first real rest 1 had had in forty
eight hours, with only slice of raw
bacon and piece of bread to eat.
FeaSting After Slaughter.
These were little incidents of the
bloody battle at Ypres. That after
noon some of the boys brought out
tables from a house and placed them
in the sun. The civilian populace, in
their flight, had left behind their live
stock. We caught some hens and rab-
bits and cooked them in wine we found
in a cellar. All, that was a feast.
never had better one.
Yet we were strange feasters. Had
some artist been able to paint us, he
would have had to have a strong can
vas. Some of the boys had their heads
bandaged, and nearly all of us were
covered with dirt and blood. Some
sang for us. though others were down
hearted. 1t surprised me that few
hours after we had faced death and
81,