The Benson signal., 1916-12-23

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Serbian city.
| 1t is II AS a. m. and he is late for the
officers mess which is located near the
open door of a courtyard, in the same
street where stands the house of your
correspondent.
| Lieutenant Puviani arrives late at
the mess This tardiness is not neces-
sary considering that he has nothing
to do from morning till night, but it
gives him certain air Of being
'slave of duty" which he cultivates.
So Lieutenant Puviani walks along
with firm and measured step toward
the mess. Behold him in Via l., be-
hold him in Via A, two steps from his
goal. The street is quiet as though
lulled to sleep in the heat of summer
afternoon.
Suddenly, at the end of the street,
hundred yards in front of him, he hears
sinister whistling, an explosion, ter
rife noise. Pieces of wall, beams,
broken glass rain upon the street, while
great cloud, first reddish, then whit
| ish, rises into the sky.
Lieutenant Puviani looks at the
stricken house and utters cry. In
one Jump he reaches the NESS where
all the officers of the battalion are
lunching and talking about the shell,
(which must have fallen very near"
and with a sentence causes them to
start to their feet.
Lieutenant Zanghieri's house has
fallen in!"
| The officers leave the mess and run
toward the spot where lies perhaps the
body of their brother officer.
Chapter III-What Really Occurred.
"After his marriage he acquired the
habit of daily work"
| At the word "marriage'' a dull, far
away boom, half obliterated by dis
tance. One hears thousands like it
every day; today none have been
heard and this is the only reason why
| the ear distinguishes this. At the word
''habit'' the whistle Of a shell. The
customary noise. The whistle of shell
begins shriller and again sinks as the
shell passes over. When it eXplodes
near you it seems to stop at it's Shrill-
est point, as If to collect it's forces ia
great howl of rage, which is the ex-
plosion. But the shell of which I speak
differs from all the others. The low
tone, the shrill tone, ever nearer, ever
nearer, nearer, near-here it is! My
pen stops at the word daily in ex-
pectatiOn of the horrible thing. The
| house receives a shock that makes it
tremble to it's foundation, there comes
an immense roar as of hundred can
non firing together. The plaster falls
from the ceiling everywhere in the
room, which fills with white powder,
while hail of fragments strikes the
shutters Something caves in with
great rumble. Everything rattles,
trembles, jolts and seems to fall down
ward into chaos, into an inferno of
broken things. Then silence.
The word work is traced hastily
almost illegibly, by the nervous hand.
l write across the sheet: I'll :45, shell
on my house." Then l go to the win
dow and throw it open. Two military
policemen and four or five soldiers are
looking up, showing round eyes, and
pale, almost idiotic, faces.
At the left I see my dear colleagues
coming toward me. One of them ar
rives on a bicycle, the others on foot.
They too, are pale, and look at me
silently, as though l were a ghost.
An entire corner of the house has
fallen in, but it is an uninhabited cor
ner.
"What are you doing up there?"
shouts Lieutenant FuscO, the adjutant
major of the battalion. "The upper
floor is on fire."
Really it is a false alarm; it is only
the dust of fallen ceiling. This does
not keep me from hurrying down to
my colleagues, happy in the escape
from danger, and even more so from
having read on their faces affectionate
solidarity for their friend. This satis-
/ faction is worth at least 12-inch.
shell, especially when it shows itself
as well-bred as that whose nutimely
| op1 7 bouo 6ocorihnd