The patriot. [volume] (Indiana, Pa.) 1914-1955, 1917-12-22
VIVID STORY OF
Trench STORMING
Writer Describes Happiness
After 1t Is All Over.
Tense AS MEN AWAIT WORD
Anxious and Nervous Men Try to Con-
ceaI Their Real Feelings While Walt
Ing for the Order to Go Forward, by
Telling Funny storles-Waiting the
Worst Part.

Worst Part.
Henri Barbussi, well-known French
writer, has written a graphic account
of the storming of a German trench In
which he took part. In gripping Ian
guage he describes the torture of wait
ing for the signal to advance, of run
ming out in the open against terrific
fire, and Of the happiness Of the men
when they find each other safe after
"going through hell"
'It Is evening in the Champagne u
writes Henri Barbusse. ''The men are
waiting in the dugouts of the first line
trenches, wondering when the order to
charge against the enemy will be given.
They are anxious and nervous, but try
to conceal their real feelings by telling
funny stories and laughing heartily.
They know that in the next moment
they may be facing death, but there is
always hope. They have been spared
before, perhaps they may be spared
again. A voice is heard in the neigh
boring trench.
"Listen,' said one Of the men.
Didn't you hear? The alarm was
soundedr
"'Alarm? Are you crazyT
"Just then a shadow appears in the
opening in the dugout and somebody
cries: TO arms!'
Roar of Guns FrightfuI.
"Quiet prevails. We have all become
dumb. We get up and stretch our
weary bones and go out into the trench.
The roar of the guns is frightful. One
man looks at the other; no word Is
spoken, but the eyes tell everything.
We are ready; some Of the men are
sitting quietly in the mud, others are
resting their arms on their rifles. I
study the pale, deeply lined faces Of
these men. They are not soldiers,
but simply human beings. They are
not Adventures or warriors. They
are peasants and workmen in uniform,
and were not made for slaughter.
They are awaiting the order to die.
each one Of them knows what 1t
means; he knows that he Is to expose
his head, his breast, his stomach and
arms and legs to rifle balls, to shrapnel
and to the bayonet. They are quiet,
peaceful lot-not bandits or barba-
rians or savages looking for another's
blood. I can see that they are tor
tured by the suspense, that they are
in anguish, that they are wondering
whether they will live through this
terrible night. No one who has not seen
men ready for a charge can appreciate
what it means.
'They still wait. 1t seems like an
eternity. The sun has set and weird
darkness is creeping over the sad land
scape. Then rain falls in torrents to
add to the grewsome picture an at
mosphere Of tragedy.
"There is more time spent in wait
ing and then hand grenades are pass
ed around to the men. Each man re-
ceives two. Then the order Forwardr I
is heard, and we know that it is now
our turn.
"We spring out Of the trench and
into the darkness. We expect to be
greeted by a deadly fire, but, strange,
the thunder of the guns suddenly
ceases.
Don't use your hand grenades un-
til the last minute" shouts our cap
tain.
Bullets Whistle Past.
"Just then a curtain of fire rises be-
fore us and the bullets begin whistling
past our ears. We are running for
ward now. Shells are bursting all
around us. The fingers of my right
hand are singed by the fire Of an ex-
ploding shell and drop my gun, only
to stoop and pick it up again. The
fire becomes so strong that we become
blinded by it; our men become sep
arated, none of us knowing just where
he is going. Here and there In the
mist I could discern forms Of men
falling heavily to the ground, and now
and then above the roar I heard the
heartrending cry Of someone who had
received his death wound.
'ForwardP shouts our captain.
"We are running like mad now.
Sometimes we stumble over the bod
les Of our comrades, but there is no
stopping. Our breath is coming fast,
our hearts are humping wildly in our
breasts, our blood is coursing at break
neck speed through our veins. We are
now as men possessed; we have for
gotten all our fears and all we want
now is to meet the enemy face to face;
we are lusting for blood.
'The German trench is before US,
and we all plunge in; but the Ger
mans have flown; the trench is empty.
We stop for breath and look about US.
It seems all like a dream now, and we
greet each other like happy children.
"'What, you, my friend? Thank
God, you are unhurt. Have you seen