Grand Forks herald. [volume] (Grand Forks, N.D.) 1916-1955, 1917-04-04

(The following pen picture Of a
day in q British trench was written
Somewhere In France" by q war Of
flee correspondent
The "Strafe."
Just after tho morning stand
down." before the platoon command
ers had finished inspecting rifles. the
first shell came. 1t whined its way
over our heads out Of nothingness. 1t
screeched into the middle distance be-
hind, and a cloud of earth and boul-
ders leaped skyward on the left of
the support line. Then came the harsh
cough of q giant who had somewhat
over-exerted himself in the herculean
task of knucklestones with the bow
els of the world.
That was only the beginning Of 1t.
The boche did not love us that morn
ing. He sent over his heavy stuff
with q persistence that we held wor-
thy of a better cause. He filled the air
with strange chords of savage music
sharp, staccato hymns Of hate. whose
Amen" was sometimes the dull crash
of falling stones. sometimes the shrek
of a pain wrecked soul; their rum
jars" swept Owe to VI in majestic
parabola. sinister, vindictive things,
big with swift death, but we could
see them. Only the big shells were
intangible, voices without bodies,
weapons that eloaked themselves in
the invisibility Of their self-sung re-
QUEENS.
1 remember nee, when 1 was very
young, standing in the warm gloom of
a country lane one mid-summer'e
night. A dragonf1y was droning in the
dark. and it seemed to me that I was
the target and objective Of its anger.
l was terribly afraid, with the sense
run. and presently there possessed me
an infinite contempt for that ineffec-
tual fly.
So Much Noise; 90 Little Damage.
Thus. I think, 1t became for all Of
much noise and they did 20 little dam.
age. A working party Of a corporal
and six men were put out Of mess by
a rum jar" in an exposed sap. That
seemed to have no personal relation
to US. A mile away the commanding
officer Of a battalion walked into the
orbit of a SO. and. all they could find
and on the wrist was a watch that had
not stopped ticking. Even that was q
remote affair. If anything, it made III
think that perhaps the front line OF
the trenches. was the safest place at
ter all.
There was plenty Of shrapne,
knocking about-nasty. vicious stuff
that screamed down upon us in q
thousand places, and from which
only by the steel helmets we wore. A
nose cap whizzing downward at the
rate Of an express train Is a Trims
Enthusiastically to be avoided. "Blight.
les" were thick-the atmosphere wal
full of them.
When our big guns started retallia.
ton nerves were pretty nearly
normal again. Any little excitemen,
+>that remained vanished utterly after
the first salvo: 1t was magnifcen,
shooting. epic in its terrible intensity
over the efficiency of our gunners, the
while we silently and inwardly thank.
ed God that the boche gunners, had
no such skill.
Enemy Trenches We're Close.
The nearest boche trenches were
only twenty yards away, ana GU,
guns were pounding them terribly. Sc
near were the shells that We could
feel the back blast, and fragments OF
casing ratified into our traverse and
bays. 1t was a Titanic duel, but-you
who stay at home may not believe
me. yet 1t is the truth-we were bored
The excitement Of the first hour had
worn of. Once, when the enemy',
gunners crept slightly in from GU,
right to the place where our prize
trench mortar was hidden. we felt g
little thrill of expectation, but tina,
was all.
Those Of us who had to be on dut,
in the trenches. and we were few
went about on our lawful occasion.
almost as though wal were an alier
thing afar from US. The men had
turned in and were sleeping off the
exhaustion Of a nights hard work in
the mud. I came across a sentr,
chuckling delightedly as he watched
through his periscope. the German