The Benson signal., 1918-04-13
CHAPTER v.
Mud, Rats and Shells.

MUG, RatS ana ShellS.
must have slept for two or three
hours, not the refreshing kind that re-
suits from clean sheets and soft pill
lows, but the sleep that comes from
cold, wet and sheer exhaustion.
Suddenly, the earth seemed to shake
and thunderclap burst in my ears.
opened my eyes-I was splashed all
over with sticky mud, and men were
picking themselves up from the bottom
of the trench. The parapet on my left
had toppled into the trench, completely
blocking it with a wall of tOssed-up
earth. The man on my left lay still.
rubbed the mud from my face, and an
awful sight met my gaze-his head
was smashed to pulp, and his steel
helmet was full Of brains and blood.
a German Minnie" (trench mortar)
had exploded in the next traverse. Men
were digging into the soft mass Of mud
in frenzy Of haste. Stretcher-bear-
ers came up the trench on the double.
After few minutes of digging, three
still, muddy forms on stretchers were
carried down the communication
trench to the rear Soon they would
be resting somewhere in France" with
little wooden cross over their heads.
They had done their bit for king and
country, had died without firing a shot,
but their services were appreciated
nevertheless.
Later on, I found out their names.
They belonged to our draft.
was dazed and motionless. Sud-
denly a shovel was pushed into my
hands, and a rough but kindly voice
said:
'Here, my lad, lend hand clearing
the trench, but keep your head down,
and look out for snipers. One Of the
Fritz's is daisy, and he'll get you if
you're not careful"
Lying on my belly on the bottom Of
the trench, filed sandbags with the
sticky mud, they were dragged to my
rear by the other men, and the work Of
rebuilding the parapet was on. The
harder worked, the better felt. Al
though the weather was cold, / was
soaked with sweat.
Occasionally bullet would crack
overhead, and machine gun would
kick up the mud on the bashed-in para
pet. At each crack I would duck and
shield my face with my arm. One Of
the older men noticed this action of
mine, and whispered:
Don't duck at the crack Of a bull
let, Yank; the danger has passed-you
never hear the one that wings you.
Always remember that if you are going
to get it, you'll get it, so never worry"
This made great impression on me
at the time, and from then on, adopt
ed his motto, eff you're going to get it,
you'll get it."
It helped me wonderfully. I used it
so often afterwards that some Of my
mates dubbed me, eff you're going to
get it, you'll get it."
After an hours hard work, all my
nervousness left me, and was laugh
ing and joking with the rest.
At one o'clock, dinner came up in
the form of dixie Of hot stew
I looked for my canteen. 1t had
fallen off the fire step, and was half
buried in the mud. The man on my
left noticed this, and told the corporal,
dishing out the rations, to put my
share in his mess tin. Then he whis-
pered to me, always take care of your
mess tin, mate"
had learned another maxim Of the
trenches.
That stew tasted fine. I was as
hungry as bear. We had seconds" !"
or another helping, because three Of
the men had "gone West" killed by
the explosion of the German trench
mortar, and we ate their share, but
still I was hungry, so filed in with
bully beef and biscuits. Then I drained
my water bottle. Later on l learned
another maxim Of the front line, "Go
sparingly with your water" The bully
beef made me thirsty, and by tea time
I was dying for drink, but my pride
would not allow me to ask my mates
for water. was fast learning the
ethics of the trenches.
That night I was put on guard with
an older man. We stood on the fire
step with our hands over the top, peer
ing out into No Mans Land. 1t was
pervous work for me, but the other fell
low seemed to take + as part OF the
nights routine.
Then something shot past my face.
My heart stopped beating, and ducked
my head below the parapet. A soft