The Robesonian., 1918-07-01
The Little Wooden Cross.

tidings that the next morning we would
Ego I'M to "take over" At six in the
our march started and, after
q long march down the dusty road, we
again arrived at reserve billets.
I was No. 1 in the leading set of
fours. The man on my left was named
"Pete Walling," a CHEEKY sort Of fel-
low. He laughed and jcked all the
way on the march, buoying up my
dropping spirits. I could not figure out
anything attractive in again occupying
the front line, but Pete did not seem to
mind, said it was all in lifetime. My
left heel was blistered from the rub
bing Of my heavy marching boot. Pete
noticed that was limping and offered
to carry my rifle, but by this time had
learned the ethics Of the march In the
British army and courteously refused
his offer.
We had gotten halfway through the
communication trench, Pete in my i'm
mediate rear. He had his hand on my
shoulder, as men in q communication
trench have to do to keep in touch with
each other. We had just climbed over
a bashed-in part of the trench when
In our rear man tripped over loose
signal wire, and let out an oath. AS
usual, Pete rushed to his help. To
reach the fallen man he had to cross
this bashed-ln part. A bullet cracked
in the air and ducked. Then a moan
from the rear. My heart stood still.
I went back and Pete was lying on the
ground. BY the aid Of my flashlight
I saw that he had his hand pressed to
his right breast. The fingers were COW
cred with blood. I flashed the light
on his face and in its glow a grayish-
blue color was stealing over his coun-
tenance. Pete looked up at me and
said: "Well, Yank, they've done me in.
I can feel myself going West" His
voice was getting fainter and I had to
kneel down to get his words. Then he
gave me message to write home to
his mother and his sweetheart, and I,
like great big boob, cried like baby.
/ was losing my first friend Of the
trenches.
Word was passed to the rear for q
.stretcher. He died before it arrived.
Two Of us put the body on the
stretcher and carried 1t to the nearest
f1rst-aid post, where the doctor took
an official record of Pete's name, num-
Der, rank and regiment from his iden-
tity disk, this to be used in the cas-
ualty lists and notification to his
family.
We left Pete there, but it broke our
hearts to do so. The doctor informed
US that we could bury him the next
morning. That afternoon five Of the
boys of our section, myself included,
went to the little ruined village in the
rear and from the deserted gardens of
the French chateaux gathered grass
and flowers. From these we made a
wreath.
While the boys were making this
wreath, I sat under a shot-scarred
apple tree and carved out the follow
ing verses on a little wooden shield
which we nailed on Pete's cross.
True to his God; true to Britain,
Doing his duty to the last,
Just one more name to be written
On the Roll of Honor of heroes passed
Passed to their God. enshrined In glory,
Entering life of eternal rest,
One more chapter in England's story
Of her sons doing their best.
Rest, you soldier, mate so true,
Never forgotten by us below;
Know that we are thinking Of you,
Ere to our rest we are hidden to go.
Next morning the whole section went
over to say good-by to Pete, and laid
him away to rest.
After each one had look at the face
of the dead, corporal Of the r. A
M. c. sewed up the remains In a blan
| ket. Then placing two heavy rope:
| across the stretcher Ito be used in low
ering the body into the graye), we lift
ed Pete onto the stretcher, and rev
erently covered him with large unio1
| jack, the flag he had died for.
The chaplain led the way, then cam,
the officers Of the section, followed b,
two of the men carrying wreath. I'm
| mediately after came poor Pete on tn
fag-draped stretcher carried by fou1
soldiers. 1 was one Of the four. Be
hind the stretcher, in column of fours
came the remainder of, the section.
To get to the cemetery, we had tt
pass through the little shell-destroyet
village, where troops were hurryin,
to and fro.
AS the funeral procession passe,
these troops came to the "attention
and smartly saluted the dead.
Poor Pete was receiving the only sa
lutte a private is entitled to "some
where in France"
Now and again shell from the &c,
man lines would go whistling over tn
village to burst in our artillery line
in the rear.
When we reached the cemetery W
halted in front of an open grave. an
laid the stretcher beside it. Formin
hollow square around the opening c
the grave, the chaplain read the buris
service