Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, 1918-02-27
OVID Till II TOP
~
AN ArlER](.AN SOLDIER
WHO WENT = =
AQI11UQ GUY T;f[pF<Y
MACHINE GUNNER, 5ERYINGM FRINGE
I @IN7 cY |
IARIhuS GUY EnEYl

rebuilding the parapet was on. Tho
harder worked. the better felt. AL
though the weather was cold, I was
soaked with sweat. ..
Occasionally a bullet would crack
overhead, and machine gun would
kick up the mud on the bashed-in para
pet. At each crack 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 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, IF 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, IF 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 a dixie of hot stew.
I looked for my canteen. It had
fallen of 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 a 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 was hungry, so I filled in with
bully beef and biscuits. Then drained
my water bottle. Later on I learned
another maxim Of the front line, go
sparingly with your water" The bully
beef made me thirsty, and by tea time
] was dying for drink, but my pride
would not allow me to ask my mates
for water. I was fast learning the
ethics Of the trenches.
That night I was put on guard with
an older man. We stood on the ire
step with our hands over the top. peer.
ing out into No Mans Land. It was
nervous work for me, but the other fel-
low seemed to take It as part Of the
nights routine. Is @ - - s,
Then something shot past my face,
My heart stopped beating, and ducked
my head below the parapet. A soft
'cAuckle from my mate brought me to
my senses, and I feebly asked, "For
heavens sake, what was that?"
He answered. "Only a rat taking a
promenade along the sandbags." I
felt very sheepish. ~ r..
About every twenty minutes the sem
try in the next traverse would fire q
star shell from his flare pistol. The
."plop" would give me start Of fright.
I never got used to this noise during
my service in the trenches.
would watch the arc described by
the star shell, and then stare into No
Mans Land waiting for it to burst. In
its lurid light the barbed wire and
stakes would be silhouetted against its
light like q latticed window. Then
darkness.
Once, out in front Of our wire, I
heard noise and saw dark forms
moving. My rife was lying across the
sandbagged parapet. I reached for it,
and was taking aim to fire, when my
mate grasped my arm, and whispered,
Don't fire." He challenged in low
voice. The reply came back instantly
from the dark forms:
"Shut your blinkin' mouth, you
bloomin' idiot; do you want us to click
it from the Boches?' '&