The daily banner. (Cambridge, Md.) 1897-2008, 1918-03-08
t'0ver the Top"
By An American Soldier
Who Went
ARTHUR GUY EMPTY
Machine GrnrcY Seruirg in France
Copyright, 1917, by Arthur Guy EuIp"vJ
CHAPTER V.
Machine Grnncr SeIuiGg il, France
Mud, Rats and Shells.

Mud, Rats and Shells.
I 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 10 shake
and a thunderclap burst in my ears.
opened my eyeS-I was SpIu~hpG 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 81 wall of tCSSCd-Ur
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 a 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 q frenzy of haste. Stretcher-bea
ers came up the trench on the double.
After a few minutes of digging. three
still, muddy forms on stretchers We're
carried down the communication
trench to the rear. Soon they would
be resting somewhere in France" with
q 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, 1 found out their names.
They belonged to our draft.
I was dazed and motionless. Sud
denly 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 a daisy, and he'll get you if
you're not careful"
Lying on my belly on the bottom of
the trench, I filled 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 I worked, the better I felt AL
though the weather was cold, l 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 l 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, IF you're going to get it,
you'll get it,
1t helped me wonderfully. I used it
so often afterwards that some of my
mates dubbed me, eff you're going to
get 1t, you'll get it,
After an hours hard work, all my
nervousness left me, and 1 was laugh.
ing and joking with the rest.
At one O'Clock. dinner came UP In
the form of dixie of hot stew.
1 looked for my canteen. 1t had
fallen off the fire step, and was hall
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 YOU
mess tin, mate"
I had learned another maxim of the
trenches.
That stew tasted fine. 1 was as
hungry as a bear. We had seconds,