The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1929-08-29

start OUT LOT the lIOIlI pam SUI
diers, either cheerful or gloomy;
then come the first gun-emplace-
ments and every word of our speech
has a new ring
When Kat stands in front Of the
hut and says: "There'll be bonn
bardment," that is merely his own
opinion; but if he says it here, then
the sentence has the sharpness OF
a bayonet in the moonlight, it cuts
clean through the thought, it
thrusts nearer and speaks to this
unknown thing that is awakened
in us, a dark meaning-'Theren be
bombardment."
Perhaps it is our inner and most
secret life that shivers and falls on
guard.
To me the front is a mysterious
whirlpool Though I am in still
water far away from its center, /
feel the whirl. of the vortex sucking
me slowly, irresistibly inescapably
into itself.
EIOIIl OIlS cdI vi, 1IOlll Vic dA oOo-
tanning forces pour into us-mostly
from the earth. To no man does
the earth mean so much as to the
soldier.
When he presses himself down
upon her long and powerfully, when
he buries his face and his limbs
deep in her from the fear of death
by shellfire, then she is his only
friend, his brother, his mother; he
stiles his terror and his cries in
her silence and her security; she
shelters him and gives him a new
lease of ten seconds of life, receives
HIM again and often for ever.
Earth!-Earth!- Earth!
Earth with thy folds, and hollows
and holes, into which a man may
fling himself and crouch down! IN
the SpaSm of terror under the hail
ing of humiliation, in the believing
death of the explosions, o Earth,
thou grantest us the great resisting
surge of new-won life.
Our being, almost utterly carried
away by the fury of the storm,
streams back through our hands
from thee, and we, thy redeemed
ones, bury ourselves in thee, and
through the long minutes in a mute
agony of hope hite into thee with
our lips!
At the sound of the first droning
of the shells We rush back in one
part of our being, a thousand years.
BY the animal instinct that is
awakened in us we are led and pro-
tected.
1t is not conscious; it is far quick
er, much more sure, less fallitle,
than consciousness. One can not ex-
plain it. A man is walking along
without thought or heed; suddenly
he throws himself down on the
ground and storm of fragments
flies harmlessly over him; yet he
can not remember either to have
heard the shell coming OF to have.
thought of f1iuging himself down.
But had he not abandoned himself
to the impulse he now would be a
heap of mangled flesh. It Is this
other, this second sight in Us. that
has thrown us to the ground and
saved us, without our knowing how.
If it were not so, there would not
be one man alive from Flanders to
the VoSges.
We march up, moody or good-tem-
pered SoldlerS-We reach the zone
where the front begins and become
on the instant human animals.
An indigent-looking wood receives
us. We pass by the soup-kitchens
Under cover of the wood we CLIMB
out. The lorries turn back. They are
to collect us again in the morning,
before dawn.
Mist and smoke of guns lie breast
high over the fields. The moon is
shining. Along the road troops file
Their helmets CLEAN softly in the
moonlight. The heads of the rifles
stand out above the white mist, nod
ding heads, rocking carriers of guns
Farther on the mist ends. Here
the heads become figures; coats.
trousers, and boots appear out of the
mist as from milky pool. They
become column.
The column marches on, straight
ahead, the figures resolve themselves
into a block, individuals are no
longer recognizable, the dark wedge
presses onward, Enthusiastically topped
by the heads and weapons floating
off in the milky pool. A column
not men at all.
Guns and munition wagons are
moving along a crosS-road. The
backs of the horses shine in the
moonlight, their movements are
beautiful, they toss their heads, and
their eyes CLEAN.
The guns and the wagons float
before the dim background of the
moonlit landscape, the riders in
their steel helmets resemble knights
of forgotten time; it is strangely
beautiful and arresting.
We push on to the pioneer dump
Some of us load our shoulders with
pointed and twisted iron stakes;
others thrust smooth iron rods
through rolls of wire and go off with
them. The burdens are awkward
and heavy.
The ground becomes more broken
From ahead come warnings: Look
out. deep shell-holes on the left
Mind, trenches"
N,,y v~oar O,,v
our sticks feel in front of us before
they take the weight of the body
Suddenly the line hats: I bump my
face against the roll of wire carried
by the man in front and curse.
There are some shell-mashed lor-
ries in the road. Another order:
"Cigarets and pipes out" We are
getting near the line.
In the meantime it has become