THE OMAHA SUNDAY BEE: APRIL 21, 1918.
8 D
i
A Gripping Fighting Story by a Fighting Yankee Boy Who Served Seventeen Months in the
Trenches, Buried Alive in Mud, Gassed and Wounded Three Times
SHELLPROOF
MACK"
rfs
Recital of Thrilling
Adventures in the
Terrific Struggle for
World Democracy
Ro APTHTTP fAMWH MlTiV
(Copyright. by Small, Maynard & Co.,
Inc.)
FOREWORD.
'. The things that areset down here
are written from the standpoint of
the plain private soldier one who
went as a volunteer, it is true, but
who hated the whole vile business of
war as any private soldier mast, and
who was giad when his work was
done.
If this book has any value it is
because it is a true telling of the
things that are, over here, and be
cause it is without what the British
. Tommy calls "camouflage."
This book lacks, no doubt, every
thing that would be put into such
a story by a professional writer
the brilliancy of expression and the
vividness of narrative; but if it is
without those it is because it is the
tale of a soldier and not of a war cor
respondent. CHAPTER I.
Boyhood.
Once, when I was in training in
England, a cockney sergeant came
up to me and said:
"Hi sye, vookj wot's yer number?''
Mine was a high one and I started
to give it to him slow, "one seven
four " like that. He evidently
thought I was trying to have him on
and got very shirty over it.
"Ow," sayj he, "so yer one o' them
blinkin', swankin' Yanks, are yer?"
That riled me and I came back.
"That's what I am and I can back
it up."
Can, can yer? Lets see yer, he
, invited. '
' With that I poked him on the nose.
That was a crime of course and I was
on the mat with the company com
mander the next day. I might have
got a lot of whohsomc punishment
for it and ought to have; but I didn't.
The officer was a decent fellow.
"What are you?" he asked. "Irish?"
"Partly," I answered. "But most
ly Scotch." .
"Ah," he said, "that accounts for it.
lne acotcn are nau argument ana
half fight. I'm part Scotch myself."
And with that he gave me a light
punishment.
Of Scotch Descent.
I have thought since that that
officer knew what he was talking
about It's the little bit of Scotch
in me that has influenced me many
a time through life.
I was born in New York and was
retained that name until I went into
the theatrica. profession in 1906, when
I took the name of Arthur Mack, the
label I wore when I enlisted in the
British army. But I am getting
When I was a small boy my people
moved to Northamton, Massachu
setts, which was home until I struck
out into the world for myself.
My boyhood was pretty much like
that of any other American youngster.
I was fond of all outdoor sports ex
cept swimming and I would drown
today in six feet of water or less.
In spite of my athletic tendencies
I was supposed to be not very strong
and the fact that I was always small
added to the impression. So it hap
pened that my family had it all
planned that I was to have a very
elaborate education and go into the
Driesthood. "
Right there the Scotch in me as
serted itself. Because somebody
wanted me to be one thing, I straight
way decided that I wanted to be the
opposite. I settled it in my own mind
that I was going to be a soldier. I
fancy that if the folks had wanted me
in on in Wesr Pninr T wnnlri have
i
insisted upon a profession.
War College Sprinter.
Anyhow, I flatly refused to study
in ' the high school and left. The
year following I did consent to go
to Williston academy, where I de
voted more time to athletics than to
anything else and made a fair reputa
tion as a runner. I ran fast enough
to get beaten against such men as
Schick, Hubbard, Piper Donovan and
Bart Sullivan.
I did fairly well in my studies at
Williston and after one year took the
examinations for Holy Cross and
Norwick university, both of which I
passed. I took the exams for Holy
Cross to please my parents; but I
knew where I was going. Norwich
had,, and I think still has, the reputa
tion, of being one of the finest mili
tary schools in the country. I still
had soldiering on the brain.
During the summer before entering
Norwich I became a professional run
ner under an assumed name and was
i njember of the W. A. Bailey hose
;eam which' made a world's record
for the 300 yards. Hose-team "run
ning in those days was a very popular
jport in the western part of the state.
I competed a good many times on
-.his team that summer and was
speedy on my feet.
More than once during the two years
t was in France I looked back, upon
:hose'footracing days and wished that
i could un is fast with ninety pounds
i equipment on my back!
CHAPTER II.
College Life.
..In the fall of 1903 I entered Nor
wich university. ' On arrival at
N'oithfieid I happened to run onto
m old chum, one Biddy Burnett, a
sophomore. lie put me up to all the
hazing dodges that I might expect
ind as a consequence I got off easy
?n that score. The hazing at Nor
wich was as bad in those days as it
was at West Point and the first year
men sure were disciplined by the
upper classmen. I was fortunate in
'ooking very much like the former
Uudent named Skinny Eaton who had
Deen extremely popular. I was nick
lamed Skinny Eaton No. 2 and after
vard became Skinny McKay.
Life at Norwich was one of stiff
liscipline. We had to wear a uni
form all the time. The life was
as regular as that in the British army.
I took to it like a duck to water.
fancy the principal reason that I
liked discipline was that it was so
luucb (Ua :o break the rules with-
A Common Soldie
Open Fighting at Messines Ridge
Where Thousands of Men Were Slain
out getting caught. I got to be a
past master in the art.
I was the smallest man in the
college, but my atheletic reputation
had preceded me and I was elected
manager and coach of the freshman
basket ball team. I put out a crack-
erjack of a team and defeated the
varsity so badly that we finished the
varsity schedule.
Barred From Athletics.
Along in the spring we had some
diphtheria in the college and about
fifty men were quarantined on the
upper floor of the barracks. The
pooor fellows were suffering for beer,
or thought they were. , They couldn't
get out, so they sent for me and
told me their troubles from the win
dow. I got a suit-case and went to
town, filled it with beer, hired a rig,
drove back and tied the load to the
end of the fire-escape rope that had
been lowered from the barracks.
The celebration led to an investi
gation and of course I was convicted.
I was barred from athletics for a
year.
This was a good thing, for I dug in
on Study and learned a lot that came
in handv afterward in the British
army. I learned to take care of my
self physically, a thing that is essen
tial to a good soldier and that 'so few
soldiers ever do learn thoroughly.
Every man had to care for his own
room and make his own bed, besides
keeping his equipment clean and well
polished.
His Military Duties.
On Saturday we had to wash the
windows and scrub the floors and
paint, for Sunday inspection by the
commandant, a United States army
officer. At the time I remember that
I used to hate ' the scrubbing and
would try every possible way to get
out of it; but it was no go. Every
body had to do his bit.
Our military duties consisted of
theoretical artillery work, practical
infantry and cavalry training and mili
tary science. I became pretty solidly
grounded in discipline and infantry
work in general and was on the way
to becoming a real soldier. In fact
I thought seriously of trying for a
West Point appointment.
In my third year in college I was
reinstated in athletics and was mana
ger of the bate ball team. I got into
nothing very serious, and gradually
began to get the notion that I was
fed up on soldiering. It is a notion
that comes to a man in the army
often. And it almost always gets a
boy in a military school. The dif
ference is that he can't get out of the
army when he gets temperamental,
that is, not without deserting and
he doesn't want to take any chances
of getting shot. He can get out of
a military school and he frequently
does. I did.
The thing that finally decided me
to leave college was this. I had be
come a member of the Town Dra
matic club and liked it. The fact is
that about four times on the stage
a an tmateur made me think I was
cut out for another Henry Irving.
I was stage-struck for further orders.
And so at the end of my third year
I let the military life go a-gJimmer-ing.
I quit i-old and came to Boston,
where I studied for a while at the
Colonial Dramatic school.
CHAPTER III.
OA the Stage.
My first professional appearance
on the stage was with the old Castle
Square company. Howard Hansell
and Lillian Kemble were in the leads
Mary Young and John Craig were
also in the company and the piere
was "Soldiers of Fortune." I finished
out the sason there and the next fall
was out on the road with a second
rate stock company playiog the south.
At least we started to play the south.
The show blew up in Norfolk, Vir
ginia. We had known it was coming
and a fellow named Bean and myself
had been dickering with Charles E.
Blaney by mail. The day we closed
we had a letter from Blaney with the
offer of the necessary job. Bean and
I were to join one of the Blaney
road companies at Richmond two
weeks later.
In the meantime Richmond was a
long, long way from Norfolk and we
were nearly broke. I had just fifty
cents; Bean had an old silver watch
and no cash whatever. We talked it
over and decided that the only thing
to do was to jump a freight.
Hoboing was considerable out of
our line but we had heard that it
was easy enough. So we shipped
the trunks by express and sneaked
down to the railroad yards. Along
in the evening we stowed jpn a flat
car of lumber and some time along
towards morning she pulled out. We
traveled on that freight, I suppose,
about ten miies. When it got pretty
light a hostile brakeman came along
and routed us out.
"Hit the grit, you 'boes," says he.
"Hit the grr and be quick about it."
"Wait until we make the next stop,"
I suggested.
And So We Jumped.
"Stop me tye," said he. "Hit the
8r.'t and ioh now" Je kai a coup
ling-pin in his hand and looked like
using it, so we jumped. I didn't get
the cinders out of my hide for a
month.
After that we walked a while and
then took to the road. A farmer
came along and gave us a ride and
we told him our story. He was a
good fellow and when we hit a little
town he took us around to a little
packing-box hotel and introduced us
to the proprietor, who was a friend
of his.
The hotel man gave us a feed and
let us sleep in the stable that night.
Next morning he brought around the
local station agent and he heard our
tale of woe, too. I fancy they must
have wanted to get us out of town,
because the agent took us down that
night and walked out to a water-tank
about a mile down the line and helped
to get us aooard an empty box-car.
We made Richmond all right but we
were frightfully empty. Bean pawn
ed his watch and we ate. Then we
hunted jobs.
It would be two weeks before the
Blaney company showed up and in
the meantime we had to eat. It is
a habit that grows on one, I' notice,
and both Bean and myself looked for
ward to a fortnight of emptiness with
scant pleasure. It was one thing to
hunt for a job in Richmond and an
other to find one.
There seemed to be no market for
a pair of actors on the bum. So
when the watch money was gone we
joined the Salvation army. For the
next ten nights we pounded the big
bass drum and sung hymns and in
cidentally acquired a large respect
for the army. They, pulled us
through. We ate and we slept. And
when the Blaney company showed up
we deserted from the armyl
Actors On the Bum.
I was with Blaney for two seasons
after that, playing with Fiske O'Hara
and afterwards with Lottie Williams
in "The Tomboy Girl." About this
time the moving pictures were crowd
ing things pretty hard and so many
companies were going to the wall
and so many houses dark that I jump
ed into vaudeville.
I opened an office as a producer
in New York and succeeded for a
while but eventually went broke.
After that I went back on the stage
again and stiyed there until I decided
to go over to France.
At the time the Lusitania was sunk
I was playing in stock in New Bed
ford. I was talking with the manager
when I heard the news and to
him: "Well here's my chance to be
a soldier again. We can't get out of
declaring war on Germany."
He laughea at me and said I was
crazy and that we never would get
into the war. After a few days I
began to think he was right. I read
the papers eagerly read of the Ger
man cruelties and the atrocities in
Belgium and of the endless call for
men in England. Eventually I saw
there was no chance of the United
States getting in. So I made a auick
decision for myself, quit the stage
then ana there and declared war on
Germany. I wa's going over and I
was going quick, ine memories of
the military life at Norwich came
back and I wanted to get into uni
form as soon as possible. So I
jumped the train for Boston and the
next day was hunting transportation
to England.
CHAPTER IV.
Training.
When I started hunting a -way to
get across I was, of course, broke as
per usual. So I decided to work the
horse boats as so many others had
done. I shipped without any trouble
on the Cambrian and sailed June 24,
1915, arriving in London on July 7
after a mildy exciting voyage.
.1 had shipped for the round trip
and was given five dollars cash and
board and room at the Sailors' home
on Lemon Street. I batted around
a bit and spent the five dollars and
then hit the trail for the nearest re
cruiting office. I had had enough
of horses, nnd anyhow I had come
over to enlist so I wanted to get in
as soon as possible.
London at the time was full of re
cruiting stations and there were red
arrows al! over the shop pointing the
way to the chance to give up life
and liberty tor king and country or
for the fun of it as the case might be.
I followed the arrows to Shoreditch
Town hall iflnd went through the
formalities and the examinations.
They refused me flatly on account of
poor eyesight. My right eye was, all
right but the left was no good at
all. ' I had always supposed that both
of them were good.
I tackled tnother officer in White
chapel and went through the i same
thing. Next day I went to an office
at 32 St. Paul's churchward and told
my troubles to the sergeant there. I
said I was going to get intcrthe army
if I had to use a jimmy and that it
was going to take a lot of refusing
to keep me out. We went in to the
officer and l.t heard the story with
out any re-ervations. He was a
good chap, that pftjeer. He put me
through the examinations up to the
eye test and said I was right enough
except that I was light, weighing
just under a hundred pounds.
Passed the Tests.
When it came to the eyes he said,
"Now, my lad, on this test of the
left eye you cover up your right eye
with your hand instead of a card."
I did that little thing and was able
to see fine between my fingers. I
enlisted under my stage name, Arthur
Mack. Three days later I was at Mill
Hill Barracks, a member of the 22d
Middlesex regiment, an outfit of ban
tams. We were a funny-looking
crowd. Early in the war the experi
ment of bantam regiments was well
tried out. There wasn't a man in our
regiment that was over five feet four
and from that down. On the whole,
though, the bantams never were a
success; it turned out that a small
man is a good deal more likely than
a big one to have other disqualifying
troubles. Eventually all the bantam
units were distributed to other regi
ments. I had been in uniform only three
days when a drill sergeant spotted me
as one who had had previous military
training. lie asked nie and I told
him all abour my three years at Nor
wich. Abou: six weeks later the sergeant-major
sent for me and said:
"Private Mack, I understand that
you have had military training before
and that you know the duties of a
corporal. Do you realize the re
sponsibilities?" "Yes, sir," I said, "I do."
"Very well," he said, "you are to go
up for your stripes."
Now I knew too much about mili
tary game to want to bea non-com
and I said so. I told the sergeant
major that I didn't think I should like
to assume the responsibility of even
a low non-com, much less seek pro
motion. I wished, I told him, to re
main a private. '
The sergeant got pretty savage
over that and made me feel that I had
insulted him, the British army and
the king. But I knew what I wanted
and what I didn't want and was con
tent to remain just a private. I
I wouldn't have gone higher and have
often been glad that I didn't.
Two weeks later I was recom
mended to brigade officers' staff and
reported there as orderly. I hated
to leave the bunch of pals I had come
to like so well but the job was the
cushiest in the army. It let a man
out of all training and gave him
better grub and a bed to sleep in.
My regiment was shifted about con
stantly during the five months I was
at headquarters, and I saw Aldershot,
Borden, Pirbright and several other
places.
Going to France.
Then I heard that my regiment was
going to France. I asked for trans
fer back to active service. I got it.
But I found that I had missed a lot
of training. A short time after my
URGES FAIR TREATMENT
IN WAR TIMES
Fair treatment for loyal American
citizens o German birth was advo
cated by Samuel Untermyer, noted
New York lawyer, in a recent speech
at a Liberty loan meeting at At
lantic City. The speech in part fol
lows: "Un-American treatment is being
accorded in. certain sections of the
country to our loyal American citi
zens of German birth in the face of
the repeated eloquent, and statesman
like warnings., and appeals of our
president against the folly, weakness
and injustice of hate and bitterness.
They are made to feel that they are
under suspicion; that their loyalty
and sympathies are questioned. Wo
cannot afford to harbor such feelings.".
1 f jpjl
i1 mm
return the men were all examined
by the medical board for overseas
and I failed to pass.
That was discouraging as 1 had by
this time fully made up my mind that
I was going to see fighting by hook
or by crook I was sent to Horwich
in a reserve batt. I had been there
just one week when the commanding
officer asked for men who had passed
their medical examinations and their
course of firing. He wanted them
aS volunteers for the London 23d. I
promptly hopped out of the ranks and
voluteered, though I wasn't up on
either of the requirements.
Somebody must have hai an eye
shut because I got away with it.
Next day I was in Winchester and
a week later I sailed sfor France.
Before sailing I had a new equip
ment which weighed complete ninety
pounds, I weighed myself stripped
the day I received it and I tipped
the beam at just ninety-nine pounds.
Some load I
Landed in France at Le Havre, I
had nine days more of strenuous drill
in specialized lines and then was
ready for the front. Incidentally I
saw the sights in Le Havre, the red
light district and the white lights, too.
That is part of the soldier's education
over there, you know. If he doesn't
learn to keep his head and behave
himself on leave he's a poor soldier.
The little more than a week of
drill in Le Havre ended too soon.
Within a few days after that we
were within sound of the rumble of
the big grins.
CHAPTER V.
First Night in the Trenches.
W cannot fight,
W cannot 41a,
Wot bloddy good rt w?
And wlira w ft to Berlin,
Th KHr h will ny,
mln Uott, main Oott, ,
Wot a vary (In lot
To aend to Garmanea.
I was lying on the floor of a bell
tent at the base in Le Havre on a hot
day in August. The hoarse voice of
the singer floated in on the still air
very dismally. He had the tune
wrong and 'he didn't have the words
exactly right, and he bore down on
the "Wot bloody good are we," as
if he relished it.
I got up and peeped through the
tent flap. The singer was sitting on
an upturned bucket peeling potatoes.
His face was about eighteen inches
long and he slewed his mouth around,
rolled his ryes and shifted off into
another song.
Tnka ma ovar tha aa
Whera tha AUemand can't iM ma,
Oh, my I I don't wanner dla.
I wanner go 'oma.
That finished me, I heard both
songs before sung better, but
they never got under my vest like
that, and I knew there wasn't any
answer to the "Wot bloody good arc
we?", at least as far as I was concern
ed, and I knew right well that I
wanted to go 'ome.
I ducked out and hoofed it for tlie
C. O., and shoved in an application
for discharge from the British army
CAPACITY OF FORT OMAHA
DOUBLED BY ADDITION OF
FLORENCE
Large Tract Leased by Government for Duration of War;
New Mess Halls, Buildings, Sewerage and
Water Systems Are Being
Constructed.
By ROBERT WEIGEL.
When the construction on the new
government project at Florence
field, recently added to Fort Omaha
has been finished, that post will have
practically doubled its capacity for
both men and work.
A large tract to the northwest of
the fort has been leased by the gov
ernment for the duration of the war.
New mess halls and new buildings,
equipped with shower baths, are being
constructed. A complete sewerage
and water system will be laid, and the
new field will be .modern in every
detail.
Florence field is about one mile
from Fort Omaha. When the field is
completed, men assigned to duties
there will remain continuously it the
new post, saving much time in com
ing and going from Fort Omaha.
New roads have been laid out by
the post engineers, and are now in
process of construction. Forty odd
big army trucks are hauling ashes,
cinders, dirt and other material to
be used in making the roads solid.
Altering Landscape.
, A bit of camouflage work is also
being dont. Mother nature is being
altered by Lieutenant Colonel Her-
observation balloons from possible
enemy observation. The hills and
dales of which Florence field has an
abundance are being cut up, while big
hole3 are being dug, where the gas
bags can snuggle down close to the
surrounding green grass, leaving
only their gray backs, which are very
deceptive, to be viewed from the dis
tance. Balloons are already at work on
Florence 'field, where flying cadets
make ascensions every day. At pres
ent there are some six bags fly
ing every day but that is almost tell
ing military secrets, and the censor is
going to review this, hence we will
change the subject.
As you tnotor along Thirtieth street
past Fort Omaha, have you ever
noticed that great high tower which
stands as a silent sentinel on the west
side of the road, about five blocks upon
the crest of the hill? No, it is not a
wireless tower. The instruction de
partment of Fort Omaha conceived
the idea of erecting the tower to give
the new cadets preliminary tests at
perspective drawing and observation.
The tower will accommodate IS
meft and affords a grand view of the
surrounding country. Many are the
weird maps of Omaha and vicinity
that have been conceived up there,
declare Fort Omaha balloon instruc
tors. After the cadets have had the
kinks' taken out, and are rounding
into fulr fledged balloon pilots, they
are assigned to one of the balloons,
where a real taste of loftiness is
J
on the grounds that I was an Ameri
can citizen.
Wounded By Shell. '
I was just down from seven weeks
in the hospital after being wounded. in
three places on the same day by shell
fragments. I was still shaky and
had a silver plate in the top of my
head and could feel my brains wobble
around, but I had been examined by
the medical board the day before and
told that I was fit and that i was to
sent back to the batt in less than a
week.
This was in 1916. In those days
you couldn't get a discharge from the
British Army for anything less than
a leg off; and if you happened to be
a good shoemaker or accountant or
something you didn't need a leg for,
I don't believe they'd let you go at
that. It was possible for an American
citizen to beg off. I had had a little
more than three months in the
trenches and was fed up. I had had
enough. I wanted, like the fellow in
the song, to go home.
I suppose that every rookie goes
through the same experience. He
strikes a period in his service when
he' would give anything to get away.
He has had enough fighting to be
thoroughly scared and not enough to
have become a seasoned veteran. It is
this period of depression that pro
duces the many songs like the ones
quoted above. There was another, of
which I can only recall the last three
lines. They were a supplication to the
war office and went:
Hand your fathar, aond your brother.
Send .your lter. naml your mother,
Hut tor Qnwd'a eake don't emit ma.
These songs were all sung in a
spirit of josh, but we meant 'em, too.
Say what you will, there is a vtime
in the life of any soldier when he
wishes he hadn't come.
I am mighty glad to read that the
American troops are being broken in
and given their baptisms gently, so
to speak. Back in the old days of
1915, and half-way through 1916, the
British were so short of men that
they had to take raw rookies and
shove them in to get used to things
as best they could. That spoiled a lot
of soldiers. It came near spoiling
me. , ,
As a fine example of the way the
thing should not be done if it can be
avoided, it may do no harm to tell
about those first three months in the
service.
No Chap Forgets.,
Probably no chap ever forgets his
first night in the trenches. I'll bet a
dinner there isn't one man in a thou
sand that had one like mine. I had
been about 10 months in training in
England before being sent over to
France. , That was about twice what
most of them were getting at the time.
I had been in uniform so long that
I'd heard the war talked over from
every angle and had head scores of
men who had come back tell of their
experiences and had got so I thought
the big show was more or less of
a cinch.
When I finally did go over they had
me right up at the front without de
lay, and the batt landed in a place
FIELD TO POST
felt. Contrary to the general belief,
it does not cause one to become
dizzy when making an ascension
you merely experience the sensation
of standing still, while terra firma
gradually sinks away, declare balloon
experts. s
Everybody it Busy.
Only a month ago the tract taken
over by Uncle Sam was a mass of
waving grass and corn stubbles. It
reminds one of a bee hive at present
A big force of carpenters work from
early to late to hurijy the construction
of the new buildings. It gives the
spectators a feeing of restlessness, as
you watch the great hubbub of
activity, all for the purpose of
screaming 4efiance to the imperial
"kultur" of Germany, and you ex
perience the sensation of waiting to
get busy right away to do your ','bit"
m some way to helpx Uncle Sam.
Just motor out there some day -the
authorities do not care to have
you get too inquisitive and stay ' a
respectable distance away from the
projects. . Hundreds of Omaha peo
ple visit the vicinity of Fort Omaha
every Sunday to watch the great
gas bags, which are a never-ceasing
attraction to Sabbath idlers.
Another hir.t don't try to take any
pictures if you value your camera
and freedom. f
The balloon 'division of the signal
corps has the honor of being one of
the most efficient of the army. Bar
loon companies composed of officers
and enlisted men trained here at Fort
Omaha have beeii in active service
on the battle front in France for sev
eral months.
Accidents are Few.
Not a single fatal accident? has
marred the i ccord of the Fort Omaha
school since its inception, soon after
the declaration of war against Ger
many. One balloon caught fire,
which .burnid several men about the
face and hands, and a few cadets have
been shaken up when they came to
earth fron parachute drops, but
none have been permanently dis
abled. Less than a year ago Fort Omaha
was a more or less deserted place.
Tall grass waved Over the untrodden
paths, the t-nly sign! of habitation
being jhe parade grounds, which
were kept up by the tew sold'ers sta
tioned there, piore for use as a base,
ball field than for anything else. New
barracks, new garages and a wide
area covered by gray tents, bespeak
the new life that leaped out of chaos
when the American eagle flapped its
wings and snarled forth a warning to
aristocracy that the sleeping giant
had again been aroused to fight for
freedom, to protect the weak, and to
make the world safe now and forever
after from the dark cloud of militar
ism which has emitted its cargo of
death and disaster upon the un
fortunate weak of God's domain.
i
called Fonquevillers, better known t
the Cockney as Funky village. Ws
were dumped down out of a train oi
toy freight cars five miles behind th
lines, late in the afternoon, and
marched up to the front. We got.
into the commnication trenches, at -dark
and around 10 in the evening 1
war standing on the fire-step in th
front line looking over the top. Com
ing up there had been a booming o1
guns at a distansc in both directions
north and south, bue we hadn't seen i
shell burst. A mate of mine named
Higgins and I were shown a traverst ,
about 30 feet long and told to stanc
on the fire-step until relieved, and
there we were. '
The place was as still as the middlt
of somebady's melon patch along
towards morning. There wasn't a gun
of any sort, big or little, going of)
for miles around. We stood i whil
on the step and "Hig" whispered t
me: ' '
"What do we do next, Mack?"
His whisper sounded like an umpirt
talking through a megaphone.
"Shut up, you fool," I hissed
"They'll hear you." -.
Rats Began to Come.
That was how little we knewaboul
what to do and how to do it. W
stood there without moving until my
foot went to sleep and the sweat wa's
rolling down my back. ,'
Then the rats began to come. 'Wt
had kept so still that I fancy, they
thought this bly as theirs. Anyhow,
as many as a dozen big ones cainc
scuttling along the trench and along
the step. We didn't bother them until
two of the biggest got in a row over
a bit of garbage or something and
squealed enough to make your blood
run cold. ,
"Hig" stood up on the step, whis
pering. "Shoo, shoo," at the rats, but '
they didn't pay any attention and had ,
it out. I was afraid the Heines would
hear and coine over to stop the fight.;
But nothing happened. After the rat- i,
row we loosened a little. I got down,
a sandbag to stand on to look over
and stared Out into the dark. There
were a lot of old stumps out there,
and after a while one of them moved.
Then it didn't move. Then it looked
like a horse, and moved again. My '
throat got dry and the hair crawled on '
the back of my neck and I itched in ,
17 separate places. ' . '
"Hig" pussyfooted down next to me
and said, in a trembly voice, "See 'em
move, mytie? Le's give it to 'em."
I held up my hand to him and '
he sneaked back, but before he went
I heard him mutter: .V
Wanted to Hear Noise. (, ''
"Cripes, I wish they'd be somf ,
noise." i
I wishjrd so too, but there wasn't.'
Not a shot of any kind was fired all .
night long. I nearly went mad half ',
a dozen times, and when it began to
get light I was a nervous wreck. .':.
Just as it was graying little a
couple of men came through lugging6
a dixie of stew and we filled up the '
tins. I was so glad to see somebody
that I could talk to that I was nearly ,
ready to hug the two of them. They
growled and said some tea would be
along shortly. The tea never arrived.
Before we had a chance to tackle -the
stew Fritz began to shell lis. '
We'd been wishing for less silence,
and, by heck, we got more noise. Out '
of a clear sky they gave it to us for
20 minutis, whizz-bangs mostly, and ,
they hit everywhere but in our fra-
verse. One hit in the next bay and
we beard a man yelling in there. We
dropped our rifles and crouched under
the parapet with our teeth chattering,
praying for the end. (
When it was all over I found that
I'd got my foot in the stew. I didn't
care particularly, because I. was so
sick I couldn't nave eaten it, anyway.
I didn't get over that nerve-shattering ,
first night and morning for days. It
was a poor way to start a rookie in. '
The Funky Village sector was sup
posed to be a holiday part of the lirie.
It was, in a way. Frequently there
would be no shelling at all, day or
night, for ' days, except the regular
strafing at breakfast. We got used to
it and were on the way to becoming
veterans.
School of Hardships.
In the' matter of the hardships of
trench life Funky" Village was a fine
prep school for anything they could
offer us anywhere else. For a so
called trench system jt was a disgrace
to an armythat had been in the field
learning for nearly two years. When a
the trenches had been dug they had -been
reasonably good, but they had
been washed in and there had never
been any attempt at repairs. The ,na
ture of the ground made the traverses
catch all the water there was in that '
part of the world and hold it. We
were up to our knees all the time and
up tojhe middle part of the time.. It
is a wonder we didn't grow flippers
and tails. Ilip-bocSts had not been is
sued at that time and wejust wal
lowed. We used to cut sand-bags in. '
two and wrap our legs, but all that -
did was to parboil the skin. "
The communication trenches weri "
so deep in water that two men werr
actually drowned in them. It wis im- .
'possible to get up hot rations with any
pretense ot regularity. 4 or the most
part we lived on cold stuff with stew
and tea when we got it, which was
seldom. Water was scarce, except .
under foot. Drinking water was
brought up in petrol tins and would be ,
blue with oil. A good part of the tim
we drank the stuff out of the trenches,""
thick as pea soup with little. zoos in it,
Some humorist stuck U& a sign, read- ,
ing: '" '
"Don't Drink the Water you Sleep In." '
But met of us did it rather than
try to worry down the gasolene mix
ture. It was a queer thing that the
bad water didn't seem to make any-
one sick. I fancy that we all got kind
of amnJiibious after a bit, healthy like
sea lions, arid that we could have
lived in an aquarium. r '
You will understand that this was .
along towards the fag end of the ex- .
tremely bad conditions on the British
front.. From the fall of 1916, things
got better, but it did take the English ?'
a long'time to leamf e.
I think it may be fairly said hat the
superiority of trench construction by v
the Germans frwm the beginning was
the great reasonlwhy the Huns had it
on the British in net military results .
in the early days.
From the ' time they dug in the
Germans were thorough and careful
in their trench building. They went -down
deep with their trenches and
their dugouts. They were safer all ,
the time than we were. They were
dry and comfortable in their sleeping ,
quarters. Their communication
trench were good and they were able , ,
to feed their men well at all times.
" .(Continued Next Sunday "
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