Distant trees
seem to change their position; bunches of grass, really quite close,
seem to be men coming over the sky-line. One man questions another; the
section commander is called upon. He in turn explains his fears to an
officer. A single shot is ordered at the suspected object, and no sound
is heard. So the night goes on. When we were new to the game a single
shot was enough to alarm the whole line, and thousands of rounds were
fired into the darkness. Now we know better. So also do the enemy. And
it was satisfactory to find that our ammunition had not all been wasted,
for a patrol recently discovered more than a hundred dead Germans in a
wood in front of us. The ammunition had not been wasted that time. But,
oh, what a wasteful war!
The Baptism of Fire
[From The London Times, Nov. 4, 1914.]
_The following letter, thoroughly characteristic of the pluck
and cheerfulness of the young British officer, was received
from a cavalry subaltern at the front:_
October 27.
Your two boxes of cigarettes were heaven. We've been in the trenches two
days and nights, but no excitements, except a good dose of shrapnel
three times a day, which does one no harm and rather relieves the
monotony. I've got my half troop, 12 men, in this trench in a root
field, with the rest of the squadron about 100 yards each side of us,
and a farmhouse, half knocked down by shells, just behind.
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