History of the World/History of the World (Bureau Development, Inc.)(1992).BIN/dp/0471/04714.txt

Text File | 1992-10-12 | 8KB | 195 lines

$Unique_ID{how04714}
$Pretitle{}
$Title{True Stories Of The Great War
II - Horrors Of 'No Man's Land'}
$Subtitle{}
$Author{Spengler, Wilhelm}
$Affiliation{}
$Subject{help
la
lieutenant
hias
oh
french
poor
get
himself
now}
$Date{1914}
$Log{}
Title:       True Stories Of The Great War
Book:        German Students Tell What Sherman Meant
Author:      Spengler, Wilhelm
Date:        1914
Translation: Freedman, Julian Bindley

II - Horrors Of "No Man's Land"

     Near Maricourt, December 17, 1914.

     Soon after 11 we were awakened by the retiring sentries.  As tired as
dogs though we were, we crawled out into the open.  It was still raining
wet strings - a cold, ugly December night; not a star to be seen.  Every
once in a while the sound of a shot came to us from the other side of the
stream.

     "You," remarked Hias suddenly, "listen!  Hear anything?"

     "What do you mean?"

     "Now."

     It was a long, wailing cry for help.  I could hear it distinctly.

     "There is a poor devil out there, wounded," said Hias.

     Great heavens - in this weather!  And he must have been lying there
without help since early yesterday.

     He couldn't be in the wood anywhere, for we had gone through that
thoroughly.  Perhaps he had been caught by a shrapnel splinter during the
retreat across the field.  Well, what was it to us?  Let his comrades get
him.  He must be just a few meters from the French trenches, anyhow.

     Released at 1, we went back to our tents to get some sleep, cursing
the French who left their comrade to perish so miserably.

     At 3 the next afternoon, when I went on duty again, the poor devil
was still calling for help, keeping it up all day.  We could not help; we
did not see him.  And to expose ourselves to the French was a proceeding
not to be lightly recommended.  It was a horrible feeling to be condemned
thus to inaction while a wounded soldier called for help.

     When the wind changed one could hear the poor devil whimper and weep
and then suddenly rouse himself and send out a call for help, "Oh, la,
la!"

     Why didn't the French take him away?  There was no danger.  We could
not shoot, for we saw nothing.  And we had no intention of doing that.  I
was glad when my hour was up.

     At 8 o'clock I was at my place again with Hias.  The poor Frenchman
was whining more pitiably than ever.  For half an hour we listened; then
Hias lost his patience.

     "What a tribe of pigs," he broke out, "to leave a comrade die like a
dog!  He can't last much longer."

     "Well, Hias," I said, "what can we do?  I am sorry for him myself,
but there is no help.  He must die."

     After a few minutes a terrible scream: "Oh, la, la, la, la!" pierced
the night.  Then there was quiet.  God be praised!  Now he is dead and at
peace, I thought.  And quietly I repeated a few prayers for his soul.  But
after a while we heard his cry again.

     "Well, it's enough now," exclaimed Hias.  "I can't stand this any
longer.  I'm going to get him, with or stand this any longer.  I'm going
to get him, with or without permission." He spoke and disappeared.

     In a minute his brother took his place at my side, while he himself
ran up to the trenches.  He was back in about ten minutes.  He had the
permission.  The lieutenant also was going and asked if I would come
along, as I knew something of first aid and could speak a little French.

     When we got to the lieutenant three more men, splendid fellows, on
whom one could rely, had volunteered.  In a twinkling we had gathered tent
cloth, side arms and saws and were running singly across the meadow.  Of
course, the sentries were notified that we were out in front.

     We entered the wood.  While two men worked with knives and saws to
cut a way through, the others held themselves ready for anything that
might develop.  We stumbled over bodies, weapons and knapsacks.  At last I
found a little path which the French had made a few days previously.

     I rested a while and was just about to return to my comrades when a
hand gripped my foot.  Great God, I was frightened!  For a second I was
paralyzed; then, tearing out my sword -

     "Pitie!  pitie!"

     Some one under my feet was whining for mercy.  My teeth chattered.  I
could hardly move or answer.

     "Oh, m'sieur camarade; pitie!  pitie!"

     Suddenly the lieutenant appeared and I found my control again.
Getting down on my knees, I carefully groped for the body.

     "Look out now," whispered the lieutenant.  "It may be a trap."

     "Give me your hand," I ordered the Frenchman.  A cold, moist,
trembling hand was put into mine.

     "Where is your weapon?" I asked.  He had lost it as he pulled himself
along till he was exhausted.

     Suddenly from somewhere near we heard the horribly familiar call,
"Oh, la!  la!"

     "Well, now," said the lieutenant, "we have one man, but not the right
one."

     I asked the wounded one whether we would be seen if we tried to get
the other man.

     "Oui, mon brave camarade, Allemand." The lieutenant hesitated, but
resolved nevertheless to go on.

     One man remained behind with the Frenchman - a corporal, he said he
was - with orders to stab him instantly if he called for help while we
were working our way through the brush.  We came to the edge of the wood
at last and peered out.

     We could make out the forms of many black objects - dead men, killed
so near their own trenches, too!  Hias was beside me, and with his sharp
peasant eyes soon espied the body of the poor fellow we were after.  The
lieutenant crawled out, and we followed.  Coming up to him, I called
softly, "Camarade!" I did not want to frighten him; besides, he might
scream for help, then we would be in a nice fix.

     "Oh, oh, Dieu!  Dieu!" he breathed and emitted sounds like the joyful
whining of a puppy when he saw me.

     He grasped my hand and pressed it to his breast and cheek.

     I felt him over carefully.  As I fumbled along his left leg I
received a sudden shock.  Just below the calf it ended.  The foot was torn
off above the angle and hung loosely on the leg.  As his whole body was
wet I could not tell whether he was still bleeding.  I could only make out
that a rag was tied about the wound.  He had bandaged it with his
handkerchief, as I learned later.

     We soon had him beside his comrade.

     The lieutenant went back to his command, leaving the rest to me.  The
others carried the corporal away to the nearest aid station, while I
remained with his comrade, who, as he lay there, softly spoke to me about
himself - his wife and his child - of the mobilization.  This was his
first day at the front.  Fate had overtaken him swiftly.  He was a
handsome man, with big, black eyes, dark hair and mustache.  His pale,
bloodless face made him doubly interesting.  His voice was so tender and
soft that I was touched; I could not help it.  I gently stroked him:
"Pauvre, pauvre camarade Francais!"

     "Oh, monsieur, c'est tout pour la patrie."

     I lay down and nestled up close to him and threw my coat over him,
for he was beginning to shiver with fever and frost.  Then it began to
rain very softly.  So we lay one-half, three-quarters, a whole hour.  At
last, after one and a half hours, the comrades returned.

     My poor wounded one was crying softly to himself.

     He was soon in the hands of a physician and an attendant.  His wounds
were looked after and he was given some cold coffee.

     I had to go.

     A look of unutterable gratefulness, which I shall never forget, a
nod: "Bonne nuit, monsieur," and I was outside in the cold, damp December
night.

     Wilhelm Spengler.