GOING THROUGH HELL.

Auckland Star, Volume XLIX, Issue 41, 16 February 1918, Page 16

GOING THROUGH HELL.

STORMING AN ENEMY TRENCH.

FRENCH WRITER'S PEN PICTTJItE.

Henri BarDusse, a well lenown Freneti •writer, has written a graphic account of the storming of a German trench in -nhich he took part. In gripping .language he describes the torture of waiting for the signal to advance, or running out in the open against terrific fire, and of the happiness of the men when they find each other cafe after "going through hell."

"It is evening in the Champagne," writes Henri Barbusse. "The men are ■nailing in the dug-outs of the first line trenches, wondering when the order to charge against the enemy will be givenThey are anxious and nervous, but try to conceal their real feelings by telling funny etories and laughing heartily. They know that in the next moment they may be facing death, but there is always hope. They have 'been spared before, perhaps they may be spared again. A voice is heard in the neighbouring trench. " "Listen, , said one of the men, "Didn't you hear? The alarm was sounded!' '•Alarm? Are you crazy?" •• Just then a shadow appears in the opening in the dugout and somebody cries " To arms'.'

'• Quiet prevails. We have all become dumb. We get up and stretch our weary bones and go out into the trench. The roar of the guns is frightful. One man looks :it the other; no word is spoken, but the eyes tell everything. We are rend: some of the men are sitting quietly in the mud, others are resting their arms on their rifles. I study the pale, deeply lined faces of these men. They are not soldiers, but simply human beings. They are not adventurers or warriors. They are peasants and workmen in uniform, and were not made for slaughter. They are awaiting the order to die. THEY KNOW WHAT IT MEANS. ■' Each one of them knows what it means: he knows that he is to expose his head. Ui s breast, his stomach aud his arms and legs to rifle balls, to ehrapnel and to the bayonet. They are a quiet, peaceful lot—not bandits or barbarians or savages looking for another's blood. 1 can sue that they are tortured by the suspense, that they are in anguish, that they are wondering whether they will live through this terrible night. Xo one who has not seen men ready for a charge can appreciate what it means. '" They still wait. It seems like eter-

nity. The sun has set and a weird darknes? is creeping over the sad landscape. Inen rain falls in torrents to add to the gruesome picture an atmosphere of tragedy.

There is more time spent in waiting and then hand grenades are passed around to the men. Each man receives two. Then the order " Forward!' is heard, and we know that it is now our turn.

" We spring out of the trench and into the darkness. We expect to be greeted by a deadly fire, but, strange, the thunder of the guns suddenly ceases. A wave of joy creeps over us; and yet, perhaps, the enemy i<? only luring us on to destruction. " Don't use your hand grenades until the Inst minute." shouts our captain. ".lust then a curtain of fire rises before us and the bullets begin whistling past our ears. We are running forward now. Shells arc bursting all around us. The fingers of my right hand are singed by the fire of an exploding shell and I drop my gun. only to stoop and pick it up ago in. The fire becomes 60 strong that -sve become blinded by it; our men become separated, none of us knowing where he is going. Hereyand there in the mist T could discern forms of men falling heavily to the ground, and now and then above the ioar I heard the heart-rending cry of someone who had received his death wound.

THK BLOOD LUST. " Forward!" shouts our captain. " We are running like mad now. Sometimes we stumble over the bodies of our comrades, but there is no stopping. Our breatn is coming fast, our hearts are thumping wildly in our breasts, our blood is coursing at breakneck speed through our veins. We are now as men possessed; we have forgotten all our fears, and all wo want now is to meet the enemy face to face; we are lusting for blood.

" The German trench is before us, and we all plunge in; but the Germans have flown; the trench is empty. We stop for breath and look about us. It seems all like a dream now. and we greet each other like happy children. "'What, you, my friend? Thank God, you are unhurt. Have you seen our captain? What has become of him? God. what must we not all go through!' •' We remain in the trench and 'tell our experiences. The cries of the wounded have ceased, but the roar of the guns has increased. Wβ no longer pay any attention to the noise. We are tired, very tired, and there w e eit at the bottom of the trench, -waiting for a wink of eleep."