A NIGHT FATIGUE

Evening Post, Volume XCIV, Issue 75, 26 September 1917, Page 7

A NIGHT FATIGUE

A SOLDIER'S PERILS AND DANGERS

UNCHRONICLED HEROISM

(By H. T. B. Drew.)

"Lighten our darkness, we beseech. Thee 0 Lord, and by Thy great mercy defend iis from all perils and dangers of this night."—The Collect for "Aid against All Perils.

The prayer in the Evening Service for "Aid against all Perils" was said in the little hut church adjacent to the camp, j and the dozen or so soldiers attending service, added a fervent "Amen." Away out in New Zealand, thousands of people in many churches had said the same Sunday evening prayer in the same conventional way in which they had repeated it all their lives. "Fall in, —th Company; smartly, lads, we haven't much time." The sergeantmajor's 'voice is not raised higher than is . necessary. There is little need; the men are standing round about in the gathering twilight, handy to the parade ground, waiting for the order they know is about due. They carry shovels, rifles, a-nd bayonets, and gas respirators, and they wear shrapnel^proof, or so-termed, "tin" helmets. The day—a Sabbath day—is just drawing to a dosft, and the darkness, which has been awaited to enshroud the work in hand, will soon end the long summer twilight "somewhere in France." The little rump church has long since emptied^ in jfew Zealand, aye, dear old Now Zealand, the bells will be ringing the ' faithful to morning service. In England sad women will be gazing wistfully out to the darkening East, to France, where lives, or lies dead, the cream of their manhood. It is the hour of peace. A familbr wail over the campCrash ! A German 5.9 shell hurts a hundred yards aw,ay, and rattles the.j red^tiled roof of a neighbouring Belgian farmhouse with fragments of iron. The enemy artillery is beginning its nightly search for our guns. In small parties the battalion moves off towards, the place where the fatigue that night has to be done. The task is to be .the laying of a cable up towards the. front line. ■ A n.c.o. is in charge of eacb party, and so many officers per | company exercise control over^ the whole. Each, small imit keeps in visual touch with the other. Gas helmets are slung ready to b.e used, for gas shell's may comeover at any time, or even cloud gas. Arid such inconveniences must not_ stop the work, especially a* the battalion lias a reputation for finishing a task undertaken. ' ' Along lanes, through fields of waving corn, neck high, past patches of peasown ground, down wayside tracks that ■ skirt high, sheltering- plantations, winds the long line.of small groups of men. Here, as they pass a copse, a battery of j medium guns flash out, sending a salvo of screaming and wailing shells across on errands to the Germans. Far back in the dark of our own lines behind us sounds a dull roar, aid a great iron missile away up 'chortles in. low-toned' glee as it passes overhead. But there is not only our own iron about; enemy shells come-over, though they do not worry us. Those falling nearest us are searching for an adja)cent battery, bursting sharply with a dull crash and bright flush* and the groups merely slrirt the place where they, are landing, and pass on. The ground along the route is shell-marked wjth holes varying in size from four feet diameter to fifteen or twenty, and from four to ten feet deep —in! some parts well distributed, in others so close together that it, is difficult to find a way, in the rapidly darkening night/ between them. Some are now, others are half-filled with water._ Overhead our aeroplanes buzz lazily about, observing, to the last of daylight, for enemy guns. Observation balloons on both sides have been hauled in. , Darkness increases. Three or four enemy 1 shells crash closely ahead on the .track, and for a moment the small group /of men adjacent to them scatters out, but no more shells come over, and the march goes orJ . Four miles are at last covered. The head of the party reaches the rendezvous. Here an engineer captain is waiting, and as the first lot of men arrive he commences pacing off their allotted tasks—-two paces of trench to each man. A shovel is driven by each man into the limit of his task ; the man removes his coat, and, two minutes after arriving ,at the spot, is digging. "Hullo, Digger," is the familiar greeting of our soldiers to each other these times—a sort of jocular-satirical reference to the chief occupation "of a modern soldier. At digging, the New Zealand soldier has a •reputation among the ; . world's armies that is equalled only by his unparalleled name as a fighter. Our bank clerks,, miners, store hands, squatters, drapers,' farmers, all do it equally well side by In fifteen minutes the whole battalion fatigue is busy, at work on a- long line of trench, the far end of which is pointing towards the enemy. Officers keep an eye on their own particular length of line. The line is down some three feet when enemy IT.'E. shells commence coming over. But they are landing a hundred yards or so away, and are not near enough to worry over. Their sound as they hurtle across, tells you whether they are going to be dangerous. " Into it, lads," says an officer. "Get your heads under and he can't get you." It's usually hard luck if a shell finds you in a narrow trench; unless it lands right in you are tolerably safe. . It is a relief to officers to see the men's heads.rapidly sinking. ' '■'"" Half an hour of this, and no one has been, hit yet. The trench is well down and a good parapet has been thrown up on the,jside nearest to the enemy. There has been a lull % the shelling. But now comes a sharply-increasing wail, and a crash and a flash high up, another and another, half a dozen, one after the other, right over a portion of the line. j Shrapnel! Every man at the first sound has curled up into the bottom of the trench, with steel-helmeted head bent low. Muttered curses punctuate each burst. Small pieces of the shells smite the earth around. Then the hail ceases. Anxiously each officer listens—the men resume digging. Yes, there it comes ' "Stretcher bearers.wanted ! Send down -the company stretcher bearers ! Pass the word along !" "Any in this company hit?" queries the- officer, as he passes down the line of his unit. No, he has no casualties, tho men lower down have caught it. Digging goes on. It is the task in hand that matters. Then after a little while there conies a low, confused murmur, a small knot of men approach out of the darkness; walking beside the trench; they shoulder a stretcher between four of them; behind is another simihir knot, and yet'another. "Badly hit?''' " Ono "of them in the hip, sir; the other perhaps, also. Blighties." "Blijjliliss for you, eh! Cheer up; lucky devils!" say,; the officer. " You bet, siv," replies a strained voice. •.. . U'ls 'ill fin 'dark Mid dirty, and there is no dory about it, and. cer-,

tainly no celebrated press correspondents are about to write up the "hardy fortitude" of these poor hit . Qads—that's only done in big stunts. At this work yon don't even have the satisfaction of hitting back at'the'.- who sent the missile over. God! how you admire these " diggers " around you—teeth set, silent, pushing the spade in, foot on steel, cool and methodical, throwing out the earth—no furtive glances, no hysterical jumping out—and, what is better, no growling—only sometimes wholesome full-toned curses for the who sent the shrapnel over. The hours pass, and the trench at last is deep enough. The Engineer officer passes it, and proceeds to supervise the laying of the cable. Then comes herculean filling in. No shelter now; if anything conies over it must get you, above ground. Phitt! phitt! Some machine bullets .whistle around. Yon fall prone. But it is only a, chance shower, and does no damage. It soon passes, »nd the filling ■ in goes on. As the job becomes completedl at the top end, the platoons are moved off without delay. Two platoons have already gone, and you begin to wonder if, after all, the night is going to end well, and the battalion get off lightly, -when, almost as if in derision, crash! God! they have got us this time. Surely thai is down }by the bottom end of the line! Yes, a, shell has landed among a group of men just preparing to move off. ... Four silent figures, one an officer newlyj&ined up that afternoon, five other men | hurt, and one groaning in mortal agony, j "Pass the word for the stretchers." . Cursed luck; in another two minutes they would all have been away. What d-i—d luck. Poor parents, and lovers, or wives! ... Then, the .slow-Itramp home. Cocoa or coffee you get at a wayside V.M.C.A. Have you ever felt tired—utterly tired, in mind and body, the strings ail loose, five hours without a bite or drink; in peril all the time of your life (though no one admits it)? Then you can know what a wholesome bowl of warm cocoa ■ tastes like; and. you can appreciate tne feelings of the men itowwds the officers of the Y.M..CA., who sit up all night to administer thus to them. It Is .the most practical Christianity—even though it .gives little time for the preparation i of sermons. ■ . . j Well ; the nightly task is over. The dawn is' slowly increasing in the east. In the,camp those who have not been out on duty are, also, onty- just seeking their beds, for the camp, you learn, has been shelled during the night, and its occupants have had to disperse round about for safety. Now it is quiet again. As you turn in the thoughts'will fly back to conventional Sunday nights of by-gone days, the evenings when there were quiet strolls along peaceful roads, and calm, refreshing sleep—of the times when "perils and dangers of the night" had no, meaning, and certainly no anxieties^ Sometimes you dream of those days. . ..