Evidently after the big flare-up and the quieting of the alarm, these sentries didn’t think themselves called upon to be particularly alert. But I was altogether too close to them to take any rash chances. I laid in the ooze fully half an hour before I dared move again. In that time the sentries disappeared.
This was good fortune, indeed. Moreover, I had come to the inner edge of the wire entanglements and these were only loosely constructed and I could wriggle my way through if I worked patiently. Besides, as I had full reason to believe, these inner wires were not electrically charged and would not sound an alarm.
Some hundred or more feet from the spot where I had seen the two sentries I could make out the spur of the trench, a neatly placed corner from which a machine-gun could rake an attacking force. Toward the very end of that spur I went, still on my stomach. At such a time as this the likelihood of the spur being empty of the machine-gun crew was good.
I listened a long time and then risked it. I dropped into the trench. The mud in it made my fall soundless. Through this spur I picked my way to the communicating trench. These communicators are always purposely blocked off in a zig-zag manner. They run on the flank of the trenches that front the enemy—run from the front to the rear trenches. To traverse one of these communicating trenches is, naturally, to be able to know a great deal of the enemy’s entire position. Moreover, save for sentries, and a possible but improbable patrol, the communicator is not occupied. It is the sunken roadway of the trenches.
Once inside the trenches, I was less in fear of my life than when outside. Upon the outside obviously the greatest watchfulness is exercised. The idea of an enemy within them is scarcely, if ever, entertained. I actually wormed my way past the two sentries I had seen from the outside, but who had disappeared. They had stepped down from their parapets and their heads rested drowsily against the wall of the trench. Edging past them, I held my breath and you may be sure, was as nervous as a witch. They never even moved. But once past them I moved fast.
The utter blackness of the night was with me—was my friend. I no longer sneaked along. If observed that would most certainly bring suspicion upon me. In the murk of the trench they would only regard me as one of their own if I passed in a natural manner as one about his quite ordinary business. Of course, I was watchful and sought not to be seen at all. The zig-zag course of the communicating trenches helped this purpose along at this time.
I spent two hours in their trenches, unknown to the Germans. I made a few notes and sketches, but in the main carried the idea of the position and its strength in my mind. Once I got out and into No Man’s Land again, however, I would elaborate on the sketches. In case I was killed making my way back and my comrades found my body, the papers would prove valuable, my work would be, in any event, partly done.
And there I was all unsuspected in the quiet, gloomy trenches, when for some reason or other, the forces again took alarm. There came the roaring medley of guns and for me much worse—again the skies were splashed with illumination. I had just rounded a turn of the zig-zag communicator and came out in full sight of a German patrol. Two Huns faced me.