The End: How the Great War Was Stopped. A Novelistic Vagary

by L. P. Gratacap

Suddenly I heard the oncoming shouts of German troops, and I realized that it was the advance ranks of the division deployed to our left to surround the hill,—now deserted—and which probably would continue their advance to the attack, of our second line of defense, with the whole strength of the German corps. I glanced about me. Some overturned bushes lay at the side of the hole, and instinctively I seized them to ambuscade my refuge.

I crouched—perhaps a derisive observer would have said I squatted—closely within the lowest recess of the accidental excavation, and drew after me, with all the caution my necessity and impatience permitted, the withered and prickly bushes—a hawthorn bramble—so that, like a cowering rabbit in its warren, I awaited the rapidly nearing host of the Germans. Luckily the excavation was somewhat removed from their direct approach, and formed so obvious and considerable a feature in the ground, that the platoons would avoid it, or at the worst jump over it. Nearer and nearer came the clamorous companies, and the heavy tramp of their feet, beating in unison the stubbled field, made my heart beat too with an insistent rapidity.

Now they were passing my tiny screen. I could hear their laughter and the occasional rough sallies of their voices. The line seemed endless. Just dimly through the interlaced twigs and dirt encumbered branches of the hawthorn, I could actually catch a broken view of the massive column. The horrible thought of one of the soldiers, through an inadvertence, or from the crowding of the lines, falling into my dug-out, sent the blood whirring through my veins and bathed me in perspiration. I drew my revolver. It might be a straggler, and, if just one man, the weapon would serve completely for my protection. I shuddered at the awful chance. This extremity was worse than the indiscriminate and generalized murder of the battlefield.

Then just as this suspense almost throttled my breathing, the whole line rested, and there above me—I could see their strong figures, their gray coats, even the gleam of their pickelhaubes—the babel of conversation broke out in incoherent gurglings of German. Another instant and the order might be given to break ranks, to camp, and my screen might serve, practically enough, to light a fire, or even the hole be selected as a preeminently good substitute for a hearth. Smoked and roasted out then it would be!

No, the line moved again, with the unintermittent trudge of the hundreds of booted feet, now and then the clangor of a sword, now and then the whish of grazing coats, and always a certain observed but indescribable hum of rapidly passing bodies. Then came silence—no more?—could it be possible? In my hole the light had grown dimmer and dimmer, and while it was no prudent criterion of the time of day above me, still I felt sure—for I had counted the seconds elapsing as the battalion swept over me—that the night drew near, and then—deliverance.

At first I scarcely dared to stir, fearing the betrayal of my retreat by the animated bush which I would raise above me. But after a long wait, while the light sensibly failed, I cautiously crowded what I could of it, the bush, beside me, and surmounting it, at length was able to peer out of the hole, and note the opportunities for my escape. It was very dark, the night threatened to be stormy, and the rising wind prevented my distinctly hearing sounds about me, if anyone was in the vicinity. Slowly with the finest sense of carefulness and stealth, I crawled to the lip of the shallow pit, and rose above it, and stood up, achingly relieving my sharply disabled limb.

"Sind gefangen;" the voice was at my side, and a shadow accompanied it. But I was quicker than its groping arms or hands, quicker than the gun or sword, or whatever else it seized for my despatch. I jumped at the black body with my revolver trigger snapped back, and pressed the muzzle upon the now rampant body, that grappled with me, and discharged it. The report was almost inaudible, and the sound of the falling German, as he dropped lifeless into the pit, that had sheltered me, was hardly more than a dull thud. What was about me? was the enemies' circuit here on every side? I hesitated for a moment. There came no sound of rescue. The topography of the country I knew well. Far—about a half a mile—to the right as you looked westward, was a road leading directly to a village that was in the rear of the second line of our defense. That road I would reach if I could. It was the simplest—to me the only—issue of salvation. I turned quickly aside and fell to the ground. My leg pained me, and seemed almost incapable of movement. Lying there I swung my head about to discover what objects surrounded me. In the night-light, almost absent, I could discern nothing, and taking the risk as there was no other alternative I abandoned the idea of walking to the road, over the rough field, and began slowly to crawl in its direction. The sense of direction was infallible with me, and I had not the slightest doubt of my position. Of course the Germans might by this time have swarmed over the whole area, but that they had not yet attacked the second line of our defense seemed certain as I had heard no firing. Both sides awaited the morning. The Germans were there, no doubt, but farther to the east.

I canvassed these conditions while I crawled over the stinging grass-stubble, and at intervals waded through water holes and muddy banks. Now the ground was rising. I had attained the further side of the broad field, and was surmounting a hillslope beyond which ran the little road that would conduct me to safety. Well, I shall not rehearse the mingling feelings of dread and relief, of quick suspense and then exulting certainty, that I experienced, on that dismal trip on my hands and knees all the way to the village. For only at intervals was it possible for me to use my injured leg that increased in helplessness as I went on. I reached the village, and the first man I encountered on its outskirts was the man who had been next to me in the line of battle.

We were dislodged from our position, and the weary retreat towards Paris continued. I still stayed with the army, and I was in one other fight, when my leg had somewhat regained its usefulness. It was then that I was wounded, then that my soul most revolted against the barbarity of War.