Walther Harich.
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.