Letters From the Front

Dated: October 6, 1915

Four nights ago I was in the front line, about seven miles south of here. About 7 p.m. volunteers for patrol to reconnoitre a position between the lines were called for. Nick Carter and I were the chosen ones, and along with a lieutenant we set out at dusk in front of our wire and through the long grass. The expedition had somewhat of a savour to it, as the last patrol who tried to reconnoitre the place a couple of nights before got all shot up. After taking an hour to crawl a few hundred yards and forty-five minutes to negotiate the last twenty feet of the journey, we found ourselves about fifteen yards away from a small pent-up shack, with the door and windows facing us. The shack had its back to a hedge, behind which was a trench, we believed. We distinguished the voices of about three men here, and heard every word they said, even though they spoke in whispers. Then Nick, without any instructions from the officer, went on his belly right up to the door, peered in and crawled back. Meanwhile I had gone about ten or fifteen yards further in, to look after a spot in the hedge which we suspected as being their listening post. I was just in time to hear the patrol being relieved. They spoke in whispers first, then one fellow seemed to tread on another's toe, for there was a volley of (what I thought was) swearing for a second. Then I heard one of them stumble into the hedge from the cracking of sticks. I may tell you here that it was a cold frosty night and the grass was covered with half frozen dew. I had left off my serge in order to be able to move more freely. I was wet through and nearly frozen - lying absolutely motionless for a couple of hours in this condition was not the most comfortable thing in the world you can well imagine. Then to crown matters, a great rat came along and started in to gnaw at my right leg, evidently thinking that I was a dead one; quite a compliment to the immobility which I was practising. It got on my nerves and not being able to resist the temptation I gave the rat a swat and sent him scurrying away through the grass. The Germans also smelt a rat at this time, for they opened up with their rifles. It grew rather exciting when the bullets tore the earth all around us, and splashed clay in our faces. Luckily no one was hit. I figured there were at least ten of them. When they quit, one of them started crawling out in the grass, right straight for me. I covered him and let him come. Just at this point I thought I'd sure give the show away. I was leaning partly on my left side, and my old heart started thumping like the engine in that old Overland of yours. Then the humour of the thing struck me. In my own mind I said to that German 'By Jove, old son, you've a damn poor chance of living if you come any further.' Then I figured out that the danger was not too great, the odds being in my favor, and found myself smiling through the peepsight of my rifle. By now my heart had gone back to normal behaviour. I was just going to indulge in that squeezing motion that Sergeant Major Collins used to teach us in Wetaskiwin, when the thought struck me that if I fired, it would give the show away, and nine men entrenched in a hedge were too long odds on three of us lying in the open, and forbore for the moment. Brother Fritz remained about ten feet away from the muzzle of my rifle, when he either got cold feet or decided that everything was O.K., for he turned around and went back to his kennel. I wasn't the least bit sorry. Meanwhile I'd made my own reconnaissance and had a good plan of the place in my head. In about ten minutes the officer gave us the signal to get back to our trenches, which we did in safety. We compared notes, drew plans and sketches and went to bed. The C.O. pronounced the work as very successful. We had every scrap of information that was wanted and a little more.

I almost forgot to tell you that Nick saw three Germans and one machine gun in that shack.