University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

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THE REDWOOD he assumed his position at the loophole in the sand-bag parapet. The night filled with so much driving snow had become less penetrable than the dark- ness itself. Only that shifting while wall met his gaze. Even the perennial roar of shrieking shells had ceased. The feeling of something sinister and uncanny, something vast and mighty came over him. Man had made war for ages but never before on such a huge scale. Then suddenly a blinding white glare cut through the gloom. The blaze played for a few minutes over the trenches, sweeping to right and left and back again, dying away at a far distant point. After it came the same white gloom and deep silence. To the watchers along the line this betokened but one necessity and that to prepare for a massed attack. But the storm was now letting up and with its abatement came an order for volunteers to go over the top, on listening duty. To Jack this afforded a novelty too good to let by and he was lured by the thought of its romantic danger. That their persons might blend the more perfectly with the surrounding snows, fifty grimly determined men, shroudded in white, clambered out of the trenches into No Man ' s Land. All was still and they advanced rap- idly fifty yards or more. Almost at the same instant, warned by a trail of sparks rising in a long arc from the German trenches, the little party dropped flat and lay moveless. The star-rocket paled and winked out in mid-air. Jack noticed in the flare that the weary land was flecked with what he concluded to be poor, dead, broken bodies of men who had fallen days or months, hours or weeks before in the grim contests that were waged for a few yards of that debatable char- nel ground. Two lay so close to him that he could have touched eit her by slightly moving his hand. But he was at pains to do nothing of the sort; he desired to clench his teeth against their chattering, even to hold his breath and regretted that he might not mute the thumping of his heart. In a semi-crouching posture the troupe slipped forward again, ready to flatten themselves to earth when an- other trail of sky-spearing sparks warned them. Then a strange coinci- dence occurred. With the brave little band from the British side, there also ventured out into that waste of littered and inde- scribable abominations a listening par- ty of Germans. Thus had Fate de- cided. In the middle of that desolation they met. They needed no urging; they al- most flew to their task. Foe met foe, amid the din of clashing bayonet. Shrieks of the dying pierced the start- led night ; a mortally wounded comrade here, a dying foe there and all muffled to insignificance by the rasps of strik- ing steel. Neither side dared fire, lest in doing so they mow down their own men. Only the mere handful must

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THE REDWOOD It was cold, unimaginably cold and dark and the driving storm was at its height. Thickening into an avalanche it gained impetus every second and drove on as of some malign spirit having at its disposal only a brief space in which to wreck and destroy. Jack drew his coat tightly about him and bent his head to the fury. Progress was low, even painful through the con- coction beneath his sodden foot-gear. A pocket flashlight beaconed him on, deflecting sullen gleams from the inky mass of slushy melting snow. At reg- ular intervals were stationed coated figures with faces steadfast to loop holes in the parapet, seeking out, if possible, through that shifting white wall, any foe who might be wandering aimlessly about in the two hundred yard ribbon of earth that separated the combatants. Now and again he passed narrow rifts in the walls of the trenches, en- trances to dug-outs, betrayed by glim- mers of candle light through the cracks of makeshift doors or the coarse mesh of gunny-sack curtins. Many too, with their bare hands, had patiently dug little alcoves and shelves; these niches contained their most precious belongings, a picture of mother or sweetheart. In these men who lived but to kill there was still left a touch or two of tenderness. The fire along the line swelled to an uproar, augmented by the hellish gib- bering of machine guns. Somewhere back of him a huge gun came into play, barking viciously. Shells whined and shrieked overhead, as a pack of hungry wolves eager for prey. To Jack this was nothing, merely a weird music to which his ear had grown ac- customed, and he moved on as if noth- ing were happening. Coming to a halt in front of his own little alcove, he patiently dug with his hands, — the only tools to be afforded. It had but one possession, a picture of his mother. He flashed his little light in upon it. To look upon those well- loved features, strengthened him and the thought of the millions of other mothers, like his own would have been, mothers whose future happiness de- pended on the outcome of this war, kept his spirits high. It reminded him also of his duty and of his unpaid debt to Elaine. He handled the little card- board square affectionately, kissed it and then tenderly, as if he might in- jure it, put the portrait into the pock- et of his blouse nearest his heart. Well, Jim, old man, said Jack, slapping the shoulder of the man he had come up to relieve, have you found Fritz very inquisitive to-night? No, he ' s been too durned quiet; it sort o ' makes me feel creepy. And with that the doughboy stalked off, melting into the blackness, for he was tired, almost spent, as were all those brave warriors who stood post that day. Propping his rifle against the wall of the trench, its butt on the firing step just out of water, Jack proceeded painstakingly to fix its bayonet. Then

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THE REDWOOD strike at each Hitting shadow, knowing not whether it were friend or foe. Jack was blinded to all else, save the Boche he had encountered. He grew aware of the fact that the fierce on- slaught of his companions was carry- ing the Germans back. To Jack it was all thrilling, incomparable, and he eag- erly pushed on flushed with his first taste of victory. But suddenly a thund- erous crash halted him. A weird ring- ing sounded in his ears, his knees grew weak, his eyes were dimmed even to the white mantle of snow about, he falter- ed, stumbled forward and then plunged headlong into a shell hole, unconscious. Day dawned crisp and clear. All was quiet amid the hovering phantoms of death and the unspeakable. In the shell crater a young German, indescrib- ably jumbled moved ever so slightly. He groaned as he straightened and sat up, gazing about bewildered. Beside him lay a body straight and supple ; the features clear-cut and clean, a mere youth like himself. A boy ' s face with frank and fearless brow looked at him. There was no malice there, only shocked surprise. The German was deeply im- pressed. This is not one of the brutes we ' re fighting against ! ' ' His thoughts were uttered in perfect English. Where are the heartless, cruel terrors, he continued, we had to kill for our self- preservation. He gazed around in search of them. That unmalicious, kind- ly face disproved all his superiors had drummed into him. Has it come to this? he groaned, has all my education in Europe ' s best schools, but taught me how to kill, to maim and to wound? There were tears in his eyes and he shook with resentment. From an inner pocket of his blouse he drew a picture, the only thing that could console him. It was a woman with kindly eyes. Scrawled beneath the portrait was the word, Mother . He kissed it and fondled it like a mother would a babe, and he wept in his anguish. For who in time of trou- ble or doubt or grief will not seek his mother for advice or soothing words ? Ah, father, why in your love of militarism have you deprived me of a mother ' s companionship; her tender rearing and her loving care? It ' s made me a merciless murderer. For the moment he hesitated; a burning rage filled him. I never believed your side aright, but you forced me into it. There was wailing in his tone. But the body beside him appeared to move. Instinctively he felt for life. There was a faint thumping of the heart, hardly perceptible, but there was life. His fingers met a piece of cardboard. He pulled it from the coat pocket. It Avas a picture — a picture of a woman. To Jack from Mother , was inscribed beneath. Well, that ' s strange! he exclaimed in surprise, comparing it with his own. The similarity was unmistakable. Why — why, they ' re the same! In a daze he began to ponder. From