Four Weeks in the Trenches: The War Story of a ViolinistKreisler, Fritz
History
Four Weeks in the Trenches: The War Story of a Violinist
Kreisler, Fritz
World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, Austrian
This happened, to the best of my recollection, at about half past ten
at night. Upon coming to my senses I found my faithful orderly,
kneeling in the trench by my side. He fairly shouted with delight as I
opened my eyes. According to his story the Austrians, falling back
under the cavalry charge, had evacuated the trench without
noticing, in the darkness, that I was missing. But soon discovering
my absence he started back to the trench in search of me. It was a
perilous undertaking for him, for the Cossacks were still riding about,
and he showed me with pride the place where a stray bullet had
perforated his knapsack during the search. He revived me, gave
me first aid, and succeeded with great difficulty in helping me out of
the trench. For more than three hours we stumbled on in the night,
trying to find our lines again. Twice we encountered a small troop of
Cossacks, but upon hearing the tramping we quietly lay down on the
wayside without a motion until they had passed. Happily we were
not noticed by them, and from then we stumbled on without any
further incident until we were hailed by an Austrian outpost and in
safety.
By this time I was utterly exhausted and again lost consciousness.
When I opened my eyes, I was in a little hut where our ambulance
gave first aid. Therefrom I was transported to the nearest field
hospital. This, however, had to be broken up and the wounded
removed because of the Russian advance. We were hastily put on
big ambulance wagons without springs, the jolting of which over the
bad road caused us such suffering that we should have almost
preferred to walk or crawl. We tried to reach the railway station at
Komarno but found a Russian detachment had intercepted us. In
the streets of the village a shell burst almost in front of our wagons,
making the horses shy and causing a great deal of confusion. We
had to turn back and after a long and wearisome detour reached
our destination, the troop hospital in Sambor, in a state of great
exhaustion. There I remained but a day. The less seriously
wounded had to make place for the graver cases, and being among
the former, I was transferred by hospital train to Miscolcy in
Hungary. The same crowded conditions prevailed here as in
Sambor, and after a night's rest I again was put on board a Red
Cross train en route to Vienna. We were met at the station by a
number of Red Cross nurses and assistant doctors.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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