Four Weeks in the Trenches: The War Story of a Violinist — John Shaqi
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
At half-past two we reached a clearing in the midst of a wood
through which a river flowed. Here camp was again established and
a half hour later all the hardships of the march were once more
forgotten in the bustle of camp life. This time we had a full rest until
the next morning at four o'clock, when suddenly orders for marching
were given. After we had been under way for about three hours we
heard far-away, repeated rumbling which sounded like distant
thunder. Not for a moment did we associate it with cannonading,
being, as we supposed, hundreds of miles away from the nearest
place where Russians could possibly be. Suddenly a mounted
ordnance officer came rushing with a message to our colonel. We
came to a halt and all officers were summoned to the colonel who,
addressing us in his usual quiet, almost businesslike way, said:
"Gentlemen, accept my congratulations, I have good news for you,
we may meet the enemy to-day and I sincerely hope to lead you to
the fight before evening." We were thunderstruck at the sudden
realization that the Russians had penetrated so deeply into Galicia.
The despondency which followed this startling revelation, however,
was quickly replaced by the intense excitement of meeting the
enemy so soon. We hurried back to our companies, imparting the
news to the men, who broke forth into shouts of enthusiasm. All the
fatigue so plainly noticeable only a few minutes before, suddenly
vanished as if by magic, and every one seemed alert, springy, and
full of spirit. We energetically resumed the march in the direction of
the distant rumbling, which indicated that the artillery of our advance
guard had engaged the enemy. My regiment then was part of the
main body of a division. A second division advanced on the road
parallel to ours, about a mile and a quarter to our left. Both columns
belonged to the Third Army Corps and kept up constant communication
with each other through mounted dispatch bearers and motor cycles.
The cannonading had meanwhile come perceptibly nearer, and in
the midst of the dense forest we again came to a short halt. Orders
were given to load rifles, and upon emerging from the woods we fell
into open formation, the men marching abreast, the companies at a
distance of three hundred yards, with the battalions at a distance of
about a thousand yards. We were slowly entering the range of the
Russian artillery. About a mile ahead we could see numbers of
harmless looking round clouds, looking like ringlets of smoke from a
huge cigar, indicating the places where shrapnel had exploded in
mid-air. Our men, not being familiar with the spectacle, took no
notice of it, but we officers knew its significance, and I daresay many
a heart beat as wildly as mine did.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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