The Red Glutton: With the German Army at the FrontCobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
History
The Red Glutton: With the German Army at the Front
Cobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
World War, 1914-1918 -- Campaigns -- Western Front; World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives
Two of our party had unshipped their cameras by now, for the pass
which we carried entitled us, among other important things, to
commandeer that precious fluid, gasoline, whenever needed, and to take
photographs; but we were asked to make no snapshots here. We gathered
that there were certain reasons not unconnected with secret military
usage why we might not take away with us plates bearing pictures of the
field wireless. In the main, though, remarkably few restrictions were
laid upon us that day. Once or twice, very casually, somebody asked us
to refrain from writing about this thing or that thing which we had
seen; but that was all.
In a corner of the turnip field close up to the road were mounds of
fresh-turned clay, and so many of them were there and so closely were
they spaced and for so considerable a distance did they stretch along,
they made two long yellow ribs above the herbage. At close intervals
small wooden crosses were stuck up in the rounded combs of earth so
that the crosses formed a sort of irregular fence. A squad of soldiers
were digging more holes in the tough earth. Their shovel blades flashed
in the sunlight and the clods flew up in showers.
"We have many buried over there," said an artillery captain, seeing
that I watched the grave diggers, "a general among them and other
officers. It is there we bury those who die in the Institute hospital.
Every day more die, and so each morning trenches are made ready for
those who will die during that day. A good friend of mine is over
there; he was buried day before yesterday. I sat up late last night
writing to his wife--or perhaps I should say his widow. They had been
married only a few weeks when the call came. It will be very hard on
her."
He did not name the general who lay over yonder, nor did we ask him the
name. To ask would not have been etiquette, and for him to answer would
have been worse. Rarely in our wanderings did we find a German soldier
of whatsoever rank who referred to his superior officer by name. He
merely said "My captain" or "Our colonel." And this was of a piece with
the plan--not entirely confined to the Germans--of making a secret of
losses of commanders and movements of commands.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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