Soon we were compelled to climb out of the gully-path to make way for
some descending troops, and stumbled forward with a curious feeling of
nakedness high up in open ground. Here the bullets were many times
multiplied, and many of us said that we could feel them passing between
us. Indeed, one or two men were hit, but though we did not know it, most
of these near-sounding bullets flew high above us. After a little we
were halted, and lay down, wondering, in the sibilant dark; then we
moved on and halted again, and realized suddenly that we were very
tired. At the head of the column the guide had lost his way, and could
not find the entrance to the communication trench; and here in the most
exposed area of all that Peninsula we must wait until he did. The march
was an avoidable piece of mismanagement; the whole regiment was being
unnecessarily endangered. But none of this we knew; so very few men were
afraid. For we were still in the bliss of ignorance. It seemed to us
that these strange proceedings must be a part of the everyday life of
the soldier. If they were not, we raw creatures should not have been
asked to endure them. We had no standard of safety or danger by which to
estimate our position; and so the miraculous immunity we were enjoying
was taken as a matter of course, and we were blissfully unafraid. At the
same time we were extremely bored and tired, and the sweat cooled on us
in the chill night air. And when at last we came into the deep
communication trench we felt that the end of this weariness must surely
be near. But the worst exasperations of relieving an unknown line were
still before us. It was a two-mile trudge in the narrow ditches to the
front line. No war correspondent has ever described such a march; it is
not included in the official 'horrors of war'; but this is the kind of
thing which, more than battle and blood, harasses the spirit of the
infantryman, and composes his life. The communication trenches that
night were good and deep and dry, and free from the awfulness of mud;
but they were very few, and unintelligently used. There had been an
attack that day, and coming by the same trench was a long stream of
stretchers and wounded men, and odd parties coming to fetch water from
the well, and whole battalions relieved from other parts of the line.
Our men had been sent up insanely with full packs; for a man so equipped
to pass another naked in the narrow ditch would have been difficult;
when all those that he meets have also straps and hooks and excrescences
about them, each separate encounter means heartbreaking entanglements
and squeezes and sudden paroxysms of rage. That night we stood a total
of hours hopelessly jammed in the suffocating trench, with other troops
trying to get down. A man stood in those crushes, unable to sit down,
unable to lean comfortably against the wall because of his pack, unable
even to get his hand to his water-bottle and quench his intolerable
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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