n6
THE YPRES TIMES
there in the dark he told me of his experience while a captive at the Hun post.
They seemed to come from nowhere that morning. One minute we were
floundering dn the muck, arguing about direction, and the next instant a big
squarehead had his bayonet against my stomach. I shoved my hands up before
I knew what I was doing, but Bell and Jenkins did not surrender quick enough to
suit the officer in charge, and he shot both of them. They were severely wounded.
They pushed me a few yards, just a short distance, to that post where you found
me. I was thrown in a corner and the officer snapped orders at his crew. Four of
them were just ordinary goose-steppers,' but the fifth man was a huge, ox-like
fellow with a wooden face. They got their gun ready and prepared for more of our
chaps, but none appeared, and Bell began to call for help. They had left him where
he fell. That Hun officer was the most cruel-looking person I have ever seen.
His eyes were like slits, and he snarled when he spoke. He calmly shot Bell with
his automatic, emptied the pistol, and must have hit his target five or six times.
About an hour later Jenkins tried to crawl away. The officer made a queer sound
in his throat and sneered as he rasped, sharp orders. The Heinies looked at each
other and they moved shakily, but, in turn, they aimed their rifles and put a bullet
into Jenkins. Of course, he only felt the first one, and each man scored a hit,
except the giant. His shot went wide. The officer stepped over and slapped him
in the face with his open hand. I could not help making some exclamation, and
the next I knew that brute had struck me over the head with his pistol. The blow
knocked me backward into that cutting where you found me. Not content with
that, the officer jumped me with his knees and drove me into the hole until I was
wedged tightly, then he struck me in the face with his fists until I was unconscious.
When I recovered I heard the officer speaking with snarling fury. He was
upbraiding the big man. My head throbbed violently, and my body was racked
with pain. Before I knew it I had groaned. The officer sprang to where I lay
and seized my tfeet, attempting to pull me from the cutting. He failed, and
ordered the big soldier to drag me out, at the same time pointing to the pool of vile
scum that had drained into a crater at the back of the post. I was within six feet
of it, and I knew what he meant. The soldier looked his officer in the eye and
said something. His superior snarled like a beast and drew his automaticand
deliberately shot the big man in the thigh. Again he snarled his order, his lips
drawn back so that his teeth were exposed. He shot again, the giant's other
thigh. Then it happened. The huge private crumpled to the earth, but, as he did
so, he reached out with deceptive speed and caught the officer by his gun wrist.
One twist, and the revolver dropped into the mud, and the pair sank into the
muck, the soldier handling his captive like a child. Yet he failed to watch the
officer's free hand, and the next heart-beat there was a third shot. This time the
snarling Hun shot to kill. The bullet entered somewhere near the big man's
heart, but it did not send him into eternity in time to prevent him crushing the
officer to him in one last effort, and then roll into the pool, the killer beneath him.
There was an awful cry, cut off suddenly, and all was over excepting a string of
bubbles that rose in the slime. The four Huns who had watched the tragedy
huddled in the far side of the post. They never looked at me, and I lay there
watching that filthy pool, seeing again and again the distorted features of that
officer as he took his death plunge. Then you chaps came. Every time I've seen
a slimy pool I've seen that picture again. I can't shake it."
Jock lost his leg on the Amiens front, but I don't think he has ever lost that
Passchendaele horror.
What was it you saw out there, my lad,
That set such depths in your eyes?"
