They watch the dawn, and in a line or two
put some of its beauty into their letters home. They describe with a
literary skill that comes from strong emotions the gloom and horror of
long nights near the enemy's trenches from which at any moment a
new attack may come. And yet, though they do not hide their
moments of spiritual misery or despair, there is in all these letters the
splendid courage of men who are ready for the last sacrifice and
eager for their chance of honour.
"I send this letter," writes a young Zouave, "as I sit huddled under an
earth-heap at twenty yards from a German trench, less to be envied
than a rabbit in its burrow, because when the hunter is far away it can
come out and feed at pleasure. You who live through the same
agonies, old friend, must learn and rejoice that I have been promoted
adjutant on the night of November 13 on the banks of the Yser. There
were seventy men out of 250--the rest of the company sleep for ever
round that ferryman's house which the papers have made famous...
What moral sufferings I have endured! We have now been brought to
the south of Ypres and continue this depressing life in advanced
trenches. Not a quarter of an hour's respite: shells, shrapnels, bombs
and bullets fall around us continuously.
Pages:
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455