page 46

A Vignette.

A beautiful spring day in Northern France; birds whistling sweetly among the trees. A thrush carols as if he would burst his throat. Everything is calm and still.—

Suddenly a harsh laugh grates on the ear. A sharp word of command heard from a distance, and then hell breaks loose. Several batteries of our big guns in front of us open fire. The songs of the birds no longer gladden one's ear.

On the right and to the rear, duller explosions in quick succession are heard. Small clouds of woolly, black smoke tell us that the enemy's shrapnel is searching our trenches. At the same time columns of smoke and showers of mud and earth thrown high into the air show us where the Huns' high explosive is landing. God help the infantry. Shot after shot from the German guns falls along a frontage of about 300 yards, and the dull boom, always followed by the geyser-like showers of earth, continues without cessation for what seems to us an interminable period.

A few minutes' waiting, and our batteries open out again. We feel much more satisfied as we hear above us the "whizz," "whew-ew-ew," "whirr-rr," of our shells on their way towards the trenches of the unspeakable Fritz.

Another pause in the devilish din—this time longer than before. Quiet prevails again. A cuckoo sounds his cheerful note. A sparrow struggles with a piece of straw, and at last carries it off in triumph. A faint "mee-ow," a scratching at my putties, and I look down to see a tiny scrap of a kitten crying pitifully in its endeavour to climb up my leg and attract attention. He is one of two families—one family of four, orphans; the other of three, with a sad-eyed sandy cat for mother. They have made our sand-bagged brick-kiln their home, and regard us as their natural protectors and food providers. I stoop down and pick up the little morsel of fur, tuck him in the hollow of my arm, and his cries of self-pity change to purrings of satisfaction. A huge rat, seated on a small bank about five yards away, gazes impudently at me. He page 47 is evidently pleased with himself and with the world at large, and is enjoying the mild sunshine. Once more the twittering and singing of the birds. I gaze around, drinking in the scene. "God's in His Heaven, all's right with the world."

A discordant note! A melancholy frog croaks dismally in a marsh close by. Then again, this time without warning, pandemonium is let loose. Shells screech and wail overhead, as if they were damned souls whose crimes were too black even for hell. Kitty snuggles closer in my arm and continues to purr contentedly.

Our despatch rider, coming in at that moment jumps from his bicycle to report. "Cars will be here in a few minutes." Then, with a sob as he turns away, "They got my brother yesterday."

Two of my bearers emerge from the communication trench, followed closely by another squad. Two bloodstained and seemingly lifeless forms are on the stretchers. I rise to my feet, and place my furry friend, who squeaks his puny protests, gently but firmly on the ground, and turn to my work.—"C."