I do admit it was a very dark
night; at least it appeared so to me. Oh, we were on the brave act, all
right, all right.
We stood there staring steadily into the blackness. Suddenly a bullet would
come "Zing-g-g-g," hit a tin can behind us, and then we would duck,
exclaim "Good lord! that was a close one," then resume the old position.
But we soon learned not to have many inches of our bodies displayed,
target-fashion, for the benefit of the Dutchies.
The first night in we fired more bullets than on any other night we were at
the front. We saw more Germans that night. They sprang up by dozens; they
grew into hundreds as the minutes passed and the darkness deepened. We felt
like the prophet Ezekiel as he viewed the valley of dry bones. There was
the shaking, there was the noise, and my imagination, at least, supplied
the miraculous warriors. It was an awful night, that first night in.
Any one knows that if frightened in the dark (we were not frightened, of
course; only a little nervous), the worst thing to do is to keep the eyes
on one spot. Then one begins to see things. It is not necessary to be a
soldier, and it is not necessary to go to the front line in France to make
sure of that statement.
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