BETWEEN TWO FIRES

Dominion, Volume 9, Issue 2681, 29 January 1916, Page 12

BETWEEN TWO FIRES

HIS DAUGHTER OR THE ENEMY M. Maurice IWhier, in the "Gaulois, tells a dramatic story of the J'lomish trenches, of which a translation recently appeared in the "Standard." It was between Dixmudo and Nieuport, in. the last days of October, 1914. Iho French Marine Fusiliers had gone to the rescue of the Belgians, who, in their retreat from Antwerp, wero holding on to each hedge and ditch and contesting each inch of their native land with the fierce energy of despair. In many places the losses had been so heavy that, all that was left of a regiment or company was a little knot of" men who had kept together Tinder selfchosen leadership. It was such a knot of heroes that the Fusiliers found in one of the trenches they went to occupy, and the leader, a simple-looking, stoic Flemish peasant, begged as a favour to bo allowed to remain in attendance on the French captain and continue to fight as before. He was a man of about 30, taciturn and not given to much speccli or gesture, but always ready to do good work. Above all, lie was a dead shot, and the manner in which his rifle never foiled to bring down his man was the admiration of the French.

The German trenches were within about a milo, and one misty morning the' look-outs reported signs of general activity. The enemy was evidently about to make another attempt on the Yser. Before long it could bo dimly seen through the lifting fog of the morning that the Germans were moving forward in their usual solid formation, trusting ■to weight of numbers to break down the defence. The Belgians, who were nccustomed to these attacks, kept up a steady fire, aiming low and deliberately, but the French officer had great difficulty in restraining his men from charging, with the bayonet. At his right hand the Belgian sharpshooter followed his instructions, only stopping between each shot to take a pull at his pipe or to try to see the effect of his fire on the advancing enemy. , As the Germans drew nearer, though, a growl of rage shook the trench, for when it was possible to distinguish the outlines it was seen that the front line of the attack was a pitiful staggering crowd of men, women, and children, being driven on with blows and pricks from the bayonets of the invaders, 011 whose faces could be. discerned sneers and grins of triumph, as tils firing from the trench suddenly ceased. The men were lialf mad with furv, and half stunned with horror, and many with teal's begged to be allowed to charge, dared to fire. Next to the captain, the Belgian sharpshooter looked as if turned to stone, with his eyes fixed in a terrified stare on the horrible sight, and his Angers playing mechanically with his trigger. The Germans were now within 100 yards, and every face, feature, and expression of their victim was plainly visible. And behind them the savagely exultant smiles and laughter of the Germans.

The captain was in one of those awful dilemmas that war must sometimes contrive for responsible commanders. To sand out his | Fusiliers was to condemn tliem to annihilation agaiiist the overwhelming odds, and in the fearful hand-to-hand fight that would ensile the civilians would bo the first sacrificed. Hia resolution was taken in a flash, and lie explained that he would shout to tho villagers to throw themselves down on fclio ground, and at the same time both French and Belgians would open and keep up the hottest fire they could.'

Turning to the crack shot, to . saidj "You see that officer leading, with a baby girl in his arms?" Tho Belgian, with the sanio fixed stare, nodded; like a dead man might nod; The captain added, "You must bring him down, for it ig he who keeps the attack together." For an instant there came a' look of panic and torture in the eyes of tho Belgian. "I know it is an atrocious thing I am asking you, but it is our only chance, and you must be brave, cool, and quick."

The Germans were closer now, and all the men in the trench could mark the small, fragile, flaxen-haired child, and in the tragic stillness hear her cries of "Hainan", as she was held in her white frock against the uniform of the big German, a shield of innocent flesli, enough to save his brea6t from any French or Belgian bullet. Scarcely a sound but a sort of gasping'sob could bo heard as tho sharpshooter,threw up his rifle and took a long, deliberate aim over the edge of the parapet. As tho shot rang out he draw himself up and out, with a face like a mask of,terror and dread, to see the figure of the German stretched out 011 the earth. After iho fall of tho leader the attack degenerated into a "wild general .volley on both sides over the prostrate forms of the civilian screen. But. heedless of the hail of bullets, the Belgian flew towards the body of his quarry, and rniatcliiiw: up the child regained tho French lines. Thero he retired into a and seemed oblivious of the battle, and all else. But once more the German a6sault had failed, and when it was over, and cach man had reoccuw'ed his place in the trench, all looked in silence at their Belgian comrade, who was fondling the jrirl he had saved from apparently certain death.

The captain at last went up to congratulate him, and said, "You seem to Snow the little thincc?" With a fierce yet tender glance. the Belgian renlied, "It is my little daughter, Marie."