THE MOMENT OF REVENGE

Dominion, Volume 11, Issue 113, 30 January 1918, Page 5

THE MOMENT OF REVENGE

* I STORY OF THE FRENCH FOREIGN LEGIO , i HUN GHOULS AND THE '. BAYONET Gerald Brandon, a French Foreig Legionary and a, writer, tells in tho SI Louis "L'qst Dispatch" somo interest ing experiences at tho front, anion which is the story of what happenei when Lieutenant Fabro met the Gα man who tried to "bayonet him :— Lieutenant Marius Fabre, our actin company commander, was a bn liever in cold steel. "Tho bayonet i tho only decisive arm," lie would saj "Artillery can establish a curtain ot fir which it is difficult, but not impossible to get through; riflo firo will thin th ranks of an attacking force, but it take a vigorous counter-attack with the bay onet to demoraliso the Bodies." In accordance with his ideas, s Lieutenant Fabre trained Iris men, and whenever wo were at repos in the rear ho kept us at bayonet practice until th company was known among ail t\\ troops in tho neighbouring sectors fo its proficiency with "Rosalie," as th soldier nicknames bis steel. Wo wen at Cumieres early in 1916 when thi Germans attempted what was to hi their great offensive. Wo were read; for them, for our intelligence serviei was active, and our aero scouts hac noted unusual preparations behind theii lines' for several w : eeks past. Notwith standing the preparedness of the Le gion, the Germans, after two days am nights of bombardment, succeeded ii making their way through the wire en tanglements, and were swooping dowr upon the trenches when Lieutenani Fabre, recognising the opportunity foi his favourite tactics, leapt "over tin top," shouting: ' "En avant! A la baionnette!" Hand to Hand. ', We swept down on the Germans lik< • a whirlwind. They gavo at the firsi j shock, and wo surrounded them. The i Germann fought stubbornly. They seem- ; nd hypnotised or intoxicated, returning i blow* for blow automatically but uneni thusiastically, until not a one was lo.fi i alive. That it might not massacre its I own men, the French artillery had susi pended its fire, thus allowing another I contingent of Germans to step up on ins. Wo were no longer fresh, and j greatly outnumbered, so wore ordered ito fall back, on our trench that tho ! artillery might again drop its curtain of i fire, those that were loft of us re- ' turned, but Lieutenant Fabre was not I among us. ! We learned afterwards that Lieutenant Fabre, who had been' wounded, camo back to consciousness half an hour later. Where was ho hit? Hβ could not tell. Ho started to feel over I his body, but at his first movement a I bullet whistled close to him and ho toI lapsed into immovability. Some Boeho j marksman was finishing off such wounded as still showed signs of life, so ho figured he had better-play dead. Tho hours passed and tho sun wont down, and a heavy mist spread over the battlefield. In the shadows, fromeitfior trench, parties of stretcher-men started nut io'bniior in those of their wounded who could bo reached without risk. . Tho Hun Hyena. Lieutenant Fabre, who had dropped into a doze, was awakened by voices near him. Hβ opened his eyes . and tried to collect his wits, when a form stooped over him and a hand unbuttoned his tunic. the fumbling fingers were seeking his wound, ho muttered feebly: "Not there, higher np. Around the shoulder." ■ The form straightened suddenly and growled: "Ach das schwein. He is not dead after all." Just then the moon shone forth from behind the clouds, and its rays fell on a scene that typifies the German Kultur —a group of Boche soldiers pilfering the dead. Ono of their officers, snatching a rifle from one of his men, plunges it into th© breast of tho helpless wounded Frenchman. But Lieutenant Fabre did not die. Later that night ho was brought to our lines by ono of our patrols, which was seeking his body to give it decent burial. It was found that the bayonet had glanced off his rib, and that the wound was not mortal. But ho lost much blood, and two days afterwards he was sent to the American hospital in Paris. It took Lieutenant Fabre several months to re* cover, for his convalescence was retarded by mental pictures of that scene when tho plundering German sought to drive his bayonet into his heart —and believed that be had done so. Fabre'a hatred for tho man became almost an obsession, but eventually he was discharged, and when strong enough ho returned to the front with tho stripes of a captain on his sleove. But that picture was still firmly fixed in hia mind. The Mills of tho Cods. One day he was reviewing a new batch •of prisoners taken in recent operations near Verdun, with a view to picking out the more unintelligent among them for questioning. Intelligent men catch tho drift of questions, and evado ormisinform. Unintelligent prisoners under clever cross-question-ing give out information which thoy do not cvon know they possess. Suddenly Captain Fabre turned pale, and, stopping a German officer who was marching disdainfully past, ho asked him his name in a voice that shook with suppressed emotion. "Were you at Cumieres on February 16?" he demanded in a>tonso voice. "Yes," replied tho German, "and I chased back one of your counter-at-tacks." "And did yon go out on patrol that night?" insisted Fabre. "I do not remember, but most likely I did," returned tho German, puzzled at the personal note in tho questioning. Fabro could control himself no longer. Springing at the prisoner, ho forced him against a nearby wall, and, pointing his pistol at him, broke out into a volley of almost hysterical abuse. "1 havft you! Assassin! Murderer! Pig of u Boche! And I will make you pay. You do not remember the helpless 'blesso' you bayoneted that night at Cumieres? How many wounded Frenchmen have you killed in tho same way? But that time you missed, and I saw your faco in tho moonlight. I have hungered to meet you again, but scarcely dared hoiio to. Say your prayers to your 'old German god, , for you are about to die." The Gorman, who up to that moment had faced the pistol without alarm, suddenly remembered that night at Cumieres. Fear camo to him, and ho crumbled in a heap at Fabre's feet, awaiting the ballot. A group of other French officers, attracted liy tho tumult, had conio up and were silently watching the drama. Thov know tho story. "Shoot the pig!" said one. "Wo will renort that ho tried to escape." Fabro's finger tightened on tho trigger. Then with aii effort ho controlled hinisplf, and said contemptuously: "Go.fc no and tako your placo in thr ranks. You richlv tiosorvn death, hut T am a. French officer, not an executioner."