PRISONERS’ LETTERS.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 1669, 1 February 1917, Page 4

PRISONERS’ LETTERS.

“FRIGHTFUL ARTILLERY.”

GLOOMY FOREBODINGS

The following are typical letters which have been found on German prisoners. They amply illustrate, (lie "war weariness” prevailing in enemy ranks: — A soldier of the With Infantry Regiment:

“Dearest Wilhelm, —1 send you good wishes from my grave in the earth. Soon we shall become mad if this frightful artillery does not cease. Night and day: night and day —it has never been like this before, they say. Under the earth all day we si), having neither light nor sunshine, but Just waiting for death. Any minute may bring it.” From a man of the Morser Battalion in the trenches:

“So you are coming' to Cambrai. I should never have expected that you were coming so near me. lam convinced Unit we shall soon meet here, for your rcpl destination is probably here also, and that is—to yo»r death. Thousands are gone and buried already. Anything like what goes on here has not happened in this war. I must tell you that. But if fate decrees that you should come here you will see for yourself." From a man in the 110th Infantry .Reserve:

“Heavy losses again. The English attack daily. Dead are lying ft 11 round. If we are here for long J can hardly see you again. Oh, if this frightful far would end."

From a man of the 360th Regiment, 11th Company: “Things are going wretchedly. If I come back out of this I may thank my God. I would tell you much, but I must not.’’ From a man of the 111th Infantry Reserve:

“The English attack regularly every day. One single British shell gave us sixteen dead and several others wounded. In the front lines it was ghastly. Every day e had at least an hour or two of the fiercest bombardment, and the fire from individual guns never ceases. You can imagine the experiences the men go through. There is not even a

trench in the foremost lines. They lie in shell holes.”

From an officer (lieutenant) of the 170th Regiment: “You in Champagne are no longer in the witch’s cauldron, on the brim of which we are sitting —always awaiting the moment to fall in from one side or the other. It is turmoil here again. The air has been alive with aviators in the past few days. They point out oui: batteries so that they may be peppered, and are always attacking our captive balloons, which is the same as pulling our eyes out.”