IN LILLE BY NIGHT.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 4, Issue 107, 12 November 1915, Page 4 (Supplement)

IN LILLE BY NIGHT.

A GERMAN'S OWN ACCOUNT t A DRIVE TO THE TRENCHES. We take the following descrigHbi of a motor-car drive from jLw (.the Manchester ot France; to L Batsee Irom the "Berliner Tajn Watt." By BERNARD KELLERMANI (War Correspondent of the 'Berlin Tageblatt') At 6 o'clock in the afternoon the habitants of Lille disappear from streets. A 9 o'clock it is night i Lille is a dead city. A lighted window with voices Den it is rare. My footsteps echo. A pol man soldier in field-grey, with black- white, and red arm-band' (Pi s:an colours), creeps past the si dark houses. A bicycle patrol e silently through the streets. A belated officers pass. We could w der for hours through street and bo vard; not a soul moves. L ; H© ata Out of the night comes the nois< guns. It can be heard quite plan every single shot. The trenches so near. There is a hit, falling, ba ing like a drum. A series of si and then a rolling thunder. Nov clangour of metal. The machine g hammer. It is a night fight; a fei the trenches have come to life. ' firing becomes more lively; the cla ing goes on for minutes withou pause. But Lille is dead. No windoi opened, no head shows itself in night. They keep their ears clo( They wait. Do they hope? In morning at 5 o'clock the aviator small speck in the distance, will pear above the town and the defe&d guns will crack. ■ The most terrible thing for hui beings is suspense.

3 A.M. TO THE TRENCHEB. Exactly at 3 a.m. comes the oar take me to the trenches, and we hm The firing has stopped; the city become if possible quieter. It is asleep; it lies in a sort of death ago The car slips between the dark houi No snores are heard, no child is cry —dumb, all dumb. The great city is dead. We roll o deserted squares and empty boi vards. A red lamp swings to and at the end of the street. A mass fortress door rises out of the darkn

The sentinels flash their light over and occupants. "Proceed!" Now it has become suddenly da One lamp illuminates the gsad lik< searchfght. We race by dun-eolou trees, through grottoes of pale-gn foliage. The car takes the holes < bumps like a sailing boat on the lows. It dances. Going round corn it razee the trees and the twigs awi our faces. It is cold and the fragr air meets us. The trees rustle in ' wind. Frightened an:mals. white chalk, flit over the road and fly fr the sparks. Moths are caught in 1 lantern and flung aside. Dead, sleeping villages, no sound, living creature. The motor thundc Red-brick houses glimmer in the li| and s : nk back into the darkness agq The frightened eyes of a snow-wh cat gleam out. We are stopped bi sentinel. Shouts break the silence. ( wards! Above us the stars in thesu mer sky shine clear. We are 6ile Each is sunk in his own thoughts. Shots come from a trench. T1 sound nearer and nearer. Now I then a shot falls with a hollow salt

somewhere. Even in the night thj can be no peace here. A few fonj cars creak along the road. The horj are mov ; ng in their sleep and 6hy the light. The craters mode by shj at the side of the road are more fl quent. Many are quite fresh. The < hobbles over earth and stone; have burst in the middle of the roj but a few hours ago it could not 1m been comfortable here. The trunks! the trees are split. Suddenly the drij grasps the brake and halts. A tree I fallen right across the road. It I like a soldier; the shells had cut away from the roots and thrown itj its face. The twigs are still green a rustle in the breeze.

CAR LIGHTS OCT! A village; the sentinel beckons, must put out our lights. We feel < way through the darkness. The gt sound. A heavy gun, dose by, is fii off, and the shells go into the dai ne6s. There is no doubt the night nearly at an end. Outside, near J trenches, balls of light rse. Pale a scintillating, like a vengeful moj they float over the earth. The gt sound again and it '6 still once mo The balls of light sink, paling sloi to the darkened earth. Another lie : 6 seen among the poplars, bright a threatening. A heavy gun fires a the shells pass over our beads. J The stars fade and the landscape bare. Mist rises from the fields. J car flies. We must hasten, for J road l'es within sight of the enen Before daybreak we must reach i trenches. . i Out of the-grey morning light we i the bare, misty outlines of La Baesj La Bassee looks l'ke a corpse; no 1 man beings but the solitary sentin< The church is a heap of ruins. The o looks as if it had been torn by! earthquake. But the music on the market-place stands as ix < in peace time. The car turns into a narrow stre Ono house is burning, set on fire bj shell during the night. I»et it bui Tli 9 flames I'ck out of the windov they ore quite alone; no one distui them; they accomplish the rwc quietly and eldwly. The hlacken beam quivers. Within the house the t climbs over the purple red carpet w< en with the mpire grlands. The spl tors of the broken mirror gl'tt People once lived here.