My battery was
stationed at St. Julien, one and a half miles northwest of the city.
Here I was detailed as observer, my duty being to get into the
front-line trench and from the most advantageous nook that I could find,
try to discover whatever I could about the movement of the enemy,
communicate my knowledge to the telephonist who would in turn send it to
headquarters.
Late in the afternoon I reported to the telephonist that a big fire was
in progress somewhere on our left, as an immense smoke cloud was rising
there and coming toward us. As shells had burst his wire, rendering it
useless, he started out to deliver the message by word of mouth, running
on top of the parapet as he started. That was the last I ever saw of
him; he did not come back; Fritz was coming and ahead of him rolled the
sinister-looking cloud on our left. Then happened the strangest thing!
The line trembled from one end to the other, as the Algerian troops
immediately on our left, jumped out of their trenches, falling as they
ran. The whole thing seemed absolutely incomprehensible--until I got a
whiff of the gas.
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