THREE DUDS eont. from page 15 fragment went clean through, which it had. I applied the regu lar field dressing to the wound, but there was absolutely no feel ing in the wounded leg—not yet! In that deep shell-hole, I was fairly secure from rifle and mar chine-gun fire, and it was com paratively quiet from shell fire for a time. I crept out of the hole and saw another chap I knew knocked out by the same shell. I could see that he was severely wounded. We talked a bit. He drank most of my water supply, but soon he ceased to speak. I could see that he, too, was dead. A short distance away I saw an other fellow prostrate. His head was gone, altogether, but one could still recognize the form, and I knew whose body it was. The night wore on ; soon it be gan to get lighter with the com ing of daybreak, and a fever of wanting to leave this awful spot took possession o f me. I scram bled to my feet with the aid o f my rifle, but no sooner was I up than some whizzing bullets showed me that I was observed, so down I dropped and crawled along until I came to a deep shell-hole. (We called them “Jack Johnson’s.” ) By this time the enemy artil lery had burst out again over my section. A shrapnel shell burst near me, and one pellet struck me a glancing blow on the back. As we all knew, the Bruce Bairns’ father cartoon which says, “ If yer knows o f a better ’ole, go to it,” was absolutely true. Any hole seemed better and safer than this one, so I made my way just a few yards further and fell into an other deep hole. By this time, the bombardment was terrific right over our portion o f the line and, for the first time, on gazing up ward, I caught the trajectory of more than one- shell as it was in flight toward our lines. However, it was while I was alone there in that shell-hole, that a miracle seemed to happen to me, and that is the reason for my story. I cannot say how long that
bombardment lasted, but shells began to land all around and I knew a counter-attack was in progress. I felt the desperation of my position; I prayed. I did not ask God to spare me as I thought it would be asking too much. I fear I limited God, but how could I ever expect to get out of this alive? I waited to see what would happen, and through my mind these thoughts raced back and forth: Would I rather be tak en prisoner, or bayoneted ? It had to be one or the other. I could come to no conclusion. I f it were to be death, I prayed that it would be over SOON. But this I record: THREE TIMES while I crouched alone in that shell-hole, shells landed so close that had they not been DUDS (a shell that through faulty mechanism fails to explode, and there are not many like that) I would have been either blown to bits or buried by an earth up heaval. Two of these duds landed right on the lip of my shell crater, one on either side at different in tervals, and erelong the third dud plunged into the earth just a bit beyond where the first one landed, but close enough to have -finished me off. It sounds like a fairy tale, but it is true. I knew then that God was sparing my life. I knew it was so because of the THREE DUDS—not just one, or two — but three! Whoever heard of a case like that? There have been some marvelous es capes. Surely this was one of them! Yet another strange event hap pened right after this. I finally realized that I simply HAD to move to some other place (the “Better ’ol” again!) rather than stay in this crater any longer, so with great difficulty I got myself to my feet with the aid of my rifle. Then a most remarkable thing happened. I had no sooner scrambled up the side of the cra ter and stood upright, than the barrage sudden l y l i f ted. It stopped dead! I could not but notice it, it was so startling: the timing was perfect! Again I
knew the Lord was sparing my life. It was not my time to die. Limping on my rifle (by this time my wound was beginning to be agonizing), I tried to make my way back toward our lines. A ma chine-gunner passed me on his way up to the front. How glad I was to see a live, human being again, and one of our own men! Even though I was injured and in pain, I did not envy him. He was going up front; I was leaving it! However, I was under fire all that day, even though sheltered somewhat in a captured German pill-box, occupied by some of our Red Cross men who dressed my wound and tried to quench my in tolerable thirst with a short sup ply o f water. Of course, a direct hit would have blown us all to pieces. Not until after dark was I placed on a stretcher, and still under heavy fire, taken back to the first field dressing station. Oh, the unspeakable relief o f finally being out o f immediate danger from the guns! I was one of a trainload of wounded men that left next morn ing for a military hospital in Rouen, France. There the medical staff greeted me with the sad news that I might have to lose my leg, but, thank the dear Lord, after an operation I discovered to my joy that my leg was still with me. The following Sunday found me safe in a London hospital, and while recuperating, I enjoyed a real bed and clean white sheets: a wonderful experience a f t e r many months without such lux uries. Later I was recalled to France, and into action again and again, but somehow I missed all the bul lets and shells (they missed me!). It was evidently not for me to es cape the three duds only to be killed in action later on. Here I am still alive after all these inter vening years! I am still teaching music at Biola College in La Mi rada, California, glad to be in the service of the Lord who spared my life. EE]
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THE KING'S BUSINESS
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