I
stayed up in that garret for quite an hour full of the romance of my
watch and when I left I took my souvenir with me, a picture of the
Blessed Virgin in a cedar frame. That night we placed it outside our
dug-out over the door. In the morning we found it smashed to pieces by
a bullet.
Daily I spent some time in the garret on my way out to the water-cart;
and one day I found it occupied. Five soldiers and an officer were
standing at my peephole when I got up, with a large telescope fixed on
a tripod and trained on the enemy's lines. The War Intelligence
Department had taken over the house for an observation post.
"What do you want here?" asked the officer.
Soldiers are ordered to keep to the trenches on the way out and in,
none of the houses that line the way are to be visited. It was a case
for a slight prevarication. My water jar was out in the trench: I
carried my rifle and a bandolier.
"I'm looking for a sniping position," I said. (p. 270)
"You cannot stop here," said the officer. "We've taken this place
over. Try some of the houses on the left."
I cleared out. Three days later when on my usual errand I saw that the
roof of my observation villa had been blown in. Nobody would be in
there now I concluded and ventured inside. The door which stood at the
bottom of the garret stair was closed. I caught hold of the latch and
pulled it towards me. The door held tight. As I struggled with it I
had a sense of pulling against a detaining hand that strove to hide a
mystery, something fearful, from my eye.
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