Fighting a Gas Attack in the Trenches 



How it feels when the green-yellow cloud steals on you 



IN a new book entitled "Over the Top" 

 (G. P. Putnam's Sons), Arthur Guy 

 Empey, "machine gunner serving in 

 France," takes you into the trenches and 

 makes you feel what it is to fight under 

 modern conditions. Here is his? account of 

 a gas-attack: 



Three days after we had silenced Fritz, the 

 Germans sent over gas. It did not catch us una- 

 wares, because the wind had been made to order, 

 that is, it was blowing from the' German trenches 

 towards ours at the rate of abou£ five miles per hour. 



Warnings had been passed down the trench 

 to keep a sharp lookout for gas. 



We had a new man at the periscope, on this 

 afternoon in question ; I was sitting on the fire step, 

 cleaning my rifle, when he called out to me: 



"There's a sort of greenish, yellow cloud rolling 

 along the ground out in front, it's coming " 



But I waited for no more. Grabbing my bayonet, 

 which was detached from the rifle, I gave the alarm 

 by banging an empty shell case, which was hanging 

 near the periscope. At the same instant, gongs 

 started ringing down the trench, the signal for 

 Tommy to don his respirator, or smoke helmet, as 

 we call it. 



Donning the Gas Masks 

 Gas travels quickly. No time must be 

 lost. There are only about eighteen or 

 twenty seconds in which to adjust a gas 

 helmet. 



A gas helmet is made of cloth, treated 

 with chemicals. There are two windows, 

 or glass eyes in it, through which you can 

 see. Inside there is a rubber mouth tube. 



For a minute, pandemonium reigned in our 

 trench — Tommies adjusting their helmets, bombers 

 running here and there, and men turning out of the 

 dugouts with fixed bayonets, to man the fire step. 



Re-inforcements were pouring out of the com- 

 munication trenches. 



Our gun's crew were busy mounting the machine- 

 gun on the parapet and bringing up extra am- 

 munition from the dugout. 



A company man on our right was too slow in 

 getting on his helmet; he sank to the ground, 

 clutching at his throat, and after a few spasmodic 

 twistings, went West (died). It was horrible to see 

 him die, but we were powerless to help him. In the 

 corner of a traverse, a little muddy cur dog, one of 

 the company's pets, was lying dead, with his two 

 paws over his nose. 



It's the animals that suffer the most, the horses, 

 mules, cattle, dogs, cats, and rats, they having no 

 helmets to save them. Tommy does not sympathize 

 with rats in a gas attack. 



At times, gas has been known to travel, with 

 dire results, fifteen miles behind the lines. 



In the Folds of the Green-Yellow Cloud 



German gas is heavier than air and soon 



fills the trenches and dugouts, where it 



has been known to lurk for two or three 

 days, until the air is purified by means of 

 large chemical sprayers. 

 The author continues: 



A gas, or smoke helmet, as it is called, at the best 

 is a vile-smelling thing, and it is not long before one 

 gets a violent headache from wearing it. 



.Our eighteen-pounders were bursting in No 

 Man's Land, in an effort, by the artillery, to disperse 

 the gas clouds. 



The fire step was lined with crouching men, 

 bayonets fixed, and bombs near at hand to repel the 

 expected attack. 



Our artillery had put a barrage of curtain fire on 

 the German lines, to try and break up their attack 

 and keep back re-inforcements. 



I trained my machine gun on their trench and its 

 bullets were raking the parapet. 



Then over they came, bayonets glistening. In 

 their respirators, which have a large snout in front, 

 they looked like some horrible nightmare. 



All along our trench, rifles and machine-guns 

 spoke, our shrapnel was bursting over their heads. 

 They went down in heaps, but new ones took the 

 place of the fallen. Nothing could stop that mad 

 rush. The Germans reached our barbed wire, 

 which had previously been demolis! ed by their 

 shells, then it was bomb against bomb, and the 

 devil for all. 



Suddenly, my" head seemed to burst from a 

 loud "crack" in my ear. Then my head began 

 to swim, throat got dry, and a heavy pressure on the 

 lungs warned me that my helmet was leaking. 

 Turning my gun over to No. 2, I changed helmets. 



One helmet is good for five hours of 

 strongest gas. Each Tommy carries two. 



The trench started to wind like a snake, and sand- 

 bags appeared to be floating in the air. The noise 

 was horrible ; I sank onto the 'fire step, needles 

 seemed to be pricking my flesh — then blackness. 



I was awakened by one of my mates removing 

 my smoke helmet. How delicious that cool, fresh 

 air felt in my lungs. 



A strong wind had arisen and dispersed the gas. 



They told me that I had been "out" for three 

 hours; they thought I was dead. 



When the Wind Dispersed the Gas 



The attack had been repulsed after a 

 hard fight. Twice the Germans had gained 

 a foothold, but had been driven out by 

 counter-attacks. The trench was filled 

 with their dead and ours. Through a 

 periscope, Empey counted eighteen dead 

 Germans in the barbed wire; they were a 

 ghastly sight in their horrible-looking 

 respirators. 



He examined his first smoke helmet; a 

 bullet had gone through it on the left side, 

 just grazing his ear; the gas had pene- 

 trated through the hole made in the cloth. 



580 



