Speaker 1: The Grave by Orville R. Emerson. The end of the
Speaker 1: story was first brought to my attention when Fromwiller returned
Speaker 1: from his trip to Mount Kemmel with a very strange tale, indeed,
Speaker 1: and one extremely hard to believe. But I believed enough
Speaker 1: of it to go back to the mount with From
Speaker 1: and see if we could discover anything more. And after
Speaker 1: digging for a while at the place where From's story began,
Speaker 1: we made our way into an old dugout that had
Speaker 1: been caved in, or at least where all the entrances
Speaker 1: had been filled with dirt, and where we found written
Speaker 1: on German correspondence paper a terrible story. We found the
Speaker 1: story on Christmas Day nineteen sixteen from Watteau and Flanders,
Speaker 1: where our regiment was stationed. Of course, you have heard
Speaker 1: of Mount Kemel in Flanders more than once. It figured
Speaker 1: in newspaper reports as it changed hands during some of
Speaker 1: the fiercest fighting of the war, and when the Germans
Speaker 1: were finally driven from this point of vantage in October
Speaker 1: nineteen eighteen, our retreat was started, which did not end
Speaker 1: until it became a race to see who could get
Speaker 1: to Germany first. The advance was so fast that the
Speaker 1: victorious British and French forces had no time to bury
Speaker 1: their dead, and terrible as it may seem to those
Speaker 1: who have not seen it, in December of that year,
Speaker 1: one could see the rotting corpses of the unburied dead
Speaker 1: scattered here and there over the top of Mount Kemel.
Speaker 1: It was a place of ghostly sightings and sickening odors,
Speaker 1: and it was there that we found this tale. With
Speaker 1: the chaplain's help, we translated the story which follows. For
Speaker 1: two weeks, I have been buried alive. For two weeks,
Speaker 1: I have not seen daylight nor heard the sound of
Speaker 1: another person's voice. Unless I can find something to do
Speaker 1: besides this everlasting digging, I shall go mad. So I
Speaker 1: shall write as long as my candles last. I will
Speaker 1: pass part of the time each day in setting down
Speaker 1: on paper my experiences. Not that I need to do
Speaker 1: this in order to remember them. God knows that when
Speaker 1: I get out, the first thing I shall do will
Speaker 1: be try to forget them. But if I should not
Speaker 1: get out. I am an ober lieutenant in the Imperial
Speaker 1: German Army. Two weeks ago my regiment was holding Mount
Speaker 1: Kemmel in Flanders. We were surrounded on three sides and
Speaker 1: subjected to a terrific artillery, but on account of the
Speaker 1: commanding position, we were ordered to hold them out to
Speaker 1: the last man. Our engineers, however, had made things very comfortable.
Speaker 1: Numerous deep dugouts had been constructed, and in them we
Speaker 1: were comparatively safe from the shell fire. Many of these
Speaker 1: had been connected by passageways, so that there was a
Speaker 1: regular little underground city, and the majority of the garrison
Speaker 1: never left the protection of the dugouts. But even under
Speaker 1: these conditions, our casualties were heavy. Lookouts had to be
Speaker 1: maintained above ground, and once in a while a direct
Speaker 1: hit by one of the huge railway guns would even
Speaker 1: destroy some of the dugouts. A little over two weeks ago,
Speaker 1: I can't be sure, because I have lost track of
Speaker 1: the exact number of days, the usual shelling was increased
Speaker 1: one hundredfold, with about twenty others. I was sleeping in
Speaker 1: one of the shallower dugouts. The tremendous increase in shelling
Speaker 1: awakened me with a start, and my first impulse was
Speaker 1: to go at once into a deeper dugout, which was
Speaker 1: connected to the one I was in by an underground passageway.
Speaker 1: It was a smaller dugout, built a few feet lower
Speaker 1: than the one I was in. It had been used
Speaker 1: as a sort of store room, and no one was
Speaker 1: supposed to sleep there, but it seemed safer to me,
Speaker 1: and alone, I crept into it. A thousand times since
Speaker 1: I have wished I had taken another man with me,
Speaker 1: but my chances for doing it were soon gone. I
Speaker 1: had hardly entered the smaller dugout when there was a
Speaker 1: tremendous explosion behind me. The ground shook as if a
Speaker 1: mine had exploded below us. Whether that was indeed the case,
Speaker 1: or whether some extra large caliber explo whose shell had
Speaker 1: struck the dugout behind me, I never knew. After the
Speaker 1: shock of the explosion had passed, I went back to
Speaker 1: the passageway, When about halfway along it, I found the
Speaker 1: timbers had fallen, allowing the earth to settle, and my
Speaker 1: way was effectively blocked. So I returned to the dugout
Speaker 1: and waited alone through several hours of terrific shelling. The
Speaker 1: only other entrance to the dugout I was in was
Speaker 1: the main entrance from the trench above, and all those
Speaker 1: who had been above ground had gone into dugouts long
Speaker 1: before this so I could not expect anyone to enter
Speaker 1: while the shelling continued, and when it ceased, there would
Speaker 1: surely be an attack. As I did not want to
Speaker 1: be killed by a grenade thrown down the entrance, I
Speaker 1: remained awake in order to rush out at the first
Speaker 1: signs of cessation of the bombardment and join what comrades
Speaker 1: there may be left on the hill. After about six
Speaker 1: hours of heavy bombardment, all sound above ground seemed to cease.
Speaker 1: Five minutes went by, then ten. Surely the attack was coming.
Speaker 1: I rushed to the stairway leading to the air I
Speaker 1: took a couple of strides up the stairs. There was
Speaker 1: a blinding flash and a deafening explosion. I felt myself falling.
Speaker 1: The darkness swallowed everything. How long I lay unconscious in
Speaker 1: the dugout I never knew, But after what seemed like
Speaker 1: a long time, I practically grew conscious of a dull
Speaker 1: ache in my left arm. I could not move it.
Speaker 1: I opened my eyes and found only darkness. I felt
Speaker 1: pain and a stiffness all over my body. Slowly I arose,
Speaker 1: struck a match, found a candle and lit it and
Speaker 1: looked at my watch. It had stopped I did not
Speaker 1: know how long I had remained there unconscious. All the
Speaker 1: noise of the bombardment had ceased. I stood and listened
Speaker 1: for some time, but could hear no sound of any kind.
Speaker 1: My gaze fell on the stairway entrance. I started in alarm.
Speaker 1: The end of the dugout where the entrance was was
Speaker 1: half filled with dirt. I went over and looked closer.
Speaker 1: The entrance was completely filled with dirt at the bottom,
Speaker 1: and no light of any kind could be seen from above.
Speaker 1: I went to the passageway to the other dugout, although
Speaker 1: I remembered it had caved in. I examined the fallen
Speaker 1: timbers closely between two of them. I could feel a
Speaker 1: slight movement of air. Here was an opening to the
Speaker 1: outside world. I tried to move the timbers as well
Speaker 1: as I could with one arm, only to precipitate a
Speaker 1: small avalanche of dirt which filled the crack quickly. I
Speaker 1: dug at the dirt until I could feel the movement
Speaker 1: of air. This might be the only place where I
Speaker 1: could obtain fresh air. I was convinced that it would
Speaker 1: take some little work to open up either of the passages,
Speaker 1: and I began to feel hungry. Luckily, there was a
Speaker 1: good supply of canned foods and hard bread, for the
Speaker 1: officers had kept their rations stored in the dugout. I
Speaker 1: also found a keg of water and about a dozen
Speaker 1: bottles of wine, which I discovered to be very good.
Speaker 1: After I had relieved my appetite and finished one of
Speaker 1: the bottles of wine, felt sleepy, and although my left
Speaker 1: arm pained me considerably, I soon dropped off to sleep.
Speaker 1: The time I have allowed myself for writing is up,
Speaker 1: so I will stop for today. After I have performed
Speaker 1: my daily task of digging. Tomorrow I shall again write.
Speaker 1: Already my mind feels easier. Surely help will come soon.
Speaker 1: At any rate. Within two more weeks, I shall have
Speaker 1: liberated myself. Already I am halfway up the stairs, and
Speaker 1: my rations will last that long. I have divided them
Speaker 1: so they will. Yesterday I did not feel like writing
Speaker 1: after I finished my digging. My arm pained me considerably.
Speaker 1: I guess I used it too much. But today I
Speaker 1: was more careful with it, and it feels better, and
Speaker 1: I am worried again. Twice today, big piles of earth
Speaker 1: caved in where the timbers above were loose, and every
Speaker 1: time as much dirt fell into the passageway as I
Speaker 1: can remove in a day. Two days more before I
Speaker 1: can count on getting out by myself, the rations will
Speaker 1: have to be stretched out some more. The daily amount
Speaker 1: is already pretty small, but I shall go on with
Speaker 1: my account. From the time I became conscious, I started
Speaker 1: my watch, and since then I have kept track of
Speaker 1: the days. On the second day, I took stock of
Speaker 1: the food, water, wood, matches, candles, et cetera, and found
Speaker 1: a plentiful supply for two weeks at least. At the time,
Speaker 1: I did not look forward to staying more than a
Speaker 1: few days in my prison. Either the enemy or ourselves
Speaker 1: will occupy the hill, I told myself, because it is
Speaker 1: such an important position, and whoever holds the hill will
Speaker 1: be compelled to dig in deeply in order to hold it.
Speaker 1: So to my mind, it was only a matter of
Speaker 1: a few days until either the entrance or the passageway
Speaker 1: would be cleared, and my only doubts were as to
Speaker 1: whether it would be friends or enemies that would discover me.
Speaker 1: My arm felt better, though I could not use it much,
Speaker 1: and so I spent the day in reading an old
Speaker 1: newspaper which I found among the food supplies, and in
Speaker 1: waiting for help to come. What a fool I was.
Speaker 1: If I only worked from the start, I would be
Speaker 1: just that many days nearer deliverance. On the third day,
Speaker 1: I was annoyed by water which began dripping from the
Speaker 1: roof and seeping in at the sides of the dugout.
Speaker 1: I cursed that muddy water then, as I have often
Speaker 1: cursed such dugout nuisances before. But it may be that
Speaker 1: I shall yet bless that water, and it will save
Speaker 1: my life. But it certainly made things uncomfortable. So I
Speaker 1: spent the day in moving my bunk, food and water supplies, candles,
Speaker 1: et cetera up into the passageway for a space of
Speaker 1: about ten feet. It is unobstructed, and, being slightly higher
Speaker 1: than the dugout, was drier and more comfortable. Besides, the
Speaker 1: air has been much better here, as I had found
Speaker 1: that practically all my supplies of fresh air came in
Speaker 1: through the crack between the timbers, and I thought maybe
Speaker 1: the rats wouldn't bother me so much at night. Again,
Speaker 1: I spent the balance of the day simply in waiting
Speaker 1: for help. It was not until well into the fourth
Speaker 1: day that I really began to feel uneasy. It suddenly
Speaker 1: began to impress on my consciousness that I had not
Speaker 1: heard the sound of a gun or felt the earth
Speaker 1: shake from the force of a concussion since the fatal
Speaker 1: shell that had filled the entrance. What was the meaning
Speaker 1: of the silence? Why did I hear no sounds of fighting?
Speaker 1: It was as still as the grave, but a horrible
Speaker 1: death to die buried alive. A panic of fear swept
Speaker 1: over me, But my will and reason reasserted itself. In time,
Speaker 1: I should be able to dig myself out by my
Speaker 1: own efforts. It would take time, but it could be
Speaker 1: done so, although I could not use my left arm
Speaker 1: as yet. I spent the rest of that day and
Speaker 1: all of the two following days in digging dirt from
Speaker 1: the entrance and carrying it back into the far corner
Speaker 1: of the dugout. On the seventh day, after regaining consciousness,
Speaker 1: I was tired and stiff from my unwonted exertions of
Speaker 1: the three previous days. I could see by this time
Speaker 1: that it was a matter of weeks two or three
Speaker 1: at least before I could hope to liberate myself. I
Speaker 1: might be rescued at an earlier date, but without outside
Speaker 1: aid it would take probably three more weeks of labor
Speaker 1: before I could dig my way out. Already dirt had
Speaker 1: caved in from the top where the timbers had sprung apart,
Speaker 1: and I could repair the damage to the roof of
Speaker 1: the stairway only in a crude way with one arm,
Speaker 1: But my left arm was much better. With a day's rest,
Speaker 1: I would be able to use it pretty well. Besides,
Speaker 1: I must conserve my energy, so I spent the seventh
Speaker 1: day in rest and prayer for my speedy release from
Speaker 1: a living grave. I also reapportioned my food on the
Speaker 1: basis of three more weeks. It made the daily portions
Speaker 1: pretty small, especially as the digging was strenuous work. There
Speaker 1: was a large supply of candles, so that I had
Speaker 1: plenty of light for my work, but the supply of
Speaker 1: water bothered me. Almost half of the small keg was
Speaker 1: gone in the first week. I decided to drink only
Speaker 1: once a day. The following six days were all days
Speaker 1: of feverish labor, light eating, and even lighter drinking. But
Speaker 1: despite all my efforts, only a quarter of a keg
Speaker 1: was left at the end of two weeks, and the
Speaker 1: horror of the situation grew on me, my imagination would
Speaker 1: not be quiet. I would picture to myself the agonies
Speaker 1: to come when I would have even less food and
Speaker 1: water than at present. My mind would run on and
Speaker 1: on to death by starvation, to the finding of my
Speaker 1: emaciated body by those who would eventually open up the dugout,
Speaker 1: even to their attempts to reconstruct the story of my end.
Speaker 1: And adding to my physical discomfort were the swarming vermin
Speaker 1: infesting the dugout and my person. A month had gone
Speaker 1: by since I had had a bath, and I could
Speaker 1: not now spare a drop of water even to wash
Speaker 1: my face. The rats had become so bold that I
Speaker 1: had to leave a candle burning all night in order
Speaker 1: to protect myself in my sleep. Partly to relieve my mind,
Speaker 1: I started to write this tale of my experiences. It
Speaker 1: did act as a relief at first, but now as
Speaker 1: I read it over the growing terror of this awful
Speaker 1: place grips me. I would cease writing, but some impulse
Speaker 1: urges me to write. Each day, three weeks have passed
Speaker 1: since I was buried in this living tomb. Today I
Speaker 1: drank the last drop of water in the keg There
Speaker 1: is a pool of stagnant water on the dugout floor, dirty,
Speaker 1: slimy and alive with vermin always stay there, fed by
Speaker 1: drippings from the roof. As yet I cannot bring myself
Speaker 1: to touch it. Today I divided up my food supply
Speaker 1: for another week. God knows the portions were already small enough,
Speaker 1: but there have been so many cave ins recently that
Speaker 1: I can never finish clearing the entrance in another week.
Speaker 1: Sometimes I feel that I shall never clear it, but
Speaker 1: I must. I can never bear to die here. I
Speaker 1: must will myself to escape, and I shall escape. Did
Speaker 1: not the captain often say that the will to win
Speaker 1: is half the victory. I shall rest no more. Every
Speaker 1: waking hour must be spent in removing the treacherous dirt.
Speaker 1: Even my writing must cease. Oh God, I'm afraid of afraid.
Speaker 1: I must write to relieve my mind. Last night I
Speaker 1: went to sleep at nine by my watch. At twelve,
Speaker 1: I woke to find myself in the dark, frantically digging
Speaker 1: with my bare hands at the dark sides of the dugout.
Speaker 1: After some trouble, I found a candle and lit it.
Speaker 1: The whole dugout was upset. My food supplies were lying
Speaker 1: in the mud. The box of candles had been spilled.
Speaker 1: My fingernails were broken and bloody from clawing at the ground.
Speaker 1: The realization dawned upon me that I had been out
Speaker 1: of my head, and then came the fear, dark, raging, fear,
Speaker 1: fear of insanity. I have been drinking the stagnant water
Speaker 1: from the floor for days. I do not know how many.
Speaker 1: I have only one meal left, but I must save it.
Speaker 1: I had a meal to day. For three days I
Speaker 1: have been without food, but to day I caught one
Speaker 1: of the rats that infest the place. It was a
Speaker 1: big one too, gave me a bad bite, but I
Speaker 1: killed him. I feel lots better to day. HAVE had
Speaker 1: some bad dreams lately, but they don't bother me now.
Speaker 1: That rat was tough, though. Think I'll finish this digging
Speaker 1: and go back to my regiment in a day or two.
Speaker 1: Heaven have mercy. I must be out of my head
Speaker 1: half the time. Now. I have absolutely no recollection of
Speaker 1: having written that last entry, and I feel feverish and weak.
Speaker 1: If I had my strength, I think I could finish
Speaker 1: clearing the entrance in a day or two, But I
Speaker 1: can only work a short time at a stretch. I
Speaker 1: am beginning to give up hope. Wild spells come on
Speaker 1: me oftener. Now I awake, tired from the exertions which
Speaker 1: I cannot remember. Bones of rats, picked clean are scattered about,
Speaker 1: yet I do not remember eating them. In my lucid moments.
Speaker 1: I don't seem to be able to catch them, for
Speaker 1: they are too wary and I am too weak. I
Speaker 1: get some relief by chewing the candles, but I dare
Speaker 1: not eat them all. I am afraid of the dark.
Speaker 1: I am afraid of the rats, But worst of all
Speaker 1: is the hideous fear of myself. My mind is breaking down.
Speaker 1: I must escape soon or I will be little better
Speaker 1: than a wild animal. Oh God, send help. I'm going mad, terror, desperation, despair.
Speaker 1: Is this the end? For a long long time I
Speaker 1: have been resting. I have had a brilliant idea rest
Speaker 1: brings back strength. The longer a person rests, the stronger
Speaker 1: they should get. I have been resting a long time
Speaker 1: now weeks or months, I don't know which, so I
Speaker 1: must be very strong. I feel strong. My fever has
Speaker 1: left me, so listen. There is only a little dirt
Speaker 1: left in the entranceway. I am going out and crawl
Speaker 1: through it, just like a mole, right out into the sunlight.
Speaker 1: I feel much stronger than a mole. So this is
Speaker 1: the end of my little tail. A sad tale, but
Speaker 1: one with a happy ending sunlight, a very happy ending.
Speaker 1: And that was the end of the manuscript. There only
Speaker 1: remains to tell Fromwiller's tale. At first I didn't believe it,
Speaker 1: but now I do. I shall put it down though,
Speaker 1: just as Fromwiller told it to me, and you can
Speaker 1: take it or leave it as you choose. Soon after
Speaker 1: we were billeted at Watau, said Fromwiller, I decided to
Speaker 1: go out and see Mount Kemel. I had heard that
Speaker 1: things were rather gruesome out there, but I was really
Speaker 1: not prepared for the conditions that I found. I had
Speaker 1: seen unburied dead at Rulus and in the Argonne, but
Speaker 1: it had been almost two months since the fighting on
Speaker 1: Mount Kemel, and there were still many unburied dead. But
Speaker 1: there was another thing that I had never seen, and
Speaker 1: that was the buried living. As I came to the
Speaker 1: highest point on the mount, I was attracted by a
Speaker 1: movement of loose dirt on the edge of a huge
Speaker 1: shell hole. The dirt seemed to be falling into a
Speaker 1: common center, as if the dirt below was being removed.
Speaker 1: As I watched, suddenly I was horrified to see a long,
Speaker 1: skinny human arm emerged from the ground. It disappeared, drawing
Speaker 1: back some of the earth with it. There was a
Speaker 1: movement of dirt over a larger area, and the arm reappeared,
Speaker 1: together with a man's head and shoulders. He pulled himself
Speaker 1: up out of the very ground, as it seemed, shook
Speaker 1: the dirt from his body like a huge, gaunt dog,
Speaker 1: and stood erect. I never want to see such another creature.
Speaker 1: Hardly a strip of clothing was visible, and what little
Speaker 1: there was was so torn and dirty that it was
Speaker 1: impossible to tell what kind it had been. The skin
Speaker 1: was drawn tightly over the bones, and there was a
Speaker 1: vacant stare in the protruding eyes. It looked like a
Speaker 1: corpse that had lain in a grave a long time.
Speaker 1: This apparition looked directly at me, and yet did not
Speaker 1: appear to see me. He looked as if the light
Speaker 1: bothered him. I spoke, and a look of fear came
Speaker 1: over his face. He seemed filled with terror. I stepped
Speaker 1: toward him, shaking a loose piece of barbed wire which
Speaker 1: had caught in my patise. Quick as a flash, he
Speaker 1: turned and started to run from me. For a second,
Speaker 1: I was too astonished to move. Then I started to
Speaker 1: follow him in a straight line. He ran, looking neither
Speaker 1: right nor left. Directly ahead of him was a deep
Speaker 1: and wide trench. He was running straight toward it. Suddenly
Speaker 1: it dawned on me that he did not see it.
Speaker 1: I called out, but it seemed to terrify him all
Speaker 1: the more, and with one last lunge, he stepped into
Speaker 1: the trench and fell. I heard his body strike the
Speaker 1: other side of the trench and fell with a splat
Speaker 1: into the water at the bottom. I followed and looked
Speaker 1: down into the trench. There he lay with his head
Speaker 1: bent back in such a position that I was sure
Speaker 1: his neck was broken. He was half in and half
Speaker 1: out of the water, and as I looked at him,
Speaker 1: I could scarcely believe what I had seen. Surely he
Speaker 1: looked as if he had been dead as long as
Speaker 1: some of the other corpses scattered over the hillside. I
Speaker 1: turned and left him as he was buried while living.
Speaker 1: I left him unburied when dead. The End of the
Speaker 1: Grave by Oliver R. Emerson