Well of Loneliness

Though the war in North Carolina was only a sham battle, Private Roland Sauter of the 102nd Coast Artillery Brigade came close to being a real casualty last week. Stationed with an anti-aircraft unit at an abandoned farmhouse near Fort Bragg, he was moseying around for some soft weeds on which to spend the night when he suddenly dropped 30 feet into a dried-up well. He yelled. The echo was terrific, but nobody came. He tried to climb out, but the well walls crumbled under his clutching hands. After a while rats began to munch at his shoes. He screamed. Still nobody came. Once in a while he could hear his mates calling him. For twelve hours he whooped and hollered and kicked at rats. Next morning he stripped off his long woolen underwear, touched a match to it. The smudge in the well got so thick he had to don his gas mask. Because smoking was strictly forbidden, an angry sergeant soon discovered him, rescued Private Sauter.

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