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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:10:32 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/23874-8.txt b/23874-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fa8a35b --- /dev/null +++ b/23874-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8830 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, No Man's Land, by H. C. McNeile + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: No Man's Land + + +Author: H. C. McNeile + + + +Release Date: December 16, 2007 [eBook #23874] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO MAN'S LAND*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +Transcriber's note: + + In the original book, the author was given as "Sapper," the + pseudonym of Herman Cyril McNeile. This e-book uses the + author's real name. + + + + + +NO MAN'S LAND + +by + +H. C. McNEILE + +Author of + "Men, Women, and Guns," + "Sergeant Michael Cassidy, R.E.," and + "The Lieutenant and Others" + + + + + + + +Hodder and Stoughton +London ---- New York ---- Toronto +MCMXVII + + + + +TO + +THE INFANTRYMAN + + + + +PREFACE + + +During the first few days of November 1914 Messines was lost--in +silence; during the first few days of June 1917 Messines was +regained--and the noise of its capture was heard in London. And during +the two and a half years between these two events the game over the +water has been going on. + +It hasn't changed very much in the time--that game--to the player. To +those who look on, doubtless, the difference is enormous. Now they +speak easily of millions where before they thought diffidently of +thousands. But to the individual--well, Messines is lost or Messines +is won; and he is the performer. It is of those performers that I +write: of the hole-and-corner work, of the little thumb-nail sketches +which go to make up the big battle panels so ably depicted over the +matutinal bacon and eggs. + +And as one privileged to assist at times in that hole-and-corner work, +I offer these pages as a small tribute to those who have done so far +more than I: to the men who have borne the burden of the days, the +months, the years--to the men who have saved the world--to the +Infantrymen. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +PART I + +THE WAY TO THE LAND + + +PART II + +THE LAND: + + I. A DAY OF PEACE + II. OVER THE TOP + III. THE MAN-TRAP + IV. A POINT OF DETAIL + V. MY LADY OF THE JASMINE + VI. MORPHIA + VII. BENDIGO JONES--HIS TREE + VIII. THE SONG OF THE BAYONET + + +PART III + +SEED TIME: + + I. THE SEED + II. THE FIRST LESSON + III. AN IMPERSONAL DEMONSTRATION + IV. SOMEWHAT MORE PERSONAL + V. A PROJECT AND SOME SIDE-ISSUES + VI. THE SECOND LESSON AND SOME FURTHER SIDE-ISSUES + VII. THE THIRD LESSON, AND A DIGRESSION + VIII. THE THIRD LESSON IS LEARNED + IX. "AND OTHER FELL ON GOOD GROUND" + + +PART IV + +HARVEST + + + + +PART I + + +THE WAY TO THE LAND + +I + +It came suddenly when it did come, it may be remembered. Every one +knew it was coming, and yet--it was all so impossible, so incredible. +I remember Clive Draycott looking foolishly at his recall telegram in +the club--he had just come home on leave from Egypt--and then +brandishing it in front of my nose. + +"My dear old boy," he remarked peevishly, "it's out of the question. +I'm shooting on the 12th." + +But he crossed the next day to Boulogne. + +It was a Sunday morning, and Folkestone looked just the same as it +always did look. Down by the Pavilion Hotel the usual crowd of Knuts +in very tight trousers and very yellow shoes, with suits most obviously +bought off the peg, wandered about with ladies of striking aspect. +Occasional snatches of conversation, stray gems of wit, scintillated +through the tranquil August air, and came familiarly to the ears of a +party of some half-dozen men who stood by a pile of baggage at the +entrance to the hotel. + +"Go hon, Bill; you hare a caution, not 'arf." A shrill girlish giggle, +a playful jerk of the "caution's" arm, a deprecating noise from his +manly lips, which may have been caused by bashfulness at the +compliment, or more probably by the unconsumed portion of the morning +Woodbine, and the couple moved out of hearing. + +"I wonder," said a voice from the group, "if we are looking on the +passing of the breed." + +He was a tall, thin, spare fellow, the man who spoke; and amongst other +labels on his baggage was one marked Khartoum. His hands were sinewy +and his face was bronzed, while his eyes, brown and deep-set, held in +them the glint of the desert places of the earth: the mark of the +jungle where birds flit through the shadows like bars of glorious +colour; the mark of the swamp where the ague mists lie dank and +stagnant in the rays of the morning sun. + +No one answered his remark; it seemed unnecessary, and each was busy +with his own thoughts. What did the next few days hold in store for +the world, for England, for him? The ghastly, haunting fear that +possibly they held nothing for England gnawed at men's hearts. It +would be incredible, inconceivable; but impossible things had happened +before. Many must have felt that fear, but to none can it have been +quite so personal, so hideously personal, as to the officers of the old +Army and the Navy. To them it was as if their own honour were at +stake, and I can see now a man opposite me almost sobbing with the fury +and the shame of it when for a while we thought--the worst. But that +was later. + + +"Time to go on board, gentlemen." + +Almost as beings from another world, they passed through the noisy +throng, so utterly inconsequent, so absolutely ignorant and careless. +One cannot help wondering now just how that throng has answered the +great call; how many lie in nameless graves, with the remnants of Ypres +standing sentinel to their last sleep; how many have fought and cursed +and killed in the mud-holes of the Somme; how many have chosen the +other path, and even though they had no skill and aptitude to recommend +them, are earning now their three and four pounds a week making +munitions. But they _have_ answered the call, that throng and others +like them; they _have_ learned out of the book of life and death; and +perhaps the tall man with the bronzed face might find the answer to his +question could he see England to-day. Only he lies somewhere between +Fletre and Meteren, and beside him are twenty men of his battalion. He +took it in the fighting before the first battle of Ypres . . . + +"I call it a bit steep." A man in the Indian Cavalry broke the silence +of the group who were leaning over the side watching the coast fade +away. "In England two days after three years of it, and now here we +are again. But the sun being over the yard-arm--what say you?" + +With one last final look at the blue line astern, with one last +involuntary thought--"Is it _au revoir_, or is it good-bye?"--they went +below. The sun was indeed over the yard-arm, and the steward was a +hospitable lad of cosmopolitan instincts. . . . + + +II + +"It is impossible to _guarantee_ a ticket to Marseilles." So the +ticket vendor at Folkestone had informed them, and his pessimism was +justified by future events. + +The fun began at the Gare du Nord. From what I have since learned, I +have often wished since that my mission in life had been to drive a +fiacre in Paris during the early days of August '14. A taxi conjures +up visions too wonderful to contemplate; but even with the humble +horse-bus I feel that I should now be able to afford a piano, or +whatever it is the multi-millionaire munition-man buys without a +quiver. I might even get the missus a fur coat. + +Every living soul in Paris seemed obsessed with the idea of going +somewhere else; and the chances of the stranger within their gates +approached those of an icicle in Hades, as our friends across the water +would say. Finally, in despair, Draycott rushed into the road and +seized a venerable flea-bitten grey that was ambling along with +Monsieur, Madame, and all the little olive-branches sitting solemnly +inside the cab. He embraced Madame, he embraced the olive-branches; +finally--in despair--I believe he embraced Monsieur. He wept, he +entreated, he implored them to take him to the Gare de Lyon. It was +imperative. He would continue to kiss them without cessation and in +turn, if only they would take him and his belongings to the Gare de +Lyon. He murmured: "Anglais--officier anglais"; he wailed the mystic +word, "Mobilisation." Several people who were watching thought he was +acting for the cinematograph, and applauded loudly; others were +convinced he was mad, and called for the police. + +But Monsieur--God bless him!--and Madame--God bless her!--and all the +little olive-branches--God bless them!--decided in his favour; and +having piled two suit-cases and a portmanteau upon that creaking cab, +he plunged into the family circle. + +It was very hot; he was very hot; they were very hot; and though +Draycott confesses that he has done that familiar journey between the +two stations in greater comfort, he affirms that never has he done it +with a greater sense of elation and triumph. The boat train to +Marseilles, he reflected complacently; if possible a bath first; +anyway, a sleeper, a comfortable dinner, and---- + +"Parbleu, M'sieur; la Gare de Lyon c'est fermée." Madame's voice cut +into his reflections. + +As in a dream he extricated himself from to-night's supper and three +sticky children, and gazed at the station. They were standing six deep +around the steps--a gesticulating, excited mob; while at the top, by +the iron railings, a cordon of soldiers kept them back. Inside, +between the railings and the station, there was no one save an odd +officer or two who strolled about, smoking and talking. + +Mechanically he removed his baggage and dumped it in the road; +mechanically he re-kissed the entire party; he says he even kissed the +flea-bitten grey. Then he sat down on a suit-case and thought. + +It was perfectly true: the Gare de Lyon was shut to all civilians; the +first shadow of war had come. As if drawn by a magnet the old men were +there, the men who remembered the last time when the Prussian swine had +stamped their way across the fields of France. Their eyes were bright, +their shoulders thrown back as they glanced appraisingly at the next +generation--their sons who would wipe out Sedan for ever from the pages +of history. There was something grimly pathetic and grimly inspiring +in the presence of those old soldiers: the men who had failed through +no fault of their own. + +"Not again," they seemed to say; "for God's sake, not a second time. +This time--Victory. Wipe it out--that stain." + +They had failed, true; but there were others who would succeed; and it +was their presence that made one feel the unconquerable spirit of +France. + + +III + +The French officer in charge was polite, but firmly non-committal. + +"There is a train which will leave here about midnight, we hope. If +you can get a seat on it--well and good. If not----" he shrugged his +shoulders superbly, and the conversation closed. + +It was a troop train apparently, and in the course of time it would +arrive at Marseilles--perhaps. It would not be comfortable. "Mais, +que voulez-vous, M'sieur? c'est la guerre." + +At first he had not been genial; but when he had grasped the fact that +mufti invariably cloaked the British officer, _en permission_, he had +become more friendly. + +He advised dinner; in these days, as he truly remarked, one never +knows. Also, what was England going to do? + +"Fight," Draycott answered promptly, with an assurance he did not feel. +"Fight, mon Colonel; ça va sans dire." + +"C'est bien," he murmured, and stood up. "Vive l'Angleterre." Gravely +he saluted, and Draycott took off his hat. + +"Mon Colonel, vive la France." They shook hands; and having once again +solemnly saluted one another, he took the Frenchman's advice and went +in search of dinner. + +In the restaurant itself everything seemed normal. To the close +observer there was possibly an undue proportion of women who did not +eat, but who watched with hungry, loving eyes the men who were with +them. Now and again one would look round, and in her face was the +pitiful look of the hunted animal; then _he_ would speak, and with a +smile on her lips and a jest on her tongue she would cover a heart that +seemed like to burst with the agony of it. Inexorably the clock moved +on: the finger of fate that was to take him from her. They had +quarrelled, _sans doute_--who has not? there had been days when they +had not spoken. He had not been to her all that he might have been, +but . . . But--he was her man. + +And now he was going; in half an hour her Pierre was going to leave +her. For him the bustle and glamour of the unknown; for her--the empty +chair, the lonely house, and her thoughts. Dear God! but war is a bad +thing for the women who stop behind. . . . + +And on Draycott's brain a tableau is stamped indelibly, just a little +tableau he saw that night in the restaurant of the Gare de Lyon. They +came, the three of them, up the flight of steps from the seething +station below, into the peace and quiet of the room, and a roar of +sound swept in with them as the doors swung open. Threading their way +between the tables, they stopped just opposite to where he sat, and +instinctively he turned his head away. For her the half-hour was over, +her Pierre had gone; and it is not given to a man to look on a woman's +grief save with a catching in the throat and a pricking in the eyes. +It is so utterly terrible in its overwhelming agony at the moment, so +absolutely final; one feels so helpless. + +The little boy clambered on to a chair and sat watching his mother +gravely; a grey-haired woman with anxious eyes held one of her hands +clasped tight. And the girl--she was just a girl, that's all--sat +dry-eyed and rigid, staring, staring, while every now and then she +seemed to whisper something through lips that hardly moved. + +"Maman," a childish voice piped out. "Maman." He solemnly extended a +small and grubby hand towards her. + +Slowly her head came round, her eyes took him in--almost +uncomprehendingly; she saw the childish face, the little dirty hand, +and suddenly there came to her the great gift of the Healer. + +"Oh! mon bébé, mon pauv' p'tit bébé!" She picked him up off the chair +and, clutching him in her arms, put her face on his head and sobbed out +her heart. + +"Come on." Draycott got up suddenly and turned to the man he was +dining with. "Let's go." They passed close to the table, and the fat +waiter, wiping his eyes on a dinner napkin, and the grey-haired woman +leaning gently over her, were talking in low tones. They seemed +satisfied as they watched the sobbing girl; and they were people of +understanding. "Pauvre petite," muttered the waiter as they passed. +"Mon Dieu! quelle vâche de guerre." + +"My God!" said Draycott, as they went down the steps. "I didn't +realise before what war meant to a woman. And we shall never realise +what it means to our own women. We only see them before we go. Never +after." + + +IV + +Half an hour later he encountered Monsieur le Colonel once again, and +suggested that they should split a bottle of wine together if he could +spare the time. It was then nine o'clock, and the three hours till +midnight loomed uninviting. His only hope, as he told him, was that +the train at present standing at the platform was not going to be +typical of the one he was to embark on. It seemed to be of endless +length, and presented a most enticing spectacle. Four fortunates in +each compartment had got the racks, otherwise the passengers stood: on +the footboards, in the corridors, on the seats. If any one opened a +door the pressure was such that at least six people fell on to the +platform, and in one carriage a small _poilu_ was being squeezed +through the open window. In the end he went--suddenly like a cork out +of a bottle, and the human mass closed up behind him. + +Draycott laughed, the Colonel laughed, and went on laughing. He +laughed unrestrainedly, even as a man who enjoys a secret jest. At +last, with some difficulty, he controlled his mirth. + +"Monsieur," he remarked gravely, but with twinkling eyes, "I fear your +hopes are ill-founded. This is the midnight train." + +"Under those circumstances," Draycott murmured, with a ghastly attempt +at mirth, "the wine is off. I must go and secure my sleeping-berth." + +Have you ever seen a fly-paper which has come "to the end of a perfect +day"? Lumps of glutinous flies drop off on one's head, and still it +seems as full as ever. It was the same with that train. Lumps of +Frenchmen, permanently welded together, fell out periodically, unstuck +themselves, and departed, only to return in a few moments with the long +thin loaves of France and bottles of wine. Sometimes they got in +again, sometimes they didn't--but they were happy, those poilus. What +matter anything, bar killing the Boche? And that was the only thing in +the air that night. . . . + +In every carriage it was the same, until suddenly there came salvation. +A horse-box, with two horses in it and some grooms singing the +Marseillaise, loomed out of the darkness, and into it the fed-up +wanderer hurled his bag. Yet again did he embrace every one, including +the horses; and then, overcome with his labours, he sank into a corner +and laughed. And it was only when they had been under way for two +hours that he remembered his two other bags, sitting alone and forlorn +at the Gare de Lyon. . . . + +It was a great journey that. The heat was sweltering, and they stopped +at every station between Paris and Marseilles--generally twice, because +the train was too long for the platform. And at every station the same +programme was repeated. Completely regardless of the infuriated +whistles and toots of the French conductors, absolutely unmindful of +the agonised shouts of "En voiture, en voiture! Montez, messieurs, le +train part," the human freight unloaded itself and made merry. As far +as they were concerned, let the train "part." It never did, and the +immediate necessity was the inner man. But it was all very +nerve-racking. + +At times there were forty Frenchmen in the truck, at others none. +Whether they fell off or were pushed Draycott knew not: they simply +occurred--periodically. One man disappeared for five hours, and then +came back again; possibly he was walking to stretch his legs; there was +plenty of time. But to those who travel in trains de luxe, let me +recommend a journey in a cattle-truck, where, if one is lucky, one gets +a front seat, and sits on the floor with legs dangling over the side; a +bottle of wine in one hand, a loaf of bread in the other, and a song +when the spirit is in one. No breathless rushing through space: just a +gentle amble through the ripening corn, with the poppies glinting red +and the purple mountains in the distance; with a three days' growth on +one's chin and an amalgamation of engine soots and dust on one's face +that would give a dust storm off the desert points and a beating. That +is the way to travel, even if the journey lasts from Sunday night to +Tuesday evening, and a horse occasionally stamps on your face. And +even so did Clive Draycott, Captain of "Feet," go to the great +war. . . . + + +V + +Marseilles has always been a town of mystery--the gateway of the East. +Going from it one leaves European civilisation--if such a thing can be +said to exist to-day--and steps into the unknown. Coming to it through +that appalling Gulf of Lyons, beside which the dreaded Bay of Biscay +seems like the proverbial duck-pond, Notre Dame de la Garde holds out a +welcoming hand, and breathes of fast trains and restaurant cars, and +London. It is the town of tongues, the city of nations. It is not +French; it is universal. + +And never can Marseilles have been so universal as in the early days of +August 1914. Usually a port of call only, then it was a terminus. The +ships came in, but did not leave: there seemed to be a concensus of +opinion amongst skippers that the _Goeben_ was a nasty thing to meet +alone on a dark night. And so the overcrowded docks filled up with +waiting vessels, while Lascars and Levantine Greeks, Cingalese and +Chinamen, jostled one another in the cafés. + +The other jostlers were principally Americans of fabulous wealth: at +least as they thronged the shipping offices they said so. Also they +were very angry, which is where they differed from the Cingalese and +Chinamen, who liked Marseilles and prayed to remain for ever. But the +Americans desired to return to God's own country--they and their wives +and their sons and daughters; moreover, they expressed their desire +fluently and frequently. There is something stupendous about an +American magnate insisting on his rights on a hot day, when he can't +get them. . . . It cheers a man up when he is waiting and +wondering--and England is still silent. + +It was just as Draycott had made the unpleasant discovery that no +longer did the weekly boat run from Marseilles to Tunis and thence to +Malta, and was debating on the rival merits of a journey through Italy, +and thence by Syracuse to the island of goats; or a journey through +Spain to Gibraltar, and thence by sea--with luck, that a railway +magnate entered and gave his celebrated rendering of a boiler +explosion. It appeared--when every one had partially recovered--that +he was the proud possessor of ten francs and three sous. He also +admitted to a wife suffering from something with a name that hurt, and +various young railway magnates of both sexes. It transpired that the +ten francs and three sous had been laboriously collected from his +_ménage_ only that morning; that the youngest hopeful had wept +copiously on losing her life's savings; and further, that it was the +limit of his resources. He had letters of credit, or something +dangerous of that sort, to the extent of a few million; he was prepared +to buy the whole one-donkey country by a stroke of the pen, but--in +hard cash--he had ten francs and three sous. . . . + +It was pathetic; it was dreadful. An American multi-millionaire, one +of those strange beings of whom one reads, who corner tin-tacks and +things, and ruin or make thousands with a word, reduced to ten francs +and three sous. + +For not another cent piece did America's pride obtain; not another sou +to add to the three. Politely, firmly, a harassed clerk shooed him +away. No, he could not tell him when the next boat would sail--perhaps +to-morrow, perhaps in a fortnight. He did not know, and he did not +care how he proposed to live during that period, and he had no +intention of furnishing him with any money to do it with. He had +definite orders from his firm: no cheques cashed under any +circumstances whatever. He was sorry the gentleman didn't like +Marseilles, or war, or France, or him personally; he regretted deeply +that the gentleman's wife liked peaches with every meal, and hoped he'd +manage all right on his ten francs; he---- And then came the +interruption. + +They crowded to the door, and watched them coming. Occasionally a +cheer rang out, but for the most part they came in silence, passing +through the ranks of people that lined the road each side. Half way +down the column a band blared forth, and every now and then the Colonel +in front lifted his right hand gravely in a salute. They were small +men, the poilus of that regiment; but they marched well, with a swing, +and the glint of white teeth. Sometimes they waved a greeting to a +girl on the footpath, and she would smile back, or throw them a flower +or a kiss. And like a ripple going down the lines of spectators, men +took off their hats suddenly. The Colours were passing. . . . + +Almost dazedly the American took off his hat as the ripple reached him; +then he put it on again and turned to Draycott. + +"Hell!" he remarked tersely, "and I've been worry in' over a ten-franc +note. I guess I feel a bit small." He turned and followed the +regiment, with his hands deep in his pockets, and his shoulders squared. + + +VI + +It came through the following afternoon--the news they had been waiting +for; and now for a certain period the curtain of discretion must be +drawn. I gather that Draycott has dim recollections of a stout field +officer endeavouring to stand on a small marble-topped table, with a +glass of beer in each hand. He was making a speech--chiefly in +Hindustani--to the frenzied mob of cheering Frenchmen around him. Then +he came to the point when the best people say "Vive la France!" He +remembered he had a hat on; he remembered he ought to take it off; he +did. The only thing he forgot was the beer. But as he said later when +they sorted him out, it was an old suit, and England didn't declare war +every day. . . . + +The following night they left in an ancient old cargo boat, skippered +by the type of man who has since made our mercantile marine the glory +of the world. His job was to get his peculiarly odoriferous cargo home +to his owners as soon as possible; beyond that he either failed or +refused to look. The entire German Navy might have been waiting +outside for all he cared; he merely consumed a little more whisky, and +conducted morning prayers. He would give them no assurance; they went +at their own risk, but, if the boat got there, he would land them at +Gibraltar. And having thought the matter over, and realised that +firstly a journey through Italy might result in their being kept as +prisoners of war; secondly, that a journey through Spain would probably +take a fortnight at least; and thirdly, that any way they could do +neither as they could get no money, Draycott and his friends embarked +with the patent manure, and watched the lights of Marseilles growing +fainter and fainter till they dropped below the horizon astern. + +It was an uneventful voyage, and never for one hour after the first day +were they out of sight of land. It was the only concession the skipper +would make for the safety of his boat; and so they jogged along at a +peaceful ten knots and watched the sun set each evening in a blaze of +golden glory over the rocky coast of Spain. For the first time since +leaving England a week before, they were able to think. In the rush to +Paris, in the horse-box to Marseilles, in Marseilles itself, they had +been too busy. Besides, they were outsiders. . . . + +Now, England was in it; the thing which they had known in their hearts +was coming, ever since a kindly senior subaltern had first taken it +upon himself to shape their destinies, had actually come. And +bitterest thought of all--_they_ were not there. + +"It can't last more than three months." A pessimistic garrison gunner +from Malta, who was playing patience, cheated savagely. "I tell you no +European country could stand it." Undoubtedly the fatuous drivel of +certain writers had influenced even the Army itself. "Peace will be +declared before Christmas. An' I'll have sat on that cursed island, +and whenever I see a ship I'd like to poop at, the searchlight will go +out, an' I'll be bitten by sand flies." He glared morosely at +Draycott; until, suddenly, a dawning look of joy spread over his face. +"It's coming out. I swear it's coming out!" + +"You cheated," remarked an onlooker cruelly. "I saw you with my own +eyes." + +It was then that he burst into tears. . . . + +Shut off as they were from the outside world--the old tramp had no +wireless--they could only wonder, and wait, fuming with impatience. +What had happened? Had the fleets met? Had the wonderful day which +the German Navy was popularly supposed to be living for--had it +arrived? And if it had--what had been the result? They could only +lean over the stern and try and grasp the one monumental fact--war. +And what did it hold in store? . . . + +Visions of forlorn hopes, visions of glory, visions of the glamour of +war rose unbidden in their minds. And then, when they had got as far +as that, the smell of that patent manure obtruded itself once again, +and the dreamers of honours to come passed sadly down the gangway to +the Levantine villain who presided over the vermouth and the gin. +Which might be taken as the text for a sermon on things as they are. +In this war it is the patent manure and the vermouth which dominate the +situation as far as the fighters, at any rate, are concerned. The +talkers may think otherwise, may prate of soul-stirring motives, and +great ideals. But for the soldiers, life is a bit too grim and +overpowering for gloss. After a spell they come for their vermouth, +for something to help nerves a trifle jangled, something to give a +contrast to stark reality, and having had it they go back again to the +patent manure; while the onlookers see visions and dream dreams. I +suppose it's a fair division of labour! . . . + + +VII + +It was the distinguished-looking gentleman in blue who came alongside +just after they dropped anchor at the Rock, who brought the glorious +news. He ascended the gangway with great dignity, and disappeared into +some secret place with the skipper. After some delay and a slight +commotion, various flags were hoisted, and he majestically appeared +again. It seemed that the hoisting of the flags had apparently been +successful. Suspicion had been averted by this simple act; there was +no longer any danger of being made a target for enthusiastic gunners. +And, what was more to the point, the distinguished gentleman was now +free to impart his great tidings. + +"The German fleet, gentlemen," he remarked genially, "has ceased to +exist." + +"Who said so?" asked a doubting voice. + +"It is in all the Spanish papers." The Admiral, or whatever he was, +eyed the speaker compassionately. "A great action has taken place in +the North Sea; we have lost nineteen big ships in addition to +destroyers, and the German fleet is wiped out." + +"It doesn't seem good enough, does it?" murmured a graceless member of +the group. + +"But if it's really authentic?" Draycott turned to him doubtfully. +"And there must be something in it if it's in all the Spanish papers." + +"On the contrary," returned the graceless one. "It is precisely that +fact that makes me believe there is nothing in it." + +The remark seemed conclusive; and yet so detailed was the information +all over Gib, so definite the lists of vessels sunk on each side, that +even intelligent Scorps--as the inhabitants of the place are +known--were impressed. Strangely enough, exactly the same detailed +lists, with just sufficient difference to make them credible, were in +all the Italian papers at the same time--though this only transpired +later. + +At the moment nothing much mattered but the time of the next boat going +East: it was their own little personal future that counted. A naval +battle--yes, perhaps; nineteen ships down--the German fleet as well; +fifty or sixty thousand men--gone, finished, wiped out. And yet it was +the next boat they wanted to know about. + +Callous--I think not; merely a total incapability to realise a thing so +stupendous. It has been the same all through the war: the tragedies +have been too big for human minds to grasp. It is the little things +that tell; the isolated thumb-nail impressions that live in one's mind, +and will go with us to the grave. The one huddled form lying +motionless in the shell-hole, with its staring, sightless eyes; the one +small, but supreme sacrifice: that is the thing which hits--hits harder +than the _Lusitania_, or any other of the gigantic panels of the war. +The pin-pricks we feel; the sledge hammer merely stuns. And the danger +is that those who have felt the pin-pricks may confuse them with the +sledge hammer; may lose the right road in the bypaths of personal +emotion. War means so infinitely much to the individual; the +individual means so infinitely little to war. Only it is sometimes +hard to remember that simple fact. . . . + + +VIII + +It was from the top of the Rock that they watched their evil-smelling +boat depart, to plug on northward up the home trail, unperturbed by +naval battles or rumours thereof. And it was from the top of the Rock +they first saw the smoke of the P. and O., outward bound, on which they +were destined to complete the journey. Below lay the bay, dotted with +German and Austrian ships caught on the high seas at the outbreak of +war; a destroyer was going half-speed towards the Atlantic; a cruiser +lay in dock, her funnels smoking placidly. Out towards Algeciras an +American battleship, with her peculiar steel trellis turrets, was +weighing anchor; and in the distance, across the Straits, Africa, +rugged and inhospitable, shimmered in the heat haze of an August day. + +"So long." The gunner subaltern waved a weary hand from his point of +vantage, where he was inspecting life with a telescope. "There's your +barge, but she won't leave till to-morrow. If this goes on for much +longer, my nerves will give way under the strain. The excitement is +too great." + +It appears that Draycott had forebodings even before he got on board +that P. and O. Since then she has become almost historic amongst those +of the Regular Army whose abode at the beginning of the war was +overseas. Save for the fact that no one was playing the harmonium, or +any other musical instrument, the appearance of her decks as they came +alongside was reminiscent of one of those delightful pleasure steamers +on which one may journey, at comparatively small cost, up and down the +Thames. A seething mob of people, almost exclusively composed of the +male sex, glared furiously at them and one another--but principally at +them--as they came up the gangway, and departed in search of the +purser. All the stairs down to the dining saloon were occupied by +morose passengers, and an enlivening altercation was in progress +between two elderly gentlemen of ferocious aspect anent the remnants of +what had once been a cushion. A mild-looking being, closely clutching +a tired deck-chair, was descending to the dining saloon, where +infuriated men were loudly thumping the tables. + +"Good heavens, gentlemen! what do you want?" A haggard purser peered +at them from his office. "Berths!" He broke into a shout of maniacal +laughter, and then pulled himself together. "The fourteenth stair +leading to the engine-room is not taken, but there's an exhaust pipe +passes under it, and it becomes too hot to sit on. There is room for +two in a coal bunker which should be empty by to-night; otherwise, the +hold, if you can find room." + +"But what's all the trouble," they queried peevishly. "Surely----" + +"Trouble!" The purser swallowed hard. "We have on board eighty-four +generals, two hundred and twenty colonels, and one thousand eight +hundred and ninety-one what-nots of junior rank. They have all been +recalled from leave; they have all come by this boat. The eighteenth +breakfast is now being served--perhaps." With a dreadful cry he seized +the brandy bottle, while they faded slowly and sadly away. There are +things too terrible for contemplation. . . . + +It was a wonderful trip--that final stage to the Half Way House of +Malta. There was the dreadful incident of the short-sighted subaltern +who got into a full Colonel's bed by mistake, when that worthy officer +had just gone down on four no trumps redoubled. In vain to point out +the similarity of engine-room gratings--in vain to plead short sight. +The subsequent scene lingered in the memory for days. + +There was the case of the sleep walker, who got loose in the hold, and +ambled heavily over four hundred infuriated human sardines, till he +finally fell prostrate into what was apparently the abode of spare +china. + +Last but not least there was the dreadful Case of the Major-General's +Bath. Of this Draycott speaks first hand; he, personally, was an +awe-struck spectator. Now the question of baths on that boat was not +one to be trifled with. The queue for the pit of a popular play was as +nothing to the procession that advanced to the bath in the morning. +And the least penalty for sharp practice with regard to one's turn was +death. + +Into the bathroom, then, prepared for him by a perspiring Lascar, the +Major-General stepped. At the time Draycott did not know he was a +Major-General: he was just a supreme being resplendent in a green silk +dressing-gown. The door closed, only to open again at once. + +"I have forgotten my sponge," he announced. "I shall not be a moment." +He gazed directly at Draycott, who bowed, choking slightly. It was +inconceivable to imagine that the resplendent one thought he might--to +put it in the vulgar tongue--pinch his bath. By nature he was a +timorous individual, and that green dressing-gown--ye gods! perish the +thought. + +It was while he waited humbly that the catastrophe occurred. Advancing +magnificently came a second being, still more resplendent, in a purple +dressing-gown; and he was complete, with towel, sponge, and soap. His +eye would have impaled a London taxi-driver, and, scenting trouble, the +Lascar made himself scarce. + +"It is preposterous to keep people waiting in this manner," he boomed; +"perfectly monstrous." The next moment the door was shut and bolted, +and Draycott followed the Lascar's example--just in time: green +dressing-gown was returning with his sponge. In official parlance, a +general action seemed imminent. . . . + +It opened with the crash of heavy artillery in the shape of strange and +loud expletives of an Indian nature, to be followed immediately by an +attack in force on the hostile position. This resulted in a sanguinary +repulse, and the attacking party hopped round, apparently in pain, +nursing a stubbed toe. The temporary set-back, however, seemed only to +raise the _morale_ of the force; and after a further heavy bombardment +of a similar nature to the one before, a succession of blows were +delivered in rapid succession at all points along the front, which +suddenly gave way and the victor was precipitated in some confusion, +but triumphant, upon the floor of the captured position. + +How true it is, that great utterance of our hand-books on war! "Every +leader must bear in mind the necessity of immediately consolidating a +newly won position, in order to resist the counter-attack of the enemy, +which sooner or later is bound to be launched." + +In this case it was distinctly sooner. With a loud shout the defending +troops arose from a recumbent position--to wit, the bath--and with +deadly accuracy launched the contents of a large bucket of hot water +upon the still prostrate foe. + +"What is the meaning of this monstrous intrusion?" The battle cry of +the purples rang through the quivering air. + +"You s'scoundrel! you impudent s'scoundrel!" + +With a loud spluttering noise the greens got up and assumed a +belligerent attitude. "You m'miserable villain! that is _my_ bath. +How d'dare you--how d'dare you--throw w'water over me. D'do you know +what I am, sir? I am a Major-General, sir, and I shall report your +infamous c'conduct to the captain." + +"And I, sir," howled his opponent, "will have you put in irons; I will +have you chained to the crow's-nest, if they have one on board. +Keel-hauled, sir, amongst the barnacles and things. I, sir, I am a +Lieutenant-General." + +Draycott was still slightly dazed when he landed in Malta. + + +IX + +Thus did he reach the Half Way House on his journey to the Land; and at +that Half Way House he was destined to remain for a short space. It +may be that there is a harder school than forced inaction; if so, I +have no desire to become a pupil. "Those are your orders; there is +nothing more to be said." Only too true; there _is_ nothing more to be +said--but thinking is a different matter. . . . + +And what brush can paint the indescribable longing of those who were +fitted for it, who were trained in its ways, to get to their goal--to +get to the Land of Promise. For it was a Land of Promise; it was the +land of the regular soldier's dreams. And in those days there was no +thought of the dream becoming a nightmare. . . . + +So Clive Draycott and those with him, in that little rocky outpost of +Empire, carried on as cheerfully as a wet sirocco wind and an +ever-present heart-burning to be in France would allow, and waited for +deliverance. + +Perhaps they suffered more acutely than even those who were in the +Great Retreat. Out of it, as they thought, out of it. Would they ever +be able to hold up their heads again? + +And then the worst thing of all: that awful day when the news came +through--the news which England got one Sunday. Fellows kept it from +the men as far as they could; they covered up places on the map with +their hand, unostentatiously; and when they had found Compiègne they +folded the map up, and told the men everything was well. It was that +evening that Draycott and a pal watched the sun go down over Gozo from +St. Paul's Bay, where the statue stands in the sea, and the shallow +blue water ripples against the white sandstone. + +"My God! it can't be true!" His companion turned to him, and his eyes +were tired. "It can't be true. We're b----" And his lips would not +frame the word. + +Only, in their hearts they knew it was true; and in their hearts a +dreadful hopelessness wormed its bitter way. But crushing it down +there was another feeling--stronger and more powerful. England _could_ +not be beaten, _would_ not be beaten; the thing was impossible, +unbelievable. Triumphant it arose, that great certainty. It arose +then, and has never died since, though at times the sky has been black +and the storm clouds ominous. They knew that all would be well; and +now--after three years--all is well. Their faith has been justified, +the faith of the men who waited their call to the work. Only a small +proportion remain to see that justification with their own eyes; the +Land has claimed the rest. Ypres, the Marne, Neuve Chapelle, +Festubert--names well-nigh forgotten in the greater battles of +to-day--in each and all of them the seed of "a contemptible little +Army" has been sown. Thus it was ordained in the Book of Fate. + +But at the moment there were just two men, sick of heart, watching the +sun, in a blaze of golden glory, setting over Gozo. . . . + + +X + +Draycott's deliverance from the Half Way House came in three or four +weeks. With the men swarming in the rigging, and the Territorials who +had come to replace them cheering from the shore, the transport moved +slowly down the Grand Harbour past the French and British warships that +lay at anchor. It would indeed be pleasing to record the fact that the +departing warriors sang patriotic songs concerning their country's +greatness; and that the officers with a few well-chosen words improved +the shining hour, and pointed the moral of the great Entente with +special reference to the warships around them. But being a +truthful--or, shall we say, comparatively truthful--historian, I regret +that it cannot be done. + +Such songs as did rise above the medley of catcalls and gibes of a dark +nature which passed in playful badinage between the sister services +were of a nature exclusively frivolous; and the conversation of such +officers as were not consuming the midday cocktail consisted entirely +of a great thankfulness that they had seen the last of an abominable +island, and a fervent prayer that they would never see it again. + +The relief of it--the blessed relief! They would be in time for the +end of the show any way, which was something. They were not going to +miss it all; they would be able to look their pals in the face after it +was over. A few, it is true, shook their heads and communed together +in secret places: a paltry few, who looked serious, and spoke of a long +war and a bloody war such as had never been thought of. Avaunt +pessimism! war was war, and a damned good show at the best of times for +those who were trained to its ways. The Germans had asked for it for +years, and now they had got it--and serve 'em right. A good sporting +show, and with any luck they would get the fag end of the hunting at +home after peace was declared. + +Thus it was, nearly three years ago; thus it has been, with slight +modifications, ever since. A nation of sportsmen going merrily forth, +with the ideal of sport as their guide, to fight a nation of swine, +with the ideal of fouling as theirs. And so the world wags on in its +funny old way, while the gods laugh, and laugh, and laugh. . . . + + +XI + +On the boat Draycott hardly realised. For the first week of the three +he spent in England he hardly realised--he was too excited. He was +going out; that was all that mattered; until one morning his eyes were +opened to his personal case. It is easy to see things where others are +concerned; but in one's own case. . . . + +He was at home on three days' leave, and the girl was there too. + +"Good Lord!" he remarked at breakfast; "Jerry Thornton gone too." His +eye was running down the casualty list. "Whole battalion must have +taken it in the neck--five officers killed, fourteen wounded. I wish +to heaven----" He looked up, and the words died away on his lips. + +"I didn't realise what war meant to women." His remarks at the Gare de +Lyon hit him like a blow. For he had seen the look in the girl's eyes; +he had seen the look in his mother's. Blotted out at once, it is true; +effaced the instant they had realised he was watching them; but--too +late. He had seen. + +"Was that Major Thornton, dear?" His mother was speaking. "The one +who shot so well?" Her voice was casual; her acting superb. And God! +how they can act--these women of ours. + +For a moment something stuck in his throat. He saw just such another +breakfast room, with a woman staring with dull eyes at the laconic name +in the paper: a name which so baldly confirmed the wire she had had +three days before. Stunned, still dazed by the shock, she sat +silently, apathetically; as yet she could hardly feel the blow which +Fate had dealt her. In time perhaps; just now--well, it couldn't be; +there must be some mistake. Other men had died--true; but--not hers. +He was different; there must be some mistake. . . . + +For each and every name in that list Clive Draycott of a sudden +realised the same thing was occurring. And then he saw it--personally; +he felt it--personally; he realised that it concerned him--personally. +Those other women had looked, just as had his mother and the girl, a +few weeks ago. Those other women had laughed and joked and asked +casual questions to cover their true feelings, just the same. Those +other women had been through it all and---- "We only see them before +we go--never after." In the theatre, at the restaurant, playing the +fool with us, dancing with us--then we see them; afterwards--when the +train has gone and we are looking out of the window or talking with the +man opposite, then, we do not see them. And it is just as well. "Mon +Dieu! Quelle vâche de guerre." . . . + +Something of all this did Draycott feel at that moment; something which +caught him and shook him and mocked him. Something which whispered, +"You ass, you wretched ass! You think it's you who will suffer; you +think it's you who will be acclaimed a hero. Fool! Your sufferings, +your achievements, whether you live or die, are as nothing to those of +these two women. You may wear the cross for a moment's heroism: they +bear it all the time. And they get no praise; they just endure." . . . + +Yes; something like that struck him for the first time as being +personally applicable to himself. And having looked thoughtfully out +of the window for a moment, he laughed gently, and then he spoke. + +"That's the fellow," he remarked quietly. "An' if the tea ain't cold +I'll take another dish. Three glasses of the old man's port, Dolly, is +enough. I had four last night." + + +XII + +A week later he sat in a mud bath at Havre, which went by the name of a +rest camp; the Way to the Land was nearly trodden. Thousands of others +had sat in that glutinous mud before him; hundreds of thousands were +destined to do so after. And each and all of them were thinking men; +wondering in a greater or less degree according to the size and +activity of their grey matter what it was all about. To some the +Unknown gave the prospect of sport, and they thanked their stars they +were nearly there; to some it gave the prospect of Duty, and they +trusted they would not fail. With some the fear of the future blotted +out their curiosity; with others curiosity left no room for fear. But +in every case they had something to think about--even if it were only +the intense discomfort of their surroundings. And in every case the +woman over the water had--nothing. + +By cattle trucks and carriages, by so-called fast trains and unabashed +troop trains they left in batches big and small; and others came and +filled the gaps. The Land was calling; the Seed must not be delayed. + + * * * * * * + +"You'll have to wait till it's dark." A weary Quartermaster, wandering +through Ypres, met Draycott and stopped. "Thank God! you've come. +We've got three officers left and a hundred and twenty men." + +"Where are they?" he demanded. "How shall I find them?" + +"Very likely you won't." The other laughed mirthlessly. "I'll take +you up to-night--we walk the last bit to the trenches. If a flare goes +up--stand still; there's no other rule." + +"You're about done in, Seymour," said Draycott, watching him keenly. +"What's the trouble?" + +"The trouble is Hell." The Quartermaster passed his hand wearily over +his forehead. "Utter, absolute, complete--Hell. The boys have been in +the front line for twenty-one days; and"--he spoke with a sudden +dreadful earnestness--"the end is not far off." + +"My God!" muttered Draycott, "is it as bad as that?" + + * * * * * * + +No trenches, no dug outs, no reserves. Ceaseless German attacks, rain, +mud, death. And then, three or four days of icy coldness, with the +bitter Arctic wind cutting the sodden, tired, breaking men like a +knife. Fighting every hour, with rifles and bayonets and +fists--sleepless, tired out, finished. Only a spirit which made +possible the impossible supported them: only the glory of their +traditions held the breaking line of Old Contemptibles to the end. And +at the end--they died. . . . + +But their spirit lives on, undimmed, untarnished. It is the spirit of +the New Armies--the Civilian Armies of Britain. They were training +back in England when Clive Draycott went to the Land: they were +learning the message of the old Regulars from New Zealand to Yukon. It +is not learned in a day--that message: there is much watering and +weeding to do before the seed can reach perfection, but the Land would +not wait. . . . It was greedy then--as now; the only difference was +the amount of grain available. And when Clive Draycott went to it +there was very little. To God Almighty the praise. What there was, +was very good. + + + + +PART II + + +THE LAND + + I. A DAY OF PEACE + II. OVER THE TOP + III. THE MAN-TRAP + IV. A POINT OF DETAIL + V. MY LADY OF THE JASMINE + VI. MORPHIA + VII. BENDIGO JONES--HIS TREE + VIII. THE SONG OF THE BAYONET + + + + +I + +A DAY OF PEACE + +"For the fourteenth morning in succession I rise to a point of order. +Why is there no marmalade?" The Doctor glared round the breakfast table. +"I perceive a pot of unhealthy-looking damson, and a tin of golden syrup, +the greater part of which now adorns the infant's face. Why is there no +marmalade?" + +"Could I remind you that there is a war on two miles up the road, my +splay-footed bolus-booster?" With a grand rolling of his R's, the man +who had driven a railway through the Rocky Mountains, and who now boasted +the badges of a subaltern in His Majesty's Corps of Royal Engineers, let +drive. "Ye come to live with us much against our will, because you're a +poor homeless wanderer----" + +"All dressed up and nowhere to go," broke in the Doctor mournfully. + +"You come to live with us, I say," went on the Scotchman, "and then do +nothing but criticise our food and our morals." + +"Heaven knows they both need it. Pass me what's left of the syrup, +little one. Scrape the rest of it off your chin, my cherub, and wrap it +up in a handkerchief and take it up to the trenches with you." + +"You're vewy wude." The junior subaltern adjusted the balance in the +matter of the letter R with the Scotchman. Two months ago he had been at +home--in peace time he would still have been at school. But of such +mixtures is the present British Army made. "It's my face." + +As a statement of fact the remark left nothing to be desired; as a +statement of expediency, when other infants were present, the same cannot +be said. Words, in fact, were trembling on the tongue of a veteran of +six months when the C.O. came suddenly into the room. + +"Bring me an egg," he shouted to the mess waiter in the kitchen next +door. "Listen to this, my bonnie boys." He produced a paper from his +coat pocket and sat down at the table. "Secret. A large object has +fallen beside the sap leading out to Vesuvius crater. It is about the +size of a rum jar, and is thought to be filled with explosive. It has +been covered with sandbags and its early removal would seem desirable, as +the sap is frequently bombarded--Damn it, this egg's addled. Take it +away, it's got spots on it. Where did I get to? Oh! yes--bombarded with +aerial darts and rifle grenades." He replaced the paper in his pocket +and reached for the teapot. + +"Thought to be filled with explosive!" The Scotchman looked up +sarcastically from the letter he was censoring. "What's it likely to be +filled with?" + +"Marmalade, ducky," remarked the Doctor, still harping on his grievance. + +"In addition to that the Pumpkin desires my presence at the Centre +Battalion Head-quarters at 10 ak emma." The C.O. was prodding his second +egg suspiciously. + +The Pumpkin, it may be explained in parenthesis, was the not unsuitable +nickname of the Divisional General. + +"Is the old man coming round the trenches?" Jackson, the subaltern in +whose tender care reposed the crater of Vesuvius and all that appertained +thereto, including rum jars, looked up with mild interest. + +The C.O. glanced at the message beside him. "'The G.O.C. wishes to meet +the Engineer Officer in charge of Left Section, at Centre Battalion +Headquarters, at 10 a.m., A.A.A. Message ends.' There in a nutshell you +have the glorious news." + +Breakfast is never a loquacious meal, and for a while silence reigned, +broken only by a few desultory remarks as to the vileness of the food +produced by the officer responsible for the mess catering, and the +exorbitant price he demanded for it--statements which had staled with +much vain repetition. + +"For heaven's sake dry up," he remarked peevishly. "You've had sardines +on toast twenty-one nights running; what more do you want? Listen to the +words of Sapper Mackintosh--the pudding-faced marvel. This"--he held up +a letter--"is the fifth which he hopes will find the recipient as it +leaves him at present--in the pink, and with the dreadful pains in his +stummik quite gone." + +"Our Doctor has a wonderful bedside manner," remarked the Scotchman. +"Did ye no hear the story of him and the lady way back by Hazebrook?" + +"That'll do," said the Doctor, rising hurriedly. "She had very bad +rheumatism--that poor girl." + +"I know she had, Doc," put in the C.O. heartily. "And when I think of +the way you eased her sufferings I became lost in admiration over the +noble nature of your calling. In the meantime I'd be glad if you'd see +one of the men in the Head-quarters Section. From the strange explosive +noises he made when I spoke to him before breakfast I gathered by the aid +of an interpreter that he had somewhat foolishly placed his complete set +of uppers and lowers on a truss of compressed hay, and one of the mules +has eaten them." + +He strolled to the door on his way to the kitchen in the next house that +served as his office. + +"You'd better be careful with that rum jar, Jacko. Unless you're pretty +certain there's no danger, I'd put a slab of gun-cotton against it where +it is, and pop her off. No sense in running any risks carrying it back." + +"Right-ho! I'll have a look as soon as I go up. Are you coming, Mac?" +He turned to the Scotchman. + +"In five minutes, my boy. I have to perform a few blasting operations on +my pipe before I start, and then I'm with you." He pulled a battered +veteran out of his pocket, and peered into its noisome bowl. + +"Not indoors, man, for heaven's sake!" The Doctor backed hurriedly out +of the room. "The last billet you cleaned your pipe in they complained +to the Mayor of the village." + +"Go away, Doctor, go away. Go and put chloride of lime round the +cook-house," Mac was shouting through the window at the receding medico. +"And ask yon woman if she has a hairpin. My pipe. . . ." But the Doctor +was out of sight. + +Ten minutes later the room was empty save for a batman clearing the +breakfast table. + + * * * * * * + +Now as a general rule the Sappers do not live in the trenches, but go up +there each day and most nights, the remainder of the time being spent in +dwellings of dubious sanitation and indubitable draughtiness a mile or so +in rear. To each company a certain front is allotted, and it is their +joy and pride to maintain this front and the network of trenches behind +it spotless and untarnished, what time they minister ceaselessly to the +lightest whim of its heroic defenders--usually known by the generic term +of P.B.I., or poor bally Infantry. Which, of course, is not what really +happens, but one likes to think thus beautifully. + +In addition to the Infantry, other people thrust themselves forward in a +manner which requires firmness and tact to deal with: gunners require +O.P.'s, or observation posts; other gunners require trench mortar +emplacements; dangerous men with machine guns sit up and take notice, and +demand concrete and other abominations; while last, but not least, the +medical profession demand secret and secure places in which to practise +their nefarious trade. Finally, the Ordnance Department is with one +always. It was that branch of the great Machine which caused the frown +on the face of the Sapper Captain, hitherto alluded to as the O.C., while +next door the batman cleared the breakfast table. + +"We're six bicycles short, you say, Quartermaster-Sergeant?" he exclaimed +irritably, gazing at some papers in front of him, while he filled his +pipe. + +"Yes, sir; and two more with wheels buckled, and three that free-wheel +both ways." + +"What d'you mean--free-wheel both ways?" + +"The pedals rotate, sir, with great speed, but the bicycle remains +motionless." When a man habitually calls an armchair, A chair, +arm--Officers, for the use of, one--his conversation is apt to become +stilted. + +"How were the wheels buckled?" demanded the Captain when he had digested +this great thought. + +"Two of the officers, sir--playing what I believe they called bicycle +polo with a brick and two pick-helves--had--er--a slight mishap." + +"When did it happen?" + +"Er--after dinner, sir, one night." The N.C.O. looked tactfully out of +the window. + +The officer did not pursue the topic. "Well, what about these six that +have been lost?" + +"Completely destroyed by shell-fire," said the C.Q.M.S. firmly. "I have +prepared a statement of what happened for your perusal and signature." +He handed the officer a written paper and respectfully withdrew a few +paces to avoid any semblance of coercion. + +"'The six bicycles were placed on the morning of the 10th ult. against +the entrance to the R.E. Dump at A.21, C.2.4. It would appear that +during the absence of the riders a hostile shell of large calibre fell on +the six said bicycles, completely demolishing them, for when the riders +returned after the day's work merely a few fragments remained scattered +round the shell crater.'" + +The Captain read it over slowly, and then, in tones of awe, a murmured +"Wonderful" wafted through the office. + +"I beg your pardon, sir?" The N.C.O. was again at his side. + +"I said wonderful, Quartermaster-Sergeant--quite wonderful. Do you think +they'll swallow it?" + +"It has been done before, sir." The tone was non-committal. "And one of +the six was undoubtedly badly punctured by a stray rifle bullet before we +lost it--er--that is, before it was finally destroyed by shell-fire." + +"Right." With the air of a man who communes with great destinies, the +Captain signed his name. "Anything more?" + +"Nothing at present, sir. The question of the consumption of Candles, +Tallow dip, Pounds Twenty-four, stolen from our yard by the 940th +Tunnelling Company has come back again with remarks from the Chief +Ordnance Officer at the Base--but it will wait until you come back from +the trenches." + +"I'm glad of that," remarked the Captain, rising. "I'm not feeling very +strong this morning, and candles, tallow dip--especially lbs. 24 of +them--would cause a relapse. Orderly"--he strolled to the door--"my +bicycle, please." + +A few minutes later he was riding slowly down the road towards the place +where there was "a war on." A cool mist hung over the fields on each +side of him, and in the early morning stray cobwebs glistening with +moisture brushed lightly across his face. + +"_B'jour, monsieur._" A woman standing in the door of a roadside +_estaminet_ greeted him as he passed--a woman undisturbed by the guns +that at times roared close by; a woman whose house was one concentrated +draught, which whistled through what had once been walls and now were +holes held together by odd bricks. + +He returned the greeting and rode on, while once again the +comparison--never far absent from those who live "within range"--came +into his mind: the comparison between England and France--between the +country which has only learned of war through its soldiers, and the +country whose women and children have learned of it first hand, even unto +death. All was absolutely silent--the peace and glory of a summer's +morning hung over everything, while the smell of the wet clover came +faintly to his nostrils. A military policeman at the corner saluted +smartly, while a small boy in a little cart drawn by three straining dogs +raced him blithely up the village street. At the end of the battered +houses still occupied by their owners, and the temporary abode of half a +battalion of infantry resting from a spell in the trenches, progression +by bicycle became a little harder. Great branches lay across the road, +and pits torn out of the pave by bursting shells made steering a trifle +intricate; while occasionally one of the many signal wires which had +slipped during the night and was hanging low above his head, scraped the +top of his steel helmet. + +Once more the familiar "_B'jour, monsieur_"--this time from an old dame +who sat day in day out in a corner under a wall selling chocolate. Just +above her head, so that by raising her arm she could have touched it, the +nose of a "dud" German shell poked out from the brickwork. + +Ruin, desolation--and shrouding it all the cool damp mist of seven +o'clock in July. + + +"The very man!" A voice hailed him from behind, and a gunner subaltern +materialised. "Are you going up the line?" + +"I am--at once." The Sapper placed his bicycle against a heap of +sandbags. "What does my dear one desire? + +"The accursed Hun placed two large obuses into the Ritz yesterday +afternoon. What do you propose to do about it?" They were strolling +slowly through the sopping grass. + +"Nothing--if I can possibly avoid it," answered the Sapper firmly. "You +select for an O.P. the most prominent house in the locality--put a +signaller on the top of it with a large flag--wait till midday, when the +sun is at its brightest, and then send a message back that the bully beef +is bad. You----" + +"Laddie," interrupted the gunner, "desist. All that you say is true and +more--but we must stick to the Ritz, if we can. It commands a +soul-inspiring view of the trenches behind that new crater in a way we +can't get from anywhere else. What I want you to do is to cover the +cellar with boards. Yesterday the second shell knocked two men +insensible, and they fell backwards into it. As they nearly drowned, it +will be obvious, even to your intelligence, that it contains--amongst +other things--water. Moreover, the water is deep, and stinketh. If, +therefore, my brainy _confrère_, you will authorise me to draw planks +twelve, I myself will cover yon hole with my own fair hands. The +cadaverous gentleman at your store, whose face has been passed over by +some heavy body, proved both unsympathetic and suspicious this morning +when I asked him for them. Wherefore, if you will sign----" He held out +a book to the Sapper. + +"'Please issue bearer with twelve planks 9 inch by 2 inch; length, 6 +feet.'" The Sapper glanced at the page and signed. "There you are, +James. Tell him to get them cut for you." + +"I was going to, dearie. How marvellously your brain grasps the +importance of these trifling details! Are you passing the Ritz by any +chance? If so, tell my warriors to come down to the Store." + +"Aren't you coming up?" + +"No--it's too light. I have to be careful whom I'm seen with." He +turned back and was quickly lost in the white mist--though for some time +afterwards the faint strains of musical items selected from _The Bing +Boys_ followed the Sapper as he walked on. + +Occasional voices came mysteriously from apparently nowhere, as a party +of men went up one of the deep communication trenches close by him--a +trench invisible in summer until you actually stood over it, for the long +rank grass hid everything: grass splashed with the red of great masses of +poppies, and the white of the daisies, with odd little patches of blue +cornflowers and borage, and buttercups glinting yellow. Just rank +luxuriant vegetation, run wild--untouched for more than a year. + +Suddenly out of the mist there loomed the Ritz--the name of the +broken-down, shell-battered house which served his late companion as an +O.P. The Sapper gave the message as requested, and stepped down three +stairs into the communication trench, which passed close under one of the +crumbling walls. There was no necessity, as far as safety was concerned, +to get into the trench for several hundred yards--the mist effectually +prevented any chance of being seen from the German lines half a mile +farther on. + +But he was mindful to see the condition of the trench--whether the sides +were crumbling, and whether the floor was suitably provided with +trench-boards and bricks. Twisting, winding with the poppies and the +weeds meeting over his head, and the water brushing off them against his +face and coat, he walked slowly on. Seven feet deep, perhaps three feet +wide, it might have been a sunken Devonshire lane in model, and a faint +red tinge in the soil helped the illusion. + +Stale as it all was, unprofitable and a weariness to the flesh as it had +all become, the strangeness of it still struck him at times. He wondered +lazily what the people he knew at home would think if they were following +him at that moment on a tour of inspection. Especially his Uncle John. +Uncle John was something in the City, and looked it. He lived near +Ascot, and nightly slept with a gas-mask beside his bed. He could +imagine Uncle John trembling audibly in that quiet model lane, and +assuring his faithful wife of his ability to protect her. He laughed at +the picture in his mind, and then with a slight frown stopped. + +The trench bent sharply to the right, and almost subconsciously he +noticed a hole framed in thick wood, half filled in, in the wall in front +of him. The top had broken. He bent and peered through it. It went +right through the wall in front, and beyond, the same deep communication +trench could be seen stretching away. Just a loophole placed in a +traverse through which a rifle could be fired along a straight thirty +yards of trench, if the Germans ever got in. But to fire a rifle to any +purpose the loop-hole must not be broken, and so the Sapper made a note +before resuming his stroll. + +Rounding a bend, a big white board at a cross-roads confronted him. It +advertised two or three salient facts written in large black letters. It +appeared that by turning to the right one would ultimately reach +Leicester Square and an aid post, to say nothing of the Charing Cross +Road, which was a down trench. By turning to the left, on the contrary, +one would reach Regent Street and a pump. It also stated that the name +of our wanderer's present route was the Haymarket, and further affirmed +that it was an up trench. For it will be plain to all that, where a +trench is but three feet wide, it is essential not to have men going both +ways in it--and further, it will also be plain why the aid posts occur in +the down ones. + +A further interesting and momentous piece of information was imparted +from another board, to the effect that the name of the trench by which +one could reach the pump on one hand and the aid post on the other was +Piccadilly, and that it constituted the reserve line of the position. + +In other words, it was not merely a communication trench, but was +recessed and traversed like a fire trench. In very fact, it was a fire +trench--the third of the system. In front was the support line, known as +Pall Mall, and in front of that, again, the firing line, whither later +the Sapper proposed to wend his way. He wanted to gaze on "the rum jar +reputed to be filled with explosive." But in the meantime there was the +question of the pump--the ever-present question which is associated with +all pumps. To work or not to work, and the answer is generally in the +negative. + +He turned to the left down Piccadilly, wondering what particular ailment +had attacked this specimen of the breed, and had caused the Adjutant of +the battalion to write winged words anent it. The aspect of the trench +had changed; no longer did the red, white, and blue of the tangled wild +flowers meet over his head, but grey and drab the sandbag walls rose on +each side of him. Occasionally the mouth of a dug-out yawned in the +front of the trench, a dark passage cased in with timber, sloping steeply +down to the cave below. Voices, and sometimes snores, came drowsily up +from the bottom, where odd bunches of the South Loamshires for a space +existed beautifully. + + +"Hullo, old man--how's life?" He rounded a traverse to find an officer +of the battalion lathering his chin for his morning shave. A cracked +mirror was scotched up between two sandbags, and a small indiarubber +basin leaked stealthily on the firing step. + +"So-so! That bally pump of yours won't work again, or so the cook says. +Jenkins, pass the word along for Smithson. He is the cook, and will tell +you the whole sordid story." + +"Quiet night?" The Sapper sat down and refilled his pipe. + +"Fairly. They caught one of our fellows in the entrance to his dug-out +up in the front line with an aerial dart about seven o'clock. Landed +just at the entrance. Blew the top of his head off. Good boy, too--just +been given his stripe. Oh, Smithson!--tell the Engineer officer about +that pump. Confound!--I've shaved a mosquito bite!" + +The cook--a veteran of many years--looked at the placidly smoking Sapper +and cleared his throat. On any subject he was an artist; on pumps and +the deficiencies of Ally Sloper's Cavalry--as the A.S.C. is vulgarly +known--he was a genius. + +"Well, sir, it's like this 'ere. That there pump is a funny kind o' +pump. Sometimes it gives you water and sometimes it don't." + +"You surprise me," murmured the Sapper. + +"Now, if I might be so bold, sir, I would suggest that another well be +sunk, sir--starting fresh-like from the beginning. Then I could keep my +heye on it, and see that no one wasn't a-monkeying with it. As it is, +wot with the stuff we're a-getting and the shortage of tea and the +distance I 'ave to go for water, and----" + +"Well, what do you expect?" A bitter voice from round the traverse +rudely interrupted the discourse. "We make pumps to pump water--not dead +rats. Wasting my time, that's what it is. Where 'ave I put it? In that +there perisher Smithson's dug-out, and 'e can 'ave it for his dinner." +The plumber previously sent up on receipt of the Adjutant's note came +round the corner, and, seeing his officer, stopped and saluted. + +"That there pump's all right, sir. There was a dead rat in it. They +_will_ leave the cover off the well." He perceived the horrified +Smithson, and fixed him with the frozen eye. + +"Right. Then you can rejoin your section." The Sapper rose, the plumber +departed, the cook faded away, and for a space there was silence. + +"Damn that fellow Smithson--he's the limit." The Infantry Officer +laughed. "I'll rend him for this." + +"Sometimes it gives you water, and sometimes it don't," remarked the +Sapper pensively. "Last time it was a sock. Bye-bye. I hope he'll +enjoy his dinner." + +He followed the plumber back along Piccadilly, composing in his mind a +suitable answer to the message of despair from the Adjutant. + +"With ref. to your min. of yesterday I would suggest that a larger flow +of somewhat purer water would be available if the practice of inserting +deceased rodents in the delivery pipe was discontinued forthwith. I am +fully alive to the fact that what the eye does not see the heart does not +grieve about, and I realise that, viewed from that standpoint only, the +grave of the little animal in question could not well be improved on. I +also realise that it adds that flavour to the tea which is so sought +after by the true connoisseur. But, desiring to view the matter from the +clearer vantage point of an unbiassed onlooker, I venture to suggest----" + +His meditations were interrupted by a procession of gunners each carrying +on his shoulder an unpleasant-looking object which resembled a gigantic +dumb-bell with only one blob on the end--a huge spherical cannon-ball on +a steel stalk. They were coming from Leicester Square, and he met them +just as they turned up the Haymarket. Waiting until they had all gone +by, he followed on in the rear of the party, which suddenly turned sharp +to the left, and disappeared into the bowels of the earth. + +"No. 7," murmured the Sapper to himself. "I wonder if the officer is +new?" He turned to a bombardier standing at the entrance to the passage. +"Is your officer here?" + +"He's down below, sir." The man drew to one side, and the Sapper passed +up a narrow deep trench and went "down below" to the trench-mortar +emplacement, a cave hewn out of the ground much on the principle of an +ordinary dug-out. But there were certain great differences; for half the +roof had been removed, and through the hole thus formed streamed in the +early morning sun. A screen of rabbit wire covered with bits of grass, +lying horizontally over the open hole when the gun was not firing, helped +to conceal it from the prying eyes of Hun aeroplanes. Let into the +ground and mounted and clamped to a stand was the mortar itself--while +beside it sat a very young gunner officer, much in the attitude of a +mother beside her firstborn. He was obviously new to the game, and the +Sapper surveyed him with indulgent eye. + +"Good morning." The Gunner looked up quickly. "I'm the Sapper Officer +on this bit of line. You've just come in, haven't you?" + +"Yes, early this morning. Everything seems very quiet here." + +"From four till eight or nine it's always peaceful. But I don't know +that you'll find this spot very quiet once you start pooping off. This +particular emplacement was spotted some two months ago by the wily Hun, +and he got some direct hits on it with small stuff. Since then it hasn't +been used. There are lots of others, you know." + +"I was ordered to come to this one," answered the boy doubtfully. + +"Right-oh! my dear fellow--it's your funeral. I thought I'd just let you +know. Are you letting drive this morning?" + +"Yes--as soon as I get the order to fire." + +The boy was keen as mustard, and, as I have said, very young--just +another infant. He had not long to wait, for hardly were the words out +of his mouth when a sergeant came in. + +"Captain's compliments, sir, and will you fire two rounds at G. 10 C. 5 +4?" + +Rapidly and without confusion the men did their appointed jobs; the great +stalk slithered down the gun, the bomb--big as a football--filled with +high explosive was fixed with a detonator, the lanyard to fire the charge +was adjusted. Then every one cleared out of the emplacement, while the +Sapper took his stand in the trench outside. + +"Let her rip." The lanyard was pulled, and with a muffled crack the huge +cannon-ball rose into the air, its steel stalk swaying behind it. +Plainly visible, it reached its highest point, and still wobbling +drunkenly went swishing down on to G. 10 C. 54--or thereabouts. A roar +and a great column of black smoke rose from the German lines. + +Almost before the report had died away, the gun was sponged out, and +another inebriated monster departed on its mission. But the Sapper was +already some way up the Haymarket. It was not his first view of a +trench-mortar firing. + +A vicious crack from a rifle now and then broke the stillness, and +proclaimed that the sun was clearing away the morning mist, and that +rest-time was nearly over; while the sudden rattle of a machine gun close +by him, indulging in a little indirect fire at a well-known Hun gathering +place a thousand yards or so behind their lines, disturbed a covey of +partridges, which rose with an angry whirring of wings. Then came four +of those unmistakable faint muffled bursts from high above his head, +which betokened an aeroplane's morning gallop; and even as he +automatically jerked his head skywards, with a swishing noise something +buried itself in the earth not far away. It is well to remember that +even Archibald's offspring obey the laws of gravity, and shells from an +anti-aircraft gun, burst they never so high, descend sooner or later in +the shape of jagged fragments--somewhere. And if the somewhere is your +face, upturned to see the fun . . . ! + +The Sapper, with the remembrance fresh in his mind of a pal looking up in +just such a way a week before, quickly presented the top of his tin hat +to the skies, and all that might descend from them. There had been that +same swishing all round them as they stood watching some close shooting +at one of our own planes. He recalled the moment when he cried +suddenly--"Jove! they've got him!" He had turned as he spoke to see the +officer with him, slipping sideways, knees crumpling, body sagging. +"Good God! old man, what is it?" The question was involuntary, for as he +caught the limp figure--he knew. + +The plane was all right: the German shells had not got it; but a piece of +shrapnel, the size of a match-box, had passed through that officer's eye, +and entered his brain. He had laid him on the firing-step, and covered +his head--or what was left of it. . . . + + +He reached Pall Mall, to be once again confronted with a large white +notice board. To the right were Boyaux 93 and 94--to the left, 91 and +90. Straight on to the front, 92 led to the firing line. With his +ultimate destination Vesuvius crater and the rum jar in view, he turned +to the right, and walked along the support trench. It was much the same +as Piccadilly: only being one degree nearer the front, it was one degree +more warlike. Boxes of bombs everywhere; stands for rifles on the +firing-step, which held them rigidly when they fired rifle grenades; and +every now and then a row of grey-painted rockets with a red top, which in +case of emergency send up the coloured flares that give the S.O.S. +signals to those behind. Also men: men who slept and ate and shaved and +wrote and got bored. A poor show is trench warfare! + +"Look out, sir. They've knocked it in just round the corner last night +with trench mortars." A sergeant of the South Loamshires was speaking. +"Having a go at Laburnum Cottage, I'm thinking." + +"What, that sniper's post? Have you been using it?" + +"One of our men in there now, sir. He saw an Allemand go to ground in +his dug-out half an hour ago through the mist, and he reckons he ought to +finish breakfast soon, and come out again." + +The Sapper crawled on his stomach over the _débris_ that blocked the +trench, and stopped at the entrance to Laburnum Cottage, officially known +as Sniper's Post No. 4. In a little recess pushed out to the front of +the trench, covered in with corrugated iron and surrounded by sandbags, +sprawled the motionless figure of a Lance-Corporal. With his eye glued +to his telescopic sight and his finger on the trigger of his rifle, he +seemed hardly to be breathing. Suddenly he gave a slight grunt, and the +next instant, with a sharp crack, the rifle fired. + +"Get him?" asked the Sapper. + +"Dunno, sir," answered the sniper, his eye still fixed to the telescope. +"Three 'undred yards, and 'e ducked like 'ell. It wasn't far off 'is +nibs, but one can't tell for sure." He got down and stretched himself. +"I've waited 'alf an 'our for the perisher, too, without no breakfast." +He grinned and scrambled over the broken-down trench to remedy the latter +deficiency, while once more the Sapper walked on. No need with this +particular regiment to suggest rebuilding the broken-in trench; it would +be done automatically--which cannot be said of them all. + +At last he reached Boyau 94, and turned up towards the firing-line. +Twenty yards from the turn a mass of barbed wire crossed the trench above +his head, the barbed wire which ran in front of the support line. For it +is not only the fire-trench that is wired--each line behind is +plentifully supplied with this beautiful vegetable growth. + +The mist had cleared away, and the morning sun was blazing down from a +cloudless sky, as he reached the front trench. Just to his left a +monstrous pair of bellows, slowly heaving up and down under the +ministrations of two pessimistic miners, sent a little of God's fresh air +down to the men in the mine-shafts underneath. The moles were there--the +moles who scratched and scraped stolidly, at the end of their gallery +thirty or forty yards in front, deep down under the earth in No Man's +Land. + +A steady stream of sandbags filled with the result of their labours came +up the shaft down which the pipe from the bellows stretched into the +darkness--sandbags which must be taken somewhere and emptied, or used to +revet a bit of trench which needed repair. + +To right and left there stretched the fire-trench--twisting and turning, +traversed and recessed--just one small bit of the edge of British land. +A hundred yards away, a similar line stretched right and left, where +other pessimistic miners ministered to other monstrous bellows, and +Piccadilly was known as Unter den Linden. The strange stagnation of it +all! + +Look through the periscope at the country in front. Not a sign of life +in the torn-up crusted earth; not a movement between the two long lines +of wire. A few poppies here and there, and at one point a motionless +grey-green lump close to the farther wire. Impossible to tell exactly +what it is from the periscope--the range is too far. But, in No Man's +Land, such strange grey--and khaki--lumps may often be seen. The night, +a wiring party, perhaps a little raid or an officer's patrol, +and--discovery. You cannot always get your dead back to the trench, and +the laws that govern No Man's Land savour of the primitive. . . . + +The Sapper watched the phlegmatic bellows-heaver for a few moments +curiously. His stoical indifference to any one or anything save the job +in hand, the wonderful accuracy with which he spat from time to time, the +appalling fumes from his short clay pipe, all tended to make of him an +interesting study. Supremely apathetic to friend or foe, Generals or +Huns, he did his shift without comment and, as far as could be seen, +without thought. + +"Where are you putting the earth?" asked the Sapper after watching for a +while. + +"Round corner, in a 'ole." The speaker pointed with his pipe, and the +subject dropped. + +The officer turned away smiling slightly, and decided on the inspection +of the rum jar. The answer was clear and succinct, even if not couched +in the language of the old army discipline. He inspected the hole, and, +finding it was at the back of the trench, in a crater that was formed +nightly by German _minenwerfer_, and that more earth there not only would +not block the trench but, _mirabile dicta_, would be an actual advantage, +he passed on and shortly came to a passage leading out of the front of +the trench. + +The passage was labelled Sap No. 130, and presented exactly the same +appearance as the boyaux which ran out of the support line to the front +trench. Only when one got into it did the difference become apparent, +for whereas the boyaux had continued until finally opening into a new +trench, the sap was a cul-de-sac, and finished abruptly in a little +covered-in recess built into a miniature mountain of newly-thrown-up +earth. And this great, tumbled mass of soil was the near lip of Vesuvius +crater--blown up half way between the two front lines. + +Over the top of the mountain there was no passage. A man standing or +crawling there in daytime would have been in full view of German snipers +at a range of forty yards; while had he accomplished it in safety, he +would have slithered down the farther side into a great cavity shaped +like an egg-cup, at the bottom of which a pool of dirty, stagnant water +was slowly forming. Moreover, if we imagine the man continuing his +journey and climbing up the other side, he would run the gauntlet of the +English snipers as he topped the farther lip, before reaching the German +sap which ran out in just such a similar cul-de-sac to the one already +described. + +Thus are craters consolidated; each side holds the lip nearest to them, +and hurls curses and bombs at his opponents on the other. The distance +between the sapheads is perhaps twenty or twenty-five yards, instead of +the hundred odd of the parent fire-trenches; and any closer +acquaintanceship is barred by the egg-cup crater, which stretches between +them. + +"Keep down, sir--well down. Lot of sniping to-day." A sergeant of the +South Loamshires whispered hoarsely to the Sapper as he reached the end +of the sap--it is etiquette to whisper in a sap. Three men inside the +recess were drinking tea with the calmness born of long custom, while +lying on his side, with a periscope to his eye, was Jackson, the +subaltern. + +"Anything fresh, Jacko?" muttered the Sapper, crouching down beside him. + +"Yes--I think they're coming closer with their left sap round the crater. +Their periscope seems to be nearer than it was yesterday." + +"Let's have a look." The two changed position, and the Captain turned +the periscope gently round until he got the exact direction. Absolute +stillness brooded over the ground he could see; a few rough strands of +wire straggled about, and disappeared into the great mound of earth that +formed the _débris_ of the crater. + +There were the enemies' trenches--a railway embankment behind them with a +derelict row of trucks--a great chimney, gaunt and desolate, with the +buildings at its foot in ruins. But it was not on these old friends that +he was concentrating; his target was the bit of ground just in front of +him that lay close to the thrown-up earth of Vesuvius, along which the +German sap was reputed to be creeping nearer. + +At last he got what he wanted. Close at hand, perhaps twenty yards away, +there stuck up out of the ground a motionless stick with something on the +end--the German's periscope. Now it is reputed to be a fact by several +people of apparent truthfulness that it is possible, in circumstances +such as these, for each watcher to see the other man's eyes reflected +from the mirrors of the periscopes; and it is an undoubted fact that the +laws which govern the refraction of light would allow of this phenomenon. +Personally, I am glad to say I have never seen a German's eye through a +periscope; but then personally I am inclined to doubt if any one has. It +must be quite dreadful to see a thing like a poached egg regarding you +balefully from the top of a stick a few yards away. + +At last the Sapper got up. "He's no nearer, Jacko. What do you think, +sergeant?" + +"I don't think they were working last night, sir," one of the +tea-drinkers answered. + +"There was a party of 'em out, and we bunged some bombs. We 'eard 'em +padding the 'oof back." + +"Been pretty quiet, then?" + +"Except for that there rum jar, sir," answered the sergeant. "We thought +we was napoo[1] when we 'eard that little bundle of fun a-coming." + +"Have you seen it, Jacko?" + +"Yes, it rolled into the sap, and I've had it put into the fire-trench. +I'm taking it back to blow it up. I think it's a percussion fuse, but it +seems fairly safe. I've sent for a stretcher to carry it on." + +"Let's go and have a look at it." + +The two officers walked down the sap and back into the trench, and +started to investigate with a professional eye the object lying on the +fire-step. Apparently of steel, and painted a dull grey, it looked +harmless enough--but all those little love offerings of the Hun are +treated with respect. About the size of an ordinary rum jar, with a fuse +of sorts in place of a neck, it was at the time an unknown brand of +abomination, to them at any rate. + +"It differs only in appearance, I fear," remarked the Captain, after +inspecting it gingerly, "from other presents they give us. Its object is +undoubtedly nefarious. Where do you propose to blow it up?" + +"In that little quarry near the Ritz. Will that do all right?" + +"Most excellently." With a smile he looked at his watch. "Just set your +watch by mine, Jacko--and poop it off at 10.5 ak emma. Do you take me?" + +The other looked puzzled for a moment; then his face cleared. + +"I'd forgotten for the moment that Centre Battalion Head-quarters was not +far from the quarry," he grinned. "Sir--I take you." + +"My dear boy, the day is hot, and the Pumpkin is fat, and the flies are +glutinous. He doesn't want to see the trenches any more than I do--and +one's mission in life is to anticipate the wishes of the great." + +It was just as he finished speaking that from up the line in the +direction of the Haymarket there came four dull, vicious cracks in +succession, and some clouds of black smoke drifted slowly over his head. + +"Just about No. 7 T.M. emplacement," he muttered to himself. "I hope to +heavens . . ." + +"Put it on the stretcher carefully, boys." His subaltern was speaking to +the two men who had arrived with a stretcher. "Have you got the slab of +gun-cotton?" + +"Corporal 'Amick 'as gone to get it at the store, sir. He's a-going to +meet us at the quarry." + +"Right-ho! Walk march." + +The cavalcade departed, and the Captain resumed his morning walk, while +his thoughts wandered to the beer which is cold and light yellow. For +many weary months had he taken a similar constitutional daily; not always +in the same place, true; but variety is hard to find in the actual +trenches themselves. It is the country behind that makes the difference. + +Time was when communication trenches existed only in the fertile brain of +those who were never called upon to use them; but that time has passed +long since. Time was when the thin, tired breaking line of men who +fought the Prussian Guard at Ypres in 1914--and beat them--had hard work +to find the fire-trenches, let alone the communication ones; when a daily +supervision was a nerve-shattering nightly crawl, and dug-outs were +shell-holes covered with a leaking mackintosh. It was then that men +stood for three weeks on end in an icy composition of water and slime, +and if by chance they did get a relief for a night, merely clambered out +over the back, and squelched wearily over the open ground with bullets +pinging past them from the Germans a few score yards away. + +But now there are trenches in canal banks where dead things drift slowly +by, and trenches in railway embankments where the rails are red with rust +and the sleepers green with rot; there are trenches in the chalk, good +and deep, which stand well, and trenches in the slush and slime which +never stand at all; there are trenches where the smell of the long grass +comes sweetly on the west wind, and trenches where the stench of death +comes nauseous on the east. And one and all are they damnable, for ever +accursed . . . + +But the country behind--ah! there's where the difference comes. You may +have the dead flat of pastoral Flanders, the little woods, the plough, +the dykes of Ypres and Boesinghe; you may have the slag-heaps and smoking +chimneys of La Bassée and Loos; you may have the gently undulating +country of Albert and the Somme. Each bears the marks of the German +beast--and, like their inhabitants, they show those marks differently. +Ypres and the North, apathetic, seemingly lifeless; the mining districts, +grim and dour; the rolling plains still, in spite of all, cheerful and +smiling. But underlying them all--deep implacable determination, a grand +national hatred of the Power who has done this thing. . . . + + +He turned out of the Old Kent Road into a siding which harboured the +dug-outs of the Centre Battalion. + +"Is the General here yet, Murdock?" A tall sergeant of the regiment--an +old friend of his--flattened himself against the side of the trench to +let him pass. + +"Yes, sir." The sergeant's face was expressionless, though his eyes +twinkled. "I think, sir, as 'ow the General is feeling the 'eat. 'E +seems worried. 'E's been trying to telephone." + +The Sapper, with a suppressed chuckle, went down some steps into a +spacious dug-out. The darkness made him temporarily blind, so he saluted +and stood still just inside the doorway. + +"Damn you, don't blow at me! What's that fool blowin' down the thing +for? I _have_ pressed a button--confound you!--and rung the bell twice. +No--I didn't ring off; somebody blew at me, and the machine fell on the +floor." + +"The General is trying to get through to his château." A voice full of +unholy joy whispered in the Sapper's ear, and that worthy, whose eyes had +got accustomed to the gloom, recognised the Adjutant. + +"I gathered that something of the sort was occurring," he whispered back. + +But the General was at it again. "Who are you--the R.T.O.? Well, ring +off. Exchange. Exchange. It is the Divisional General speaking. I +want my head-quarters. I say, I want my--oh, don't twitter, and the +bally thing's singin' now! First it blows and then it sings. Good God! +what's that?" + +A deafening explosion shook the dug-out, and a shower of earth and stones +rained down in the trench outside. + +"They're very active this morning, sir," said the Sapper, stepping +forward. "Lot of rum jars and things coming over." + +"Are you the Sapper officer? Good morning. I wish you'd get this +accursed instrument to work." + +"There may be a line broken," he remarked tactfully. + +"Well--I shall have to go back; I can't hear a word. The thing does +nothin' but squeak. Now it's purring like a cat. I hate cats. Most +annoyin'. I wanted to come round the front line this morning." + +"In very good condition, sir; I've just been all round it. Mighty hot up +there, General--and swarms of flies." + +"And they're puttin' over some stuff, you say?" + +"Yes, sir--quite a lot." + +"Hum! Well, of course, I fully intended to come round--but, dash it all, +I must get back. Can't hear a word the fellow says. Does nothing but +play tunes." The Pumpkin rose and stalked to the door. "Well, I'll come +round another morning, my boy. I wonder, by Jove! if that last one was +meant for this head-quarters? Devilish near, you know." He walked up +the stairs, followed by his staff officer. "Good mornin'--mind you see +about that telephone. Cursed thing blows." + +"Dear old Pumpkin," murmured the Adjutant as his steps died away. "He's +a topper. His figure's against him, but he's got the heart of a lion." + +"He has," answered the Sapper, preparing to follow his footsteps. "And +the men would do anything for him." + +"What price that rum jar I sent in a bird about?" + +"That was the last explosion you heard," laughed the Sapper. "I wasn't +leaving anything to chance. I am going to go and drink beer--iced beer, +in long glasses. _Toujours à toi_." + +He was gone, leaving the Adjutant staring. A few moments later he +clambered out of the trench, and struck out for the crumbling church that +betokened a road and the near presence of his bicycle. + + * * * * * * + +A day of peace--yes, as things go, a day of perfect peace. Away down +South things were moving; this was stagnation. And yet--well, it was at +dinner that night . . . + +"For the fourteenth night in succession I rise to a point of order." The +Doctor was speaking. "Why is the lady with the butterfly on her back +pushed away into one corner, and that horrible woman with the green wig +accorded the place of honour?" + +I would hurriedly state that the Doctor's remarks were anent two pictures +which are, I believe, occasionally to be found in officers' messes in the +B.E.F.--pictures of a Parisian flavour as befits the Entente--pictures +which--at any rate they are well known to many, and I will not specify +further. + +"Yes, the lady with the gween wig is dweadful." The boy sipped his port. + +"Infant, I'm shocked at you. The depravity of these children +nowadays . . ." + +An orderly came into the room with an envelope, which he handed to the +Captain. + +The C.O. spread out the flimsy paper and frowned slightly as he read the +message. + +"T.M. Emp. No. 7, completely wrecked by a direct hit 9.30 a.m. this +morning, A.A.A. Please inspect and report, A.A.A., C.R.E., 140th +Division." + +"Delayed as usual," grunted the Scotchman. "I was there just after it +happened, and reported it to the O.C. Trench Mortars. Did you not hear, +sir, for it's useless repairing it? That position is too well known." + +"Were there any casualties?" The Sapper Captain's voice was quiet. + +"Aye. The poor lad that was crooning over his gun when I saw him this +morning, like a cat over her undrowned kitten, just disappeared." + +"What d'you mean, Mac?" + +"It was one of the big ones, and it came right through the wire on top of +him." The gruff voice was soft. "Poor bairn!" + + + +[1] _Special Note to Lovers of Etymology_. + +_Il n'y en a plus_. There is no more. French phrase signifying complete +absence of. Largely heard in estaminets near closing time. + +_Naploo_.--Original pure English phrase signifying the perisher has run +out of beer. + +_Napoo_.--Vulgar and bastardised shortening of original pure English +phrase. Has now been added to B.E.F. dictionary, and is used to imply +that a man, thing, person, animal, or what not, is "finished." + + + + +II + +OVER THE TOP + +"On the afternoon of the 21st we gained a small local success. Our +line was advanced on a front of six hundred yards, over an average +depth of a quarter of a mile. All the ground gained was successfully +consolidated. Up to date eighty-six unwounded prisoners have passed +through the corps cage, of whom three are officers." + +Thus ran the brief official notice so tersely given in the +"Intelligence Summary," known to the ribald as "Comic Cuts"; later it +will appear even more tersely in the daily communiqué which delights +the matutinal kipper and twin eggs of England. It's all so simple; it +all sounds such a ridiculously easy matter to those who read. Map +maniacs stab inaccurate maps with pins; a few amateur strategists +discourse at length, and with incredible ignorance, on the bearing +it--and countless other similar operations--will have on the main +issue. And the vast majority remark gloomily to the other members of +the breakfast table that there is nothing in the paper as usual. +Nothing, my friend! I wonder. . . . + +This is not a story; there is no plot; it is just what happens every +day somewhere or other in the land of glutinous, stinking mud, where +the soles are pulled off a man's boots when he walks and horses go in +up to their bellies; where one steers a precarious and slippery course +on the narrow necks of earth that separate shell holes, and huddled +things stare up at the sky with unseeing eyes. They went "over the +top" themselves--ten days ago--in just such another local success. +Nothing, my friend! Perhaps you're right; it's mainly a sense of +proportion that is needed in war, as in other things. . . . + + +"Good morning, dear old soul." The machine-gun officer emerged from a +watery hole of doubtful aspect, covered with a dented sheet of +corrugated iron and a flattened-out biscuit tin--the hole that is, not +the officer. "We have slept well, thank you; and the wife and family +are flourishing. Moreover--you're late." + +The Sapper regarded him pessimistically through the chilly mist of an +October dawn. "Entirely owing to my new and expensive waders being +plucked from my feet with a sucking noise. A section of haggard men +are now engaged in salvage operations. Shall we process?" + +"We shall--in one sweet moment, not before. Sweet, brave heart, +because----" He put his head round the corner. "Jones--the raspberry +wine--_toute suite_. Just a hollow tooth full, and we will gambol like +young lambs the whole long weary way." + +"It is well," remarked the Sapper, returning the empty mug to the +soldier servant. "Personally I like it burnt at night, with a noggin +of port. You put it in a mug, add three spoonfuls of sugar, set light +to it, and let it burn for seven minutes. Then add some port, and +drink hot. Man, you can lead an army corps . . ." His voice died away +as the two officers departed on their three-mile squelch to the front +line, and the unshaven Jones gazed after them admiringly. + +"A hartist!" he murmured admiringly, "a plurry hartist. Personally, +the rasberry juice, any old 'ow for me." He disappeared from view, and +further disclosures would be tactless. . . . + +And so we lift the curtain on the dawn of the 21st. Doubtless the +setting is frivolous, but it has served to introduce two of the supers +who go to make up the final scene. In the portion of the front line +for which they were bound there lay the battalion which was cast for +the principal part, and it is the prerogative of stars to have their +entrance led up to. . . . + +The mist hung thick over the shell-torn ground as the two officers +walked on. In places stretches of half-demolished wire and blown-in +trenches showed where the Germans had put up a fight. Stray graves, +ours and theirs, were dotted about promiscuously, and little heaps of +dirty and caked equipment showed that salvage work was in progress. +Away to the left a few crumbling walls and shattered trees marked a +one-time prosperous agricultural village, from which with great +regularity there came the sighing drone of a German crump followed by a +column of black smoke and a shower of bricks and _débris_. But the +place was dead; its inhabitants gone--God knows where. And soldiers: +well, soldiers have a rooted dislike to dead villages near the trenches. + +A strange squat object loomed suddenly into sight--a well-known +landmark to those who wandered daily behind the lines. Derelict, +motionless, it lay on a sunken road, completely blocking it; and the +sunken road was heavy with the stench of death. It is not good for the +Hun to take liberties with a tank, even if it is temporarily +_hors-de-combat_. + +A man limping wearily, his head bandaged, his face unshaved, his khaki +coated with half-dry mud, plodded heavily towards them. + +"Can you tell me the way to the dressing-station, sir?" He had stopped +and, swaying slightly, stood in front of the two officers. + +"Straight on, lad. You'll find it somewhere back there." The +machine-gun officer pointed vaguely into the mist. "About half a mile." + +"You ain't got a drop of water, 'ave you, sir? The water party got +lost last night, and we've only had about a teacupful this last +twenty-four hours." + +But when going up to visit the trenches water-bottles are a useless +encumbrance, and, with a tired sigh, the wounded Tommy resumed his +thirsty way in the direction of the dressing-station. + +"Cooked, poor devil," remarked the Sapper, as he disappeared. "Pretty +nearly finished." + +"But he'll be his mother's own bright boy again when he gets his nose +inside that aid post. We go left here, I think." + +They paused for a moment to get their bearings--a matter of some +importance and no little difficulty. + +It may seem an easy thing to walk up to the trenches. One goes on, and +ultimately one arrives, the casual reader will surmise. And with luck +the casual reader will be right. But there are certain small points +which may have escaped his ken and which render the task of reaching +the front line a trifle harder than walking to the club for lunch. + +In the first place the aspect of the ground is not of that cheerful and +varied type which has inspired so many gifted landscape painters. No +trees and little rivers, no cottages and flowering paths delight one's +eye. It is impossible to say: "Take the turn to the left after passing +the cactus bush, and keep straight on till you come to the asparagus +bed; and then you'll see the front trench on your right." + +The local cactus bush or its equivalent is hurled into space twice +daily, thereby largely interfering with its use as a landmark. The +local asparagus bed or its equivalent differs only from the remainder +of the ground in the fact that a mule passed peacefully away on it some +weeks previously. And one day even that difference vanished. The mule +passed away again--in small fragments. + +Even the front trenches where they exist have a variegated career. At +certain periods quite a large proportion of them are in the air at the +same time, in company with the village just behind; and when they come +down again it is more than likely their position will change to the +next row of damp and unpleasant holes. + +That is the trouble: the whole ground is one huge hole. Holes are the +only features of the landscape: big holes, little holes, damp ones, +smelly ones; holes occupied and holes to let; holes you fall into and +holes you don't--but, holes. Everywhere holes. The cactus bush is a +hole; the asparagus bed is a hole; the trenches are holes. The whole +country looks like a disease. A large amount of the wandering must +perforce be done at night; and should the casual reader still doubt the +difficulty of finding one's way, let him imagine three voluntary +descents, and as many compulsory ones, into the wet brand of hole; let +him further imagine a steady downpour of rain, no sign of a star, and a +shrewd suspicion that if he's walked as far as he thinks he has in the +right direction he ought to be in the front line; and then let him +imagine--holes. Whenever he moves he either negotiates or fails to +negotiate--holes. Having, in scrambling out of holes turned round +twice he doesn't know which way he's facing; he only knows there +are--holes. Toc--toc--toc; the slow tapping of a German machine-gun +sounds from the direction he had fondly imagined Battalion +Head-quarters to be; the swish of bullets come nearer as the Hun sweeps +the ground; a flare goes up, showing--holes. Another compulsory +descent; a phut! as a bullet passes over his head, and the swishing +passes on. Shortly that swishing will come back, and in the meantime +are there not--holes? But as for the front trench, whither he is +bound, the contest is unequal. No man can fight--holes. + +A further point which is worthy of remark _en passant_ may possibly +escape the notice of the uninitiated. It is a well-known fact, and +will be vouched for by all who have experienced the Somme, that that +part of the ground which is not hole is carried, like the unexpended +portion of the day's rations, on the person. Acres of soil have been +removed from their original abode and have been carried laboriously to +other acres. They have then been brought back again; not by boot only, +but by hand, and face, by hair and teeth. It is reported--though I +will not vouch for the accuracy of the statement--that on one occasion +a relieving battalion completely defeated a small German counter-attack +by standing on the parapet and kicking viciously towards the advancing +Huns. The enormous mass of soil thus propelled not only crushed the +hated foe but effectually buried him. However, that is by the way. We +are digressing far from the Sapper and the machine-gun officer who +stood by a derelict tank in the damp mist of an October dawn and +cogitated on the direction of their particular piece of front line. + +"It is amazing," said a voice behind them, "that man can have descended +to such a state of congenital idiocy as to do all this to an +inoffensive carrot field." + +The Brigade-Major, followed by the Brigadier, joined the two officers. +Behind them the signal officer plucked France from his face. And then +of a sudden five officers disappeared. A droning roar rose with +extreme rapidity to that pitch of loudness that denotes undesirable +closeness; a mass of black fumes and flying mud shot up twenty odd +yards away; a flight of cockchafers seemed to pass into the distance as +the jagged fragments whizzed overhead--and five faces appeared as +suddenly from the ground. Holes have their uses at times. + +"This sunken road is always hairy," remarked the signal officer--known +to his intimates as Sigs--giving the General a hand-up from his +particular lair. "It were unwise to linger, sir." + +"Another quarter-mile and we hit Essex Trench," remarked the +Brigade-Major. "Sally's head-quarters are there." The five officers +passed on, squelching loudly, and once again peace and silence reigned +in the sunken road. . . . + +And now we come to the principal actors in the drama. Crowded in Essex +Trench, damp with mist, were the men of the South Loamshires. A few +were scribbling notes, and an all-pervading smell of frying bacon +permeated the air. One or two, wrapped in great-coats, with a +mackintosh sheet over them, still slept peacefully--but the whole +regiment was stirring into life. The morning of the day had come. To +many it was a new experience; to others it was stale--going over the +top. But, new or old, not a man but realised that by evening the roll +of the regiment would have many gaps; new or old, not a man but +realised that his name might be one of those gaps. Just the luck of +the game; perhaps nothing, perhaps a Blighty, perhaps . . . + +It is well without doubt that the lower the intelligence the less the +imagination. To ninety per cent. of these men the situation lost much +of its edge; to the remaining ten the edge was sharpened. What is to +be is to be, in war as elsewhere. Fatalism as regards one's own +prospects is inevitable; essential. But fatalism is an unsatisfying +creed; the word "Why?" is apt to creep into the back of a man's mind, +and the word "Why?" when the intelligence is low, is a dangerous one. +For the word "Why?" can only be satisfactorily answered by the +realisation of the bigness of the issue; by the knowledge that +individual effort is imperative if collective success is to be +obtained; by the absolute conviction that no man can be a law unto +himself. To the ten per cent. these facts were clear; but then, to the +ten per cent. the "Why?" was louder. The factor of their composition +which said to them "Why?"--clearly and insistently--even as they lay +motionless under their coats or outwardly wrangled for bacon and +tea--that very factor supplied the answer. + +To the thinkers and dreamers there comes at such times the greater +knowledge: the knowledge which lifts them above self and the +trivialities of their own lives; the knowledge that is almost Divine. +They appreciate the futility--but they realise the necessity. And in +their hearts they laugh sardonically as the shadow of Dream's End +clouds the sky. The utter futility of it all--the utter necessity now +that futility has caught the world. Then they realise the bacon is +cold--and curse. + +To the ninety per cent. it is not so. Not theirs to reason so acutely, +not theirs to care so much; to them the two dominant features of this +war--death and boredom--appeal with far less force. For both depend so +utterly on imagination in their effect on the individual. Death is +only awful in anticipation; boredom only an affliction to the +keen-witted. So to the ninety, perhaps, the "Why?" does not sound +insistently. It is as well, for if the answer is not forthcoming there +is danger, as I have said. And one wonders sometimes which class +produces the best results for the business in hand--the business of +slaughtering Huns. . . . The small one that rises to great heights and +sinks to great depths, or the big one, the plodders. + +But I have digressed again. It is easy to wander into by-paths when +the main road is prosaic, and the study of a body of men before an +attack--the men who fear and don't show it, the men who fear and try +not to show it, the men who don't care a hang what happens--cannot but +grip the observer who has eyes to see. Almost does he forget his own +allotted part in the drama; the psychology of the thing is too +absorbing. And it can only be realised when seen first hand. + +Let us leave them there for the time--that battalion of the South +Loamshires. Sally--as the C.O. is generally known--has talked with the +Brigadier and the Brigade-Major. He knows that zero hour is 11.30 +a.m.; he knows his objective--Suffolk Trench; he knows the strong point +at its northern end which the sappers are going to consolidate. The +Sapper has found his section subaltern and his section nursing coils of +barbed wire and shovels, and has been informed with much blasphemy that +the guide had lost his way, and the party had been wandering all night. +The machine-gun officer has delivered words of wisdom to various guns' +crews--both Lewis and otherwise--who came under his eagle eye at +intervals along the trench. Just the prosaic main road; the details +are tedious; the actual orders uninteresting. The attack would either +succeed or it would fail; the strong point would either be consolidated +or it would not. The orders--the details--are necessary adjuncts to +the operation; of no more interest than the arrangements for pulling up +the fire curtain. Only if the fire curtain sticks, the play is robbed +of much of its natural charm to the onlooker. + + +"Bring me some more breakfast. That walk gives one the devil of a +hunger." The Brigadier was back once more in his dug-out, while, +outside, the mist had lifted and the autumn sun shone down on a world +of mud. + +The Brigade-Major was shaving; the Staff Captain--a non-starter in the +morning's walk--was demanding corrugated iron from the unmoved Sapper. + +"I tell you this roof is a disgrace. Cascades of water pour through +into the soup at dinner. Why don't you do something?" + +"What do you propose I should do, brave heart? Sit on the roof and +catch it?" + +The subject was a complicated one, touching deep problems of supply and +demand, to say nothing of carrying parties; so let us leave them to +their warfare. + +The signal officer was looking wise over something that boomed and +buzzed alternately; the machine-gun officer may, or may not, have been +enjoying another toothful. + +In short, the supers, the stage-managers had departed. The last +directions had been given, and the play was due to start in an hour and +a quarter. All that could be done for its success had been done by +those who were behind; now it was up to the men who sat and sprawled in +the mud-holes in front, with the blue smoke of their cigarettes curling +upwards and their equipment and rifles stacked beside them. + +A desultory bombardment on each side droned stolidly on, while away to +the front three British aeroplanes, seemingly come from nowhere, +tumbled and looped round two Germans like mosquitoes over a pool. A +row of sausage balloons like a barber's rash adorned the sky as far as +the eye could see. Just an everyday scene on the Somme, and meanwhile +the actors waited. + +"Come up to the top. There's ten minutes to go." The Staff Captain +and the Sapper--their dispute settled--strolled amicably to the top of +the hill behind the dug-out and produced their field-glasses. Away in +front Essex Trench could be seen, and the men inside it, standing to. +For them the period of suspense was nearly over--the curtain was just +going up. + +"One minute." The Sapper snapped his watch to and focussed his +glasses. "They're on." + +Suddenly from all around, as if touched by a spring, an ear-splitting +din leaped into life. In the valley behind them it seemed as if +hundreds of tongues of flame were darting and quivering, sprouting from +what a moment before was barren ground. The acrid smell of cordite +drifted over them, while without cessation there came the solemn +boom--boom--boom of the heavier guns way back. Like the _motif_ of an +opera, the field-guns and light howitzers cracked and snorted, +permeating everything with one continuous blast of sound; while the +sonorous roar and rumble of the giant pieces behind--slower, as +befitted them--completed the mighty orchestra. Neither man could hear +the other speak; but then, they were both watching too intently for +that. + +Hardly had hell been let loose when a line of men arose from Essex +Trench and walked steadily to their front. Just ahead of them great +clouds of smoke rose belching from the ground: clouds into which they +vanished at times, only to reappear a moment later. They were +advancing behind a creeping barrage, and advancing with the steadiness +of automatic machines. + +"Good lads! Good lads!" The Staff Captain's lips framed the words; +his voice was inaudible. + +Every now and then a man pitched forward and lay still; or muttered a +curse as he felt the sting of something in his arm. A section on the +left dropped suddenly, only to worm on again by ones and twos, trying +to avoid the dreaded toc-toc--slow and menacing--of a German +machine-gun. Then the bombers were there. Crouching back, a man would +pull the pin out of his bomb, run forward, and hurl it into the trench +where the Germans were huddled in groups. And away behind the South +Loamshires, on the shell-pocked ground that now boiled and heaved like +some monstrous sulphur spring, with thick black and yellow fumes +drifting slowly across it, there lay the first fruits of the harvest: a +few of the gaps in the evening's roll-call. + +On the flank a machine-gun was going, taking them in enfilade. In +front, Germans--numbers of Germans--glared snarling at them out of the +trench, or whimpered in a corner with arms upraised, as was the nature +of the beasts. A non-commissioned officer picked up a bomb and hurled +it at the advancing platoon sergeant; only to cry "_Kamerad_" when it +failed to explode. . . . + +And so the South Loamshires, or such as were left of them, came to +their objective; the first part of the play was over. The +machine-gunner who had enfiladed them passed in his checks, fighting to +the end, brained with the butt of a rifle. + +Occasionally a wounded man crawled into the trench; a German officer +sat sullenly in a corner stanching a gaping hole in his leg. Behind +them, towards the Essex Trench, the air was now clearer; the +bombardment had moved over the line they had won, and thundered down on +the German communications. + +"Runner!" A Company Commander stood shakily trying to patch up a wound +in his arm. As far as he could tell from a hasty reconnaissance, he +was the senior officer present. "Give this to the C.O.: 'Objectives +won. Situation on right doubtful. Estimated casualties two hundred.'" +He handed the man a slip of paper. + +At a steady lope the runner went over the back of the trench, into the +barrage of German shrapnel and high explosive. They saw him reach it, +stop suddenly, twist round, and slither slowly forward. + +"Runner down, sir." A sergeant standing by spoke almost casually. + +"Runner!" Once again the officer called; once again a man went off at +a jog-trot. They saw him reach his predecessor; stop a moment and bend +down. He looked round and shook his head and went steadily on. The +luck of the game--that's all. And it's only when one's sitting +still--waiting, that one asks "Why?" Ten minutes later he was with the +C.O., waiting for the answer to take back. + +And so the drama is over; the play has been a success. From the wings +the Staff Captain and the Sapper have returned to Brigade Head-quarters. + +"Saw 'em getting over the top, sir. Then they got into the smoke and +we lost 'em. Like a witches' cauldron." + +"We shan't hear anything for two hours." The General thoughtfully +knocked the ashes out of his pipe. They were his men who had gone into +that witches' cauldron; with them daily he lived and daily died. Their +Dream's End was his too. But--a sense of proportion, always. "We +might as well have lunch," he remarked casually. + + +Gradually the bombardment died away, though from time to time the guns +burst into sullen mutterings, as though hungry at being baulked of +their food. + +The same old aeroplanes--or different ones--buzzed busily about; the +same old stoical balloons looked more rash-like than ever. + +And then suddenly outside the brigade office there was a stir. + +A runner had hove in sight, and the signal officer emerged to get his +tidings. + +"Good," he muttered to himself; "the old man will be pleased." He went +into the General's dug-out. + +"Message just through, sir, from C.O. South Loamshires: 'Objectives +obtained. A.A.A. Situation on right somewhere obscure. A.A.A. +Estimated casualties 200 all ranks. A.A.A. Will be consolidated +to-night. A.A.A.'" + +The "old man" _was_ pleased. + +And so, on the afternoon of the 21st, we gained a small local success. +We advanced our line on a front of six hundred yards over an average +depth of a quarter of a mile, etc., etc. + +It wasn't much, my friends at home; but--that runner will run no more, +and some eighty odd of that odd two hundred have cooked their last +ration of bacon. Their "Why?" is answered. + +No, it wasn't much; but it wasn't--nothing. + + + + +III + +THE MAN-TRAP + +Should you, in the course of your wanderings, ever run across +Brigadier-General Herbert Firebrace, do not ask him if he knows Percy +FitzPercy. The warning is probably quite unnecessary: not knowing +FitzP. yourself, the question is hardly likely to occur to you. But I +mention it in case. One never knows, and Herbert will not be +prejudiced in your favour if you do. + +As far as I know, the story of their first--and last--meeting has never +yet been told to the world at large. It is a harrowing tale, and it +found no place in official _communiqués_. Just one of those +regrettable incidents that fade into the limbo of forgotten things, it +served as a topic of conversation to certain ribald subalterns, and +then it gradually disappeared into obscurity along with Percy +FitzPercy. Only it took several months for the topic to fade; Percy +beat it in about ten seconds. + +Before the war Percy had been, amongst other things, an actor of +indifferent calibre; he had helped a barman in Canada, carried a chain +for a railroad survey, done a bit of rubber-planting, and written +poetry. He was, in fact, a man of many parts, and cultivated a +frivolous demeanour and an eyeglass. Unkind acquaintances described +him as the most monumental ass that has yet been produced by a +painstaking world; personally, I think the picture a trifle harsh. +Percy meant well; and it wasn't really his fault that the events I am +about to chronicle ended so disastrously. Unfortunately, however, he +was unable to get the General to see eye to eye with him in this +trifling matter; and so, as I have already said, Percy beat it in about +ten seconds. + +The whole trouble started over the question of man-traps. "If," +remarked a Sapper subaltern one night after the port had been round +more than once--"If one could construct a large conical hole like an +inverted funnel in the front-line trench, so that the small opening was +in the trench itself, and the bottom of the funnel fifteen or twenty +feet below in the ground, and if the Huns came over and raided us one +night, one might catch one or two." He dreamily emptied and refilled +his glass. + +"By Jove, dear old boy"--Percy fixed his eye-glass and gazed admiringly +at the speaker--"that's a splendid idea! Sort of glorified +man-trap--what!--dear old thing." + +"That's it, Percy, old lad. Why don't you make one next time you're in +the trenches?" The speaker winked at the remainder of the party. + +"'Pon my soul, dear old man, I think I will." Percy was clearly struck +with the idea. "Cover the hole, don't you know, with trench-boards by +day, and have it open at night. Great idea, old sport, great idea!" + +"You could go and fish for them in the morning with a sausage on the +end of a string," murmured some one. "Get 'em to sing the 'Hymn of +Hate' before they got any breakfast." + +"Or even place large spikes at the bottom on which they would fall and +become impaled." The first speaker was becoming bloodthirsty. + +"Oh, no, dear old chap! I don't think an impaled Hun would look very +nice. It would be quite horrible in the morning, when one started to +count up the bag, to find them all impaled. Besides, there might be +two on one stake." Exactly the objection to the last contingency was +not clear; but after dinner attention to such trifles is of secondary +importance. + +"Percy inaugurates new form of frightfulness," laughed the Major. "May +I be there when you catch your first!" + +The conversation dropped; other and more intimate topics anent the fair +ones at home took its place; but in the mind of Percy FitzPercy the +germ of invention was sown. When he went back to his battalion that +night, in their so-called rest-billets, he was thinking. Which was +always a perilous proceeding for Percy. + +Now it so happened that his part of the line at the moment had +originally belonged to the Hun. It was a confused bit of trench, in +which miners carried on extensively their reprehensible trade. And +where there are miners there is also spoil. Spoil, for the benefit of +the uninitiated, is the technical name given to the material they +remove from the centre of the earth during the process of driving their +galleries. It is brought up to the surface in sandbags, and is then +carried away and dumped somewhere out of harm's way. In reality it is +generally stacked carefully in the trenches themselves, thereby +completely blocking all traffic; which is by the way. + +But after mining has been in progress for some time, and various +craters have been blown and sapped out to, and after trench mortars +have "strafed" consistently for many months and torn the original +surface of the ground to pieces, the actual position of the trenches +themselves becomes haphazard. They cease in many cases to bear the +slightest likeness to the ordinary trenches of commerce; they become +deep gorges in mountains of sandbags. I have sometimes wished that +those officers who apparently write home to devoted bands of female +workers asking for more sandbags would get in touch with me instead. I +shall be delighted to let them have anything up to five million, all +filled, by return; which is again by the way. + +To return to Percy. In his part of the front sandbags grew like +pebbles on a shingly beach; and from time to time fresh cuts off the +trenches were opened to allow for further expansion in the sandbag +family. The existing front line in one place had started life as a cut +off the old trench, and had gradually been taken into use as a +permanency, and it was at this point that he stumbled on the great +discovery which was destined to cause all the trouble. How he first +stumbled is not recorded; but early one morning Percy FitzPercy could +have been seen like a terrier with his nose down a rabbit-hole, lying +flat at the bottom of the trench, peering into a noisome and +foul-smelling cavity underneath him. + +"My dear old boy," he remarked, enthusiastically, to a brother +subaltern, who was watching the proceeding coldly, "it's an old German +dug-out; I'm certain it's an old German dug-out." + +"I don't care a damn if it is," answered the other, without enthusiasm. +"It stinks like a polecat, and is undoubtedly full of all creeping +things. For heaven's sake, let's go and get something to eat." + +Slowly and reluctantly Percy allowed himself to be led away, thinking +deeply. Only the week before had the Hun attempted a raid and actually +entered the trench close to the spot in question, and here was +apparently a ready-made man-trap should he do so again. After +breakfast he would explore his find; after breakfast he would himself +set to work and labour unceasingly. As I have said, Percy FitzPercy +meant well. + +It is possible that lesser men might have been deterred by the +unpromising results of that exploration. Descending gingerly through +the hole, which had been widened sufficiently to allow of the passage, +Percy switched his torch around the cavity he found himself in. Above +his head long rounded timbers, side by side and touching one another, +formed the roof, which was in good condition, save in the centre, where +the blue sky shone through the hole he had entered by. In one corner +stood a bedstead covered by a moth-eaten blanket, while all over the +floor crumbling sandbags and old clothes and equipment gave it the +appearance of a rag-and-bone shop. In one place the wall had fallen +in, a mound of chalk filled the corner, and from a score of vantage +points elderly rodents watched with increasing disfavour this +unexpected human invasion. + +Up above in the trench the disfavour was repeated in that picturesque +phraseology for which Thomas is famous. + +"Wot are you a-doing 'ere?" An incensed sergeant rounded a corner, and +gazed wrathfully at three privates, each armed with a spade and wearing +gas helmets. "Wot 'ave you got them 'elmets on for?" He approached +the fatal hole, and recoiled slightly. "Gaw-lumme! Wot's that smell?" + +"Percy," answered a sepulchral voice. "Our little Perce." + +"Wot yer mean--Percy? Wot's that 'ole?" A cloud of dust at that +moment rose through it, and he recoiled still farther. "Oo's down +there?" + +"Percy," answered the same sepulchral voice. "Percy FitzP. carrying +hout a reconaysance in force. 'E's found a 'Un smell factory, and 'e's +fair wallowing in it." + +At that moment a voice came gently through the opening. "I say, you +fellahs, just come down here a moment, and bring your shovels--what?" + +A face, covered with a fine coating of blackish-grey dust, popped up +out of the bottom of the trench. "We're fairly going to catch the old +Hun before we've finished." + +With a choking gasp the sergeant lost all self-control and faded +rapidly away, while the three privates slowly and reluctantly followed +the face through the hole. + +It was fortunate--or possibly, in view of future events, +unfortunate--that during the next two hours no responsible individual +came along that particular piece of front line. Incidentally there was +nothing surprising in the fact. In most places, especially during the +day, the front line is held but lightly by isolated posts, which are +visited from time to time by the company or platoon commander, and more +rarely by the Colonel. On this particular occasion the C.O. had +already paid his visit to the scene of activity. The company commander +was wrestling with returns, and Percy himself led the long-suffering +platoon. And so without hindrance from any outsiders the fell business +proceeded. + +Volumes of evil-smelling dust poured out into the trench, punctuated +from time to time with boots, a few rats who had met with an untimely +end, some unrecognisable garments, and large numbers of empty bottles. +An early investigation had shown the indomitable leader that the old +shaft which had led down to the dug-out in the days when it was used +was completely blocked up, and so the hole through the roof was the +only means of entrance or exit. Moreover, the hole being in the centre +of the roof, and the dug-out being a high one, there was no method of +reaching it other than by standing on the bed or the decomposing chair. +Once the bird was in there, granted the bed had been removed, there was +therefore no way by which he could get out without being helped from +above. And so with joy in his heart the indefatigable Percy laboured +on, what time three sweating privates consigned him to the uttermost +depths of the pit. + +Now one may say at once that Percy had all the makings in him of the +true artist. Having decided to stage his performance, he had no +intention of letting it fail through lack of attention to detail. Life +in the front trenches is not at any time an enlivening proceeding; the +days drag wearily by, the nights are full of noises and Verey +lights--and this particular part of the line was no exception to the +general rule. So our hero was not distracted by mundane influences or +stress of work from elaborating his scheme. In addition, once the +miasma had subsided, and the idea had been explained to them, the three +supers became quite keen themselves. It was one of them, in fact, who +suggested the first detail. + +"'Ow are we to know, sir," he remarked, as they sat resting on an +adjacent fire-step after three hours' strenuous exhuming, "that +supposing two of the perishers fall through the 'ole they won't escape? +Two men could get out of that there place without no bed to 'elp 'em." + +"By Jove, yes!" Percy scratched his forehead and left furrows of white +in the general darkness. "By Jove, yes; you're quite right--what? +Break one's heart to lose the blighters, don't you know. You're a +doocid clever fellow to think of that, Jenkins." + +"Tomkins, sir," murmured the originator of the brain-wave, slightly +abashed by the unexpected praise. + +"We might," remarked another of the world's workers, thoughtfully +sucking his teeth--"we might 'ave a trap-door, a 'eavy one, to let down +over the 'ole once they was in." + +"Yus--and 'ow are we to know when they is in?" The third member of the +party proceeded to justify his existence. "They won't come over 'ere +and fall into the 'ole and then shout to us to let down the trap." He +thoughtfully lit a Woodbine. "The 'Un will be strafing if there's a +raid on, and there'll be the 'ell of a beano going on, and no one won't +never 'ear nothing." + +With which sage aphorism he relapsed into silence, and a gloom settled +on the meeting. + +"By Jove, you fellows, we must think of something! We must pull up our +socks and think--what? After we've spent all this time clearing the +bally place out we must really think of something--by Jove!" Percy +gazed hopefully at his three supers, but it seemed that their +contributions to the conversation were at an end, and for a space +silence reigned, broken only by the gentle lullaby of the tooth-sucker. + +"We might," remarked Tomkins at length, after a period of profound +thought, "'ave a trip-wire, wot would ring a gong." + +"That's it--that's it! 'Pon my word, you're a doocid clever fellow, +Thomson, doocid clever fellow--what?" Percy became enthusiastic. +"Ring the gong where the fellah is who lets down the door. He lets +down the door, and we bag the Hun. Dam good idea!" + +"I don't believe in no gongs," remarked the musical one scornfully. +"No--nor trip-wires neither." He eyed his audience pugnaciously. + +"But, my good fellah--er--what do you believe in?" Percy's spirits +were sinking. + +"Tins, china, cups and saucers, plates, old saucepans--anything and +everything wot will make a noise when the 'Un falls on it. That's the +ticket, sir," he continued, with gathering emphasis as he noted the +impression he was causing. "Lumme--a trip-wire: it might break, or the +gong mightn't ring, or the blighter mightn't 'ear it. Wiv china--every +step he took 'e'd smash anuvver pot. Drahn a rum jar 'e would. But--a +trip-wire!" He spat impartially and resumed his tune. + +"By Jove, that's a splendid idea!" The mercurial Percy's face shone +again. "Splendid idea! Fill it full of old tins and china--what? And +when we hear the second fellah hit the floor and start breakin' up the +home we can pull the string and let down the trap-door. Splendid idea! +Doocid clever of you, 'pon my soul it is!" + +"And where do you think of getting the china from?" Tomkins, fearing +that his mantle of doocid cleverness was descending upon the +tooth-sucker, eyed him unconvinced. "I wasn't aware as 'ow there was a +penny bazaar in the neighbourhood, nor yet a William Whiteley's." + +"Yes, by Jove," chirped Percy, "where do we get it all from? We shall +want lots of it, too, don't you know--what?" + +"Get it?" The suggester of the idea looked scornful and addressed +himself to Tomkins. "There ain't no bully tins in the perishing +trenches, are there? Ho no! An' there hain't no china an' bits of +glass and old cups and things in that there village about 'alf a mile +down the road? Ho no! I reckon there's enough to fill twenty 'oles +like that there." Once again the oracle resumed his hobby. + +"Splendid!" Percy jumped to his feet. "The very thing! We'll do it +this next company relief, by Jove! Now, boys, two more hours. We just +want to get the bedstead out and straighten things up, and we'll be all +ready for the dinner-service--what?" + +Now there was another thing in which Percy FitzPercy showed that he had +the makings of a true artist. He fully appreciated the value of +secrecy in presenting his performances to the public at large. True, +all his platoon were bound to find out, and the remainder of the +company had a shrewd idea that something was afoot. But one does not +walk along trenches--especially in the front line--for pleasure; and +beyond a casual inquiry as to what new form of insanity he was up to +now, the company commander was not interested in Percy's doings. Now +that the place had been cleared out, the opening was covered during the +day by a trench-board carefully stolen from the nearest R.E. dump; +while the members of the platoon assiduously collected old tin and +china utensils, both great and small, which were thrown into the cavity +and arranged tastefully by the stage-manager. + +At night the trench-board was removed, and after careful weighting with +two dud shells, a piece of rail, and the stalk of a sixty-pound +trench-mortar bomb, it was placed on edge beside the hole. It was so +arranged that it leaned slightly inwards, and was only kept from +falling by a cord which passed in front of it and which was attached to +two screw pickets--one on each side. The hole itself was covered with +a sack. So much for the scenery. + +The stage directions were equally simple. The curtain rises on a +German raid. Noises off, etc.; the flashes of guns, the bursting of +rum jars, the dazzling brilliance of flares lighting up the lowering +night. On the entrance of the Hun into the trench (if he did), a watch +would be kept on the hole (if any one was there to watch). On the +sound of the first crash of breaking china, no action. On the sound of +the second crash of breaking china, Percy himself (if alive) or a +substitute (if not), would dash forward and cut the string. The +trap-door would fall; and then, having repelled the Hun, they could +return and examine the bag at their leisure. So much for the plot. +Now for the action. + +It has always been my contention that Brigadier-General Herbert +Firebrace rather brought it on himself. There are things which +generals may do, and there are things which they may not; or shall we +say, lest I be deemed guilty of _lèse majesté_, things it were better +they did not? All things to them are lawful, but all things most +undoubtedly are not expedient. And no one--not even his most fervent +admirer--could say that the General's action was a wise one. Let it be +understood that when the more exalted ones of the earth desire to make +a tour of trenches, there is a recognised procedure for doing it. +First comes the sergeant of the platoon occupying the portion of the +line under inspection--experience has shown the wisdom of having the +only trustworthy guide in front. Then comes the company commander, +followed by the Colonel, the Staff officer and the Great One. +Immediately behind, the Adjutant (taking notes), the platoon commander +(partially dazed), the machine-gun officer (not essential), and the +Sapper (if he's been caught by the human avalanche) advance in echelon. +At intervals the procession halts, and the same religious rite takes +place. + +SERGEANT (_peering round the next traverse, in voice of fury_): "Don't +drink tea out of yer tin 'at, yer perisher! 'Ere's the General +a-coming." + +COLONEL (_prompted by company commander_): "Now from here, sir, we get +a most magnificent field of fire behind--ah--those craters there. I +thought that--where was it we decided?--oh, yes, by--ah--putting a +Lewis gun here . . . er, well, perhaps you'd like to look yourself, +sir." + +GREAT ONE: "Yes, very much. Have you got my periscope?" (_Staff +officer produces, and Great One peers through it._) "I quite agree +with you." (_After long inspection_) "You might make a note of it." + +STAFF OFFICER: "Just make a note of that, will you?" + +ADJUTANT (_makes note_): "Make a note of it, Bill, will you?" + +PLATOON COMMANDER (_recovering slightly from stupor_): "Make a note of +what?" + +MACHINE-GUN OFFICER: "All right, old boy. It's my pidgeon." (_Sotto +voce to SAPPER_) "I've had a gun there for the last two nights." +(_Aloud to OMNES_) "An excellent place, sir. I'll see to it." + +SAPPER (_to M.G.O., with seeming irrelevance_): "Well, when he got to +the house he was told she was having a bath, and----" Procession moves +on, while infuriated sentry on sap duty misses the point of the story. +And that is the right way of touring the trenches. + +Unfortunately General Firebrace was a new broom. It was quite +permissible for him to do what he did, but, as I said before, I am +doubtful if it was altogether wise. In a moment of rashness he decided +to go round the trenches alone. As a matter of fact, at the moment of +this resolve the Brigade-Major was out, the evening was fine, and the +General was energetic. Perfect peace reigned over that portion of the +battle area which concerned him, and he was anxious to see that the +arrangement of sentry groups in the various sap-heads met with his +approval. His predecessor, he recalled, had had words with the still +greater ones of the earth anent a couple of small, but nevertheless +regrettable, incidents when men had been removed somewhat forcibly by +the wily Hun from out those same sap-heads. So he settled his steel +helmet firmly on his head, and stepped out of his dug-out into the +communication trench. + +Now in that particular part of the line the communication trenches were +long ones, and by the time he reached the front line it was getting +dark. A man of small stature, but withal fiery appearance, General +Herbert Firebrace strode along through the deepening gloom, humming +gently to himself. At first the trenches were fairly populous--he was +in a part of the front line between two groups of craters--and he found +it necessary to bark "Gangway!" continuously. Then he reached his +goal, the saps behind one of the groups--short trenches which stretch +out from the fire trench into No Man's Land and finish on the near lips +of the craters. He grunted with satisfaction as he found the first of +the saps held to his satisfaction. The sentry group were quietly +smoking; the sentry up at the head of the sap was watching fixedly +through his periscope. The rifles and bayonets of the men rested close +at hand, the Mills bombs were conveniently placed on a narrow ledge +under cover. + +"Ha, good! All quiet here, my lads?" + +"All quiet, sir," answered the corporal, scrambling up. + +"That's all right. Good night, corporal." And the martial little +figure disappeared round the corner. + +Now the corporal was new in that bit of the line; to be exact, he had +just returned from leave. That was one cause. + +"Look out--oil-can!" The sentry gave a hail, and every one ducked. +That was the other cause. + +For at the precise moment that an oil-can exploded with a thunderous +crump twenty yards or so beyond the trench, there was a sudden noise of +ripping canvas, an agonised shout, and the heavy crash of a body +encountering china. Then--silence. The sap parties heard only the +oil-can; Percy FitzPercy for a wonder was not brooding over his +invention, and there was no one who knew that close beside them in an +odoriferous underground abode the Brigadier-General lay completely +stunned, with his head in a metal soup tureen and his rather extensive +set of uppers in a disused tin hitherto devoted to that painstaking +gentleman, Mr. Maconochie. + +Up to this point it will be willingly conceded, I think, by any one +acquainted with trench etiquette that the unfortunate predicament of +Herbert Firebrace, General and Great One, was only what he deserved. +To depart so flagrantly from the spirit of the rules as to wander round +front-line trenches alone and in the falling shades of night is asking +for trouble; and if the matter had ended there I have no doubt--knowing +the strict sense of justice which is one of the praiseworthy features +of the house of Firebrace--I have no doubt that he would have sent for +Percy FitzPercy and apologised handsomely for the inconvenience he had +so unwittingly caused. But the matter did not end there; it only +began. And the finale, reviewed dispassionately, undoubtedly gives one +to think--one might even say think furiously. + +A quarter of an hour after the regrettable occurrence just described +Percy stood chatting lightly and inconsequently with his company +commander in the support line. At the moment he was expatiating on the +merits of a new pipe of his own invention designed for use in No Man's +Land on a dark night. Its exact beauties escape my memory; as far as I +can remember one put the bowl in one's mouth and the tobacco in the +stem and blew. It was an invention typical of Percy--utterly futile. +He had just called the company commander "dear old soul" for the tenth +time, and was explaining how no sparks or glowing ash could be seen if +you made use of this patent atrocity, when a Lewis gun started rattling +away in front. Half a dozen Verey lights shot up, there was a sudden +brisk burst of firing, with the explosion of a number of bombs. + +"By Jove!" cried Percy, pipe and all else forgotten. "By Jove, dear +old man--a raid--what? A Hun raid--now for the man-trap!" He departed +at speed up the nearest boyau, leaving a trail of sparks behind him +like a catherine-wheel that has been out in the rain; to be followed by +his Captain, who had first taken the precaution of loading his +automatic. + +The first man Percy met was the tooth-sucker, who was shaking with +uncontrollable excitement. + +"There's a perisher fell in the 'ole, sir! Three of 'em come in, and +we killed two an' the other fell in the 'ole." + +I am given to understand that on receipt of the news what little +intellect our pipe-inventor ever possessed completely deserted him. +Uttering hoarse cries, he dashed down the trench, and, unmindful of his +own orders to wait on the chance of catching a second, he feverishly +slashed at the string, and with an ominous clang and a squelch of mud +the trap-door descended into its appointed position. Certain it is, +when the company commander came in sight, he was standing upon it, in +an attitude strongly reminiscent of the heavy tragedian--out of a +"shop"--holding forth in his favourite Bodega. + +"What the blazes are you doing there?" howled his infuriated Captain. +"Why aren't you in number eight sap, instead of doing a dumb-crambo +show?" + +"The raid is over, sir," answered Percy, majestically. "The raider +is--ah--below." + +"What the----" began the frenzied senior. And then he paused. "Great +Scott! What's that infernal shindy?" + +From below their feet there rose a perfect orgy of breaking china and +rattling tins, with ever and anon a loud musical note as of a bucket +being belaboured with a stick. Grunts and guttural curses, followed by +strange hollow noises indicative of pain, for a while drowned all +attempts at conversation. Finally there was a grand finale of crashing +cups and tinkling tins, the sound of a heavy blow, a grunt of muffled +agony and--silence. The lights still hissed up into the night, stray +rifles still cracked at intervals, but otherwise--silence. + +At last Percy spoke. "Do you know, dear old boy, I believe there are +two of them down there; 'pon my soul, I do--what?" He spoke with +deliberation, as befits an inventor. "It seemed to me that the one who +swore and the one who grunted were different people." + +The tooth-sucker opined likewise; also Tomkins, who had arrived on the +scene. + +"What is this dam foolishness?" said the Captain irritably. "Am I to +understand there are two Germans inside there, under the trench?" + +"One for certain; two possibly--or even three, dear old boy." At the +thought of three, he of the teeth played a tune in his excitement. + +"Then for heaven's sake get the top off and let's get them out!" + +It was then that the last cruel blow of Fate was dealt to the hapless +Herbert. For after a brief period of feverish pulling, during which +the company commander broke his nails and Percy fell over backwards, +the trap-door remained _in statu quo_. + +"What the devil's the matter with the beastly thing?" muttered the +Captain, savagely. "It's your fool-trick, FitzPercy! Can't you open +it?" + +"My dear old boy," remarked the proud inventor vaguely, "it generally +opens--'pon my soul, it does." He turned his torch on to the reluctant +trench-board and examined it through his eyeglass. "By Jove! that's +it, dear old son, there's the trouble. The dud shell has slipped +forward and got wedged in the rafters. How doocid funny--what?" + +"What is doocid funny, you blithering ass?" + +"Why, if we'd gone on, dear old sport, the shell might have gone off. +By Jove, that's good, that is!" Percy chuckled immoderately. "If we go +on, the shell goes off!" + +"You're the type of man who ought to be in a home," remarked his senior +officer dispassionately. "Get a saw as soon as you can, and cut +through the board. And if the bally shell goes off and kills you, +it'll serve you right. You're a disease, FitzPercy, that's what you +are. A walking microbe; an example of atavism; a throw-back to the +tail period." Still muttering, his company commander passed out of +sight, leaving the triumphant Percy completely unabashed and glowing +with righteous success. + +Now, in the trenches saws do not grow freely. You cannot wander round +a corner and pick one up; in fact, a saw that will saw is an exceeding +precious thing. Moreover, they are closely guarded by their rightful +owners, who show great reluctance in parting with them. It therefore +was not surprising that over an hour elapsed before a perspiring +messenger returned with one and operations commenced. And during that +hour Percy lived. + +It is given to few to see their hopes and aspirations realised so +beautifully and quickly; as in a dream he listened to the hideous +cachinnations that floated up through the slabs of the trench-board. A +continuous booming noise as of a bittern calling to its young was +varied with heavy grunts and occasional blows of a heavy bludgeon on +metal. And throughout it all there ran a delicate motif of crashing +cups and tinkling tins. + +"We have them, dear old soul," murmured Percy ecstatically to himself; +"we have them simply wallowing in the mulligatawny!" + +But there is an end of everything--even of getting a saw out of an R.E. +store. A glorious full moon shone down upon the scene as, an hour +afterwards, the trench-board was removed and the entrance opened. An +"up-and-over"--or trench-ladder--was lowered into the dug-out, and the +excited onlookers waited to vet the catch. At last the ladder shook, +as the first of the prisoners prepared to ascend. + +"Entrance, dear old man," cried the stage-manager, majestically, "of +what we have hitherto described as 'male voices off.'" + +"Get up, you swine, and get a move on!" rasped a voice in perfect +English from the depths of the hole; while a palsied silence settled on +the audience. + +The ladder shook again, and at last there emerged from the bottom of +the trench a large round tin which completely encased the head of its +wearer, who slowly followed, maintaining a continuous booming roar. +Immediately behind him came the owner of the voice, severely chipped +about the face, but with the light of battle in his eyes. + +"Now, you----" The words died away in his mouth. "Great heavens! The +General!" And as the frozen eye of the speaker, who had been the other +occupant of the hole, wandered round the stricken onlookers, even +Percy's nerve broke. It was the Colonel. + + +I will draw the veil of reticence over the remainder of this harrowing +narrative. The procession back to Brigade Head-quarters has become +historic. The attempt to remove the soup tureen on the spot caused its +unhappy possessor such agony, and gave rise to so much unseemly and +ill-repressed mirth on the part of the audience, that it was hastily +abandoned, and the wretched man was led gently back to his dug-out. + +The Brigade-Major, who had been notified over the telephone, met him at +the entrance with a handkerchief suspiciously near his mouth. + +"How dreadful, sir!" he murmured, in a voice that shook a little. "I +have--er--sent for a tin-opener." + +The General was led to a chair, into which he sank wearily, while in +hushed tones the Colonel explained what had happened to the shaking +Staff. + +"I was told that the General had been seen going down to the front line +alone," he remarked in a low tone, "and so I at once followed him. +Just as I got to the craters there was a small Hun raid. I let drive +at one of them with my revolver, and the next instant I fell through a +hole, full on top of some one's back. He let out a roar of pain and +scrambled up. Of course I thought it was a Hun, and proceeded to beat +him over the head with my stick. Great Scott, what a show!" + +The Colonel mopped his brow, and the Staff shook still more. + +"I'd dropped my revolver, or I'd probably have shot him. Then suddenly +there was a clang, and the hole was closed up, while at the same moment +something charged past me, head down, and hit the wall. There was a +roar of pain, and the tin became a fixture. The poor old boy had +rammed the wall with the soup tureen." + +A gurgling noise from the chair interrupted him. + +"What is it, sir?" cried the Staff Captain, solicitously. + +The General hooted mournfully. + +"Yes, sir. He'll be here very soon, sir. Not much longer now. We've +sent for a tinsmith from one of the Engineer companies." + +But the booming cantata continued. + +"What does he want?" whispered the Staff Captain. "A drink?" + +The Brigade-Major looked hopeful. + +"Yes; get a whisky and soda and a straw, if there's one left." + +The booming died away. + +A few minutes later the Staff, ably assisted by the General's batman, +got one end of the straw into the worthy Brigadier's mouth. The +Colonel closed those holes he could see with his fingers, and the +signalling officer held the drink. + +"Now, are we ready?" cried the Brigade-Major anxiously. "All right, +sir--suck." + +The experiment was not a success. Jets of liquid spurted in all +directions, an explosion like a geyser shook the tin, and the Staff +recoiled a pace. In fact, I am given to understand that the chief +clerk, an intensely interested spectator, so far forgot himself as to +counsel the Staff Captain to "sit on 'is 'ead." + +"Do you think we could do anything with one of those instruments for +opening tongues?" hazarded the Staff Captain, when the silence had +become oppressive and the outbursts of fire extinguished. + +"We might try." The signalling officer was doubtful, but sallied +forth, and after some delay returned with one. "Where shall we start?" + +"Any old place." The Staff Captain gripped the implement and stepped +manfully forward. "We're going to try something else, sir--a +tongue-opener." + +The General hooted apathetically; the onlookers looked anxious, and the +Staff Captain got his first grip on the tin. + +"Hold the General's head, Bill," he cried to the Brigade-Major, "so +that I can get a purchase. Now, then--one--two----" + +A howl of agony rent the air, and even the chief clerk looked pensive. + +"It's his ear, you fool!" The Colonel dodged rapidly out of the door +to evade the human tornado within, and the situation became crucial. +Even the tinsmith, who arrived at that moment, a man of phlegmatic +disposition, was moved out of his habitual calm and applauded loudly. + +"Thank heavens you've come!" gasped the Brigade-Major, keeping a wary +eye fixed on his frenzied senior, who, surrounded with _débris_ and red +ink, was now endeavouring to pull the tin off with his hands. "The +General has had a slight mishap. Can you remove that tin from his +head?" + +The expert contemplated his victim in silence for a few moments. + +"Yus," he remarked at length, "I can, sir, if 'e keeps quite still. +But I won't be answerable for the consequences if 'e don't." + +"No more will I." The Brigade-Major mopped his brow. "For heaven's +sake get on with it." + + +Thus ended the episode of Percy FitzPercy--his man-trap. + +It might have happened to any one, but only FitzPercy would have +searched carefully amongst the crockery, and having found what he was +looking for made a point of bringing it to head-quarters just as the +tin was finally removed. + +To emerge into the light of two candles and an electric torch with a +bit of one ear and half a face deficient, and realise that the man +responsible for it is offering you your uppers in three parts and some +fragments, is a situation too dreadful to contemplate. + +As I said before, Percy gave up trying after about ten seconds. + + + + +IV + +A POINT OF DETAIL + +"Hist!" The officer gripped the sergeant's arm just above the elbow, +bringing his mouth close up to his ear. "Don't move." The words were +hardly breathed, so low was the tense, sudden whisper, and the two men +crouched motionless, peering into the darkness which enveloped them. + +"Where, sir?" The sergeant slowly twisted his head till it was almost +touching that of the man beside him; and he too, whose normal voice +resembled a human fog horn, scarcely did more than frame the words with +his lips. + +"Behind that mound of chalk. Several of them." The sergeant's eyes +followed the line of the outstretched hand until they picked up the +dark menacing lump in the ground twenty feet away. Sombre, grim, +apparently lifeless, outlined against the night sky--it appeared almost +monstrous in size to the men who lay on the edge of a shell hole, with +every nerve alert. A bullet spat over them viciously, but they did not +alter their position--they knew they were not the target; and from +their own lines came the sudden clang of a shovel. All around them the +night was full of vague, indefinable noises; instinctively a man, +brought suddenly into such a place and ignorant of his whereabouts, +would have known that there were men all around him: men whom he could +not see, men who flitted through the shadows bent on mysterious tasks, +men who moved silently, with eyes strained to pierce the darkness. +Behind the German lines a trench tramway was in use; the metallic +rumble of the trolleys on the iron rails came continuously from the +distance. And suddenly from close at hand a man laughed. . . . + +"Do you see them?" Once again the officer was whispering, while he +still grasped, almost unconsciously, the sergeant's arm. +"There--there! Look!" + +Two or three shadowy blobs seemed to move uncertainly above the edge of +the chalk mound and then disappear again; and a moment afterwards, from +almost on top of them, came a hoarse guttural whisper. The officer's +grip tightened convulsively; the night of a sudden seemed alive with +men close to them--pressing around them. Almost involuntarily he got +up and moved back a few steps, still peering, straining to see in the +inky blackness. Something loomed up and bumped into him, only to +recoil with a muttered oath; and even as he realised it was a German he +heard his sergeant's low voice from a few feet away. "Where are you, +sir? Where are you?" The next moment he was back at his side. + +"Get back your own way," he whispered; "we've bumped a big patrol. +Don't fire." And as he spoke, with a slight hiss a flare shot up into +the night. + +Now had it not been for that one untimely flare this story would never +have been written. Indecent curiosity in other wanderers' doings in No +Man's Land is an unprofitable amusement; while the sound of strafing, +to say nothing of revolver shots, is calculated to produce a tornado of +fire from all directions, administered impartially by friend and foe +alike. Wherefore it is more than likely that but for the sudden +ghostly light both the Englishmen would have got away. As it was, John +Brinton, M.C., Lieutenant in His Majesty's Regiment of the Royal +Loamshires, found himself crouching in a slight dip in the ground and +contemplating from a range of four feet no less than six Huns similarly +engaged. There was the sharp crack of a revolver, a struggle, a +muffled cry; then silence. Half a dozen more flares went up from each +line; everywhere sentries peered earnestly towards the sound of the +shot; a few desultory rifles cracked, and then the night resumed its +whispering mystery. But at the bottom of the dip five Huns lay on the +top of a stunned English officer; while the sixth lay still and +twisted, with a revolver bullet in his brain. + +Twenty minutes afterwards the sergeant, crawling warily on his belly, +approached a saphead and after a brief word or two dropped in. + +"'Ave you seen Mr. Brinton, sir," he asked anxiously of an officer whom +he found in the sap, pessimistically smoking a cigarette--saps are +pessimistic places. + +"No." The officer looked up quickly. "He was out with you, wasn't he, +Sergeant Dawson?" + +"Yes, sir--on patrol. We'd just a-got to that there chalk 'ummock, +when we ran into some of 'em. 'E said to me--'Get back,' 'e said, +'your own way,' and then they put up a flare. I couldn't see 'im as I +was lying doggo in a 'ole, but I 'eard a revolver shot about ten yards +away. I looked round when the flare was out, but couldn't see him, nor +'ear him. So I thought 'e might 'ave got back." + +"Pass the word along for Mr. Brinton." The officer went out of the sap +into the fire trench. "And get a move on with it." He stood for a few +moments, looking thoughtful. "I hope," he muttered to himself, "I hope +the old boy hasn't been scuppered." + +But--the old boy _had_ been scuppered. A runner failed to discover him +in the trench; two strong patrols scoured the ground around the chalk +'ummock and drew blank. And so, in the fullness of time there appeared +in the Roll of Honour the name of Lieut. John Brinton, of the Royal +Loamshires, under the laconic heading of Missing, believed Prisoner of +War, which is the prologue of this tale of the coalfields of France. + + +The part of the line in which the Royal Loamshires found themselves at +the time of the unfortunate matter of John Brinton, M.C., was somewhere +south of La Bassée and somewhere north of Loos--closer identification +is undesirable. It is not a pleasant part of the line, though there +are many worse. The principal bugbears of one's existence are the +tunnelling companies, who without cessation practise their nefarious +trade, thereby causing alarm and despondency to all concerned. +Doubtless they mean well, but their habit of exploding large quantities +of ammonal at uncertain hours and places does not endear them to the +frenzied onlookers, who spend the next hour plucking boulders from +their eyes. In addition, there is the matter of sandbags. The +proximity of a mine shaft is invariably indicated by a young mountain +of these useful and hygienic articles, which tower and spread and +expand in every direction where they are most inconvenient. I admit +that, having placed half the interior of France in bags, the disposal +of the same on arriving in the light of day presents difficulties. I +admit that the fault lies entirely with the harassed and long-suffering +gentleman who boasts the proud title of "spoil's officer." I admit---- +But I grow warm, in addition to digressing unpardonably. The trouble +is that I always do grow warm, and digress at the mention of sandbags. + +In part of the Loamshires' front line, mining activity was great. A +continuous group of craters stretched along No Man's Land, separating +them from the wily Hun, for half the battalion front--a group which we +will call Outpost. The name is wrong, but it will serve. To the near +lips of each crater a sap ran out from the front line, so that merely +the great yawning hole lay between the saphead and the corresponding +abode of the Germans on the other lip. Each night these sapheads were +held by a small group of men armed with Verey lights, bombs, +bowie-knives, and other impedimenta of destruction; while between the +saps the trench was held but lightly--in some cases, not at all. The +idea of concentrating men in the front line has long been given up by +both sides. + +If therefore one strolls along the firing line--a tedious amusement at +all times--it is more than likely that one will find long stretches +completely deserted. The scene is desolate; the walk is strangely +eerie. Walls of sandbags tower on each side, in some cases two or +three feet above one's head; the clouds go scudding by, while the +shadows of a traverse dance fantastically as a flare comes hissing +down. The Hun is thirty yards away; the silence is absolute; the place +is ghostly with the phantoms of forgotten men. And sometimes, as one +walks, strange fancies creep into one's brain. Relics of childish +fears, memories of the bogey man who waited round the end of the dark +passage at home, come faintly from the past. And foolish though it be, +one wonders sometimes with a sharp, clutching pang of nervous +fear--What is round the next corner? + +Nothing--of course not. What should there be? The night is quiet; the +trench is English. The next party is forty yards farther on; the +voices of the last still come softly through the air. And yet--and +yet----! But I digress again. + +Now not one of the least of all the crimes of those responsible for the +disposal of the underworld of France, when it comes to the surface in +sandbags, is the following. (Lest any one may think that I am writing +a text-book, I would crave patience.) Be it known, then, that to keep +out a bullet some four feet of earth are necessary. Less than that and +the bullet will come through and impinge with great violence on the +warrior behind. This fact is well known to all whose path in life +leads them to the trenches; but for all that Tommy is a feckless lad. +In some ways he bears a marked resemblance to that sagacious bird, the +ostrich; and because of that resemblance, I have remarked on this +question of disposing sandbags in terms of pain and grief. The easiest +thing to do with a sandbag in a trench, if you don't want it, is to +chuck it out. Human nature being what it is, the distance chucked is +reduced to a minimum--in other words, it is placed on the edge of the +parapet. More follow--and they are placed beside it on the edge of the +parapet; which causes the inside edge of the parapet to increase in +height, but not in thickness. In other words, after a while the top +two or three layers of bags, though looking perfectly safe from the +inside, are not bullet proof. Which Tommy knows--but . . . well, I +have mentioned the ostrich. + +Now this state of affairs existed in one or two places behind Outpost +craters. There were spots where the top of the parapet was not of +sufficient thickness to keep out a rifle bullet. And it was just by +one of these spots that the Company Commander, going round one night, +suddenly stumbled on something that lay sprawling at the bottom of the +trench--an unmistakable something. It lay half on the fire step and +half off, midway between two saps, and the head sagged back helplessly. +He switched on his torch, and having looked at the huddled form, cursed +softly under his breath. For it was his senior subaltern, and a bullet +had entered his head from behind just above the neck. It had come out +at his forehead, and we will not specify further. + +"Stretcher bearers at once." He went back to the group he had just +left. "Mr. Dixon has been shot through the parapet, farther up." + +"Killed, sir?" The N.C.O. in charge was in Dixon's platoon. + +"Yes." The Company Officer was laconic. "Brains blown out. It's that +damned parapet--one sandbag thick. What the hell's the use of my +speaking?" + +He had had a trying day, and his tone may be excused. "You sit here +and you do nothing. The whole company are a set of cursed lazy +loafers." + +Seeing that the men were getting an average of six hours' sleep the +remark was hardly fair, but, as I said, the day had been a trying one +and this had been the last straw. He strode back again to the dead +subaltern, muttering angrily. + +"Poor old man," he whispered gently, lifting the legs on to the fire +step and bending over the still form. "Poor old man; you've solved the +Big Mystery by now, anyway." The light of his torch fell on the dead +man's face, and he shuddered slightly: a bullet can do a lot of damage. +Then he climbed on the fire step and looked over the parapet. It was a +place where the spoils party had been particularly busy; and though the +Company Officer was full six foot, he could only just see over the top; +as a fire step it was useless to any one but a giant from a freak show. + +"Hullo! what's happened?" A voice behind him made him turn round. + +"That you, Dick? Poor little Jerry Dixon been shot through the +parapet--that's what's happened." He got down and stood at the bottom +of the trench beside the second-in-command. "The three top layers +there are only one bag thick." Once again his language became heated. + +"Steady, old man," Dick Staunton puffed steadily at his pipe, and +looked at the body lying beside them. "Were you with him when he was +hit?" + +"No. Came round visiting the sentries and found him lying there dead." + +"Oh!" He switched on his torch and continued smoking in silence. +Suddenly he bent forward and peered closely at the shattered head. +"Give me a hand for a minute. I want to turn the boy over." + +Faintly surprised, he did as he was bid. + +In silence they turned the body over, and again there was silence while +Staunton carefully examined the spot where the bullet had entered. + +"Strange," he muttered to himself after a few moments, "very strange. +Tell me, Joe"--his voice was normal again--"exactly how did you find +him? What position was he in?" + +"He was half sitting on the fire step; with his head in the corner and +his legs sprawling in the bottom of the trench." + +"Sitting? Then his face was towards you." + +"Why, yes. Is there anything peculiar in the fact? He'd probably just +been having a look over the top, and as he turned away to get down he +was hit through the sandbags in the back of the neck. His head was a +bit forward as he was getting down, so the bullet passed through his +head and out of his forehead." + +In silence they turned the boy over again and covered his face with a +pocket-handkerchief. + +"You're too much of a blooming detective, you know, old man. Much +police work has made thee mad," laughed the Company Commander. "What +else can have happened?" + +"I'm no detective, Joe." The other man smiled slightly. "But there +are one or two small points of detail which strike me, though I can +make nothing out of them, I admit. First--his height. He's six inches +shorter than you, and yet you could barely see over the top. +Therefore, what was he doing trying to look over the parapet here of +all places? Secondly, the way he fell. A man killed instantaneously, +and shot through the back of his head, would in all probability pitch +forward on his face. You say his face was towards you, and that he was +sitting in the corner of the traverse." He paused to fill his pipe. + +"Go on," said the Company Commander curiously. "You interest me." + +"The third point is one on which I admit that I am doubtful. The +bullet wound is clean. Now I am inclined to think--though I don't +know--that a bullet passing through a chalk bag would become jagged, +and would not be travelling straight when it continued its flight. +However, I don't attach much importance to that. And the fourth and +last point is almost too trifling to mention. Do you notice anything +peculiar about his uniform?" + +The listener flashed his torch over the dead officer, "No," he said at +length. "I can't say that I do. Except that one of his regimental +badges is missing. I suppose you don't mean that, do you?" The +Company Officer laughed irritably. + +"I do," returned the other quietly. "It's a point of detail, even if a +little one." He looked thoughtfully at the man in front of him. "Do I +strike you as a callous sort of devil, old man?" + +"You seem to be treating the boy rather on the line of a specimen for +improving your deductive powers." + +"Perhaps you're right." Staunton turned away. "But I didn't mean it +that way--quite. Sorry, Joe; the boy was a pal of yours?" + +"He was." + +"God rest his soul!" The second-in-command spoke low. Then, with a +final salute to the youngster whose soul had gone to the haven of +fighting men, he turned away and vanished into the night. + + * * * * * * + +The next day the Company Commander came round to Battalion +Head-quarters. + +"My two best subalterns," grunted the Colonel in disgust, "within two +days. Very annoying. Good boys--toppers both of them. You'd go quite +a way, Dick, before you bettered Brinton and Dixon." + +"You would," affirmed the second-in-command. "Quite a way." + +"And with all your theorising last night, old man," remarked the +Captain slyly, "we both forgot the obvious solution. He got on the +fire step, found he couldn't see over--so he clambered up on top. +Then, when he was getting down, he was hit, and slithered into the +position I found him in." + +Staunton regarded the speaker through a haze of tobacco smoke. "I +wonder," he murmured at length. "I wonder." + +He did not state that during the morning he had made a point of +interrogating Jerry Dixon's servant. And that worthy--an old and +trusted soldier--had very positively denied that either of the Pelicans +Rampant, which formed the regimental badge, had been missing from his +master's coat the previous evening. + +"Now Mr. Brinton's coat, sir," he remarked thoughtfully, "that did 'ave +a badge off, that did. But 'is servant!" He snorted, and dismissed +the subject scornfully. + +As I say, the Major did not mention this fact. After all, it was such +a very small point of detail. + + +To the frivolous-minded, Dick Staunton was at times the cause of a +certain amount of amusement. Originally in the Army, he had left it +when a junior captain, and had settled down to the normal life of a +country gentleman. By nature of a silent disposition, he abominated +social functions of all sorts. He hunted, he fished, and he shot, and +spent the rest of his time studying the habits of the wild. And as +always happens to a man who lives much with nature, his mind gradually +got skilled in the noticing of little things. Small signs, invisible +to the casual observer, he noticed automatically; and without being in +any sense a Sherlock Holmes, he had acquired the habit of putting two +and two together in a manner that was, at times, disconcertingly +correct. + +"Points of detail," he remarked one evening in the dug-out after +dinner, "are very easy to see if you have eyes to see them with. One +is nothing; two are a coincidence; three are a moral certainty. A +really trained man can see a molehill; I can see a mountain; most of +you fellows couldn't see the Himalayas." With which sage remark he +thoughtfully lit his pipe and relapsed into silence. And silence being +his usual characteristic he came into the Battalion Head-quarters +dug-out one evening and dropped quietly into a seat, almost unnoticed +by the somewhat noisy group around the table. + +"Afternoon, Dickie." The Sapper officer looked up and saw him. "D'you +hear we're pinching your last recruit? Jesson--this is Major +Staunton." He turned to a second lieutenant in the Royal Loamshires +beside him as he made the introduction. + +"How d'you do, sir." Jesson got up and saluted. "I've only just got +over from England; and now apparently they're attaching me to the R.E., +as I'm a miner." + +He sat down again, and once more turned his attention to that excellent +French illustrated weekly without which no officers' mess in France is +complete. Lest I be run in for libel, I will refrain from further +information as to its title and general effect on officers concerned. + +For a few moments Staunton sat watching the group and listening with +some amusement to the criticisms on those lovely members of the fair +sex so ably portrayed in its pages, and then his attention centred on +the revolver he was cleaning. Jesson, a good-looking, clean-cut man of +about twenty-nine or thirty was holding forth on an experience he had +had in Alaska, which concerned a woman, a team of dogs, and a gentleman +known as One-eyed Pete, and as he spoke Staunton watched him idly. It +struck him that he seemed a promising type, and that it was a pity the +Tunnellers were getting him. + +"Haven't you got enough disturbers of the peace already," he remarked +to the Tunnelling officer, "without snatching our ewe lamb?" + +"We are at full strength as a matter of fact, Major," answered an +officer covered with chalk; "but they do some funny things in the +palaces of the great. We often get odd birds blowing in. I've been +initiating him all this morning into the joys of Outpost." + +"And how is jolly old Blighty?" remarked the Adjutant. "Thank Heaven! +leave approaches." + +"About the same." Jesson helped himself to a whisky-and-soda. "Darker +than ever, and taxis an impossibility. Still I dare say I shall be +glad enough to go back when my first leave comes due," he added with a +laugh. + +"Is this your first time out?" asked Staunton. + +"Yes." Jesson unbuttoned his burberry and took out his cigarette case. +Outside the dusk was falling, and he bent forward to get a light from +the candle flickering on the table in front of him. "The very first +time. I've been on Government work up to now." + +It was at that moment that a very close observer might have noticed +that Dick Staunton's pipe ceased to draw with monotonous regularity: he +might even have heard a quick intake of breath. But he would have had +to be a very close one--very close indeed; for the next instant he was +again speaking and his voice was normal. + +"I suppose you've been at the depot," he hazarded. "Who are there now?" + +"Oh, the usual old crowd," answered Jesson "I don't expect you know +many of them though, do you, Major? Ginger Stretton in the 14th +Battalion--do you know him by any chance?" + +"No, I don't think I do." His face was in the shadow, but had it been +visible a slightly puzzled frown might have been seen on his forehead. +"I suppose they still make all you fellows on joining go to the +regimental tailor, don't they?" + +Jesson looked a trifle surprised at the question. "I don't think they +are as particular as they were," he returned after a moment. +"Personally I went to Jones & Jones." He casually buttoned up his +mackintosh and turned to the Tunneller. "If you're ready I think we +might be going. I want to see about my kit." He got up as he spoke +and turned towards the entrance, while at the same moment the Sapper +rose too. "I'd like to drop in again, sir, sometimes if I may." He +spoke to the shadow where Staunton had been sitting. + +"Do." Jesson gave a violent start, for the voice came from just behind +his shoulder. Like the hunter he was, Dick Staunton had moved without +a sound, and now stood directly between Jesson and the door. "But +don't go yet. I want to tell you a story that may amuse you. Have +some tea." + +"Er--won't it keep till some other time, Major? I'm rather anxious to +see about my kit." + +"Let the kit keep. Sit down and have some tea." + +"What the devil has come over you, Dickie?" The Adjutant was looking +frankly amazed. "You aren't generally so loquacious." + +"That's why to-night my little whim must be humoured," answered +Staunton with a slight smile. "Sit down, please, Jesson. It's quite +an amusing little yarn, and I would like your opinion on it." + +"No hope for you, old boy. Dickie has turned into a social success." +The Adjutant laughed and lit a cigarette, and once again became +immersed in his paper. + +To the casual observer the scene was a very normal one. Four men in a +dug-out, yarning and reading; while outside the occasional whine of a +shell, the dirty deeds of a Stokes gun, the noises of the trenches +filled the air. Nothing unusual, nothing out of the way +except--something, an indefinable something. As the Sapper said +afterwards there must have been something tangible in the +atmosphere--else why did his pulses quicken. He glanced at the +Adjutant sitting opposite him engrossed in his book; he looked at +Staunton across the table--Staunton, with a slight smile on his +lips--and his eyes fixed on Jesson. He looked at Jesson beside +him--Jesson, whom he had met that morning for the first time. And all +he noticed about Jesson was that his left knee twitched +ceaselessly. . . . + +He ran over in his mind the day's work. He had met him at about eleven +that morning, wandering along the support line with an officer in the +Loamshires whom he knew well, who had hailed him and introduced Jesson. + +"A recruit--a new recruit," he had said, "for your atrocious trade. +He's just left old pimple-faced Charlie, who was writing returns in +triplicate as usual." + +Now pimple-faced Charlie was his own Major, who habitually did write +returns in triplicate; wherefore, after a few remarks of a casual +nature in which he elicited the fact that Jesson was a mining engineer +and had suddenly been ordered while waiting at the base to join the +940th Tunnelling Company, he took him in tow and showed him round the +mine galleries. + +Mining work was very active in the sector. Four or five small mines +and one big one were going up in the near future, so the tour of +inspection had been a long one. That his companion was not new to the +game was obvious from the outset; and his pertinent inquiries anent +cross-cuts, listening galleries, and the whole of the work in hand had +shown that he was keen as well. Altogether a promising recruit, he had +mused: quite a find--keen and able, two qualities which unfortunately +do not go hand in hand quite as often as one would like. And now +Staunton and this find of his were facing one another in silence across +the plank table of the dug-out; Jesson, with an expression of polite +indifference as befitted a subaltern compelled to listen to a senior +officer's story which he didn't want to hear; Staunton, with an +enigmatic smile. Then of a sudden Staunton spoke. + +"Have you ever studied the question of the importance of matters of +detail, Jesson?" he remarked quietly to the impassive figure facing him +across the table. + +"I can't say that I have, sir," answered the other, politely stifling a +yawn. + +"You should. A most interesting study. My story concerns points of +detail. The imperative thing is to be able to sort out the vital +points from all the others; then piece them together, and arrive at the +right answer." + +"It must be very easy to be led astray, I should imagine; and arrive at +the--er--wrong one." Jesson concealed a smile, and waited for the +Major to continue. + +"Yes and no. It's all a matter of practice." Staunton's imperturbable +voice was as quiet as ever. "And anyway, it's only in peace time that +it matters very much whether one is right or wrong. Nowadays! +Well--_à la guerre comme à la guerre_." He smiled gently. "But my +story. I want you, as an impartial observer, just arrived, with an +unbiassed mind, to tell me if you think my joining up of two or three +points of detail is a sound one. Both these officers know the points +of detail, so your opinion will be more valuable than theirs. + +"A few nights ago our battalion had one of those unfortunate little +contretemps that so often happen in war. A subaltern of ours, John +Brinton by name, went out on patrol, and never returned. An exhaustive +search in No Man's Land failed to discover his body; so we were +reluctantly compelled to conclude that he was in German hands; whether +alive or dead we don't know. There we have the first fact in my case. +Now for the second. + +"Two nights after that another of our subalterns was killed in a way +which struck me as peculiar. I will not weary you with all the various +little points that led me to believe that the bullet which killed him +did not come from the trenches opposite; I will merely say that his +position, his height, and the depth of the trench were the most +obvious. And granted that my conclusions were correct, strange as it +might appear at first sight, his death must have been caused at close +quarters, possibly in the trench itself." + +"Good Lord!" muttered the Adjutant, who was now listening with +interest. "What do you mean?" + +"Two facts, you see," went on Staunton quietly. "And they would have +remained unconnected in my mind--Brinton's capture and Dixon's +death--but for a small point of detail. Dixon's jacket was without the +left regimental badge when his body was found. His servant knows he +had them both earlier in the day. On the contrary, Brinton had lost +his left regimental badge for some time. Am I interesting you?" + +"Profoundly, thank you, sir." The man opposite smiled amiably. + +"I'm glad of that; it's an interesting problem. You see the +significance of that small point about the badge, the way in which it +connects very intimately Brinton's capture and Dixon's death. So +intimately, in fact, does it connect them, that one is almost tempted +to assume that the man who killed Dixon was the man in possession of +Brinton's uniform. Are you with me so far?" + +"The evidence seems a trifle slight," remarked Jesson. + +"Quite true; the evidence is very slight. But then, it often is. +Everything up to date turns on the question of the badge. Let me +reconstruct a possible--only possible, mark you--story, based on the +supposition that my badge theory is correct. A German who speaks +English perfectly is given a nice warm uniform taken from a captured +British officer. Then he is told to go over to the British lines and +see what he can find out. He comes one night; perfectly easy; no +trouble; until walking along the front line he meets another +officer--alone: an officer of the same regiment as that whose uniform +he is wearing. Unavoidable; in fact, less likely to raise suspicion +with the frequent changes that occur if he goes to the same regiment +than if he went to another. But something happens: either the other +officer's suspicions are aroused, or the German does not wish to be +recognised again by him. The trench is quiet; an occasional rifle is +going off, so he does the bold thing. He shoots him from point-blank +range--probably with a Colt. As he stands there with the dead officer +in front of him, waiting, listening hard, wondering if he has been +heard, he sees the two badges on the officer's coat. So, being a cool +hand, he takes off the left one, puts it on his own coat, and +disappears for a time. Quite easy; especially when the trenches are +old German ones." + +"Really, Major, you seem to have made a speciality of detective +fiction. As you said, I suppose your theory is possible." + +Jesson spoke casually, but his eyes for the first time left the face of +the man opposite him and roved towards the door. For the first time a +sudden ghastly suspicion of the truth entered the Sapper's brain; and +even as it did so he noticed that Staunton's revolver--the cleansing +finished--pointed steadily at Jesson's chest. + +"I am glad you think it possible. To render it probable we must go a +bit farther. The essence of all detective stories is the final clue +that catches the criminal, isn't it?" The revolver moved an inch or +two farther into prominence. + +"Good Lord, Dickie? Is that gun of yours loaded?" cried the Adjutant +in alarm. For the first time he also seemed to become aware that +something unusual was happening, and he suddenly stood up. "What the +devil is it, Major? What have you got that gun on him for?" + +"For fun, dear boy, for fun. It's part of the atmosphere. We've got +to the point haven't we, where--in my story, of course--the German +dressed in Brinton's uniform comes into the English lines. Now what +sort of a man would they send in this part of the line, where mining +activity is great? I continue the theory, you see; that's all." + +He looked at Jesson, who made no reply; though without cessation he +moistened his lips with his tongue. + +"A miner." The Adjutant's voice cut in. "Go on, for God's sake." + +"Precisely--a miner. The second point of detail; and two points of +detail are a strange coincidence--nothing more. Only--there is a +third." + +"And three are a moral certainty, as you've often said." The Adjutant +once again bent across the table and spoke softly. "Are you fooling, +Dickie--are you fooling? If so, the joke has gone far enough." + +But the Sapper's eyes were fixed on a leg that twitched, and they +wandered now and then to a neck where--even in the dim light of a +candle--he could see a pulse throbbing--throbbing. + +"It's not a joke," he said, and his mouth was dry. "What is the third +point of detail, Dickie?" + +"Yes, what is the third point of detail, sir?" Jesson's voice was +steady as a rock. "I am very interested in your problem." He raised +his hands from the table and stretched them in front of him. Not a +finger quivered, and with a sublime insolence he examined his nails. + +To the Sapper there occurred suddenly those lines of Kipling, + + "For there is neither East nor West, border nor breed nor birth, + When two strong men come face to face though they come from + the ends of the earth." + +He _knew_ now; he realised the man beside him was a German; he knew +that the sentence of death was very near. What the clue was that had +given the man away he hardly thought about--in fact, he hardly cared. +All he knew was that death was waiting for the man beside him, and that +his hands were steady as a rock. + +Quietly Staunton leant forward and undid Jesson's mackintosh. Then he +sat back and with his finger he pointed at a spot above his left +breast-pocket. "You have never been out to the front, you say; your +coat is a new one by Jones & Jones; and yet--until recently--you have +been wearing the ribbon of a medal. What medal, Jesson, what medal? +It shows up, that clean patch in the light. John Brinton went to Jones +& Jones; and John Brinton had a Military Cross." + +For a full minute the two men looked into one another's eyes--deep +down, and read the things that are written underneath, be a man English +or German. Then suddenly Jesson smiled slightly and spoke. + +"You are a clever man, Major Staunton. When will the rifle practice +take place?" + + * * * * * * + +Thus it ended, the play of which John Brinton's disappearance formed +the prologue. But before the curtain rang down on the epilogue the +German told them one or two little things: that John Brinton was alive +and well; that the existence of Ginger Stretton, to whom he had alluded +so glibly, had only become known to him from a letter in Brinton's +coat; that the peculiarities of pimple-faced Charlie had been forced on +him by his guide before they met the Sapper. + +"In fact," as the Adjutant remarked, "the fellow was almost too good a +sportsman to----" But that's the epilogue. + + +A file of men; a watery sun just starting its day's work; a raw, chilly +morning. In front--a man: a man with a white disc of paper pinned over +the heart. + +A word of command; a pushing forward of safety catches; a volley; a +finish. + + + + +V + +MY LADY OF THE JASMINE + +The Kid staggered wearily along the road through the blinding rain. +Dodging between the endless streams of traffic, which moved slowly in +both directions, now stopping for ten minutes, now jolting forward +again for a couple of hundred yards, he walked on towards where he +thought his battalion was. The last Staff officer he had seen had told +him that, as far as he knew, they had pulled out to rest in some +dug-outs about four miles farther on--dug-outs which had only recently +been taken from the Germans. To start with he had got on to a lorry, +but when darkness fell, and the total progression had been one mile, he +decided to walk and save time. Occasionally the lights of a car shone +in his face, as its infuriated occupant broke every rule of the Somme +roads by double banking; that is, trying to pass the vehicles in front. +But at last the traffic wore thinner as the road approached the front +line, and an hour and a half after he had left the lorry, it stopped +altogether, save for pack-mules and squelching men. The rain still +sogged down, and--ye gods! the Kid was tired. Away into the night +there stretched a path of slippery duck-boards, threading its way +between shell holes half filled with water. Men loomed up out of the +darkness and went past him, slipping and sliding, cursing below their +breath. A shower of sparks shot up into the air from a dug-out on his +right, and a great lobbing flare away in the distance lit up the scene +for a second or two with a ghostly radiance. It showed the Kid the +only other near occupant of the reclaimed territory at the moment: a +mule, whose four hoofs stuck stiffly out of a shell hole--pointing at +him, motionless. With a shudder he moved on along the duck-walk. +After all he was but a kid, and he was almighty tired. + +For three days he seemed to have been on the run without closing his +eyes. First the battalion had gone over the top; then they had worked +like slaves consolidating what they'd won; afterwards he had been sent +for because of his knowledge of French and German to go back to +Divisional Head-quarters; and then he had come back to find the +battalion had moved. And any who may have tried walking five or six +miles by night in heavy rain to an unknown destination along some of +the roads east of Albert, will bear out that it is a wearisome +performance. When to these facts is added the further information that +the age of the boy was only eighteen, it will be conceded that the +breaking-point was not far off. + +Now I have emphasised the physical condition of the Kid, as he was +known to all and sundry, because I think it may have a bearing on the +story I am going to relate. I am no expert in "ologies" and other +things dealing with so-called spiritualistic revelations. I might even +say, in fact, that I am profoundly sceptical of them all, though to say +so may reveal my abysmal ignorance. So be it; my thumbs are crossed. +This is not a controversial treatise on spiritualism, and all that +appertains thereto. One thing, however, I will say--in my ignorance, +of course. Until some of the great thinkers of the world have beaten +down the jungle of facts beyond our ken, and made a track--be it never +so narrow--free from knaves and charlatans, it is ill-advised for Mrs. +Smith or Lady de Smythe to believe that Signer Macaroni--_né_ +Jones--will reveal to them the secrets of the infinite for two pounds. +He may; on the other hand, he may not. That the secrets are there, who +but a fool can doubt; it is only Signer Macaroni's power of +disinterested revelation that causes my unworthy scepticism. + +And so let us come back to the Kid, and the strange thing that happened +in a recently captured German dug-out on the night of which I have been +writing. It was just as he had decided--rain or no rain--to lie down +and sleep in the mud and filth--anywhere, anything, as long as he could +sleep--that suddenly out of the darkness ahead he heard the Adjutant's +voice, and knew that he had found the battalion. With almost a sob of +thankfulness at the unexpected finish to his worries, he hailed him. + +"Hullo! is that you, Kid?" The Adjutant loomed out of the darkness. +"We thought you were lost for good. Are you cooked?" + +"I'm just about done in," answered the boy. "Where is B Company?" + +"I'll show you. It's the hell of a place to find even by day; but +you've got 'some' dug-out. Beer, and tables, and beds; in fact, it's +the first dug-out I've seen that in any way resembles the descriptions +one reads in the papers." + +"Well, as long as I can get to sleep, old man, I don't care a damn if +it's the Ritz or a pigsty." The Kid plucked his foot from a mud-hole, +and squelched on behind the Adjutant. + +Now much has been written about German dug-outs--their size, their +comfort, the revolving book-cases, the four-poster beds. Special +mention has frequently been made of cellars full of rare old vintages, +and of concreted buttery hatches; of lifts to take stout officers to +the ground, and of portable derricks to sling even stouter ones into +their scented valises. In fact, such stress has been laid upon these +things by people of great knowledge, that I understand an opinion is +prevalent amongst some earnest thinkers at home that when a high German +officer wishes to surrender he first sends up two dozen of light beer +on the lift to placate his capturers, rapidly following himself with a +corkscrew. This may or may not be so; personally, I have had no such +gratifying experience. But then, personally, I have generally been +hard put to it to recognise the dug-outs of reality from the dug-outs +of the daily papers. Most of them are much the same as any ordinary, +vulgar English dug-out; many are worse; but one or two undoubtedly are +very good. In places where the nature of the ground has lent itself to +deep work, and the lines have been stagnant for many moons, the Huns +have carried out excellent work for the suitable housing of their +officers. And it was down the entrance of one of these few and far +between abodes that the Kid ultimately staggered, with the blessed +feeling in his mind of rest at last. Round a table in the centre sat +the other officers of B Company, discussing the remains of a very +excellent German repast. As he came in they all looked up. + +"The lost sheep," sang out the Captain cheerfully. "Come on, my +kidlet, draw up, and put your nose inside some beer." + +"Not a bad place, is it?" chimed in the Doctor, puffing at a large and +fat cigar of Hun extraction. "Excellent cellar of rare old ale, cigars +of great potency--real genuine Flor de Boche--a picture gallery +of--er--a pleasing description, and a bed. What more can man desire?" + +"Private MacPherson does not approve, I fear me, of the pictures," +chuckled the senior subaltern. "I heard him muttering dark things +about 'painted Jezebels,' and 'yon scarlet women of Babylon.'" + +"It must be very dreadful for all concerned to go through life with a +mind like MacPherson's." The Doctor was examining his cigar +doubtfully. "There is an obstruction in this. It's either going to +explode with great force in a minute, or else I'm coming to the motto. +Hi! you blighter----" he jumped up hurriedly to avoid the stream of +beer that shot across the table from the Kid's overturned glass. + +"Idiot child." The Company Commander roused himself from his gentle +doze to contemplate the delinquent. Then he smiled. "Man, he's +asleep; the boy's beat to a frazzle." + +"Aye, you're right. Tim, come off that bed; the Kid is fair cooked. +Wake up, infant." The Doctor shook him by the shoulder. "Wake up. +Take off your boots, and then get down to it on the bed." + +The Kid sat up blinking. "I'm very sorry," he said after a moment. +"Did I upset the beer?" + +"You did--all over me," laughed the Doctor. "Get your boots off and +turn in." + +"I'm so cursed sleepy." The Kid was removing his sodden puttees. +"I've walked, and walked, and I'm just about----" He straightened +himself in his chair, and as he did so the words died away on his lips. +With a peculiar fixed look he stared past the Doctor into the corner of +the dug-out. "My God!" he whispered at last, "what are you doing here?" + +A sudden silence settled on the mess, and instinctively everybody, +including the Doctor, glanced towards the corner. Then the Doctor +turned once more to the boy, and his glance was the glance of his +profession. + +"What's the matter, Kid?" His tone was abrupt, even to curtness. "Did +you think you saw something?" + +"I thought--I thought----" The boy passed his hand over his forehead. +"I'm sorry--I must have been dreaming. It's gone now. I suppose I'm +tired." But his eyes still searched the dug-out fearfully. + +"What did you think you saw?" asked the Doctor shortly. + +"I thought I saw----" Once again he stopped; then he laughed a little +shakily. "Oh! it doesn't matter what I thought I saw. Damn it! I'm +tired; let me turn in." + +The Doctor's eye met the Company Commander's over the table, and he +shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Dead beat." His lips framed the +words, and he returned to the contemplation of his cigar, which was not +doing all that a well-trained cigar should. + +The Kid stood up and glanced round the mess at his brother officers a +little shamefacedly; only to find them engrossed--a trifle +ostentatiously--in their own business. "I'm sorry, you fellows," he +blurted out suddenly. "Forgive me being such a fool; I suppose I'm a +bit tired." + +The Doctor took him firmly by the arm, and led him towards the bed. +"Look here, old soul," he remarked, "if you wish to avoid the wrath of +my displeasure, you will cease talking and go to bed. Every one knows +what it is to be weary; and there's only one cure--sleep." + +The Kid laughed and threw himself on the bed. "Jove!" he muttered +sleepily; "then it's a pleasant medicine, Doctor dear." He pulled a +blanket over his shoulders; his head touched the pillow; his eyes +closed; and before the Doctor had resumed his seat the Kid was asleep. + + * * * * * * + +It seemed only a minute afterwards that he was awake again, staring +into the dim-lit dug-out with every sense alert. He was conscious +first of a faint elusive scent--a scent which was new to him. His mind +wandered to the scents he knew--Chaminade, Mystérieuse, Trèfle +Incarnat--but this was different. Delicate, sensuous, with the +slightest suggestion of jasmine about it, it seemed to permeate every +part of him. Vaguely expectant, he waited for something that he knew +must happen. What it would be, he had no idea; he felt like a man +waiting for the curtain to rise on a first night, when the music of the +overture is dying away to a finish. He experienced no fear: merely an +overwhelming curiosity to witness the drama, and to confirm his +certainty about the owner of the scent. In his mind there was no doubt +as to who she was. It was the girl he had seen in the corner as he was +taking off his puttees: the girl who had looked at him with eyes that +held the sadness of the world and its despair in them; the girl who had +vanished so quickly. Her disappearance did not strike him as peculiar; +she would explain when she came. And so the Kid waited for the +drop-scene to lift. + +It struck him as he glanced round the dug-out that the furniture had +been moved. The table seemed nearer the wall; the chairs were +differently arranged. Instead of the remnants of a finished meal, +papers arranged in neat piles met his eye. The place looked more like +an office than a mess. Suddenly he stiffened into attention; steps +were coming down the entrance to the dug-out. A man came in, and with +a gasp the Kid recognised a German soldier. He strove to shout--to +warn his brother officers who he knew were peacefully sleeping in +valises on the floor; but no sound came. His tongue stuck to the roof +of his mouth; he could only watch, rigid and motionless. + +The German moved to the hanging lamp, and turned it up till a bright +light flooded the dug-out. + +"Now," the Kid's brain was racing, "he must see them. My God! they +must have got back during the night." + +But no. The German servant moved towards the cupboard which contained +the food, brushing so close to the bed that the Kid could have touched +him with ease as he passed. Very cautiously he raised his head as he +saw the man, his back turned, fumbling on the shelves, and looked round +the room. Then with the icy hand of terror clutching at his heart he +lay back again. The room was empty; his brother officers had +gone--murdered probably--and with him it could only be a question of +moments before he too was discovered. + +For an instant he had a wild idea of hurling himself upon the German: +of taking him unawares--of trying to escape. Then the soldier turned: +the opportunity had passed, and once again the silent spectator on the +bed lay rigid. The servant, stolid and unemotional, moved heavily +about the dug-out, laying the table for a meal. Once it seemed to the +Kid that he looked straight at him; he could have sworn that he must +have been seen; and yet--apparently not. The man gave no sign, and it +occurred to the Kid that perhaps he was lying in the shadow. +Stealthily he wormed himself even nearer the wall: impelled by the +instinct of self-preservation that would put off to the last possible +moment the inevitable discovery. And hardly had he edged himself in +against the wall, when with a sinking heart he heard voices outside: +voices which spoke in German. With only the servant to tackle, somehow +he had not felt so hopeless; now he knew the end had come. + +Two officers entered, wiping the perspiration from their foreheads. +One from his badges of rank he recognised as a Colonel--the other was a +Lieutenant; and the discussion was--as far as their difference of rank +allowed--obviously of an acrimonious nature. The Kid listened +intently; thanking Heaven, not for the first time in his life, that +some one with a grain of common sense had had him taught French and +German by a method other than the Public School one. The predilection +of his aunt's gardener for pens, ink, and paper would not have helped +him much in that conversation. + +"Beer, you fool," grunted the Colonel to the stolid servant. "Then, +go." + +Impatiently he waited till the orderly's footsteps died away, and then +he turned savagely on the other officer. + +"I tell you, Lieutenant Rutter, we _must_ know," he snarled. "A +girl--what is a girl, when big issues are at stake? There are many +more girls, Lieutenant Rutter; many more girls. Be very careful lest +not only does this one die, but you also meet with an accident. Dead +men cannot make love to those other girls." He banged his fist on the +table and glared at the Lieutenant, who was staring moodily in front of +him. + +"I know that, Excellency," he returned after a moment. "But there is a +proverb about bringing a horse to the water and not being able to make +him drink." + +"Bah! There are methods, my friend, of drowning the brute with water, +if it won't drink willingly. And those methods will have to be adopted +in this case." + +"They are doubtless effective in killing the horse; but they will not +lead us very much farther in our inquiries." + +"Which is the reason why I have allowed you so much rope. I know as +well as you do that willing information is worth ten times as much as +when it is forced. You have made love to the girl, you have been +playing the fool for six weeks with her, and we are no nearer than when +we started." He sneered openly. "Since when have we become so +dilatory, my friend? You seem to have lost your form with the fair +sex." + +The Lieutenant flushed, and his fist clenched. "Don't mention those +others. I love this girl." + +"No doubt thinking of marriage?" The sneer was even more in evidence. + +"Yes, Excellency, I am thinking of marriage." His voice was ominously +quiet. + +"I am afraid, Lieutenant Rutter, it will remain in the beautiful and +nebulous realms of thought, unless----" He paused and drained his beer +ostentatiously, though all the while his eyes never left his +companion's face. + +"Unless," repeated the Lieutenant drearily, "she agrees to do some +charming and honourable spying work for us on the other side of the +lines." + +"You speak very strangely, Lieutenant Rutter." The little pig eyes of +the senior officer glinted menacingly. "Have a care." + +"Pardon, Excellency. For the moment I forgot." With a weary gesture +he got up. "I will ask her this morning." He looked at his watch. +"She should be here very soon." + +"Then I will await the result of your interview through here." The +Colonel moved to a door half concealed by a curtain. "You shall have +your turtle dove, Rutter, in peace and quiet." He chuckled harshly. +"You know what we want?" + +"By heart, Excellency." + +"And you remember that her brother the Comte is not really dead. For +our purposes he is a prisoner." + +"I am not likely to forget; but I warn you, Excellency, I have but +little hope of succeeding." + +The Colonel's jaw shut like a vice. "Then God help you both, my +friend; God help you both." His voice was soft, but horribly menacing; +and as the curtain dropped behind him, the Kid, who had been listening +spellbound, understood for the first time the type of man who +represented Prussian militarism. + +Instinctively his heart warmed towards the Lieutenant, who with a weary +gesture of despair was resting his head on his arms. He was young, +clean cut, almost an Englishman to look at, save for his close-cropped +bristling hair; and, moreover, he was up against it. All the Kid's +sporting instincts rose within him. Boche or no Boche this was not the +type of swine who launched gas and liquid fire on a horror-struck +world. Forgetful of everything he was on the point of going over to +him and telling him to stick it out, when his eyes rested on the +entrance. And there was the girl: the girl he had seen in the corner, +the girl of the jasmine scent. For a while she stood watching the +bowed figure at the table, and then she tip-toed across to him and laid +her hand on his head. + +With a quick start he looked up, and into his face there came the light +of all the ages, the light of the man for the woman he loves. + +"Marie," he whispered hoarsely. "Marie--_que je t'adore_." He caught +her to him and kissed her on the lips. Then, with a bitter groan, he +pushed her away and sat down again. + +"Fritz, what is it?" she cried in wondering tones. "You sent for me, +my dear. Why? I came; but it is not right for me to come to you +here--in your dug-out." + +"I was ordered to send for you, my Marie." His French was pure if +guttural. + +"Ordered!" An adorable look of amazement came on her face. "And you +liked not this order, my Fritz. But why? It is not right for me to be +here, I know; but now that I have come, it is very nice, _mon ami_. +Why do you look so glum?" + +For a while he did not reply, but paced the dug-out with long, uneven +steps. And the Kid, watching his lady of the jasmine, saw her bite her +lips, as a look of puzzled fear came into her great round eyes. At +last the man paused in front of her and took her roughly by the arms, +so that she cried out. + +"You love me, Marie?" he demanded hoarsely. "You love me enough to +marry me when this accursed war is over?" His voice sank over the last +few words, and he glanced, half fearfully, at the curtained door. + +"But of course, my Fritz," she answered softly. "You have been good to +me, and you are different to these others. Mon Dieu! they frighten +me--those harsh, brutal men; but they have been good to me and the +little mother for your sake. It is terrible, I suppose--a French girl +and a German officer; but the little god Love, _mon ami_, he laughs at +the great god Mars--sometimes. Poor little me--I cannot help myself." +She laughed adorably, and the Kid laughed with her. She seemed to him +like the spirit of the Spring, when the bluebells are flowering and the +world is young. But on the German's face there was no answering smile. +It was set and stern, and imprinted with a look of such utter +hopelessness that the Kid, who saw it over the girl's shoulder, almost +cried out with the pain of it. + +"Do you love me enough, Marie," he went on at length, "to do a big +thing for me--a very big thing?" + +"That depends on what it is." She spoke gaily, but the Kid could see +her body stiffen slightly. "I'm no good at big things." + +"Will you go to Paris for me?" His voice was dull and jerky. + +"Paris!" She gazed at him in amazement. "But how, and why?" + +"It will be easy to get you there." He seized on the part of her +question which postponed for a few seconds the hideous thing he was to +ask her. "We can arrange all that quite easily. You see----" He +rambled on with the method of making plans for the journey, until he +caught her eyes, and the look in them made his faltering words die away +to a dreadful silence. + +"And why do you want me to go to Paris, Fritz?" Her voice was hardly +above a whisper. + +Twice he essayed to speak; twice he failed to do more than falter her +name. Then with a gasping cry he took her in his arms and kissed her +passionately. "They shan't," he muttered; "by God! they shan't." And +it was as the Kid watched the scene, with parted lips and quickened +breath, that the curtain moved aside, and he saw the Colonel, like an +evil spirit, regarding the pair with cold malevolence. + +"Delightful!" he remarked after a few moments of cynical observation; +"delightful! Lieutenant Rutter, you are to be congratulated. +Mademoiselle--you are charming; all that my young friend has said, and +more." + +He moved forward and stood by the table, while Marie--her face as white +as death--clung to her lover. "Who is he, Fritz, this ugly old man?" +she whispered terrified. + +"Permit me to introduce to you . . ." Fritz forced the words from his +dry lips, only to stop at the upraised hand of the other. + +"My name, dear young lady, is immaterial," he remarked genially. "Just +an ugly old man, who has had no time to bask in the sunshine of the +smiles of your charming sex." He sat down and lit a cigar. "So you +are going to become a German's wife! Ah, Fritz, my boy, you're a lucky +dog! You'll have to guard your Marie carefully from the rest of the +garrison, when we have finally won and the war is over." He gave a +grating laugh, and blew out a cloud of smoke. + +"What do you want of me?" asked Marie, in a terrified whisper, looking +at him like a bird at a snake. + +"A little service, my dear young Fräulein to be--a little service to +the Fatherland. You must not forget that Germany is now your country +in spirit, if not in actual truth. You are pledged to her just as you +are pledged to your Fritz--in fact, he being an officer, the two are +one and the same thing." He smiled again, and waved his cigar gently +in the air. "And not only will your service benefit the country that +you have chosen as your own, but it will benefit you, because it will +bring the end of the war, and with it your marriage, closer." + +He paused to let the words sink in, but she still watched him +fascinated. + +"One thing more." His eyes gleamed dully through the haze of smoke as +he fixed them on her. "Unless this little service is fulfilled, though +it won't make any difference to the ultimate result as far as Germany +is concerned, it will make a very considerable difference as far as you +and--er--Fritz are concerned." + +"What do you mean?" The girl hardly breathed the words. + +"I mean that there will be no marriage. Painful--but true." + +The Kid watched the young officer's arm tighten convulsively round her +waist--and began to see red. Then the harsh guttural voice continued. +"Well, now, without wasting any more time, let us come to the point. I +had proposed to let Lieutenant Rutter explain things to you; +but--er--from one or two things I overheard, it struck me he might not +make them clear." The beady eyes came slowly round to the Lieutenant. +"That is why I interrupted." Once again he stared at the trembling +girl. "To be brief, Mademoiselle Marie, we anticipate an attack--a big +attack--by the English. We have good information that it is coming in +this neighbourhood." + +The Kid pricked up his ears; what the devil was the man talking about? +"We have every reason to hope that Ovillers, Fricourt, Thiepval are +impregnable; at the same time--in war--one never leaves things to +chance." The Kid's astonishment turned to stupefaction; he himself had +been in the storming of Ovillers. "And the chance," continued the +imperturbable voice, "in this matter is the probable action of the +French--your charming compatriots--er--compatriots, _that were_, +Fräulein. We anticipate this offensive in about a month or six weeks; +and the matter on which we require all the confirmation we can is +whether the French, after their hideous losses at Verdun, can play any +important part in this operation of the enemy. That is where you can +help us." + +For a moment there was dead silence, and then the girl turned her +stricken face to the man beside her. "Dear God!" she muttered, "is +this why you made love to me? To make me a spy?" + +"Marie--no, on my honour; I swear it!" Forgetful of the man sitting at +the table Fritz stretched out his hand in an agony of supplication. + +"Lieutenant Rutter." With a snarl the Colonel stood up. "You forget +yourself. I am speaking. A truce to this fooling. Mademoiselle"--he +turned again on the girl--"we have other things to do beside babble of +love. Call it spying if you will, but we want information, and you can +help us to get it--_must_ help us to get it." + +"And what if I refuse?" Superbly she confronted him; her voice had +come back; her head was thrown up. + +"In the first place you will not marry Lieutenant Rutter; and in the +second place--have you heard that the Comte de St. Jean was taken +prisoner at Verdun?" + +"Philippe. Oh, monsieur, where is he?" The girl threw herself on her +knees before him. "I implore you--he is my only brother." + +"Indeed. Well, if you ever desire to see him again you will carry out +my suggestion. Otherwise----" he paused significantly. + +"Oh, you could not! You could not be so cruel, so vile as to harm him +if he is a prisoner. It would break my mother's heart." + +"Mademoiselle, there is nothing which I would scruple to +do--nothing--if by so doing I advanced the glorious cause of our +Fatherland." The man's small eyes gleamed with the fire of a fanatic; +revolting though he was, yet was there an element of grandeur about +him. Even the Kid, watching silently from the bed, felt conscious of +the power which seemed to spring from him as he stood there, squat and +repulsive, with the lovely French girl kneeling at his feet. He saw +her throw her arms around his knees, and turn up her face to his in an +agony of pleading; and then of a sudden came the tragedy. + +Discipline or no discipline, a man is a man, and Fritz Rutter had +reached the breaking-point. Perhaps it was the sight of the woman he +loved kneeling at the feet of one of the grossest sensualists in +Europe, perhaps---- But who knows? + +"Marie," he cried hoarsely, "it's not true. Philippe is dead; they +cannot hurt him now. Get up, my dear, get up." With folded arms he +faced the other man as the girl staggered to her feet. Heedless of the +blazing passion on the Colonel's face, she crept to Fritz and hid her +face against his chest. And as she stood there she heard the voice of +her tormentor, thick and twisted with hate. + +"For that, Lieutenant Rutter, I will have you disgraced. And then I +will look after your Marie. Orderly!" His voice rose to a shout as he +strode to the door. + +"Good-bye, my love." Fritz strained her to him, and the Kid saw her +kiss him once on the lips. Then she disengaged herself from his arms, +and walked steadily to where the Colonel still shouted up the entrance. +Outside there was the sound of many footsteps, and the girl paused just +behind the cursing maniac in the door. + +"So you will look after me, will you, monsieur?" Her voice rose clear +above the noise, and the man turned round, his malignant face +quivering. The Kid watched it fascinated, and suddenly he saw it +change. "I think not," went on the same clear voice; and the guttural +cry of fear rang out simultaneously with the sharp crack of a revolver. + +"My God!" Rutter stood watching the crumpling figure as it slipped to +the ground in front of the girl; and then with a great cry he sprang +forward. And with that cry, which seemed to ring through his brain, +there came the power of movement to the Kid. He hurled himself off the +bed towards the girl--his girl--his lady of the jasmine. But he was +too late. The second shot was even truer than the first, and as her +head hit the floor she was dead. + +Regardless of Rutter the Kid knelt down beside her, and as he did so, +he got it--in the face. + +"What the blazes are you doing?" roared an infuriated voice. "Damn +you! you young fool--you've nearly killed me." + +Stupefied the boy looked around. The same dug-out; the same officers +of B company; the same beer bottles; but where was the lady of the +jasmine? Where was the man who lay dead in the doorway? Where was +Rutter? + +He blinked foolishly, and looked round to find the lamp still burning +and his brother officers roaring with laughter. All, that is, except +the Doctor on whose stomach he had apparently landed. + +But the Kid was not to be put off by laughter. "I tell you it happened +in this very dug-out," he cried excitedly. "She killed the swine in +the doorway there, and then she killed herself. This is where she +fell, Doc, just where you're lying, and her head hit the wall there. +Look, there's a board there, nailed over the wall--where her head went. +Don't laugh, you fool! don't laugh--it happened. I dreamed it. I know +that now; but it happened for all that--before the big advance. I tell +you she had light golden hair--ah! look." The Doctor had prised off +the board, and there on the wall an ominous red stain showed dull in +the candlelight. Slowly the Doctor bent down and picked up something +with his fingers. Getting up he laid it on the table. And when the +officers of B Company had looked at it, the laughter ceased. It was a +little wisp of light golden hair--and the end was thick and clotted. + +"To-morrow, Kid, you can tell us the yarn," said the Doctor quietly. +"Just now you're going to have a quarter-grain of sleep dope and go to +bed again." + + * * * * * * + +The following evening the officers of B Company, less the Kid, who was +out, sat round the table and talked. + +"What do you make of it, Doc?" asked the Company Commander. "Do you +really think there is anything in the Kid's yarn? I mean, we know he +dreamed it--but do you think it's true? I suppose that tired as he was +he would be in a receptive mood for his imagination to run riot." + +For a long while the Doctor puffed stolidly at his pipe without +answering. Then he leaned forward and put his hand in his pocket. + +"Imagination, you say. Do you call that imagination?" He produced the +lock of hair from a matchbox. "Further, do you call that imagination? +I found it under the pillow this morning." On the table beside the +match-box he placed a small pocket handkerchief, and from it there came +the faint, elusive scent of jasmine. "And last of all, do you call +that imagination? I found it in one of the books yonder." He placed +an old envelope in front of him, and the others crowded round. It was +addressed to Ober-Lieutenant Fritz Rutter. + + + + +VI + +MORPHIA + +The man stirred uneasily, and a faint moan came from his lips. A +numbness seemed to envelop his body from the waist downwards, and in +the intervals of a stabbing pain in his head, he seemed to hear people +whispering near by. A figure passed close to him, the figure of a girl +with fair hair, in a grey dress--the figure of a girl like Molly. A +red-hot iron stabbed his brain; his teeth clenched on his lips; he +fought with all his will, but once again he moaned; he couldn't help +it--it was involuntary. The girl stopped and came towards him; she was +speaking to him, for he heard her voice. But what was she saying? Why +did she speak so indistinctly? Why--ah, but her hand on his forehead +was cool. It seemed to quiet those raging devils in his head; it +helped him, as Molly always helped him. It seemed to--why, surely, it +must be Molly herself, with her dear, soft touch, and her lips ready to +kiss, and the sweet smell of her hair mounting to his brain like wine. +Something pricked his arm: something that felt like the needle of a +syringe; something that . . . But anyway, what the deuce was she +doing? Then suddenly he recalled that pin at the back of her dress, +where he'd pricked his wrist so badly the first time he'd kissed her. + +He laughed gently at the remembrance; and the hand on his forehead +trembled. For laughter to be a pleasant thing to hear it is essential +that the person who laughs should be in full possession of--well, it is +better, at any rate, that his head should not have been hit by a bomb, +especially if it was his lower jaw that bore the brunt. + +"What are you trembling for, Molly?" The voice was tender. "The pain +has quite gone--I must have had a touch of the sun." + +But for a question to be answered it must be audible; and the girl +whose hand was on his forehead heard no words. Merely was there a +great and wonderful pity in her eyes, for the remnant--the torn-up +remnant--who had fought and suffered for her. And the remnant, well, +he was way back in the Land of Has-been. Did I not say that the pin +was at the back of Molly's waist? + + +The woods were just at their best, with the glorious yellow and brown +of early autumn, touched with the gold of the setting sun. In a +clearing a boy was sitting on a fallen tree-trunk, puffing furiously at +a cigarette. Twice had the smoke gone the wrong way, and once had it +got into his eyes; but when one is aged sixteen such trifles are merely +there to be overcome. The annoying thing was that he was still engaged +in absorbing the overflowing moisture from his eyes, with a +handkerchief of doubtful cleanliness, when a girl came into the glade +and started to laugh. + +"There's no good pretending, Billy. The smoke has got into your eyes, +and your handkerchief is dirty, and you aren't impressing me in the +slightest." + +"Hallo, Molly! I wasn't expecting you so soon." The smoker looked a +little sheepish. + +"Indeed! Then if I'm not wanted, I'll go away again." + +"No, no, Molly--don't do that." The boy rose eagerly, and went towards +her. Then he stopped awkwardly, and putting his hands in his pocket, +fidgeted with his feet. + +"Well--why not?" The girl smiled provokingly. "And what are you +hopping about for? Are you going to try to learn to dance, as I +suggested?" + +"I will if you will teach me, Molly--dear." He took a step forward +eagerly--and then paused again, aghast at the audacity of that "dear." +Something in the cool, fresh young girl standing so easily in front of +him, smiling with faint derision, seemed to knock on the head all that +carefully thought out plan which had matured in his mind during the +silent watches of the previous night. It had all seemed so easy then. +Johnson major's philosophy on life in general and girls in particular +was one thing in the abstract, and quite another when viewed in the +concrete, with a real, live specimen to practice on. And yet Johnson +major was a man of much experience--and a prefect of some standing at +school. + +"My dear fellows," he had said on one occasion when holding the floor +in his study, "I don't want to brag, and _we_ do not speak about these +things." The accent on the _we_ had been wonderful. It implied +membership of that great body of youthful dare-devils to whom the wiles +of women present no terrors. "But women, my dear fellows, why--good +lord, there's nothing in it when one knows the way to manage them. +They adore being kissed--provided it's done the right way. And if you +don't know the right way instinctively, it comes with practice, old +boy, it comes with practice." Billy had listened in awe, though +preserving sufficient presence of mind to agree with the speaker in +words of suitable nonchalance. + +Of course, Johnson major must have been right; but, devil take it, +there seemed remarkably little instinct available at the present +moment; and up to date in Billy's career, practice in the proper +procedure had been conspicuous by its absence. + +"I think you're rather dull to-day." The girl was speaking again, and +there was more than a hint of laughter in her voice. "What's the +matter with you? Has that cigarette made you feel sick?" + +"Certainly not. I--er--oh, Molly, I----" + +The desperate words trembled on his lips--trembled and died away under +the laughter in her eyes. + +"Yes?" she murmured inquiringly. "What is it, Billy?" + +Oh, woman, woman! Just sixteen, but at two you have learned the +beginnings of the book of Eve. + +"I--er--I--oh, dash it, let's go for a walk!" With a gasp of relief he +swung on his heel; the fatal plunge had been put off for a little; he +hadn't made a fool of himself--yet, at any rate. "Do you mind if I +smoke?" + +"Not if you don't." The girl was walking demurely beside him, down the +narrow lane carpeted with its first layers of auburn brown. "Are you +sure it's wise? Two so close together might not be good for you." + +Two close together--not good for him! Absurd; it was nothing to what +he was accustomed to, and yet--why, his head was throbbing, throbbing +as he looked at the girl beside him? What was that distant noise like +the slow beating of a mighty drum, that seemed to quiver and vibrate in +the air till it filled his brain with a great rush of sound, and then +sobbed away into silence? What was the matter with his right hand that +it burned and twitched so ceaselessly? Surely he hadn't burnt himself +with the cigarette! He looked down to see, but somehow things were +indistinct. It almost seemed as if he hadn't got a hand; the woods +were hazy--Molly seemed far away. In her place was a man, a man with a +stubby growth on his chin, a man who bent over him and muttered +something. + +"Gawd, Ginger, the poor devil ain't dead neither! Lift him up +carefully. There's his right arm over there, and his back---- Oh, my +gawd! Poor devil!" + +Thus had the battalion stretcher-bearers found him the day before. . . . + +The man became irritable. + +"Go away at once! Can't you see I'm with a lady. Molly, dear, where +are you? What is this dirty-looking fellow doing here at all?" + +But Molly for the moment seemed aloof. He saw her there, standing in +the path in front of him--so close and yet somehow so curiously far +away. + +"Molly, do you hear that noise--that strange beating in the air? I +think I'm going to be ill. Perhaps two close together are too much." + +But no--apparently not. Suddenly everything was clear again, and there +was Molly with the autumn wind blowing the soft tendrils of hair back +from the nape of her neck; Molly, with the skirt that betokens the +half-way period between flapperhood and coming out; Molly, with her +lithe young figure half turned from him as she watched the sun sinking +over the distant hills. + +"They adore being kissed." The words of the wonderful Johnson major +were ringing in his brain as he watched her, and suddenly something +surged up within him. What matter rules and theories? What matter +practice? There is only one way to kiss a girl, and rules and theories +avail not one jot. With a quick step he had her in his arms, and, with +his pulses hammering with the wonder of it, he watched her face come +round to his. He kissed her cheek, her eyes, her mouth--shyly at +first, and then with gathering confidence as a boy should kiss a girl. + +The sweetness of it, the newness of it, the eternal joy of a woman in a +man's arms for the first time! Surely it had never been quite like +that with any one else before. Of course, other people kissed, +but--this was different. Suddenly the girl disengaged her arms and +wound them gently round his neck. She pulled his head towards her, and +kissed him again and again, while he felt her heart beating against his +coat. + +"Billy, my dear!" + +Almost he missed the whispered words coming faintly from somewhere in +the neighbourhood of his tie. + +"Molly--Molly, darling--I love you!" + +The boy's voice was shaky, his grip almost crushed her. + +"Do you, Billy? I'm so glad! I want you to love me, +because--because----" + +She looked at him shyly. + +"Say it, sweetheart, say it." He held her at arm's-length--no longer +bashful, no longer wondering whether he dared; but insistent, +imperious, a young god for the moment. "Because what?" + +"Because I love you too, you darling!" + +Once again she was in his arms, once again did time cease, while the +lengthening shadows stole softly towards them; and a squirrel, +emboldened by their stillness, watched for a while with indulgent eyes. + +At last the girl gently turned away, and the boy's arms fell to his +side. + +"Molly, you've got a pin in your waistband. Look, you've pricked my +wrist." + +"Billy, my dear, let me do it up. Why didn't you tell me, you poor old +boy?" + +"I didn't notice it, I didn't even feel it, you darling." + +The boy laughed gladly as she bound his handkerchief round the wounded +arm; and, bending forward, kissed her neck, just where the hair left +it, just where--but what had happened? Where was she? She had gone, +the trees had gone, the sun had set, and it was dark, terribly dark. + +Once again that mighty drum beat close by, and voices came dimly +through a haze to the man's brain. Some one was touching him, a finger +was probing gently over his head, a sentence came to him as if from a +vast distance. + +"Good God! Poor devil! If we have to go we must leave him. Any +movement would kill him at once." + +"I won't have you touching the bandage that Molly has put on!" said the +man angrily. "My wrist will be quite all right; it's absurd to make a +fuss about a pin-prick." + +And perhaps because there are sounds to which no man can listen +unmoved, the quiet-faced doctor drew out his hypodermic syringe. The +girl with the grey dress, her steps lagging a little with utter +physical weariness, paused at the foot of his bed, and waited with an +encouraging smile. + +"Molly," he cried eagerly, "come and talk to me! I've been dreaming +about you." + +But she merely continued to smile at him, though in her eyes there was +the sadness of a divine pity. Then once again something pricked his +arm. A great silence seemed to come down on him like a pall, a silence +that was tangible, in which strange faces passed before him in a +jumbled procession. They seemed to swing past like fishes drifting +across the glass window of an aquarium--ghostly, mysterious, and yet +very real. A man in a dirty grey uniform, with a bloodstained bandage +round his forehead, who leered at him; Chilcote, his company commander, +who seemed to be shouting and cheering and waving his arm; a sergeant +of his platoon, with a grim smile on his face, who held a rifle with a +fixed bayonet that dripped. + +"All right, Chilcote," he shouted, "we'll have the swine out in a +minute!" + +But Chilcote had gone, and through the silence came a muffled roar. + +"The drum again!" he muttered irritably. "What the devil is the good +of trying to surprise the Huns if we have the band with us! You don't +want a band when you're attacking a village! A band is for marching +to, and dancing, not for fighting." Of course, if it was going to +continue playing, they might just as well have a dance, and be done +with it. He laughed a little. "You've had too much champagne for +supper, my boy," he soliloquised. "What do you mean by 'might as well +have a dance'? Can't you see that awe-inspiring gentleman in the red +coat is on the point of striking up now?" He looked across the room, a +room that seemed a trifle hazy, and thought hard. Surely he hadn't had +too much to drink, and yet the people were so vague and unreal? And +why the deuce did a ballroom band have a big drum? He gave it up after +a moment, and silently watched the scene. + +He remembered now quite clearly, and with an amused laugh at his +momentary forgetfulness, he looked at his programme. The third supper +extra was just beginning, and two dances after that he had four in +succession with Molly--the fateful hour when he had determined to try +his luck. + +At present she was having supper with a nasty-looking man, with long +hair and an eyeglass, who was reputed to be a rising politician, in the +running for an under-secretaryship, and was also reputed to be in love +with Molly. He looked savagely round the room, and, having failed to +discover them, he strolled to the bar to get a drink. + +"Hallo, Billy; not dancing? She loves me; she loves me not! Cheer up, +dearie!" + +An inane-looking ass raised his whisky-and-soda to his lips with a +fatuous cackle. + +"I wonder they don't have a home for people like you, Jackson," +remarked Billy curtly. "Whisky-and-soda, please." + +He gave his order to the waiter and lit a cigarette. He hardly heard +what the irrepressible Jackson was saying, but allowed him to babble on +in peace while his thoughts centred on Molly. How absolutely sweet she +was looking in that shimmering, gauzy stuff that just went with her +hair, and showed off her figure to perfection! If only she said "yes," +he'd arrange the party going back in the cars so that he got her alone +in the two-seater. If only--good lord, would the dance never come? + +He looked up, and saw her passing into the ball-room with her supper +partner; and, as he did so, she looked half round and caught his eye. +Just a second, no more; but on her lips had trembled the faintest +suspicion of a smile--a smile that caused his heart to beat madly with +hope, a smile that said things. He sat back in his chair and the hand +that held his glass trembled a little. + +"I don't believe you've been listening to me, Billy." The egregious +Jackson emitted a plaintive wail. "I don't believe you've heard a word +I said." + +"Perfectly correct in both statements, dear boy!" Billy rose abruptly +to his feet and smacked him on the back. "One must give up something +in Lent, you know." + +"But it isn't Lent." Jackson looked aggrieved. "And you've made me +spill my drink." + +But he spoke to the empty air and a melancholy waiter, for Billy was +back in the ballroom, waiting. . . . + +"You smiled at me, lady, a while ago," he said softly in her ear, as +they swung gently through the crowded room. "I thought it was a smile +that said things. Was thy servant very presumptuous in thus reading +his queen's glance? Confound you, sir; that's my back!" + +He glared furiously at a bull-necked thruster in a pink coat. + +"Hush, Billy!" laughed the girl, as they lost him in the crowd. +"That's our master!" + +"I don't care a hang who he is, but he's rammed one of my brace-buttons +into my spine! He's the sort of man who knocks you down and tramples +on your face, after supper!" + +For a few moments they continued in silence, perhaps the two best +dancers in the room, and gradually she seemed to come closer to him, to +give herself up entirely to him, until, as in a dream, they moved like +one being and the music softly died away. For a moment the man stood +still, pressing the girl close to him, and then, with a slight sigh +that was almost one of pain, he let her go. + +"Are you glad I taught you to dance?" she asked laughingly; while the +room shouted for an encore. + +"Glad," he whispered, "glad! Ah! my lady, my lady, to dance with you +is the nearest approach to heaven that we poor mortals may have. For +all that"--he steered her swiftly through the expectant couples towards +a door covered with a curtain--"I want an answer to a question I asked +you just before my spine was broken!" He held up the curtain for her +to pass through, and piloted her to an easy-chair hidden behind some +screens in a discreetly lighted room. "Did your smile say things, my +lady? Did you tell me something as you went into the ballroom with +that long-haired lawyer?" + +"My dear boy, I wasn't smiling at you! I was smiling at that nice Mr. +Jackson man." + +"Molly, you're a liar! You know you hate that ass; you told me so +yourself yesterday!" + +"All the more reason to smile at him. Billy, give me a cigarette." +She leaned towards him slightly as he offered her his case, and their +eyes met. Her breath came a little quicker as she read the message +blazing out of his, and then she looked away again. "And a match, +please," she continued quietly. + +"Confound the match and the cigarette, too!" His voice was shaking. +"Molly, Molly, I know I'm mad! I know it's just the height of idiocy +from a so-called worldly point of view, but I can't help it. I've +tried and struggled; I've been away for two years and haven't seen you. +But, oh! my dear, the kisses you gave me when you were a flapper, +before you came out, before your mother got this bee in her bonnet +about some big marriage for you--those kisses are still burning my +lips. I can feel them now, princess, and the remembrance of 'em drives +me mad! I know I'm asking you to chuck your mother's ambitions; I know +I've got nothing to offer you, except the old name, which doesn't count +for much these days. But, oh! my lady, I just worship the very ground +you walk on. Is there just a chance for me? I'd simply slave for you, +if you'd let me!" + +Through the closed door came stealing the soft music of a waltz, while +from another corner came the sound of a whispered tête-à-tête. Very +still was the girl as she sat in the big arm-chair, with the man +pleading passionately at her side. Once she caught her breath quickly +when he recalled the time gone by--the time before her mother's +political ambitions had ruthlessly waged war on her, and done their +best to drive Nature out of her outlook on life; and, when he had +finished speaking, she gave a little tired smile. + +"Billy boy," she whispered, "is that how you've felt about it all this +while?" + +He made no answer, but, stretching out his hands, he took hold of her +two wrists. + +"You've really remembered those kisses when we were kids?" she went on +softly. + +"Remembered them? Dear heavens, my lady, I wouldn't lose that +remembrance for untold wealth! It's been with me in Alaska; it's been +with me in Hong Kong. I've woken up at nights with the feel of your +lips on mine, and all the glory of you, and the sweetness; and it's +helped me on when everything was black, and made things bright when the +world was rotten!" With a bitter sigh he took his hands away and sat +back in his chair. "And I've failed! Jove! the wild schemes and the +plans, the golden visions and the Eldorados--all failed. Just a little +money, just enough to have a burst in England, just enough to be able +to see you. And then it slipped out. Lady, dear, I never meant to +before I came to the Towers. I knew you were there, but I never meant +to ask you. Wash it out, my princess; wash it out! I haven't said a +word. You've been teaching me a new step; let's go back and dance. +I've been mad this evening, and, unless we go back and dance, I can't +guarantee remaining sane!" + +But the girl made no move. With parted lips she swayed towards him, +while he watched her, with the veins standing out on his forehead. +"Billy--I don't care; I'm mad, too!" The scent she used was mounting +to his brain--the nearness of her was driving him mad. + +"Molly, get back to that ballroom; get back quick, or----" He spoke +through his clenched teeth. + +"Or what, Billy boy?" She smiled deliciously. + +And then he kissed her: a kiss that seemed to draw her soul to her +lips: a kiss that lifted him until he travelled through endless spaces +in a great aching void where time and distance ceased, and nothing +happened save a wonderful ecstasy, and ever and anon the mighty booming +of a giant drum. + +He seemed to be treading on air, and though the ballroom had vanished, +and the discreet apartment with shaded lights had faded away, yet he +was very conscious of the nearness of his girl. But just now, he could +not see her--she eluded him, leaving an ever-present feeling that she +would be waiting for him round the next of those intangible masses he +seemed to be drifting through. + +"You don't mind waiting, my princess?" he murmured ceaselessly. "After +this war it will all come right. Just now I've got to go--I must go +out there; but afterwards, it will all come right--and we'll live in a +house in the country and grow cabbages and pigs. You'll wait, you say? +Ah! my dear, my dear; it's sweet of you; but perhaps you ought to have +married the lawyer man. You might have been Mrs. Prime Minister one of +these days." + +For a while the tired brain refused to act; the man felt himself +falling into unplumbed depths--depths which echoed with monstrous +reverberations. + +"Molly, where are you, dear? It's cold, and my head is throbbing to +beat the band. If only that cursed drum would stop! Do you hear it +echoing through the air? And the noise hurts--hurts like hell, Molly. +Ah! Heaven, but it's cold; and I can't see you, my lady; I don't know +where you are." + +Once again he became conscious of figures moving around him. They +seemed to be carrying motionless men past his feet--men on stretchers +covered with blankets. With staring eyes he watched the proceeding, +trying to understand what was happening. In front of him was a window +in which the glass had been smashed, leaving great jagged pieces +sticking out from the sides of the frame. He wondered vaguely why it +had been left in such a dangerous condition; when he and Molly had +their house such a thing would never be allowed to happen--if it did it +would be mended at once. He asked one of the passing figures what had +caused the damage, and when he got no answer he angrily repeated the +question. + +He fretted irritably because no one seemed to take any notice of him, +and suddenly his head began throbbing worse than ever. But the hazy +indistinctness was gone; the man was acutely conscious of everything +around him. Memory had come back, and he knew where he was and why he +was there. He remembered the fierce artillery bombardment; he recalled +getting over the parapet, out on to the brown shell-pocked earth, +sodden and heavy with the drenching rain; he recalled the steady +shamble over the ground with boots so coated with wet mud that they +seemed to drag him back. Then clear in his mind came the picture of +Chilcote cheering, shouting, lifting them on to the ruins of what once +had been a village; he saw Chilcote falter, stop, and, with a curious +spinning movement, crash forward on to his face; he saw the Germans--he +saw fierce-faced men like animals at bay, snarling, fighting; he heard +once again that trembling cry of "_Kamerade_"; and then--a blank. The +amazing thing was that it was all jumbled up with Molly. He seemed to +have been with her lately--and yet she couldn't have been out there +with him. He puzzled a bit, and then gave it up: it hurt his head so +terribly to think. He just lay still, gazing fixedly at the jagged, +torn pane of glass. . . . + + +"They are all out, Doctor, except this one." + +A woman was speaking close beside him, and his eyes slowly travelled +round in the direction of the voice. It was another woman--a woman he +hadn't seen before--swaying slightly as if she would drop. + +"Good heavens! it's Billy Saunders!" + +A man in khaki was bending over him--a man whom he recognised as a +civilian doctor he'd known at home--a man, moreover, who knew Molly. + +"Do you know me, old chap?" + +"Of course," answered the man. "What's all the trouble?" + +The doctor bit his lip, and the man noticed his hand clench hard. Then +there started a low-voiced conversation, a conversation to which he +listened attentively--his hearing seemed abnormally acute. + +"Has he spoken since he's been in, sister?" + +"No--only those dreadful moans. The whole of his face--absolutely +hopeless--spinal cord." + +The man lying motionless caught the disjointed words. What did they +mean? They were mad--insane. Dying? He--Billy Saunders! What about +Molly--his Molly? What about. . . . Gentle fingers once again touched +his head, and, looking up, he saw the doctor's eyes fixed on his. + +"They're shelling the hospital, dear old man; we've got to get---- +Great Scott, look out!" + +Like the moan of a giant insect, the shrill whine came through the air, +rising to an overwhelming scream. There was a deafening crash--a great +hole was torn in the wall just by the window with the jagged pane, and +the room filled with stifling black fumes. A sudden agonising stab, +and the man, looking up, saw Molly in front of him. She was standing +in the acrid smoke--beckoning. + +"I'm coming, dear, I'm coming!" he cried; "it's good of you to have +waited, girl of mine--so good." + + * * * * * * + +"Are you hurt, sister?" The doctor, who had been crouching by the bed, +stood up. + +"Not touched, thank you." She was white and shaking. "Did you hear +the bits whizzing through the room?" + +"I did," remarked the doctor grimly, holding out an arm from which the +blood already dripped. "And I felt one of them too. But there's no +time to lose--I don't know what to do about him, poor old chap." + + +He turned once again to the bed, and even as he turned he knew that the +decision had been made for him: and he thanked the Maker. Billy +Saunders had also felt a bit--a jagged bit--through the heart. + + + + +VII + +BENDIGO JONES--HIS TREE + +My story--such as it is--concerns a camouflage tree and Bendigo Jones: +both of which--or whom--will require a little more introduction. That +Bendigo would indignantly repudiate any such necessity, I am fully +aware; nevertheless, even at the risk of offending him, I propose to +outline briefly his claims to greatness, before embarking on the +incident in his military career which forms the subject of these pages. + +First however--the camouflage tree. It is only meet that the material +and sordid details of the stage properties should be given, before +branching into any discussion of the capabilities of the actor. The +phrase, then, does not imply--as the ignorant might possibly be led to +believe--a new type of tree. It does not grow in the tropics amongst a +riotous tangle of pungent undergrowth; it does not creak sadly in the +north wind on the open hill. It shelters not the hibiscus anthropoid, +it gives not lodging to the two-tailed newt. From a botanical point of +view, the tree is a complete and utter frost. It is, in point of hard +and bitter fact, not a tree at all. + +"Camouflage" is that which conceals: it is a fraud, and speaketh not +the truth. I am not even certain whether it is a noun or a +preposition, but the point is immaterial. Along with other canons of +military matters, its virtue lies in its application rather than in its +etymology. What the eye doth not see the trench mortars do not trouble +is as true to-day as when Noah first mentioned the fact; and camouflage +is the application of this mighty dictum. + +The value of any particular piece of camouflage depends entirely on its +capability for deceit; but to the youthful enthusiast I would speak a +word of warning. I have in mind the particular case of young Angus +MacTaggart, a lad from Glasgow, with freckles and a sunny disposition. +He was a sapper by trade, and on his shoulders there devolved, on one +occasion, the job of covering a trench mortar emplacement with a +camouflage of wire and grass which would screen the hole in which sat +the mortar from the prying gaze of Hun aeroplanes. It was a deep hole, +for the mortar was large; and the screen of wire was fastened to a +framework of wood. When the gun wished to do its morning hate, a +pessimistic individual first scoured the heavens with his glasses in +search of Hun planes. If the scouring revealed nothing, the screen was +lowered, and the gun was made ready. Then the detachment faded away, +and the gun was fired by a man of great personal bravery by means of a +long string. Ever since the first trench mortars, which consisted of a +piece of piping down which a jam-tin bomb was dropped, in the hopes +that when the charge at the bottom was lighted, the bomb would again +emerge, I have regarded trench mortars as dangerous and unpleasant +objects, and the people who deal with them as persons of a high order +of courage. One remembers the times when the bomb did not emerge, but +stuck half way and exploded violently; one remembers when the entire +gun fell over and propelled the bomb in the direction of battalion +headquarters; above all, one remembers the loathing and contumely with +which the mere arrival of the trench mortar in any part of the trenches +was greeted. Then there was no attempt at camouflage; one's sole +endeavour was to avoid being killed by the beastly thing. + +To return, however, to Angus. Though of a sunny disposition, as I have +said, he was a somewhat earnest individual--and thorough withal. He +determined that as a camouflage, _his_ should stand pre-eminent; it +should be the model and pattern of all camouflages. He succeeded. + +Labouring at night--largely with his own fair hands--he produced a +screen cunningly woven with grasses and weeds which he swore would defy +the most lynx-eyed pilot. He even went so far as to place in the +centre of it a large bunch of nettles, which he contended gave it an +air of insouciance and lightheartedness that had been lacking before. + +Now, as I mentioned above, the value of camouflage depends on its +capability for deceit; and it is by this criterion that I claim his +work as a success. It should be added, however, in no uncertain tones, +that it is the Germans whom one is desirous of deceiving, and that is +where my warning to the youthful enthusiast comes in. + +The thing came too quickly for warning. Suddenly from above the +inhabitants of the hole, with whom Angus was consuming a midday glass +of port, was heard the voice: "It must be somewhere about here, sir, I +think." The voice was right--it was. + +They came through in a phalanx of fire, and descended abruptly on the +detachment below. It was a magnificent compliment to the work, but it +was unfortunate that the General should have been the one to consume +the nettles. However, I have always thought that Angus's voice of +disgust as he contemplated the wreckage of his screen did not improve +matters. + +"The door," he remarked, with painful distinctness, "is full of +possibilities." With that he left. + +I trust the moral of my digression is obvious. . . . Having then, in a +few well-chosen phrases, discussed one type of camouflage, I would pass +on and lead the thirster for information still farther into the +by-paths of knowledge. Just as there are many and divers types of +deceit, varying from that which conceals what is, to that which exposes +what is not--involved that last, but think it out--so are there many +types of camouflage. And the particular one with which I am concerned, +deals with a tree. + +On a certain slight eminence in what was otherwise a flat and dreary +outlook, there stood the stump of a tree. It was a tired stump, +strongly reminiscent of the morning after. It had had a hard life, and +much of its pristine glory had faded. No longer did the sprightly +sparrow chirrup cheerfully to its young from leafy branches; no longer +did cattle recline in its shade during the heat of the day. It was +just a stump--a stump complete with splinters. + +Its sole claim to notoriety lay in its position. It commanded a view +of the German lines which was not to be had elsewhere; in fact, from +the eminence on which it stood you could obtain the only good +observation of the opposite trenches in that particular sector of the +line. + +It was the Brigade Major who first suggested the idea in the fertile +brain of the C.R.E. of the Division, who happened to be talking to him +at the moment. They were in the support line trenches, and close to +where they stood, the tree--gaunt, repulsive and toothpicky--raised its +stunted head to heaven. + +"What a pity that tree ain't hollow!" ruminated the Staff officer +thoughtfully. "Splendid view from it of the Huns. Can't do anything +in that line, can you, Colonel?" + +The C.R.E. thoughtfully considered the proposition. "Afraid not, old +boy," he answered after a few moments' deliberation. "Bit of a job +hollowing out a tree. All the same, you're quite right. It would make +a great O.P." + +"Why not make another down in your yard, and put it up instead?" The +Brigadier joined in the discussion. "We must have better observation +in this sector if we possibly can." + +"Cut this one down one night and put up a dummy in its place." The +C.R.E once again considered the wretched stump. "Not a bad idea, +General; the only question is who is to do it. It will have to be a +good model, or the Huns will spot the difference; and . . ." Suddenly +his face cleared. "By Jove! I've got it--Bendigo Jones. He's the man +for the job." + +"And who the deuce is Bendigo Jones?" asked the General, as the Sapper +rapidly jotted down something in his note-book. "He sounds like a +prize fighter or the inventor of a patent medicine." + +"Bendigo Jones, General, is my latest acquisition. I have it on no +less an authority than his own that he is a very remarkable man. I +gather that he is futurist by inclination, and dyspeptic by nature, +which I take to be a more or less natural sequence of events. At +present he adorns my office, and looks intense." + +"He sounds rather like a disease," murmured the Brigade Major. "From +what you say, I gather he considers himself an artist." + +"He sculpts, or whatever a sculptor does when he gets busy." The +Colonel smiled gently. "How he ever blew out here I cannot imagine, +but these things will occur. I offended him mortally, I regret to say, +the first day he arrived, by confessing that I had never even heard his +name, much less seen his work, but I think he's forgiven me. I allowed +him to arrange the timber yard to-day more aesthetically, and the +Sergeant-major thinks he is soft in the head, so Bendigo is supremely +happy." + +"He sounds a perfect treasure," remarked the Brigadier drily. +"However, as long as he models that tree and we get it up somehow, and +I never see him, I shall be quite happy, old boy." + +"It shall be done," answered the C.R.E., "by our little Bendy himself. +A life-size, hollow camouflage stump shall replace the original, +complete with peephole and seat." + +Thus lightly was settled the immediate future of one of the world's +great ones. In view, however, of the fact that the world is so often +lamentably ignorant of greatness, it now becomes necessary for me to +carry out my second introduction and enlighten the Philistines as to +what they have missed by their miserable and sordid materialism. + +Be it known then that for several years Bendigo Jones had been in the +habit of inflicting upon a long-suffering and inoffensive public a +series of lumps of material. What these lumps were supposed to +represent no one has yet discovered; and I am given to understand that +unless the proud perpetrator noted it himself on completion, he too was +usually unable to elucidate the mystery. It was not of great account, +as he ran not the slightest risk of contradiction whatever he said; and +as no person ever willingly went twice to his exhibitions, he could +vary the title daily without fear of discovery. Another great point +about his work was its many-sidedness. A lump looked at from one side +would perhaps represent "Pelican with young," while on the other "The +Children's Hour, or six o'clock at Mud View Villa," would be depicted. +This, needless to say, economised greatly in space and matter; and in +case any special exhibit failed to arrive in time, or was thrown away +by mistake, an old one turned upside down at once remedied the defect. + +His nearest approach to fame occurred during the period which followed +the perpetration of his celebrated "Mother with her Child." It was +announced that the gifted sculptor had worked on it for five years; and +a certain amount of light was thrown on his methods by an interview he +managed to get published in some obscure journal. + +"Rising with a hoarse cry," ran this effusion, "Mr. Bendigo Jones +hurled himself at his work. With a single blow he removed a +protuberance, and then sank back exhausted. + +"'You see the difference,' he cried, 'you see how I have altered her +expression.' + +"'Whose?' I murmured dazedly. + +"'Why, the face of the woman. Ah! dolt, blockhead, have you no +eyes--have you no soul?' + +"'But you told me that was a church at sunset,' I remonstrated feebly. + +"'What has that to do with it?' he shouted. 'It is what I like to make +it, fool. What is a name? Nothing--a bagatelle. I have changed my +mind every day for the last five years, and now my life's work is +done--done.' + +"Mr. Bendigo Jones sobbed quietly, and I stole away. It was not for me +to gaze on such grief. And as I went through the open window I heard +his final whisper. + +"'It shall be none of these things. I will pander to vile +utilitarianism. It shall be--"A City Magnate at Lunch."'" + +It may be remembered that when it was finally put on view in London, +enormous interest was aroused by an enterprising weekly paper offering +prizes to the extent of a thousand pounds to any one who could guess +what it was; and though Bendigo Jones's pocket was helped considerably +by his percentage of the gate money, his pride suffered considerably +when the answers were made public. They ranged from, "Model of the +first steam engine when out of control," to "An explosion of a ship at +sea," both of which happy efforts gained a bag of nuts. The answer +adjudged most nearly correct was sent in by a Fulham butcher, who +banked on "Angry gentleman quarrelling with his landlord on +quarter-day": which at any rate had the merit of making it human. + +But I have digressed enough; I will return to my sad story. How our +friend ever did arrive in France is as much of a mystery to me as it +was to the Colonel; presumably a ruthless government, having decided it +required men, roped him in along with the other lesser lights. The +fiat went forth, and so did Bendigo--mildly protesting: to adorn in the +fullness of time the office of the C.R.E. of whom I have spoken. And +he was sitting there exhausted by his labours in helping the +Sergeant-major rearrange the timber yard aesthetically, when a message +arrived that the Colonel wished to speak to him. + +"I understand, Jones, that you are a sculptor," remarked that officer +genially, as our hero entered the office. "Now, can you model a tree?" + +Bendigo gazed dreamily out of the window. "A tree," he murmured at +length. "A little, beautiful tree. Green with the verdant loveliness +of youth . . . green . . . green." + +"It isn't," snapped the Colonel. "It's brown, and damned hideous, and +full of splinters." + +"Only to the eye of unbelief, sir." The sculptor regarded him +compassionately. "To us--to those who can see things as they ought to +be--more, as they spiritually are . . . it is different." + +A door closed somewhat hastily, and the sounds from the next room +seemed to indicate that the Adjutant's cough was again troubling him. +The Colonel however remained calm. + +"I have no doubt, Jones," he remarked dispassionately, "that what you +have just said has some meaning. It is even remotely possible that you +know what it means yourself. I don't; and I do not propose to try. I +propose, on the other hand, to descend to the sordid details of what I +wish you to do. You will commence without delay." He leaned back in +his chair, and proceeded to fill his pipe. + +"Up the line there is a tree stump standing on rising ground, which I +wish you to copy. The model must be sufficiently good to deceive the +Germans. It will be hollow, and of such a size as will accommodate an +observer. The back will be hinged. When your model is made, the real +tree stump will be removed one night and the sham one substituted. Do +you follow me?" + +It is more than doubtful if he even heard. A slight attack of +dyspepsia shook him as the Colonel finished speaking, and he passed his +hands twice through his hair. "The thought--the future vista--is +beautiful," he murmured. "And think; think of the advertisement. +To-morrow, sir, I will gaze upon it, and fashion it in clay. Then I +will return and commence the great work." + +He faded slowly through the door; and after a long pause the Colonel +spoke. "I wonder," he remarked thoughtfully to the Adjutant who had +returned: "I wonder why such things are. . . ." + + * * * * * * + +I am given to understand that the arrival of Bendigo Jones at the scene +of his labours the next morning caused such a sensation amongst those +privileged to witness the spectacle that the entire trench was blocked +for two hours. To only a chosen band was vouchsafed the actual sight +of the genius at work; the remainder had to be content with absorbing +his remarks as they were passed down the expectant line. And it was +doubtless unfortunate that the Divisional General should have chosen +the particular moment when the divine fire of genius was at its +brightest to visit the support line in company with his G.S.O.I. and a +galaxy of other bright and shining luminaries of the military world. + +"What is the meaning of this extraordinary crush in the trench this +morning?" he remarked irritably to his Staff officer, as the procession +was again held up by a knot of interested men. + +"I really don't know, sir," murmured that worthy. "It's most unusual; +it's . . ." + +His words were drowned by howls of delighted laughter from round the +traverse in front, and the next moment a perspiring soldier forced his +way into the bay where the great ones were temporarily wedged. It was +the special runner who was carrying the latest gem from the lips of +Bendigo--at work a little farther up--to the expectant and breathless +audience. + +"Hay! little sandbag! Ho! little sandbag! 'Ow beautiful hart thou in +textchah." + +"Go on, Bill. Did the perisher say that?" An incredulous member of +the group looked doubtful. + +"Did 'e say it?" The carrier of news looked scornfully at the doubter. +"Did 'e say it? Lumme! 'E said it twice, and then he buried 'is mug +in its loverly fragrant surface, and pricked his nose on Ginger's +bayonet. 'E's mad, boys; 'e's as mad as a plurry 'atter; 'e's got bats +in 'is belfry." + +Now, in spite of what I know of Bendigo Jones, I must admit that this +reputed remark taxes even my credulity. Mad he undoubtedly was when +viewed by the sordid standards of the vandals around him, but this +inspiring ode to a sandbag grew somewhat, I cannot but help thinking, +in the transmission. The regrettable thing was that it should have +reached this stage when it was unwittingly presented to the Divisional +General. + +"Gangway!" he roared, as the hilarity remained unabated: "gangway!" He +elbowed his way through the suddenly silent throng and confronted the +special runner. "Now, my man, tell me--what is all this tommy rot +about?" + +"Bloke farther up the trenches, sir, wot don't seem quite right in the +'ead." Somewhat confused at the sudden appearance of the powers that +be, the perspiring harbinger of bons mots relapsed into an +uncomfortable and depressing silence. + +"Not right in the head," barked the General. "God bless my soul! It +must be the heat. Dreadful. What shall we do, Curtis?" He appealed +for support to his Staff officer. + +"I think, sir, the Doctor might precede us," answered the other +resourcefully, "and see if the man is dangerous. If so, no doubt he +will arrange for his removal before he does any harm." + +The A.D.M.S., or Assistant Director of Medical Services--the official +title of the principal bolus booster in a Division--emerged with a +sickly smile from behind a corner, and advanced unwillingly to the head +of the procession. + +"Excellent idea," remarked the General affably. "You can prescribe for +him when you see the symptoms, old boy. Probably a most interesting +case--provided he doesn't stab you on sight." + +"Sit on his head, Doc., if he comes for you," remarked the Staff +officer, gracefully handing over the position of leader, "and, above +all, dear old thing, don't let him bite you. Give him a Number Nine to +chew, and we'll bind him when he becomes unconscious." + +"It's all jolly fine for you to laugh," said the Doctor peevishly. +"I'm fat and you're thin, and you can hide behind me." + +They reached the bay of the trench next to Bendigo, just as a further +great utterance was starting on its way. In the excitement of the +moment, caused by the General's sudden appearance, much of this gem was +lost. + +What was heard, however, did not diminish the Doctor's alarm. + +"Howls in the leafy verdure," he remarked anxiously. "Good Heavens, +General, he must be up the tree stump!" + +"That's all right, sir!" remarked a sergeant reassuringly. "'E's quite +'armless. It's his spirit mind, 'e says. He thinks the tree is full +of leaves." + +"Yes--but who is howling in it," asked the General irritably. "I don't +hear a sound." + +"It's his spirit mind again, sir," answered the sergeant respectfully. +"There ain't no one 'owling really; 'e means howls wot 'oot." + +The procession paused awhile to digest this momentous fact, and the +Staff officer seized the opportunity to again comfort the Doctor. + +"Get him at once, old sport, before he becomes homicidal. You never +know when the phase will change. He may fish in his tin hat with a +bent pin first or he may shoot you on sight, but I'd go at once if I +were you. You stand more chance." + +Undoubtedly the sight which confronted them on rounding the traverse +justified their worst fears. The Doctor recoiled with a choking noise +and endeavoured to wave the Staff officer forward. + +"Not on your life, Doc.," remarked that worthy grimly--"not on your +life. Go right in; and with your bulk you oughtn't to feel it much, +wherever he kicks you." + +Personally, I maintain the whole thing was rather hard on Bendigo. +Before sending him up the line he should have been labelled; some +warning as to his habits should have been noised abroad by the town +crier. Then the unfortunate episode with the General would never have +occurred. He would have made allowances, and withdrawn early for light +refreshment. + +But when a man whose face is of the type peculiar--the sort that you +give the baby to play with--practises the habits of fourteen years +unsuccessful dyspeptic futurism in a support line trench on a hot day, +the result is likely to be full of incident. True--the wretched +Bendigo knew no better; but no more did the General. And life is made +of these trifling misunderstandings. . . . + +The entranced spectators stiffened to attention as the procession of +great ones--partially hidden behind the Doctor--advanced with due +military precautions. Even the phlegmatic and weary Sapper who was +assisting the genius, with base utilitarian details, such as the size +of the trap door at the back of the proposed model, showed signs of +animation. Not so Bendigo. With an expression on his face suggestive +of great internal pain, he remained seated on the fire-step muttering +softly to himself and clasping to his bosom a large lump of what +appeared to be mud. + +Suddenly he placed it on the step beside him and rose with an air of +determination. The staff performed two or three nimble steps of the +foxtrot variety to the rear, and as they did so Bendigo sprang to the +assault. With a sweeping half-arm blow he struck the mud and the mud +retaliated. While it lasted the action was brisk, but the issue was +never in doubt. After two minutes in fighting, Bendigo withdrew +exhausted, and most of the mud went with him. What was left looked +tired. + +"A clear case of shell shock," muttered the Staff officer nervously in +the Doctor's ear. "For Heaven's sake do something!" + +"Yes, but what the deuce am I to do?" Perspiring freely the gallant +officer advanced slowly in the direction of Bendigo, who suddenly +perceived him. + +The sculptor smiled wearily and pointed a languid hand at the result of +his labours. "A great work, my friend," he murmured. "One of my most +wonderful studies." + +"Doubtless," remarked the Doctor cautiously. "Don't you +think--er--you'd better lie down?" + +"The leafy foliage; the wonderful green effect; the tree--as I see it. +Fresh, fragrant, superb." Bendigo burbled on, heedless of his mundane +surroundings. + +"What is the fool talkin' about?" howled the General, who was standing +on tip toe trying to see what was happening. + +"Hush, sir, I beg of you!" The Doctor looked round nervously. "A most +peculiar----" + +"I won't hush," roared his irascible senior. "Why should I hush? Some +idiot is standing on my feet; and I'm wedged in here like a sardine. +Let me speak to him." The General forced his way forward. "Now, +you--my man, what the devil are you doing? And what's that damned lump +of mud on the fire-step?" + +"I am Bendigo Jones," returned the other dreamily. +"Sculptah--artist--genius." + +"I didn't ask who you were," barked the now infuriated General. "I +asked you what that thing that looks like an inebriated blancmange is +meant to be." + +"That model?" Bendigo bent forward and gazed at it lovingly. "That is +yonder tree as I see it. The base materialist with the foot rule will +inform you of the mundane details." + +The Sapper alluded to scowled heavily at the unconscious Bendigo. +Somewhat uncertain as to what a base materialist might be, he felt +dimly that it was a term to be resented. + +"I was sent up 'ere, sir, with 'im to help 'im make a model of that +there stump," he remarked morosely. "That's the fifteenth mess 'e's +made this morning; and 'e's carried on 'orrible over the 'ole lot. If +I might say so, sir, 'e don't seem quite right in his 'ead." + +"I am inclined to agree with you," answered the General grimly. "He +must be swept up and . . ." + +Exactly what fate was in store for Bendigo will never be known. One of +those visitations of fate which occur periodically in the trenches +interrupted the General's words, and ended the situation in more ways +than one. + +"Look out, sir," cried a sergeant, with a sudden shout. "Rum jar +coming." + +It came: wobbling, turning, and twisting, the little black object +descended from the skies towards them, and the crouching occupants of +the trench heard it hit the ground a few yards away. Then it burst +with a deafening roar: a roar which was followed by an ominous creaking. + +It was the phlegmatic Sapper--the base materialist--who broke the news +first. + +With an expression of great relief on his face he gazed over the top of +the trench. "Thank 'Eavens! you can't make a sixteenth, mate. The +whole plurry tree's nah poo." + +"Nah poo," murmured Bendigo Jones. "Nah poo. What is nah poo?" He +stood up and peered over the top also. "I see no change. To some eyes +it might seem that the tree had fallen; to mine it lives for +ever--fragrant and cool." He descended and trod heavily on the +General's toe. "To you, sir, as a man of understanding, I give my +morning's labours. I have rechristened it. It symbolises 'Children at +play in Epping Forest.'" + +Magnificently he thrust the lump of disintegrating dirt into the arms +of his outraged superior. "It is yours, sir; I, Bendigo Jones, have +given you my masterpiece." + +Then he departed. + + * * * * * * + +The only man who really suffered was the base materialist. Two hours +later he rolled up for his dinner, in a mood even more uncommunicative +than usual. + +"'Ullo, Nobby," remarked the cook affably, "you don't seem yer usual +chatty self this morning. An' wot 'ave you got on your neck?" + +"Less of it," returned the other morosely. "It's Hepping Forest. And +that"--he plucked a fragment from his hair--"that is the bally twins +playin' ''Unt the slipper.'" + +Even the cook was stirred out of his usual air of superiority by this +assertion, and contemplated the speaker with interest. "You don't +say." He inspected the phenomenon more closely. "I thought as 'ow it +was mud." + +"It is." Nobby was even more morose. "It belonged to that 'orror +Bendigo Jones, and 'e went and give it to the General." The speaker +swallowed once or twice. "Then the General, 'e gives it back, in a +manner of speaking. Only Bendy had gone by the time it come, and--I +'adn't. Lumme! wot a life." + + + + +VIII + +THE SONG OF THE BAYONET + +Two men were seated at a table in a restaurant. Dinner was over, and +from all around them came the murmur of complacent and well-fed London. +A string band of just sufficient strength gave forth a ragtime effort; +a supreme being hovered near to ensure that the '65 brandy was all it +should be. Of the men themselves little need be said: my story is not +of them. Only their conversation, half serious, half joking, brought +back the picture of Jimmy O'Shea--Irishman, cowpuncher, general +scallywag, and his doctrines of war and the way of his death. As I sat +at the next table lazily watching pictures in the haze of tobacco +smoke, their words conjured up the vision of that incomparable fighter +who paid the great price a year ago, and now lies somewhere near Le +Rutoire in the plains beyond Loos. For their talk was of a strange +thing: the bayonet and the psychology of killing. . . . + +"Have you ever killed a man, Joe? that is, killed him with a bayonet?" +It was the man in mufti who was speaking; and his companion--a Major in +khaki--laughed shortly. + +"I can't say that I have. I've shot one or two Huns, but I've never +put a bayonet into one." + +The other grunted. "They were teaching me to use a bayonet this +morning. It's rather fun. An intensely pugilistic little man stamped +his foot at me, and brandished a ball on the end of a stick in front of +my face. One's aim and object, as far as I could tell from the book of +the words, was to stab the ball with the point of one's bayonet, and at +the same time grunt in a manner calculated to cause alarm and +despondency to every one within earshot. At times you hit the ball +with the butt of the rifle; at others you kick it, endeavouring if +possible not to stub your toe. Everything depends on what part of the +German's anatomy it is supposed to represent at the moment." He paused +and relit his cigar; then he smiled slightly. "I rather enjoyed it. +The pugilistic warrior was quite pleased with me. He barked 'stomach' +at me out of my turn, and there was the dam ball about a yard away. I +stabbed it, kicked it, hit it with my butt, and fell down, all in the +course of two seconds. But you know, Joe,"--again he paused +slightly--"it's one thing to joke and talk about it here. I can't help +thinking it's going to be a very different matter when one gets to the +real goods. Fancy putting a foot of cold steel into a man's body." + +A woman paused by their table on the way out. + +"So you've actually joined up, you poor dear. Your wife told me you +quite liked it." + +"Yes, dear lady." He stood up and bowed. "After refusing me a +commission for two years they've pushed me into what I believe they +call the Feet. It's rather jolly. I haven't felt so well for years." + +"And what do you do?" She adjusted her wrap to pass on. + +"Oh! learn to stab people, and kick them in the tummy; and all sorts of +little parlour tricks like that." + +"You dreadful man! I don't believe you're a bit bloodthirsty really." +She shook a reproving finger at him and laughed. "But I shan't mind a +bit if you kill a lot of those nasty Germans." + +She drifted away, and the man in mufti sat down again. "The last time +I saw her she had a concert for the wounded at her house. A slightly +bow-legged woman of great bulk was singing about her soldier lover, who +saved her icckle bruvver. My hostess cried--she's that type. Only a +little of course; but one tear somehow arrived." + +The soldier laughed. "There are a few like that; thank heaven! not +many. They've learned, Dick; they're learning every day." + +"Up to a point. I am learning to stab people; a thing which, when you +actually come down to it, is beyond her comprehension. She vaguely +knows that that is a soldier's job--or one of them; but it means +nothing to her. And I don't know that it means very much more to me." + +"You'll find it will, my dear fellow, when the moment comes, and you've +got your rag out and are seeing red. Let's go." + +The two men got up; waiters hastened forward; and in a few moments +their table was empty. For a brief space the curtain of imagination +had been lifted; the drama of grim stark death had flashed into a +setting of luxury and life. . . . + +And with the rise of the curtain Jimmy O'Shea had stepped on to the +boards; for no man who knew him could ever hear the word bayonet +without recalling him, if only for a second. + +He was a mixture was Jimmy--one of those strange jumbles of character +in which no country is more rich than Ireland. He would not take a +commission, though times and again he was offered one by his Colonel. + +"I can teach the boys more as a sergeant, sir," he would answer; "teach +them better how to score the points that win." + +"You bloodthirsty ruffian," laughed the Colonel. "Your old doctrine, I +suppose, of close-quarter work." + +"You have it, sir," answered O'Shea quietly. "Every dead German is one +point up to us; every dead Englishman is a point down. I am teaching +the boys how to kill, and not be killed themselves." + +"But what the devil do you suppose they have been taught?" The C.O. +would lean back and light a cigarette. "To sit and pick buttercups, +and ask the Huns to shoot 'em?" + +"Shooting, is it?" Jimmy's tone expressed immeasurable scorn. "The +shooting will look after itself. It's the bayonet I talk to them +about, and where to put it, and how to use it. As you know yourself, +sir, a man will shoot to kill, where he'll hesitate to use his +bayonet--if he's new." + +"That's so. It's instinctive at times." + +"Bedad, sir, they have no instinct when I've finished with them--save +one. Kill clean and kill fast; and God help you if you slip. . . ." + +It is possible that when a person has given no thought to war, and the +objects of war, this distinction may seem strange. Death is a big +matter to the average being, and one of some finality; and the manner +of one's going may strike him as of little account. In which +assumption he is perfectly right--if he is the member of the party who +is going to be killed. But that is not the idea which a man going into +a scrap should hold for a moment. A man goes into a scrap to kill--not +to be killed. To die for one's country may be glorious; to kill for +one's country is very much more so, and a deuced sight less +uncomfortable. Wherefore, as Jimmy O'Shea would have said, if you'd +asked him, "It's outing the other swine you're after, me bucko; not +being outed yourself. Once you've got your manicured lunch hooks (as a +phrase for hands I liked that sentence) on the blighter's throat, it's +up to you to kill him before he kills you. And don't forget it's no +dress rehearsal show. You won't fail twice." + +Now I do not wish to appear over-bloodthirsty, or to pretend for one +moment that war is a gigantic and continuous shambles. It is not. But +the essence of war is man power, and the points are scored by putting +men out of action, without being put out of action yourself. The idea +may not be nice--but war is not nice: one may not approve of the sea +being salt, but disapproval does not alter hard truth. And having once +granted that fact--and surely none can deny it--it is the different +methods of scoring points which must be discussed. Some are +impersonal--some are not: some are done in cold blood--some in hot. +The whole thing is just a question of human nature; and in war, above +every other known thing in this world, it is human nature that tells: +it is human nature that is the great deciding factor. A man throws a +bomb into a saphead full of Huns. He lies there covered by the +darkness, crouching, waiting---- One, two, three--and the sharp roar +of the explosion shatters the peace of the night. Guttural cursings +and a dreadful agonised moaning follow in the silence that seems the +more intense through the contrast. And with a smile of great content +wreathing his face, the bomber creeps stealthily away to avoid +intrusive flares. The matter was impersonal, the groaning Hun was a +Hun, not an individuality. . . . + +A couple of men, mud-caked and weary, with a Lewis gun between them, +are peering over the top in an early light of dawn. Beside them there +are others: tense, with every nerve alert, looking fixedly into the +grey shadows, wondering, a little jumpy. + +"Wot is it, Bill?" A man at the bottom of the trench is fixing a rifle +grenade in his rifle. "Shall I put this one over?" + +"Gawd knows." Bill is craning his head from side to side, standing on +the fire-step. "Lumme! there they are. Let 'em 'ave it, Joe. It's a +ruddy working party." Drawing a steady hand he fires, only to eject +his spent cartridge at once and fire again. With a sudden phlop the +rifle grenade goes drunkenly up into the mist; with a grunt of joy the +Lewis gun and its warrior discharge a magazine at the dim-seen figures. +And later, with intense eagerness, the ground in front will be searched +with periscopes for the discovering and counting of the bag. The +matter is impersonal; the dead are Huns, not individuals. . . . + +But with a bayonet the matter is different. No longer is the man you +fight an unknown impersonality. He stands before you, an individual +whose face you can see, whose eyes you can read. He has taken unto +himself the guise of a man; he has dropped the disguise of an +automaton. In those eyes you may read the redness of fury or the +greyness of terror; in either case it is you or him. And a soldier's +job is to kill. . . . + +In nine cases out of ten he has forfeited the right to surrender, for +as Jimmy used to say, "There's only one method of surrendering, and +that's by long-distance running. When the blackguards come out of +their trenches fifty yards away and walk towards you bleating, 'Yes, +sare; coming at once, sare, thick or clear, sare;' you may take 'em +prisoners, boys." + + +Thus the doctrine in brief of Jimmy O'Shea, sergeant and cowpuncher, +scallywag and sahib, devil and tender-hearted gentleman. I lifted my +glass in a silent toast. The music was sobbing gently; the voices of +women came stealing into my reverie; the smell of the brandy in my +glass brought back a memory of other women, other brandy. . . . + +The square in the old French town was alive with market carts, which +lumbered noisily over the cobble stones, while around the pavements, +stalls and barrows did a roaring trade. It was market-day, and the hot +summer sun shone down on the busy crowds. Soldiers and civilians, +women and small children bargained and laughed and squabbled over the +prices of "oofs" and other delicacies for the inner man. Except for +the khaki and the ever present ambulance which threaded its way through +the creaking country carts, it might have been peace time again in +Northern France. Yet eight or nine miles away were the trenches. + +Facing the square was an open-air café, where a procession of large +light beers was pursuing its way down various dry throats, belonging to +officers both French and British: beer that was iced, and beautiful to +behold. Away down a little farther on sat Jimmy O'Shea; not admitted +into the sacred portals marked "Officers only," but none the less happy +for that. In front of him was a small glass of cognac. . . . + +It was just as a stout and somewhat heated Frenchman in civilian +clothes got up from the little table next to mine that it happened. +There was no sound of warning--it just occurred. The house by the +clock was there one moment; the next moment it was not. A roar filled +the air, drowning the clattering carts; bricks, tables, beds went +hurtling up into space; walls collapsed and crashed on to the cobbles. +A great cloud of stifling dust rose swiftly and blotted out the scene. +Then silence--the silence of stupefaction settled for a while on the +watching hundreds, while bricks and stones rained down on them from the +sky. + +It was the little Frenchman who spoke first. "Mon Dieu! une bombe. Et +moi je suis le Maire." He walked unsteadily towards the cloud of dust, +and with his going pandemonium broke loose. Mechanically the beer went +down our throats, while in all directions carts bumped and jolted, +wheels got locked, barrows overturned. Still the same blue sky; still +the same serene sun; but in the place of a quiet grey house--wreckage, +dust, death. And around us the first frenzy of panic. + +"Do you put that down to an aeroplane?" I looked up to see Jimmy +O'Shea beside me. "All right, mother." He was patting an excited +woman on her back. "I'll help you." He started to pick up the +contents of her barrow, which reposed principally in the gutter, having +been knocked off by a bolting horse. "No need to get your wind up. +You're cutting no ice in this show; you're only on as a super." + +The woman somewhat naturally did not understand a word; but O'Shea had +a way with women and children, wherein lay the charm of his strange +mixture of character. + +"Now these eggs, mother dear, these eggs. Bedad! they've gone to their +last long rest. We can't even scramble them. Oofs, dear heart, oofs; +napoo--finis." + +"_C'est tout napoo._" She even laughed as she looked at the +concentrated essence of yellow and white flowing slowly down the +gutter. "_Mon Dieu! voilà une autre._" Another thunderous roar; +another belching, choking cloud of dust and death, and a house on the +other side of the square collapsed. + +"It's no aeroplane, sir," said Jimmy, with his eyes on the sky. "It's +a long-range gun, or I'm a Dutchman." He looked down to find a little +girl clasping his knee and whimpering. "And phwat is it, me angel?" +He caught her up in his arms and laughed. "Shure! and I've forgotten +me little glass of stuff. Come along with me and find it." + +He strode away, only to return with her in a second or two, laughing +all over her face. Yes--he had a way with him, had Jimmy O'Shea. + +But it was in the final tableau of that morning's work that I remember +him best. It was a long-range gun as he said; and they put in fifteen +twelve-inch shells in an hour, round about the square. Two got the +hospital, and one hit a barber's shop where an officer was being +shaved. I remember we saw him with half his face lathered, and later +on we found his hand still gripping the arm of the chair. As for the +barber--God knows---- + +We sorted out the remnants of some children from the débris of one +house; and I left O'Shea after a while with a little kid of eight or +nine in his arms. She was booked for God's nursery, and the passing +was not going to be easy, for she was hit--nastily. And it was while +Jimmy was nursing the poor torn atom with the tenderness of a woman +that another sergeant of his battalion came on the scene to see if he +could help. + +"God! Jimmy," I heard him say, "this makes one sick." + +"Sick!" O'Shea's voice was quiet. "Sick! I've stuck many of them, +thank the powers, but never again--never again, my bucko--will it be +anywhere save in the stomach. Anything else is too quick." + +I looked at his face; and I understood. . . . + + +Yes--I understood because I had seen: otherwise, I should not. He +would have been talking another language--one to which I was a +stranger: even as were those around me, in that London restaurant, +strangers--even as the men, when they first come to France, are +strangers. That is the point which is in danger at times of being +overlooked, especially by those who remain behind. The men are not +changed in nature because they don a khaki coat, or even because they +go into the trenches. They have gone to a new school, that is all; and +if they would do well they must learn all the lessons--the many and +very divergent lessons--they are taught. For in the hotch-potch of war +there is a strange mixture of the material and the spiritual; and +though at present I am concerned with the former, the latter is just as +important. It is the material side of which the men such as Jimmy +O'Shea are the teachers. Unless the pupils learn from the O'Sheas, +they will have to do so from the Hun. And the process may not be +pleasant. . . . + +There are many branches of the main lesson: the counters in the game +may be shells or bombs or rifle bullets or bayonets. But the method of +scoring is the same in each case--one down or one up. And of them all +the bayonet is the counter which is at once the most deadly and the +most intolerant of mistakes. A good friend, a hard taskmaster is the +bayonet, and O'Shea was the greatest of all its prophets. . . . The +main object of his life was to imbue his men, and any one else he could +persuade to listen, with its song. His practical teaching was sound, +very sound; his verbal lashings were wonderful, unique. He'd talk and +talk, and one's joy was to watch his audience. A sudden twitch, a snap +of the jaw, and a bovine face would light up with unholy joy. The +squad drawn up ready for practice, with the straw-filled sacks in front +of them, would mutter ominously, and teeth would show in a snarl. +Absurd, you say; not a bit; just a magnetic personality, and men of the +right stuff. Dash it! I've seen even the Quartermaster, whose ways do +not lie near such matters, hopping about from one leg to the other when +Jimmy's peroration rose to its height. + +"Have you a child, MacNab, a little wee kid?" he would begin. + +"I have, sargint," MacNab would answer. + +"Then can you imagine that wee kid with his little hands cut off? Is +it a boy, MacNab?" + +"It is, sargint." + +"It is. That's good. But they preferred doing it to boys, MacNab. +Listen to me, the lot of you. Don't mind the aeroplane. Number Two in +the rear rank. They're like gooseberries out here." Number Two's eyes +would abruptly come to earth again and focus themselves on the man in +front. "I want you to think," Jimmy would go on quietly, "of the +dirty, lousy crowd of German waiters you remember at home in the days +before the war. Do you remember their greasy-looking clothes, and +their greasy-looking faces, and the way you used to treat 'em as the +scum of the world? Would you have one of them, MacNab, cut the hands +off your kid; would you, me bucko?" + +"I would not, sargint." MacNab's slow brain was working; his eyes were +beginning to glint. + +"Then come out here." Jimmy's voice rose to a shout. "Come out and +move. Do you see that sack? do you see that white disc? Run at it, +you blighter; run, snarl, spit. That's the German who has killed your +kid. The white paper is his heart; run, man, run. Stab him, kill him; +stuff your bayonet in him, and scream with rage." + +The bewildered MacNab, on the conclusion of this tirade, would amble up +to the sack, push his gun feebly in its direction, completely miss +it--and look sheepishly into space. + +"Mother of heaven! The first competitor in Nuts and May. Did you hear +me tell you to hit the sack, MacNab? For God's sake, man, stick your +bayonet in; hit it with your butt; kick it; tear it in pieces with your +teeth; worry it; do anything--but don't stand there looking like a +Scotchman on Sunday. The dam thing's laughing at you." + +And so at last MacNab would begin. Bits of sacking would fly in all +directions, streams of straw and sawdust would exude. He's kicked it +twice, and hit it an appalling welt with the butt of his gun. The +sweat pours from his face; but his eyes are gleaming, as he stops at +last from sheer exhaustion. + +"Splendid, MacNab; you're a credit to Glasgow, me boy. Are you +beginning to feel what it's like to stick your point into something, +even though it's only a sack?" + +But MacNab is already more than half ashamed of his little outburst; he +is unable to understand what made him see red--and somewhat +uncomfortably he returns to his place in the squad. Only, if you look +at Jimmy, you will see the glint of a smile in his eyes: the squad is +new--the beginning has not been bad. He knows what made MacNab see +red; by the time he has finished with him, the pride of Glasgow will +never see anything else. . . . + + +And yet what do they know of seeing red, these diners of London? It is +just as well, I grant, that they should know nothing; but sometimes one +wonders, when they talk so glibly of the trenches, when they dismiss +with a casual word the many months of hideous boredom, the few moments +of blood-red passion of the overseas life, what would they think--how +would they look--if they did know. + +Would they look as did O'Neil's bride, when the robber chief's head +arrived at the breakfast table? Lest there be any unfortunates who +know not Kipling let me quote: + + As a derelict ship drifts away with the tide + The Captain went out on the Past from his Bride, + Back, back, through the springs to the chill of the year, + When he hunted the Boh from Maloon to Tsaleer. + As the shape of a corpse dimmers up through deep water, + In his eye lit the passionless passion of slaughter, + And men who had fought with O'Neil for the life + Had gazed on his face with less dread than his wife. . . . + + +Perhaps--who knows? It is difficult to imagine the results of an +impossibility--and knowledge in this case is an impossibility. Still +at times the grim cynicism of the whole thing comes over one with a +rush, and one--laughs. It is the only solution--laughter. Let us blot +it out, all this strange performance in France: let us eat, drink and +be merry. But some quotations are better not finished. . . . + +"Come and join us at our table." A girl was speaking, an awfully dear +girl, one to whom I had been among the many "also rans." Her +husband--an officer in the infantry--grinned affably from another table. + +"In a moment," I answered her, "I will come, and you won't like me at +all when I do." Then I remembered something. "Why do you dine with +that scoundrel?" + +"Who?--My funny old Dick? A dreadful sight, isn't he, but quite +harmless." + +"Is he? You ask him about the German at Les Boeufs whom he met +unexpectedly, and see what he says." + +The "Ballad of Boh da Thone" came back--the humour of it. Dick--the +old blackguard--a rifle butt, and a German's head after he'd hit +it--one side; a boiled shirt, dress clothes, and a general air of +complacent peacefulness--the other. And the girl: it is always the +girl who points the contrast. . . . + +I laughed. "Go away, and talk to your harmless husband. I am wrapped +in thought, or was, till you disturbed me." + +What did she know--God bless her--of the details, the filthy, necessary +details of war. To her it was just a parting from one man, who went +into an unknown land where there was danger--hideous, intangible danger. + +But of the reality. . . . + + +It is all contained in the one axiom--Kill, and kill at once, so as to +have a maximum of time to kill more. And with the bayonet, do not let +it be imagined for a moment that the work is easy. Bayonet fighting +requires perfect condition, a fair share of strength, and a quick eye. +Mistakes, when a man comes to the real thing, are not likely to occur +twice, and there are many things which a man must learn who aspires to +become even as Jimmy O'Shea. + +How to go round a traverse when a Boche is on the other side, and it's +him or you; how to take on three men in succession, when the last one +throws his arms round your neck, and burbles, "Ve vos friends--nein?" +Jimmy was great on that point: with the bayonet jabbed upwards into the +chin, and the sapient remark, "Ve _vos_, ma tear." But enough; this is +not a treatise on bayonet fighting, and I have in mind to tell of +O'Shea's last fight. + +There is just one more scene which comes back vividly before I reach +the end, and that is the final exercise he gave his men in their +training. When they'd thrust and parried and stabbed; when they'd +jumped trenches and thrust their bayonets into sacks on the other side; +when they'd been confronted with strange balls of straw in unexpected +places, and kicked them or jabbed them or bit them as the case might +be--then came the gem, the _bonne bouche_. + +These preliminary practices were only one stroke, one thrust; the last +was a fight to the death in a manner of speaking, and it was generally +preceded by one of Jimmy's better stories. The best he kept for +recital just before going over the top; so as to send 'em along +frothing at the mouth, as he put it. + +"You don't remember Captain Trent, do you, boys?" he'd begin. "Just +stand easy a while, and I'll tell you about him. After that you've got +to fight a bit. He was a great officer, boys, a grand officer--one of +the best. Did you ever hear how he was killed? Come out here, +Malvaney; we'll just start the scrapping while I tell you. Do you see +this straw ball on the top of the stick? As long as it's off the +ground, it's a German. Hit it, stick it, bite it, kick it, and go on +till I put it on the ground again. And curse, you blighter, curse. +Just think it's the German who stuck his bayonet into Captain +Trent--one of _your_ officers--while he was lying on the ground wounded +in the head." + +The ball began to dance. "Go on, Malvaney. Kill it, man, kill it; +grunt, snarl; think of the swine and what they've done. Jab, jab--up +in his throat. I'll get you a live one to practise on one day." At +last the ball would come to rest, and Malvaney--his teeth bared, +snarling--would face Jimmy, who stood there smiling grimly. And in a +few seconds Malvaney would grin too, and the blood lust would die out +of his eyes. . . . + +"Good boy--not half bad!" O'Shea would nod approvingly. "The worst of +it is the swine will never stand up to you--bayonet to bayonet. They +prefer women and wounded men--like the Captain. Come here, MacNab, and +get an appetite for your dinner. You can just rest a while--I'll get +on a bit with that story. It was way back in the Spring, down south a +bit; and we went over the top. Have you been over the top, MacNab?" + +"I have that," answered the Scotchman in a reminiscent tone. + +"How many did you kill?" + +"Four-r--ah'm thinking; but ah'm no certain aboot one of them." + +"Four! And none too dusty. Hit it, MacNab, me boy"--the ball would +dance in his face--"hit it, as if 'twas the one of which you are not +certain. Listen here, boys"--once again the ball was at rest on the +ground--"I was behind Captain Trent when we went over--in the third +wave; and when I got to the Germans I was just in time to see it." +Jimmy's pauses were always dramatic. + +"See wot, sargint?" An interested and comparatively new arrival to the +battalion would lean forward. + +"Captain Trent lying at the bottom of the trench--he'd gone over with +the first wave--and a Hun pulling a bayonet out of him. Moreover, +Captain Trent was wounded in the head." His voice gathered in fury. +"Think of it, me bohunks; then think of a conscientious objector; and +then come and kill this ruddy ball. A dirty filthy scut of a German +waiter murdering a wounded Englishman. Hit it, MacNab; hit it; stab +it, kick it; think you're scrambling for whisky in a prohibited area." + +"Wot did you do, sargint?" The new arrival was still interested. + +"What would you have done, Marmaduke? Come here, my boy; come here and +breathe blood." + +The new arrival--a little bashful at his sudden notoriety--stepped +forward. "I'd have killed him, sargint." + +"Then kill this ball; go on--kill it. Damme, boy; you're jumping about +like an old woman looking for a flea in a bed. Move, boy, move; the +ball's the flea, and you're the old trout. Bite it, boy, bite it; +stamp on it; take out your fork and stick it with that." The ball came +to rest; the new arrival mopped his brow. "Did I ever tell you how to +kill a man with your dinner fork, by sticking it into his neck? I will +some day; it's a good death for a Hun." + +"Did you catch that there swine, sergeant?" Another voice from the +squad took up the tale. + +"Did I catch him? Did I catch him? If I hadn't caught him, Percival, +I wouldn't be here now. I wouldn't dare look an exempted indispensable +in the face--let alone you. And for a fat man he ran well." + +"Didn't 'e fight?" Marmaduke had more or less recovered his breath. + +"Fight!" O'Shea grinned at the recollection. "He looked up; he saw me +about five yards away; he gave one squawk like the female ducked-billed +platypus calling to her young, and he faded round the traverse like the +family do when the landlord comes for the rent. Come here, +O'Sullivan--and break up the home." + +Marmaduke retired, to be replaced by a brawny Irishman. + +"I caught him, O'Sullivan--hit, man, hit--just as he reached his +dug-out. Kick it, man; you can't use your butt from there. Jab, +jab--you blighter; for God's sake use your gun as if you loved it. He +stuck in the door, O'Sullivan, for half a second. There's the +ball--that's his back. Go on. Good, good." With an awful curse the +Irishman lunged and the ball dropped to the ground. + +"Dead," O'Shea grinned. "That's what I did; through the back. But the +blamed thing stuck; I couldn't get it out. What do you do then, +Marmaduke?" + +"Put a round in, sargint, and blow it out." + +"Good boy, Marmaduke. You'll be a Field-Marshal before you've done. +That's what I did too; and I blew the swine down the entrance. Now +then, half with sticks and half with rifles; go on--fight----" + +This, as I said, was one of Jimmy's better stories. Incidentally it +had the merit of being true. . . . + +But one could continue indefinitely. Some one will write a book one +day about Jimmy O'Shea, and the manner of his life. If so, order an +advance copy; it will be the goods. Just at the moment it was the +manner of his death that had me. I was back again in derelict +Vermelles, with its spattered water tower, and the flat desolate plain +in front. Loos is out of sight over the hill; only the great slag heap +lies squat and menacing on one's left, with the remnants of Big Willie +and Little Willie near to its base in the old blood-soaked Hohenzollern +redoubt. Cambrin, Guinchy, La Bassée--silent and haunted, teeming with +ghosts, lie stagnant in the morning sun. The cobwebs drift across the +Hulluch road, and in the distance, by the first bend, a man pushing a +wheeled stretcher comes slowly walking back to the dressing station. +It's still going on: nothing much has changed; and yet--the cigar is +good; the brandy superb: the brandy Jimmy preferred. He only spent one +leave in England; as a sergeant he couldn't get more; but I dined with +him one night, dress clothes and all complete, and we drank that +brandy. One need hardly say, perhaps, that the writing on the register +of his birth would have been hard put to it to spell O'Shea. There +have been many like him this war, from "the legions of the lost ones +and the cohorts of the damned"; and they've come to us out of the waste +places, out of the lands that lie beyond the mountains. Unhonoured, +unknown, they've finished the game; and having finished, they lie at +peace. Britain called them; they came--those so-called wasters; look +to it, you overmuch righteous ones, who have had to be dragged by the +hairs of your heads--bleating of home ties and consciences. . . . + +I forget which of the stories I heard him telling the men that morning +before they went over. He read one lot a thing he swore he'd got out +of a German paper--Heaven knows if it was true. I remember it ended +up: "Above all things show no mercy to the accursed English. They are +the starters of this war; so spit on them, kick them, use them as the +swine they are." + +"There you are, boys," cried Jimmy cheerily, "listen to what the +pretties say about you. You'll be into 'em in a minute; and don't +forget what I've told you about the way to use your gun. Kill fast and +kill clean. Don't you put up with any back lash from a sausage-eating +waiter. Remember you're English, me boys; and remember the +Regiment--the Regiment that's never yet failed." + +And so he went on; worth a hundred times his weight in gold to men +going in for the first time. + +"Your point is at his throat, boy, don't forget it. You ain't playing +the goat with a dam lump of straw now; you're going to get a bit of +your own back with a real live Fritz. And if you make a mistake you +may not have a chance of making another. Go there steady; don't get +blown, or you'll find you won't be able to do what you'd like when you +bump Master Boche." + +He passed me with a salute and a wink. + +"Coming over?" he asked me. + +"I am, Jimmy, with some wire and other atrocities." + +"Good," he said. "The boys are simply frothing blood." + +He went on; and that was the last time I saw Jimmy O'Shea alive. + + +Ye Gods! My Lord ----, some day I'll tell you of your son's end. You +kicked him out--perhaps rightly; though mercy was never your strong +point. But if any of the belted ancestors in that gallery of yours did +as much for England as Jimmy did, or died as gloriously as Jimmy died, +well, you should be a proud man, prouder even than you are. He sent +the boys over raving mad with blood, and they struck Bavarians--and +good Bavarians: men who could fight, and men who did fight. They were +at it, teeth, feet, and steel for ten minutes: primitive, lustful +fighting; and then the Bavarians broke; with the boys after them, +stabbing and cursing. One or two were left, though they wouldn't +surrender, more power to them. A Bavarian officer, in fact, concluded +the eventful career of Sapper O'Toole, the company rum-swallowing +champion. True he brained that officer with a coil of barbed wire on +the end of a pick helve, even as the bullet entered his heart; but he +was a great loss to us. And it was just as we surged over their bodies +that we came to the tableau. + +Jimmy lay round the traverse. We found him at the bottom when we'd +sorted out the litter. There were six of them he'd done in in all; you +could trace what had happened. They'd been lining the trench, and he'd +taken them in order. It was in the fifth that his bayonet stuck. He +couldn't get it out. It was still there. At that moment, evidently, +Number Six had come at him, and he'd had no time. So they closed; and, +my God! they'd fought. + +I think they both must have gone out about the same time. Jimmy was +shot through the heart by the Bavarian's revolver; the Bavarian's +throat was cut with Jimmy's clasp knife. + +No bad end, my lord; what say you? I will show you the exact spot some +day, and your son's grave near by. I'd have his picture in the gallery +if I were you. . . . I've got a snapshot I can let you have, taken in +France. But I treasure it; and unless you hang it in the place of +honour, amongst the Raeburns--I keep it. Mark you, he deserves that +place of honour. . . . + + * * * * * * + +"Captain Johnson's compliments, sir, and are you coming over to have a +liqueur at his table?" + +The waiter's voice cut in on my thoughts. The band was hitting a +ragtime stunt; London had dined and was pleased with itself; Dick and +his lady were beckoning. For the moment it felt like coming to from an +anaesthetic. + +I shook myself and got up. Of course I was drinking a liqueur with +them: another glass of brandy--Jimmy O'Shea's brandy. + +"Are you in love?" queried the girl anxiously as I sat down. "You've +been muttering to yourself and squinting and Dickie got worried about +you." + +"Not more than usual--though I'm glad to learn the symptoms." Then I +looked at her, and the wonder of a girl in love hit me almost like a +blow. In it lay the answer to my thoughts. No longer a cynical +amusement in their failure to realise the contrast, but rather a mighty +thankfulness. For it is they, in their blessed ignorance, who keep us +sane. + +I raised my glass. "To things as they are, my lady," I murmured. And +from the land of shadows Jimmy drank with me. + + + + +PART III + + +SEED TIME + + I. THE SEED + II. THE FIRST LESSON + III. AN IMPERSONAL DEMONSTRATION + IV. SOMEWHAT MORE PERSONAL + V. A PROJECT AND SOME SIDE ISSUES + VI. THE SECOND LESSON, AND SOME FURTHER SIDE ISSUES + VII. THE THIRD LESSON, AND A DIGRESSION + VIII. THE THIRD LESSON IS LEARNED + IX. "AND OTHER FELL ON GOOD GROUND" + + + + +SEED TIME + + +I + +THE SEED + +I have in my mind the tale of a superior young man--a very superior +young man, genteel, and thoroughly versed in the intricacies of +etiquette. The majority of the human race was, without any loss to +itself, unaware that he existed; but the "ladies" and "gentlemen" on +the staff of Mogg's Mammoth Emporium viewed him as the supreme arbiter +of elegance. And just because the average human being would have +asserted--and asserted correctly--that for such as him there is no hope +save drowning in puppyhood, I would tell his story. It is the +exception which proves the rule. It is the proof that we are the +slaves of custom and environment; and that, given something as the +bed-rock, much may be done by a good teacher. There was something in +this very superior young man as it turned out, though few would have +suspected it, had they seen him before the war. But then, no one can +ever listen to a person of the male sex proffering a good line of +stockings in Lisle thread at one and eleven-three without experiencing +a strong desire to be sick. Which goes back to what I said before: the +whole thing is one of environment. The stocking vendors knew no +better; for want of the necessary teaching they took to their +nauseating trade. It's all in the Old Book--how shall they learn, +unless they be taught? Had they had the teaching--well, listen to the +story of this very superior young "gentleman," one time deputy chief +stomach bender of Mogg's Mammoth Millinery Emporium--terms. Strictly +Cash. What the sub deputy chief waistcoat creaser will say if he reads +these words I shudder to think. You see, the very superior young +"gentleman" was _so_ genteel. + + +A hot morning sun shone down on the outskirts of the town. Nothing +moved, nothing stirred; utter silence brooded over the houses that once +had been buzzing with people--the people of Arras. Now their only +occupants were rats. The little gardens at the back were dank with +unchecked weeds, save where a great conical hole showed the clean brown +earth. And at the bottom of each of these holes lay a pool of foetid +green water. The walls were crumbling, decay was rampant, the place +breathed corruption. Occasionally the silence would be broken by a +crash, and a little heap of brick rubble would subside into the road, +raising a cloud of thick choking dust. Occasionally there would be +another sound, like the drone of a great beetle, followed by a dull +echoing roar and a bigger cloud of dust. Occasionally would come the +ping-phut of a stray bullet; but of human life there was no sign. + +Not, that is to say, to the casual observer; but to the man who looked +out of the aeroplane circling above much was visible which you or I +would not see. To him there came the vision of an occasional move +behind some mouldering wall: sometimes an upturned face, sometimes the +glint of steel. In one garden by a broken cucumber frame a man was +polishing his bayonet, and the flash from it caught the observer's eye. +Just opposite--thirty yards away--two or three men were sitting round a +fire from which the smoke curled slowly up. And the bayonet cleaner +was clothed in khaki, while the cookers had on a dirty field grey; +between them lay No Man's Land. But to the casual observer--silence: +silence and death and the dreadful stink of corruption. Many others +had cleaned bayonets and cooked stews under these same conditions, and +many in the doing thereof had gone suddenly, and without warning, into +the great Silence. For it was a sniper's paradise, as the +victims--could they have spoken--would have testified. As it was they +lay there lightly buried, and the same fool men made the same fool +mistakes and came and joined them. As I say, it was a sniper's +paradise. . . . + +Into this abode of joy, then, came the very superior young "gentleman." +It was principally owing to the fact that Miss Belsize--the "lady" who +dispensed camisoles, or some equally seductive garments--had flatly +refused to accompany him any longer to the High Street Picture Palace +if he remained in his frock coat, that our friend had donned khaki. +For a long while he had stoutly affirmed that he was indispensable; +then the transfer of affection on the part of camisoles to a +dangerous-looking corporal from the wild and woolly West decided him. +He did not like that corporal. No man who, meeting a comparative +stranger, beat him on the back painfully, and, having looked his latest +glad rags up and down, remarked with painful distinctness, "Lumme! is +it real?" could possibly be considered a gentleman. But Miss Belsize +had laughed long and laughed loud; and--well, I will not labour the +point. In due course our superior one found himself in the haunt of +death I have briefly described above, still full of self-importance and +as inconceivably ignorant as the majority are who come for the first +time to the game across the water. + +Recently arrived with a draft it was his initial experience of war in +France, in contrast with training in England; in fact, the morning in +question was his first visit to the trenches. And because many better +men than he have endeavoured to conceal a peculiar sinking of the +stomach by an assumed bravado, let us not blame him for the attitude he +endeavoured to take up. + +"Pretty quiet, isn't it, corporal?" he remarked airily, as his section +came to rest in a trench behind a mass of broken brick and cobble +stones. "Lor', look at that glass up there, hidden in the stones." +For a moment curiosity mastered him, and he reached up towards it with +his hand. The next instant he gave a cry of anger, as a jolt in his +ribs with a rifle doubled him up. "What the deuce----" he began +angrily. + +"Don't you deuce me, my lad," said the corporal dispassionately, "or +you and me will quarrel. Just you do what you're told, and I'll write +and tell your ma you're a good little boy." The corporal--a man of few +words--went on his way, leaving our hero--whose name by the way was +Reginald Simpkins--fuming. + +"If that blighter hits me again," he remarked when the N.C.O. was out +of hearing, "I'll----" + +"You'll what?" An old soldier looked at him scornfully. "He goes an' +saves yer mouldy life and then yer bleats. Got yer bib, Reggie +darling?" + +"Not so much of your row." The corporal had come back again. "This +ain't a ruddy colony of rooks in the nesting season. Now, Simpkins, +you and Ginger--first relief. There's your periscope--you can relieve +them other two." + +"Where's the periscope?" asked Reginald of his companion in a whisper. + +"The glass up there, you flat-faced perisher--hidden in the stones. +Wot d'you think it is? A noyster laying eggs!" + +The trench settled down to silence as the company relief was completed, +and Reginald morosely nursed his grievance. Much of the gentle +flattery to which he had been accustomed at Mogg's Mammoth Emporium +seemed conspicuous by its absence in this new sphere in which he found +himself. Not to put too fine a point on it, people seemed positively +rude at times, even ruder than they had been at home. He confided as +much in an aggrieved whisper to the unsympathetic Ginger. + +"Rude!" That worthy spat with violence and accuracy. "You wait till +you bump into Shorty Bill. Rude! Gawd! 'E's a 'oly terror." + +"Who is Shorty Bill?" queried Reggie, his eyes fixed on the glass whose +mysteries he was beginning to understand. + +But Ginger was in no mood for further confidences. "You'll find out +fast enough 'oo Shorty is. 'E's down 'ere to-day. You watch that +there periscope. This ain't no rest cure--this bit 'ere. It's 'ell." + +"It seems pretty quiet," ventured the watcher after a short silence. + +"Yus! That's wot the last man said wot I was with behind this wall. +There's 'is brains on that stone behind you." + +With an involuntary shudder Reginald looked round at the stone, on +which the grim stains still remained. "What did it?" he asked, barely +above a whisper. + +"Black Fritz," answered the other. "'E's a sniper, what lives +opposite; and 'e's paid for 'is keep that swine 'as--paid for 'is keep. +Charlie Turner, an' 'Arry, an' Ginger Woodward, an' Nobby Clark, an' +the sergeant-major, an' two orficers. Yus--'e's paid for 'is keep, 'e +'as--'as Master Black Fritz." + +"And he's over there," said Reggie, a little breathlessly. + +"Yus. Where the 'ell do you think 'e is? In an aeryplane?" Once +again Ginger spat dispassionately, and then relapsed into a silence +from which he refused to be drawn until the presence of two more men +beside him indicated that the hour of relief had come. + +"Now look here, Simpkins," said the corporal when the relief was +completed, "this is your first visit to the trenches, isn't it? Well, +you can sit down now and have a sleep, or you can write or read if you +like. But, whatever you do, don't go showing your ugly face over the +top; because this place ain't healthy." He turned away, and Reggie was +left to his own resources. + +"Come round the corner," said Ginger in his ear. "I'll show you a spot +to sleep. I know this 'ere bit like me own back parlour." + +And so--had any one been sufficiently interested in his doings to +report the fact--it might have been noted that ten minutes later our +friend was sitting on the fire step writing a lurid epistle to Miss +Belsize, while Ginger lay peacefully asleep beside him, breaking the +complete silence with his snores. + +At last the letter was finished, and Reggie gave way to meditation. +Everything was so utterly different to what he had anticipated that he +could hardly believe he was actually in that mystic place the trenches. +To his left a crumbling wall ran along until it bent out of sight, a +wall which in most places was three or four feet high, but which at one +spot had been broken down until it was almost flush with the ground, +and the bricks and rubble littered the weeds. In front of him lay the +town, desolate, appalling, with a few rooks cawing discordantly round +the windowless houses. And over everything brooded an oppressive hot +stinking stillness that almost terrified him. . . . + +After a while his gaze settled on the place where the wall was broken +down, and his imagination began to play. If he went there--it was only +about ten yards away--he would be able to look straight at the Germans. +So obsessed did he become with this wonderful idea that he woke up the +sleeping Ginger and confided it to him. There being a censor of public +morals I will refrain from giving that worthy warrior's reply when he +had digested this astounding piece of information; it is sufficient to +say that it did not encourage further conversation, nor did it soothe +our hero's nerves. He was getting jangled--jangled over nothing. It +was probably because there was such a complete nothing happening that +the jangling process occurred. A shell, a noise, anything; but not +this awful, silent stagnation. He bent down mechanically and picked up +half a brick; then just as mechanically he bowled the half-brick at the +lump of débris behind the broken bit of the wall. And it was that +simple action which changed our very superior young "gentleman" into a +man: on such slender threads hang the destinies even of nations. + +He watched the brick idly as it went through space; he watched it idly +as it hit the ground just by a clump of dock leaves; and from that +moment idly ceases to be the correct adverb. Five seconds later, with +a pricking sensation in his scalp and a mouth oddly dry, he was +muttering excitedly into the ear of the now infuriated Ginger. + +"A man where, you ruddy perisher?" he grunted savagely. "Fust yer +tells me if you goes and looks at the 'Uns you can see 'em; and then +you says there's a man in the nettles. You ought to be locked up." + +"There is, I tell you. I heaved a brick at that bunch of leaves, and +it hit something that grunted." Reginald was still clutching his +companion's arm. + +"Un'and me, Clara," said the other peevishly, "this ain't a sixpenny +'op." + +He got up--impressed in spite of himself by the other's manner--and +peered at the mass of débris. "Wot d'yer want with 'eaving bricks for, +anyway," he continued irately after a long inspection which revealed +nothing. "This 'ere ain't a bean-feast where you gets the bag of nuts." + +"Watch this time, Ginger." Once again a large fragment came down in +the neighbourhood of the dock leaves--followed by an unmistakable groan. + +"Lumme, mate," said Ginger hoarsely, "wot is it?" The two men stood +peering at the rubbish, not ten yards away. "I'll go and get the +corporal. You . . ." But he didn't finish his sentence. + +Two shots rang out almost simultaneously. One was from the German +lines, and there was a short stifled scream from the other side of the +traverse. The other was from the rubbish heap ten yards away, and the +blast made a piece of hemlock rock violently. Otherwise the rubbish +heap was lifeless--save for a sepulchral voice--"Got him." There was a +crash of falling bricks from a house opposite--the sound of what seemed +to be a body slithering down--and then silence. + +Ginger's grip relaxed, and he grinned gently. "Gawd 'elp you, +Reginald; you 'ave my blessing. You've been dropping the brickyard on +Shorty Bill's back." He faded rapidly away, and our friend was left +alone, gazing with fascinated eyes at the miraculous phenomenon which +was occurring under his very nose. Suddenly and with incredible +swiftness a portion of the rubbish heap, with dock leaves, nettles, old +cans, and bricks adhering to it, detached itself from the main pile and +hurled itself into the trench. With a peculiar sliding movement it +advanced along the bottom, and then it stopped and stood upright. +Speechless with amazement, Reginald found himself gazing into the eyes +of a man which were glaring at him out of a small slit in the sacking +which completely covered him. A pair of dirty earth-stained hands +gently laid down a rifle on the fire-step--a rifle with a telescopic +sight. Then from the apparition came a voice. + +"Say, kid, are you the son of a ----, who has been practising putting +the weight in my back? Don't speak, son, don't speak, or I might +forget my manners. Once in the ribs--and once in the small of the +back. God above, my lad, if I'd missed Black Fritz, after lying up +there for him for eight hours as part of the scenery, I'd have----" + +"'Ullo, Shorty." The corporal rounded the traverse. "Fritz has got +another. Poor old Bill Trent. Copped clean through the 'ead." + +The corporal, followed by the strange uncouth being in sacking, with +his leaves and bricks hanging about him, moved away, and Reginald +followed. With his heart thumping within him he looked at the dreadful +thing that ten minutes before had been a speaking, seeing, man; and as +he looked something seemed to be born in his soul. With a sudden +lightning flash of insight he saw himself in a frock coat behind the +counter; then he looked at the silent object on the step, and his jaw +set. He turned to Shorty Bill. + +"I'm dam sorry about that brick; but I'm new to the game, and I had no +idea you were there. Didn't you say you'd got Black Fritz?" + +"'Ave you, Shorty--'ave you got the swine?" An eager chorus assailed +him, but the man in the sack had his eyes fixed on the very superior +young "gentleman." At length he turned to the men around. + +"Yep--I got him. Half left--by the base of that red house. He came +out of the top window. You can see a black thing there through a +periscope." The men thronged to have a look, and Shorty Bill turned to +the stone thrower. + +"Can you shoot?" + +"A little; not much I'm afraid." + +"Like to learn the game? Yep?--Right. I'll teach you. It's great." +He moved slowly away and turned up a communication trench, while into +the eyes of Mogg's pride there came a peculiar look quite foreign to +his general disposition. A game--a great game! He looked again at the +poor still thing on the step, and his teeth clenched. Thus began his +fall from gentility! . . . + + + + +II + +THE FIRST LESSON + +It was not a very rapid descent. The art of sniping and its attendant +pastime scouting is not learned in a day. Moreover, in company with +the other games that are played in the trenches, it has the one +dominant feature about it. One mistake made in the rules is one too +many; there is no chance of making a second. True, the player will +have taught the man who takes his place yet another of the things not +to do; but personally--even at the risk of being dubbed a +pessimist--the method of teaching is one I would prefer to see others +employ, sentiments which were shared to the full by Shorty Bill. +Therefore our superior young friend, having gazed upon the result of a +sniper's bullet, and in the gazing remoulded his frock-coated +existence, could not have come under a better master. + +Shorty Bill was a bit of a character. Poacher and trapper, with an eye +like a lynx and a fore-arm like a bullock's leg, he was undoubtedly a +tough proposition. What should have made him take a liking to Reginald +is one of those things which passes understanding, for two more totally +dissimilar characters can hardly be imagined. Our friend--at the time +of the shooting of Black Fritz--was essentially of that type of +town-bred youth who sneers at authority behind its back and cringes to +its face. Such a description may sound worse than the type deserves; +for all that, it is a true one of the street-bred crowd--they've been +reared on the doctrine. Shorty was exactly the reverse. Shorty, on +one occasion, having blocked six miles of traffic with a fractious +mule, and being confronted suddenly by an infuriated Staff officer who +howled at him, smiled genially and electrified the onlookers by +remarking pleasantly, "Dry up, little man; this is _my_ show." That +was Shorty in front of authority. Behind its back--well, his methods +may not have commended themselves to purists in etiquette, but I have +known officers sigh with relief when they have found out unofficially +that Shorty had taken some little job or other into his own personal +care. There are many little matters--which need not be gone into, and +which are bound to crop up when a thousand men are trying to live as a +happy family--where the unofficial ministrations of our Shorty +Bills--and they are a glorious if somewhat unholy company--are worth +the regimental sergeant-major, the officers, and all the N.C.O.'s put +together. But--I digress; sufficient has been said to show that the +two characters were hardly what one would have expected to form an +alliance. + +The gentle art of sniping in the battalion when Bill joined with a +draft had been woefully neglected. In fact, it was practically +non-existent. It is not necessary to give any account of how Bill got +the ear of his platoon commander, how he interested him in the +possibilities of sniping in trench warfare, or any other kind of +warfare for that matter, and how ultimately his platoon officer became +mad keen, and with the consent of his C.O. was made Battalion sniping +officer. Though interesting possibly to students of the gun and other +subjects intimately connected with sniping, I have not the time to +describe the growth of the battalion scouts from a name only to the +period when they became a holy terror to the Hun. I am chiefly +concerned with the development of our frock-coated friend into a night +prowler in holes full of death and corruption, and one or two sage +aphorisms from the lips of Shorty Bill which helped that development. +They were nothing new or original, those remarks of his teacher, and +yet they brought home to him for the first time in his life the +enormous gulf which separated him from the men who live with nature. + +"Say, kid, do you ever read poetry?" remarked Bill to him one night +soon after the episode of the brick-bats as they sat in an estaminet. +"I guess your average love tosh leaves me like a one-eyed codfish; but +there's a bit I've got in me head writ by some joker who knows me and +the likes o' me. + + "'There's a whisper on the night wind, there's a star + agleam to guide us, + And the wild is calling, calling . . . let us go.'" + + +Shorty contemplatively finished his beer. "'The wild is calling.' +Ever felt that call, kid?" + +"Can't say I have, Shorty." His tone was humble; gone was the pathetic +arrogance that had been the pride of Mogg's; in its place the +beginnings of the realisation of his utter futility had come, coupled +with a profound hero worship for the man who had condescended to notice +him. "When are you going to teach me that sniping game?" + +The real sniping commander of the battalion--I mean no disrespect to +the worthy young officer who officially filled that position--looked at +the eager face opposite him and laughed. + +"You'd better quit it, son. Why, to start with, you're frightened of +the dark." + +"I'm damned if I am." The aggrieved Percy waxed indignant. + +"Oh, cut it out! I don't mean you're frightened of going to bed in the +dark, or that you want a nightlight or a nurse. But yours is a town +dark: standing under lamps gettin' the glad from a passing skirt. But +in the real dark, when it's pressing round you like a blanket, and +there are things moving, and people breathing near by, and you don't +know whether it's a German or a pal, or where the wire is, or which way +your own trenches are--what then, son, what then? Why, I reckon you +don't even know which the Pole Star is, or what it's there for?" + +"I guess not, Shorty," remarked the other, abashed; "but I'd soon +learn, if you'd teach me." + +"Well, I'll see. An' there's that blamed old woman with a face like a +wet street tryin' to shut up the shop. Give me another, mother +darling; no good your na-poohing me--I'm going to have it if I takes +it." + +Being what he was he got it, and that evening the lessons began. Going +back to their billet, they had to cross a field. It was a pitch-black +night, and before they had proceeded twenty yards Reggie could hardly +see his hand in front of his face. + +"Dark, Shorty, ain't it?" he remarked. + +There was no answer, and he stopped and repeated the question. Still +no answer, though he seemed to feel some one close by. Something +brushed his face, and then silence. With a short laugh he walked on--a +laugh which had just the faintest touch of bravado in it. Four times +in the distance to the billet did that something brush his face again, +and though each time he felt that there was some one near him, yet he +heard nothing. The fourth time he stopped and spoke. + +"Is that you, Shorty?" The next instant he gave a jump of pure nervous +fright. From within six inches of his ear came the single word "Yep." + +"Jove! You did give me a start." He laughed a little shakily. "Where +have you been?" + +"Circling round you, son, dusting your face with my glove. Understand +now what I meant by helpless in the dark?" + +Thus ended the first lesson. . . . + +The others followed in due course. The correct way to crawl through +grass so as to avoid being mistaken for a rhinoceros going to water; +the power of observation so as to be able to spot a change in the +German trenches--maybe, only a few sand bags moved, but just enough to +place the position of a machine gun; the value of disguise to defeat +the curious on the other side; patience, the way to fire a rifle, the +use of his eyes. All these and certain other things was he taught. + +And the certain other things were mysterious and secret. They occurred +at odd times and in odd places, and the instructor was always Shorty +Bill personally. + +"Some men," he would say, "like killing with a rifle; I do for one. +Some like killing with a revolver; not bad either, and essential, son, +when you're out on the tiles by night and can't carry a rifle. A rifle +is a dam nuisance at night if one's on patrol, whatever any one says to +the contrary. An' if you don't carry a gun you can't use a bayonet, +which is a beautiful method of sticking 'em." Shorty thoughtfully +removed his pipe. "I was almost converted to the bayonet one day by a +pal of mine. He's dead now, poor devil, but he lived well. He was +givin' tongue over the beauties of picking Huns out of dug-out +entrances with the bayonet like winkles out of their shells with a pin. +Gosh! it was great--that boy's palaver. He almost converted me, an' +then I showed him a couple o' little stunts of mine." Shorty put his +pipe in his pocket. "Come here, son, an' pay attention. It was +through forgetting in the excitement of the moment and not payin' +attention that my pal the winkle plucker went west." + +Thus the mysterious lesson would start. "There'll come a time one +night, boy, when you're out in the dark, an' you're crawling near the +wire, when you'll feel on a sudden there's some one near you. Maybe, +by the smell of him, you'll know it's a Boche. Well--then it's up to +you to make good. You can plug him with your hand gun when you've got +his dirty face dead set; but if you start shooting practice in No Man's +Land, the audience join in. So I'll just show you a couple o' little +tricks--silent tricks, which you can use when you get your hands on +him. They kill just as clean if not cleaner than a gun, and no one's +the wiser. Now come at me as if you meant to hurt me. No; not as if +you were out pushing the baby in the pram, but just as if you was goin' +all out to kill me. That's better, son; an' where are you now?" + +To be correct our one and only Reginald was lying on his face with the +unpleasant knowledge in his brain that if he moved an inch his left arm +would snap at the elbow; and that kneeling above him Shorty held, in +the neighbourhood of his ear, a villainous weapon of his own invention, +which resembled a cross between a bill-hook and a kukri. + +"You see the idea, boy, don't you? Now, you ask him if he'd like to +surrender, and if you don't understand what he says or he seems +doubtful like, put your clasp knife in there." Reginald felt a prick +under his right ear. "Right in--you take me. Get up, and we'll do it +again." + +"Where did you learn that, Shorty?" asked our pupil as he got up. + +"A Jap taught me that an' a good few more in Los Angeles. Jujitsu, he +said it was; dam good sense I call it. Come on--it takes practice." + +And Reginald Simpkins practised. With growing confidence he practised +day in, day out. Mogg's had faded into the limbo of forgotten things; +his horizon consisted of a foetid shell hole, a panting, writhing Hun +fighting for his life in the darkness of the night, a cracking arm and +then . . . His imagination never took him beyond that point. +Sufficient of the old Adam of gentility still remained to prevent him +picturing the final tableau. You see, Reginald Simpkins had not as yet +killed anything larger than a rat, and even then he had bungled. . . . + + + + +III + +AN IMPERSONAL DEMONSTRATION + +As was proper and fitting his first head was gained cold-bloodedly and +from a distance. It was his blooding into the ranks of the snipers. +His probationary period was over; Shorty Bill had professed himself +satisfied. The battalion had moved from the place in which we found +them, and had gone farther north. The country was flat and desolate; +periodically the ground would shake and tremble, and in No Man's Land +chalk and rubble and the salmon-pink fumes of ammonal would shoot +upwards, showing that the men of the underworld still carried on. +Slag-heaps, sandbags, and desolate mounds of earth formed the scenery +for his debut, while the orchestra consisted of rum jars and rifle +grenades. + +D Company it was who had lost a sergeant through a German sniper; and +the fact was duly reported. Now when a German sniper takes the life of +a man in a battalion which goes in for the art itself, it is an +unwritten law that from that moment a blood feud exists between the +German and English snipers opposite. Though it takes a fortnight to +carry out, yet death is the only finish. + +Wherefore, one morning, just as the first pale glints of dawn came +stealing over the silent land, Reginald Simpkins climbed carefully into +a great mound of sandbags which had conveniently been deposited just +behind the front line by the miners. But it is doubtful if Miss +Belsize of the camisole department would have recognised him. No +longer the frock coat and pearl tie, no longer the patent-leather boots +and immaculate trousers. In their place a dirty-faced man in khaki, +tastefully draped in flapping sandbags--his boots covered, his hands +stained. Very cautiously he made himself comfortable; with immense +care he laid his rifle--also covered with sacking--in the direction he +required; and then he covered his front and sides with filled bags. +Through a hole--also carefully arranged--his screened telescope covered +the bit of German trench where the day before the German sniper had +lain. Then he waited. + +The mists cleared away; the morning sun shone down. From his point of +vantage--for he was seven or eight feet above the trenches below--he +watched the German lines. His fingers itched to pull the trigger two +or three times; and once when he saw a German officer come out of his +dug-out in the second line and lean against the back of the trench, +smoking a fat cigar, he almost yielded to the temptation. But the +splintering of a periscope glass below him, as a German bullet hit it, +told him that the sniper was there--hidden somewhere, and watching too; +and he knew that, perfect though his position was for one shot, that +one shot would probably give him away. And that _one_ shot was for the +sniper, and not to be wasted on a fat Ober Lieutenant. . . . + +Three or four hours passed, and the silence was complete. The +perspiration trickled down his neck as he lay there motionless and +clouded the eyepiece of his telescope. Then suddenly he saw a little +black object shoot up into the air from the junction of two trenches +near the German support line--an object which turned over and over in +the air, and fell with a soft thud fifty yards to his right. A +roar--and some sandbags and lumps of chalk flew in all directions, +while fragments pattered down on Reginald out of the sky. + +"Hope to God they don't come any closer," he muttered, watching the +next rum jar shoot up. "Anyway, I've marked the place they're coming +from." Then his eyes came back to the sniper's locality, and as they +did so a quiver of excitement ran through him. Utterly regardless of +the second rum jar which burst with a crack behind him, he knew for the +first time the feeling of the big game man who has stalked his quarry +successfully. There, five yards to the left of where he had been +looking, a little stunted bush was moving--_and there was no wind_. +Trembling with excitement he focussed his telescope on the bush, and +even as he did so, he knew his vigil was over. The thing which up to +that moment he had taken for a log was a man--_the_ man, the sniper. +He could see the faint outline of his face, now that his attention was +drawn to it, and with infinite care he drew a bead on the centre of it. +Then suddenly he started shaking with nervous keenness; his left hand +wobbled like a jelly through sheer excitement until he almost sobbed +with rage. The German moved again as another rum jar burst, confident +that the English would have gone to ground to escape the trench +mortaring. It was that arrogant movement that infuriated our friend. +It struck him as a deliberate challenge. And for just a moment the +German's face and the crossed hairs of his telescopic sight coincided, +and coincided steadily. + +It seemed to Reginald that his pressing the trigger and the wild +convulsive lurch of the man opposite were simultaneous. With his eye +to the telescope he watched the log that writhed and squirmed; then it +grew still, and the disguise had gone. No more a log: just a +motionless twisted form; while something that showed dark and ominous +through the telescope spread round its head. The sergeant of D Company +was avenged. . . . + +With a feeling rather as if he personally had won the war, our hero +slipped backwards into the boyau beside him, and went in search of +Shorty Bill. Two hours later he found him and poured out the story. +Shorty listened in silence; then he spoke. + +"I've heard men talk like you, son, when they've kissed their first +woman. Have you reported where that trench mortar is?" + +"God! Shorty, I clean forgot. I'll go and do it now," remarked +Reggie, his ardour somewhat damped. + +"I should dam well think you'd better." Shorty relit his pipe, and +grinned amiably. "Well done, kid; but for Holy Mike's sake don't crow +over one plurry Boche. When you've touched three figures we'll +celebrate. . . ." + +He may have been right; but even on his own showing, is there any kiss +which is quite like the first? Is there any Hun, who----? Still, +possibly the analogy is unfortunate. Anyway, I have given the account +of his first cold-blooded victim; I will follow with his first +hot-blooded one. + + + + +IV + +SOMEWHAT MORE PERSONAL + +It occurred about six weeks later in the same part of the line; and as +a mark of special favour he had been allowed to accompany Shorty on one +of his nightly prowls. That worthy was wont to remark that two men on +a joy ride in No Man's Land was one too many; wherefore it must be +assumed that Reginald had grown in wisdom and cunning, and found favour +in the sight of his taskmaster. + +They slipped over the top about ten p.m. Shorty was armed as usual +merely with the villainous billhook-kukri of his own design, while +Reggie carried a revolver and a clasp knife which resembled a young +bayonet. It was not a reconnoitring patrol as laid down in the book of +the words; it was merely a pleasure ramble, so Shorty said, as they +passed silently out of a sap and disappeared in the darkness. + +The first thing Reggie did was to kick a tin and fall into a shell +hole, where he was joined by Shorty. + +"Frightening rooks, son," he remarked kindly, "or rehearsing as a +knockabout comedian? About twenty-five yards from here on our left is +the German sap party that I am visiting to-night. I like 'em to know +I'm coming." + +"Sorry, Shorty," muttered the delinquent. "I never saw the ruddy +thing." + +"You don't say. I thought you'd a-done it on purpose," returned the +other with ponderous sarcasm. "Now you stop here; I'm goin' to that +sap--an' I'll come back for you." + +Like a wraith Shorty faded into the night, leaving our friend alone +with his thoughts. A Lewis gun was firing away down the line in short +bursts, while Verey lights and flares went up every now and then with a +faint hiss. Above, the low-flying clouds scudded over the sky, and our +friend lay back in his shell hole and pondered. With an inward chuckle +he wondered what the beautiful Miss Belsize and the other fair ones of +Mogg's would say if they could see him at that moment. A sense of +physical well-being was on him, and he stretched himself luxuriously. +The next instant he was struggling impotently in a grip that throttled +him. + +"Quite so," remarked a voice as the grip relaxed, and by the light of a +flare he found Shorty occupying the shell hole once again. "A ruddy +lot o' good you are. Killed and dead as mutton by now, if I'd been a +Boche." + +Reggie reddened in the darkness with shame. "I wasn't thinking, +Shorty. I--er . . ." His words died away. + +"Thinking! You flat-footed clam--this show ain't a debating society, +nor yet a penny reading." Shorty snorted with rage. "Go over to that +saphead there--d'you see it--an' see what thinking does." His hand +pointed to a low hummock of chalk behind a crater. "Go an' look in, I +tell you; an' if ever you sit out here again dreaming like a love-sick +poet, I hope to God it happens to you. You'll deserve it." + +With a push like the kick of an elephant's hind leg he propelled the +wretched Reggie in the required direction. Puzzled and surprised, but +feeling very ashamed of himself, he moved cautiously towards the low +mound that stood up dimly outlined against the night sky. Once on the +short journey he crouched motionless while a flare burnt itself out +twenty yards away, only to move forward immediately the darkness +settled again with quickened step. There is no time so good to +movement as the few seconds after the eyes of possible watchers have +been dazzled. . . . + +And so he came to the saphead, and cautiously peered in. Under +ordinary circumstances his action was that of a fool; but Shorty had +ordered, and those who knew Shorty got in the habit of carrying out his +instructions. For a while in the blackness he could see nothing. He +noted the sap running back towards the German lines; but at the head of +it there was no sign of life. He carefully stretched farther over, and +as he looked at the bottom of the trench he made out a dark, huddled +figure. Then the next flare went up, and Reginald Simpkins got the +shock of his life. + +The green ghostly light came flooding in, and then went out as abruptly +as it had come. But the moment was enough. Clear stamped on his +brain, like a photographic exposure, was the image of two men. One lay +at the bottom of the trench and grinned at the sky with his throat cut +from ear to ear; the other--huddled in a corner with his hand still +clutching a bomb--was even as he looked turning on his head and his +knees, only to subside with a squelch in the mud, kick spasmodically, +and lie still. + +"Right in--you take me?--with your clasp knife." Shorty's words came +back to him and he gasped. So this was what his teacher had meant, +when he'd sent him to see the dangers of thinking. + +It was just as he was visualising the scene: the sudden ghostly +appearance of Shorty on top of the unsuspecting Germans; the sudden +stroke of that awful weapon; the feeble attempt to get the bomb; +the----well, it was just then that Reggie found himself contemplating +from about six inches range the glaring face of a Prussian N.C.O. who +had suddenly materialised. By the light of a flare down the line he +watched, as he lay on top of the ground, with his head over the edge of +the sap, the ring of the Prussian's revolver as it moved up towards his +face. + +What happened, happened quickly: most of these things are touch and go. +The bullet whizzed past his face into the night--his left hand hit the +revolver just in time; and even as the bullet went wide his right hand +struck sideways with the knife. It sank into the Prussian's neck; he +felt a rush of something warm and sticky, and then he was grabbed from +behind. + +"Quick," muttered Shorty in his ear, "hop it; hop it like hell. I'll +guide you." + +Blinded and dazed by the blast of the revolver, he stumbled +mechanically after his leader. "Into this shell hole for a moment," +whispered Bill imperatively, as a machine gun let drive with a few +rounds which passed over them like a flight of cockchafers. "Now come +on. Home this trip, my boy--I didn't know that swab was there. . . ." + +"I killed him, Bill," said Reginald, half an hour later, as he sat +rubbing his eyes on the fire step of their own trenches to get the +stinging of the cordite out. + +"You done well, son," said Bill; "an' if any one doubts it--show 'em +your hand." + +By the light of a match Reggie looked at it, and he shuddered. It +bore, as Bill implied, the proof of death. + +He was silent too awhile; the first hot-blooded one is more rattling to +the nerves than a stranger three hundred yards away. Then a great +thought struck him, and he cursed. + +"I've left my knife in his neck, Bill. What a blasted idiot!" + + + + +V + +A PROJECT AND SOME SIDE-ISSUES + +It is quite possible that there are some who, having read thus far, +will consider that the education of Reginald Simpkins as a soldier was +now complete. Transformed from a dreadful being who cut up silks and +things and discoursed on the merits of what I understand is known as +lingerie, he had become a man: a man with a quick hand and a sure eye, +a man who had met one of his kind in fair fight and killed him. In his +mind there had been born pride--the right sort of pride. Not the +spurious article which had passed for it at Mogg's--that unpleasant +type of conceit of which pimples and a high collar are the outward and +visible sign. No, not that at all. He had cast that off with his +frock coat, and in its place had grown the inherent pride which is the +birthright of a _man_. + +It was just because the metamorphosis had been so complete, and the +growth had been so rapid, that his education was by no means finished. +It had only just begun. + +So far I have dealt principally with one phase in the gentle game of +war: the phase that concerns itself with outing the wily Hun by means +of a rifle bullet. True, Reginald had tasted of other pleasant methods +under the kindly guidance of Shorty Bill; he had even gone so far as to +enter into wordy warfare with the battalion exponent of bayonet +fighting with regard to the relative merits of the bayonet G.S. and the +weapon that he had presented to the Huns on his night prowl. In fact, +our friend was beginning to hold opinions--and quite decided +opinions--of his own. He was still in his infancy, I admit; but to +those who were privileged to watch his growth he seemed a hopeful +specimen. The seed appeared to be falling on good soil. + +But it may be remembered that with regard to the question of the sower, +the seed which fell on stony ground appeared good for a time, until it +was found that there was nothing behind it. Precocity is a dangerous +thing, and in his new school Reginald was certainly precocious. +Nowadays it is necessary to form judgments quickly in the Army: the +game is being played at such high pressure. And so mistakes are bound +to occur, though the Honourable James Lascelles disliked making them +now, just as much as he did in the days when he could take his time. + +The thing in question at the moment was the fitness of our friend for +the stripe when a vacancy occurred; and the Honourable Jimmy, being the +Adjutant of the South Devons, and having the headquarter specialists +under his eye, was somewhat intimately concerned with the solution of +the question. I think I have failed to mention previously that it was +the South Devons that Reginald adorned--that celebrated regiment known +to the Army and the world at large by the more familiar soubriquet of +the "Stick 'em and be damned." + +So when the edict of Toby Seymour, the C.O., went forth, the Adjutant +seized the opportunity of trying to find out a little more fully +whether it really was good soil in Reginald's case, or whether it was +stony. To-day the edict would seem almost a matter of routine; at that +time things were different. Toby ordered a raid, and it was so. + +It was to be a raid on a large scale: no isolated affair like the +pilgrimages of Shorty Bill, but an affair where the enemy's trenches +were to be entered by a large party. No silent, stealthy work, but a +thorough good jolly, with bombs and noises complete. + +To-day raids are stale, and things of but little account. Sometimes +the bag is large, and sometimes the bag is small; but the performance +occurs twice nightly, with frequently a matinee thrown in. Then they +were something new, and enterprises to be talked about. + +The project first took concrete form in the back room of a certain +estaminet which served as the Headquarters mess when the battalion was +resting after a spell in the trenches. The omelette had been +successful, the port had recently arrived, and that pleasing, though +somewhat selfish, glow which comes even to the best of us when we +realise that it is the other fellow who is out in the cold wet night +permeated the room. + +"Sarah Jane," remarked Toby to his second-in-command, as he +thoughtfully sipped his port, "I have been thinking." + +"Have you, dear old soul? That's very jolly." + +"I have been thinking," went on the C.O., "that the boys require waking +up. There is a danger of their degenerating into trench machines. +They want ginger." + +The second-in-command looked at his Colonel keenly. "I agree with +you," he returned after a short silence. "But it's rather hard to give +'em anything to ginger with in the middle of winter and in this +locality. The division will probably be pulling out to train shortly, +and then----" + +"No--that won't do," Toby interrupted him. "I don't mean that sort of +ginger. How many men of this battalion feel instinctively, and know as +a positive fact, that--man for man--they are better than the Huns? +That's the point, and training behind won't help that; at least, it +won't start it. Once give it to them as a foundation, and the training +will gain five hundred per cent. in its value." + +"True, O king, but how?" + +"They must fight the Germans, and find out for themselves. We've got +some new drafts, Sarah--quite a number of new drafts who not only have +never fought the Hun, but who have never even seen him. Their horizon +is bounded by a dirty sandbag and a smell; and I maintain that their +value as fighting troops is not one quarter what it might be." + +He carefully lit his pipe while the rest of the mess watched him +curiously--wondering what was in his mind. + +"Listen to me, you fellows." Toby leant forward in his chair and +emphasised his remarks with his ancient and powerful briar. "Every one +in this room is--for want of a better word--blooded. We have all, +thank Heavens! had the unforgettable pleasure of killing Huns at close +quarters, with our own hands. Now that broadens one's horizon at once. +We are not bounded by sandbags and stinks; when we are in the trenches, +we know--our imagination tells us--that over the way are men whom we +can visualise: living, actual beings whose ideal and object in life is +to kill us. Not so, I regret to say, with a new draft: how can you +expect it? To them the Hun is a strange something living in a trench, +whom they never see, and whom they don't particularly want to. One +might almost say that 'live and let live' is bound to be the way they +look at life at present. Until the terrier sees the rat he has no wish +to kill it; and until he has killed it he has no idea what a delightful +occupation it is. Same with the men; and we've got to alter it." + +"Bravely spoken, sir, as the poets would say," remarked the Honourable +James. "The only point is how to do it." + +"Easy as falling off a log. One night we will pay the Huns a visit and +kill 'em. Cheery amusement, charming hobby. The terriers will get +bitten on the nose, and as soon as that happens they'll see red. Then +they'll start to kill; and once they've done that there will be no +holding them. Their tails will be stickin' up above their heads." + +"It was done a few weeks ago up the line, wasn't it?" The +second-in-command thoughtfully replenished his glass. + +"I believe it was--but what matter? The Stick'ems don't require any +damned pilot for their fences." The C.O. brought a fist like a leg of +mutton down on the table. "Before the division leaves the line, we are +going to visit the Hun; we are going to kill the Hun; we are going to +capture the swab, to wound him, to out him; and when we've done it and +got him as wild as a civet cat in the nesting season, we'll laugh at +him by platoons." + +"Prolonged applause from a breathless audience," laughed the Adjutant. +"We can merely murmur a Benedictined Bismillah." . . . + + +Now it is possible that to those who sit at home, and regard war from +arm-chairs as a movement of little flags on a large-scale map, the +words of Toby Seymour may come in the nature of a surprise. It is +possible that they have never really thought about the human side of +killing: of killing as a hobby--as a trade. Vaguely they realise that +a soldier does not go into the army to pick buttercups; vaguely they +understand that men die and are killed in war, and that soldiers are +the people who kill and are killed. But I venture to think that they +do not realise the intense importance of inculcating in every private +soldier the necessity and the desire of outing the other fellow. +Horrible, you say; revolting. Of course it's horrible, my good man; of +course it's revolting; but what the devil do you think this war +is--minding a crèche for imbecile children? _You_ bring in a crowd of +men whose sole qualification in August 1914 to be considered soldiers +was an intense and national love of games. _You_ pit them against a +machine perfect in technique, in which every part had been trained from +earliest infancy in the trade of soldiering, and the trade of ruthless +killing. + +_You_ ask them to go across the water and beat this machine for _you_. +And so, if I harry you at times with details of the type +blood-curdling, it is only that you may understand something of the +nature of the task: the task which _your_ brothers and sons and +partners and clerks are carrying to a successful issue. + +Has it occurred to you why they are succeeding? + +You say that right is triumphing over might; that a good cause must +win. It is beautiful, it is magnificent your contention; but it is not +war. History does not support you; common sense does not bear you out. +We are beating them because as a nation of sportsmen the men have taken +to the new sport as a duck takes to water; and the new sport is to +kill, capture, wound, or out the Boche before he kills, captures, +wounds, or outs you. And having taken to it as a sport, now that the +technique and other things are equal, we are better at it than the Hun +who views it as a business. + +Which recalls to mind the celebrated utterance of a celebrated officer. +Should he read these lines, I trust he will pardon the plagiarism; but +the utterance was so wonderful that it should be perpetuated, even thus +modestly. He spoke lightly; but if I may be forgiven the platitude, +there is many a true word spoken in jest. + +Why not institute, he suggested, a list of battalion averages? Just as +the relative position of Tottenham Hotspur and Sheffield Wednesday in +the Football League is the subject of frenzied back chat; just as the +defeat of Yorkshire by Kent causes head shakings in the public-houses +of the North towards the end of August, why not have a league of +battalions? + +A wonderful idea if one thinks into it. A dead'un two points, a +prisoner one; the Ober-lieutenant five points and a Colonel +twenty--with other grades according to fancy. Think of the frantic +excitement in the London clubs and the quiet villages when the relative +scoring merits of a Jaeger sharpshooter and a one-eyed Landsturmer were +sized up. Think of the Putney Peashooters' ladies meeting those of the +Shoreditch Snipers at a small and early, and counting up the bag: five +Saxons and a stretcher-bearer against four prisoners and a carrier +pigeon. + +One might almost wind up with England versus Scotland, the winner to +play Australia on a percentage basis. In fact, there is no limit to +it; and I will cease, lest I get lost in a maze of wonderful +developments. + +I will cease, and return to the Stick'ems; but as a last word I would +say, in all seriousness, that wildly farcical though that celebrated +utterance may be, there underlies it an absolutely true valuation of +the fundamental bed-rock of war. To emulate the deeds of others and go +one better, to put the men in good heart with their tails up, that is +the secret of winning. And the best way of doing it is to treat the +matter as a sport: the Englishman understands it that way best. . . . + + + + +VI + +THE SECOND LESSON, AND SOME FURTHER SIDE-ISSUES + +No Man's Land in that part of the line where the South Devons resided +was wide--well over a quarter of a mile to be exact. Across their +front, about a hundred and fifty yards from the German lines, there ran +a small bank two or three feet high, with its right resting on a main +road which crossed No Man's Land, and its left gradually falling away +till it came level with the ground. The remnants of a hedge and two or +three forlorn tree stumps still remained on the bank, over the top of +which could be seen the German wire--running round a small orchard in +which lay their front line trenches. The locality was peaceful; the +Hun was quiet, asking for nothing more than that he should be left +alone, which undoubtedly made Toby Seymour's breach of the rules the +more reprehensible from the exclusively Teuton point of view. They +were extremely angry; in fact, one large prisoner went so far as to +state that it was a barbarous method of fighting, and unheard of in +civilised warfare. The suggestion that he should be kept as the +battalion mascot and supply the comic relief at all subsequent smoking +concerts, unfortunately fell through. Other "non-barbarians" who +escaped joining him in captivity emulated his altruistic spirit by +informing the South Devons daily from a position where the lines ran +close together, that they were looking forward to crucifying the next +Englishman they caught, which again was an immense success, and was +greeted invariably by a specially selected choir chanting the Hymn of +Hate. And yet the damage done was not very great from the material +point of view. It was the mental jolt, the jar to their spiritual +loftiness, that tickled the dear souls up. . . . + +Now primarily my story concerns Reginald Simpkins and his +transformation to manhood. And therefore, before I tell of the raid +itself, I will touch on one or two matters concerning that +transformation, and the methods of the Honourable James. + +D Company won the toss, so to speak, and was deputed to perform; and +Reginald Simpkins was not in D Company. Being a sniper, he was +attached to that mystic band of specialists who adorn battalion +headquarters. And so, one morning, the snipers were assembled and the +Adjutant gazed at them benignly through his eyeglass. + +"D Company are going to raid the Huns," he remarked. "I want six +volunteers to go with them." The result was as he anticipated. "I +said six, not the whole bunch," he continued genially, "so I'll have to +draw lots." + +Now nothing would induce me to hint that everything was not perfectly +square in that drawing, but--Reginald Simpkins was one of the six. In +due course his part in the programme was explained to him, and during +the explanation his face became more and more suggestive of a street +corner on a rainy day. + +"You understand what you have to do, Simpkins?" The Honourable James +looked at him keenly. + +"Yes, sir, I understand; but--but--ain't I to have a go at the swine at +all?" Our friend's grievance boiled over. "Can't I just go into the +trench once and have a go at them? It'll be a bit hard sitting by the +tree stump, and hearing the boys at it, and having to . . . ." His +words died away under the steady glance of the man opposite. + +"And because it's a bit hard, you don't want to do it?" + +"It ain't that, sir, it's--it's----" + +"Well, what is it? Not the showy part of the performance, eh? Not the +part where the fun comes--sitting by a bank and taking the roll as they +come back. But some one has to do it--why not you?" + +The second lesson in the making of a soldier--subordination of +self. . . . As a matter of fact there was no reason why Reginald +should have been deputed to the job: there were many others who could +have done it equally well if not better. But the Honourable Jimmy had +his own methods. . . . + +The desire for the game was there in the pupil: that he knew: the point +was whether the character which would suppress and master that desire +when necessary was there too. Could reliability be added to keenness? + . . . + +That was what the Adjutant wished to find out. He knew that our friend +was--in the vernacular--throwing a chest. He knew that lately, well, +Reginald Simpkins had been rather full of--Reginald Simpkins. +Adjutants--good Adjutants--do know these things. Which was all to the +good--within certain limits. . . . + +An unpromising subject had learned the first lesson of the soldier: +would he be able to learn the second, without which the third and +greatest would be impossible? All soldiers must learn the first +lesson; only a limited number can learn the second and third. + +So it came about that for the good of his soul Reginald played a very +minor part in this raid, and my information on the doings that occurred +in the Hun lines was obtained from the lips of one Samuel Pipston, +sometime auctioneer's assistant, who had joined the battalion with the +last draft. He was just a second Reginald--one stage behind him in +development, that's all--an apathetic lad, finding war a tedious +operation. + +It was not until ten o'clock on the night, as he lay with his party +behind the bank of which I have spoken, that a pleasurable thrill of +anticipation began to take hold of Samuel. A slight frost nip was in +the air, and in the sky there shone a myriad stars. Away behind him +lay the trenches he had just quitted, peaceful and still in the faint +moonlight; and looking to his front he could see the German lines, just +as still, only much closer. He tried to realise that he was shortly +going to be inside those trenches, and that when he got there he would +meet real live men, who would endeavour to kill--him, Samuel Pipston. +He thought of Mary Johnston, the daughter of the leading grocer, and +wondered what she was doing at the moment, and what she would think +if---- + +"Don't shoot--for God's sake--not a sound." + +With a start Samuel heard the hoarse whisper of a subaltern beside him, +and became suddenly aware that a struggle was going on two or three +yards away. He peered eagerly in the direction of the noise, and saw +three men in a confused mass heaving on the ground behind the bank. + +"What the devil----" he muttered, and then the heaving ceased. In the +dim light he saw a still figure lying on the ground, and two men +crouching over him. "Someone 'ad a fit, I reckons," he whispered to +the man next him, an old hand at the game. + +"Fit be blowed. It's a 'Un, yer fool--or was before he 'opped it. +He's dead." + +"A 'Un!" Samuel gazed stupidly at the speaker, and then peered at the +motionless figure. "Wot's the sargint a-doin' of." + +A low question came from the officer. "Have you killed him, Melstead?" + +"I have that, sir; but I can't get my perishing bayonet out. Put your +foot on his chest, Charlie, and heave. Again, so, heave." The +sergeant sat down suddenly as the bayonet came out, and immediately +crawled to the subaltern. "There'll be another with him, sir, for a +cert." The two peered over the bank towards the German lines, while +drawn by an irresistible impulse Samuel crept towards the dead man. He +peered into the distorted face, he looked at the still twitching body, +and an uncontrollable fit of shuddering took him and gripped him. His +knees knocked together; his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth; and +only one coherent thought hammered at his brain. + +"Lemme get away; it's awful. Gawd! it's awful. Lemme go." He was +whispering and muttering to himself, and Heaven knows what might have +happened, because there are moments when a man is not responsible for +his actions, when a large body hit him on the head, and he found +himself at the bottom of a mass of struggling, kicking men. + +As a matter of fact it was merely the expected arrival of number two of +the German patrol, and he could not have selected a better place to +come to as far as Samuel was concerned. There is no better banisher of +knocking knees than a heavy kick in the ribs from a German boot, and in +an instant our friend was fighting like a tiger cat. + +"Quietly, quietly, for the love of Heaven." The officer's insistent +voice reached him, and he felt for the German's mouth with his hands. +He was lying on his back, and the Hun was on top of him; but beyond +that, the only other clear remembrance of the episode he has is of a +fine and complete set of teeth nearly meeting in his hand. That was +enough; one new terrier at any rate was blooded. He don't quite know +how he killed him; in fact, it is quite on the cards that it wasn't he +who killed him at all. The fact remains that the German died; and +whether it was the sergeant, or whether it was the subaltern, or +whether it was Samuel, is immaterial. All that matters is that as far +as motive and endeavour went Samuel Pipston killed his first rat, and +gloried in the operation. Such is the effect of mistaking the thumb of +even our nearest and dearest for a ration biscuit. . . . + +Thus ended the little episode of the German patrol. For months +previously those two men, or others like them, had wandered over No +Man's Land, and returned in due course to their sausage and their beer, +with nothing of interest to report. Then, as the invariable rule of +war, there came the hundredth time when the unexpected happened. +Shells, bombs, bullets--they take the others and pass you by. But +sooner or later, it will be "nah-poo." You can only pray Heaven it's a +Blighty. With the German patrol, it was not. + +A whispered word came down the waiting line. "Get ready." All along +the bank men tightened their belts and took a last look at their bombs +and rifles. Two parties--each under a subaltern--were going to enter +the German lines, while, as a reserve, the Company Commander, with a +machine gun and some rifle grenadiers, _and_ Reginald Simpkins were +remaining at the bank. The two parties were going to enter at +different points and move towards one another, the leading men of each +ceaselessly calling out, "'Ow's yer father?" Then when the mystic +answer came, "Merry and bright," they would know they were meeting one +another and be careful with their bombs. _En passant_, it is not too +easy to recognise who's who at night in a strange trench when every one +is somewhat excited. + +"Are you all ready, 'A' party? Then come on." Worming over the bank +Samuel followed his subaltern into the darkness, and the raid had +begun. Without a sound they approached the wire through which they had +to cut, crawling as they had practised. Timed to a nicety they reached +it and lay still, just as a couple of flashes from the rear proclaimed +the gunners were beginning. Five--six--seven seconds, and with a +shrill scream two shells whistled over their heads and burst fifty +yards in front of them. + +"Come on." The whisper was hardly audible, and quite unnecessary: they +had all been too well drilled. Snip--snip; the wire strands parted as +they forced their way through to the silent lines, while the shells +still moaned over their heads; and the German sentries, who had heard +shells before and liked them no more than any one else, kept their +heads down till the English swine should have concluded their nightly +hate. Three minutes later the party dropped into a deserted bit of +trench and the fun commenced. . . . + +Samuel was a bomber, and he carried twenty of these pleasant little +instruments as his stock in trade. With every nerve tingling with +excitement he followed the officer in front of him, who with a couple +of bayonet men headed the party. The first man they met was the +sentry, who was crouching on the fire-step to avoid the shelling, and +from that moment on--well, things hummed. + +The subaltern--an excitable youth--smiled genially at the dazed +Bavarian, who was regarding the sudden invasion of his privacy as if it +was a bad dream; and having shot him in the stomach, passed breezily on +round the traverse, followed by his surging mob. + +"Picket the other entrance," he roared to those behind, as he stepped +by the first shaft of a dug out, up which a man was rushing. "Come on, +my pet, come on--roll, bowl, or pitch, it's a cocoa-nut to a berlud +orange. . . ." The man fell back with a bullet through his brain, and +slid head down to the bottom of the shaft. "Bomb 'em, boys; bomb 'em." + +With a roar the bombs went off in the confined space below the ground; +the lights went out, and a confused medley of shouts and groans +followed them up the trench as they sought pastures new. Control was +impossible: it was every man for himself, and to hell with everything +he could see. Each man fought his own little battle, in his own little +way, against one or two or three of the bewildered men who appeared +suddenly from odd places. And though they were bewildered, they +fought--those Huns: fought like good 'uns. In one corner a great burly +miner grappled with a Bavarian N.C.O. who had suddenly dropped over the +back of the trench armed only with a pick--straight from a working +party. Farther on, the subaltern and a bayonet man carried on the good +work with howls of joy, while a small party of bombers, having found a +large sump pit covered by boards in a communication trench, removed the +boards just in time to catch a relief party of six who came rushing up +the trench. With a resounding splash they went through the ice several +feet below the top of the hole, and were immediately joined by two +bombs. + +As the corporal in charge of that party put it afterwards: "It was a +good idea that sump 'ole; because them that wern't killed by the bombs +was drowned, and the only one wot was neither, I 'it over the 'ead with +me gun; and 'ere he is. Ain't 'e a little dear?" The little dear with +a cracked jaw, and a face reminiscent of Hindenburg on the morning +after, looked the part. . . . + +But I have neglected Samuel Pipston. As I mentioned, he was a bomber, +and he was also excited. In the general confusion and darkness he got +parted from the rest of the gallant band, and found himself in a bit of +trench alone save for a large and morose sapper who was tenderly +nursing a mobile charge of several pounds of ammonal. Away in front +the noise and shouting and the crack of bursting bombs was getting +fainter, and Samuel was undecided. He had explored a little +_cul-de-sac_ on his own, and had drawn blank; and at the moment he was +in the unfortunate predicament of thirsting for blood and being unable +to get any. In front the trench was being cleared up; behind it had +been cleared up; wherefore Samuel stood undecided, and cursed fluently. + +"Shut yer mouth"--the morose sapper gripped his arm--"an' listen. I +heard some of the swine, I reckons." + +Silently the two men stood in the trench, and suddenly from close at +hand there came the noise of a man climbing a dug-out shaft. It was +exactly as a faint cry of "'Ow's yer father?" came from a long way off +that a curtain just beside them moved, and a man, crouching slightly, +came out of a screened dug-out shaft into the trench. It must be +remembered that neither of our warriors had a rifle, and that bombs and +ammonal charges are not weapons with which to tackle a man you can +touch. They are apt to be impartial to friend and foe alike. . . . +Resource was necessary, and it is at moments such as these that the +national instinct for games is so invaluable. There was a +psychological moment as the crouching man came up into the trench with +his rifle and bayonet, when his chin was in the perfect position: +moreover, the sapper was a full back of merit. He kicked hard and +true, and if any one doubts the effect of a service boot on the point +of the jaw, no doubt he can experiment with the matter--at a small +cost. The Bavarian fell forward as if he had been pole-axed, and +having relieved him of his rifle the sapper held forth. + +"There's a ruddy dug-out full of 'em, mate, wot was missed." They +peered down the opening, where a faint light showed. "They think we've +gone on, and they're coming up to see. Look, there's one." + +The shadow of a man showed grotesquely in the flickering light, and +Samuel quivered with excitement. + +"I'm a-going down the plurry steps," he affirmed, "an' I'll bomb 'em +from the bottom." + +The next instant he was down the shaft and peering cautiously round the +corner; and having peered he let out one wild whoop and gently lobbed +his first bomb into the far corner. It was a bomber's paradise. + +All round the walls in bunks were Bavarians--stout ones, thin ones, +drunk ones, sober ones--and the bunks were arranged in tiers one above +the other. Two men were up, getting on their equipment, and evidently +preparing to sally forth after the gentleman upstairs; but after the +first bomb burst the fog of war descended on that Hun hostel. Samuel +had just time to see the fearful mess up in the far corner before the +light went out, and then things moved. Shots came whizzing past his +head into the woodwork of the shaft, but Samuel didn't care a damn for +shots; had he not been bitten in the hand less than an hour previously? +Methodically he pulled out pins, and impartially he distributed his +favours in every direction, what time he softly sang a song that had +long been one of his favourites, and which dealt with the singer's +overmastering predilection for "fish and chips." + +Suddenly he found the sapper behind him. "Stand by to 'op it like a +ruddy 'are," remarked that worthy tersely. "I'm a going to give 'em my +little present from Brighton, and it won't be 'ealthy when it goes off." + +There was a sudden sizzle as he lit the fuze, and he saw a stream of +smoky light fly through the darkness and fall on to the ground in the +centre of the dug-out. Then Samuel 'opped it, the sapper just behind +him, up the shaft and into the trench. The sapper rushed him round a +bend, and then crouched down. + +"Twenty seconds," he gasped, "an' me out of training. Lumme! wot a +life." + +The next instant the ground quivered as if an earthquake had occurred; +a thunderous roar shook the air, while the blast of the explosion +nearly knocked them down. + +"Nothin' wrong with that there ammonal," remarked the Sapper +professionally. "'Andy stuff it is too. Let's go and see what's +'appened." + +But that they will never know. From the dug-out shaft a volume of +smoke and dust was belching out, while from inside there came a medley +of noises and grunts indicative of annoyance and pain. + +"Sounds like one of them there gramophone records, don't it?" murmured +Samuel. "A summer morning, or the departure of a troop ship. Ain't it +lovely? 'Ullo, wot's that?" + +Clear above the din and the moaning, and the spasmodic fighting which +they could still hear going on up the trench, there sounded the +officers' dinner call. Twice it blared forth from the British lines, +and every man knew what it meant: "Come back, at once." The raid was +over. . . . + +And so by ones and two and threes D Company returned to the fold, where +hot tea and a noggin of rum awaited them, giving their names to +Reginald on the way. To the casual observer it might have seemed that +D Company were drunk--one and all. They were--but not with wine. They +were drunk with excitement, and with the knowledge just acquired that +they could beat the Germans, man-to-man. They were blooded. + +The lies they told--those cheery lads! Not a man had done in less than +forty Boches, which rose to eighty when they wrote their girls. What +matter? D Company of the Stick'em and be damned was made for life. +The men walked three inches higher; the men, as men, had come into +their own. Every new draft that came heard the story; every new draft +realised it had got something to live up to. No longer sand bags and +smells their horizon, but the memory of one glorious half-hour. + +And when he thought over it afterwards, there was only one small thing +that struck Samuel Pipston as peculiar. He was just retailing to +Reginald Simpkins--with some wealth of detail--his experiences in the +German dug-out, when he became aware of the Honourable James beside +him, who listened for a while until he had finished. + +"So you had a good time did you, Pipston?" he remarked. "Splendid!" +Then he turned to Simpkins. "The Company Commander tells me you were a +great help to him, checking the men as they came back. Well done." + +It struck Samuel that he might have had a "Well done." + +But then, he didn't know the Honourable Jimmy's methods; nor did he +know that while he and those with him had merely learned the first and +easiest lesson that night, Reginald Simpkins had learned the second. + + + + +VII + +THE THIRD LESSON, AND A DIGRESSION + +And so, with two of the lessons learned, we come to the third and +greatest. The first was basely material, and was taught by Shorty +Bill; the second was a little nearer the heart of things, and was +taught by the Honourable James; the third is the heart of things, and +can be taught by no one. The rules--vague rules--may be given by men +who have learned it to those who have not; but its true meaning, its +real significance, can only be reached by the pupil for himself. And +there are many who fall by the way. . . . + +It arises out of the second: it must be preceded by subordination of +self. For until a man can subordinate himself, he cannot take on his +shoulders the cares of others; he cannot put those others first, And +until he can put others before him, he cannot be put in a position of +responsibility: he is not fitted to fill it. And it is the principle +of responsibility on which the British Army is built up: another thing +about which I am very doubtful as to the knowledge of those whose paths +have not led them near things military. . . . + +I have touched on things material; let me hold forth awhile on things +spiritual. + +What think you, my masters, is the driving force of a regiment in the +field? The answer is in one word--Leadership. Quite so, you say; the +remark seems to have been made before. It has, which makes it all the +stranger that it is so little understood. + +What does the word mean to you? Prancing in front of the men with a +drawn sword, shouting, "For King and Country"? They'd laugh at you, +and follow a--leader: one of their own. Ruling by fear, ruthlessly +without thought of human weakness, without tinge of mercy? They'd hate +you, and you would have to drive them like the Prussians do. Ruling by +pusillanimous kindness, by currying favour, by seeking to be a +popularity Jack? They'd despise you--and rightly. + +The quality of leadership is none of these things: it is something much +more simple, much more homely, if I may use the word. To lead men a +man must first of all understand men, understand human nature; he must +know his job, and know it better than his men; he must possess +intensity of purpose. + +Human nature! What the men like and what they dislike; the little +fetishes they put up, the little gods; the few words of praise when +they have done well, of disappointment when they have not; +consideration for them, giving them beer and concerts; being with them +in the trenches when the weather is bad, and not in a dug-out. Little +points perhaps, but it's the little points that are so important. + +Human sympathy--the appealing to the spark of better things that lies +in the worst; the inculcation of an ideal to live up to--the ideal of +the regiment. All the hundred and one things that go to make up a +man's life and not an automaton's; all the things that make for the +affection and love of those under you. It is a very great thing for an +officer to be loved by his men. . . . + +Knowledge! The capability of doing yourself anything you call on those +under you to do; of showing them when they are right and when they are +wrong; of making them trust your ability. It is a very great thing for +an officer to be trusted by his men. + +Intensity of purpose! The driving force that gives enthusiasm, that +causes the hand on the plough to remain there until the job is done; +the quality that abhors vacillation, that prevents a man taking a thing +up one moment with red-hot eagerness and dropping it the next because +he's tired of it. The men despise vacillation and chopping and +changing. Being "messed about," they call it; only the word is not +messed. And it is a terrible thing for an officer to be despised by +his men. . . . + +From good leadership there springs good discipline, that other word so +little understood by those who have not met it in the flesh. Not, +believe me, the rigorous punishment for breaking certain arbitrary +rules, enforced by an autocrat on men placed temporarily under him by a +whim of fate; far from it. Discipline is merely the doctrine which +teaches of the subordination of self for the whole; it teaches the +doctrine of playing the game; it teaches the all-important fact that +the fear of being found out and punished should _not be_ the chief +force in a man's life, but rather that the realisation of his +responsibility should be the guiding factor. + +Such is the ideal aimed at in a good regiment. That there are some who +miss that aim none but a fool would deny; the same may be said of most +professions, even, I suppose, of bishops. That there are some officers +who go the wrong way to work, who nag and bully and generally turn +themselves into something even worse than nature intended is an +undoubted fact. That there are some men who are wasters; who were born +wasters and will die as such is also quite true. But I maintain that +the training, the ideals, the traditions, the morale of the good +British regiment does produce, and has produced, a growth of character +and a condition of mind in the men who belong to it which was largely +conspicuous by its absence in civil life. + +Why, I do not profess to say. Why the great thinkers and the +vaporising burblers between them should not have hit on some method of +training character which would have produced equally good results to +those produced by what they are still pleased to call "militarism," I +do not know. All that I do know is that they did not. Let us leave it +at that. + + +I have digressed; our Reginald is calling. For weeks his battalion was +destined to remain in peace trenches, to live that dreary life of +monotony which tests the capabilities of the leader as no big push can +do. The excitement is absent, there is plenty of time--too much +time--for thought. And boredom is of all things one of the hardest to +combat. It calls for leadership of the highest type. There is many a +man capable of supreme devotion in a crisis who is incapable of the +steady, unseen strain, day in, day out, of keeping up his men's +spirits--in fact, of appreciating human nature in one of its many +phases. + +The men feel that dull routine on which the lime-light does not shine, +and only the leader can help them. It claims its victims, just as do +the big offensive, that trench life, when the flares lob up ceaselessly +and the bursts of machine-gun fire come swishing over the ground. Here +men are wiring; there is a party digging a new bit of trench; and out +beyond--in No Man's Land--an officer and three scouts are creeping +about examining the enemy's wire. So it goes on throughout the night, +until as the first streaks of dawn show faintly in the east it ceases. +The men come in, back to the dreary mud holes; and next night there is +the same damned thing to be done all over again somewhere else. . . . + +Only, Ginger won't be there any more; he has put up his last bit of +wire. He started on the last journey unnoticed save by the man +standing next him; and--Gawd above!--what's the use? They'd been +together for two years, share and share alike; and now the end. +Putting up a bit of rusty wire round a sap. . . . + +"Easy, boy, easy. 'Ere, cut them ruddy braces away. 'Orl rite, old +son, you've copped a Blighty. Thro' yer stummik--Gor luv yer--no. Get +that dressing on, Bill; turn over, mate--we'll give yer a drink in a +minute; but one thing at a time, old pal, that's my motto. Always +merry and bright, as the perisher said in the play." Back in the +trench, pulled in from the wire where the work goes on, an officer's +electric torch shines on the stretcher bearers working with clumsy +gentleness on the quivering body. "Now, then, mate, we can't get the +blinking stretcher along this 'ere trench, so we'll 'ave to carry you." + +"Copped it?" asks an N.C.O. in a whisper. + +"Gawd! a fair crumpler," mutters the other. "Come on, Ginger, let's +get off on the first stage for Blighty. On me back, we does it--on me +back. 'Ere, boy--lumme! turn 'im over, Bill." The torch shines down +on the face upturned to the stars; the stretcher bearers bend down and +suddenly straighten up again. For Ginger is even now passing along the +last great road: he has copped it. The group disperse; the officer +goes back to his job; the stretcher bearers do their work; and soon +nothing remains save the stain on the dirty sandbags. Just another +letter to a woman at home; just war. + +Only to his pal, it's Ginger: Ginger whom he'd joined up with; +Ginger--killed putting up a bit of rusty wire. Not doing anything +brilliant, not in a charge or going over the top, but putting up a bit +of ruddy wire. What is the use of it all, what? . . . + +Come on, my leader; come on, you platoon commander; the soul of +Ginger's pal is in the melting-pot, though he doesn't know it, and +would curse in your face if you told him so. A quiet hand on the back, +a laugh perhaps, just a word to show him that you feel with him. His +outlook on life is not as big as yours; help him--for Heaven's sake, +help him. Thus is it done if the leader of the regiment is a man of +understanding; for each of his assistants, right down the long chain to +the junior lance-corporal, have been imbued with their responsibility +to those under them. They are there to help them, to lighten their +burdens, to sink self for the men they lead. The strong must help the +weak--that is the principle; and every one must pull his weight for the +good of the team. + +But I have got off the rails again; I apologise. + + +During those weeks of boredom, Reginald, though he knew it not, was +being watched, still watched, by the Honourable James. And it seemed +to that judge of character that the soil was good. + +"The Adjutant asked me if I'd like to take the stripe this morning, +Shorty." Reginald and his pal were watching an inter-company football +match on the ground by the Lens main road, near the little village of +Noyelles-les-Vermelles. It is on the borders of the coal country--that +village, and all around it rise the great pyramidical slag heaps of the +pits. + +"Did 'e now?" Shorty contemplated with interest a shell bursting on +the derelict fosse in the next village of Annequin, and turned +thoughtfully to the speaker. "An' what did you say to him?" + +"I said I didn't want to. Why the devil should I? I don't want a +stripe, Bill--I'm happier as I am. It means a lot of extra work an' +trouble, an'----" + +"Did you tell him that, son?" Shorty Bill hooked himself over on his +arm and proceeded to fill his pipe. + +"Yes, I told him that: and he----" + +He did not finish his sentence for a moment or two; he seemed to be +turning something over in his mind. Then he burst out: "He talked a +lot of rot about responsibility." + +"Cut it out. It's you that is coughing up the rot. Listen here a +moment, an' I'll tell you what the Honourable James said. Got a +match?" He took the proffered box and carefully lit up. "He +first-ways told you that he'd had his eye on you for some time, an' he +was pleased with 'ow you was doing. That may have been a lie or it may +not, but the Honourable Jimmy knows more'n one cottons to. Then he +told you what a gran' thing it was to be in this regiment, and that to +be in a position of responsibility was grander still. Then he told you +that no man worthy of the name of a man ought to be afraid of +shouldering responsibility. An' lastly he said: 'Will you take the +stripe?'" + +Reggie was staring at the speaker amazed. "Lumme! you might have been +there, Shorty. How did you know?" + +"Because he offered the same thing to me six months ago," returned the +other shortly. "Now see here, boy: that there aristocratic Johnny is +the goods. It don't matter a damn to me if a man's a duke or a +coal-heaver as long as he's the goods, and the Honourable Jimmy is. +So's the ole man. An' what he says--goes. He's right d'you see, son; +he's right." Shorty brought his fist down into his open palm. "I've +been watching you lately, an' you're worth teaching--you've shown that. +But now you've begun to feel your legs, you're inclined to think you're +a bit bigger cheese-mite than you really are. You want a bit o' +sobering up; an' there's nothing like taking on responsibility to sober +up a man. As soon as you start looking after other fellows, you begin +to realise you ain't the Lord High Emperor of the whole outfit." + +"But I don't want to look after other fellows, Shorty." Our friend's +tone was dubious. "Why, good Lord! I'd be bossing it over you if I +took the stripe." + +An enigmatic smile wreathed gently over Shorty's face. "Don't you +worry about that; I'll chance it." Then he turned suddenly on the man +lying beside him. "You've got to take it--this bally little stripe in +this funny old army. Otherwise you're a quitter--see? a quitter. +You'd not be pullin' your weight. Do you get me?" + +"Right ho! Bill; I'll tell him I will." Reginald Simpkins stared +silently at the football match for a while, and then a sudden thought +struck him. "Say, why didn't _you_ take it, Shorty?" + +"Never you mind; there are things as you can't get a hold of as yet. I +pull more weight where I am, my son, than I would if I was the ruddy +sergeant-major himself." + +With which sage utterance our friend had to rest content. But while we +are on the question, it is passing strange that, in a community such as +a regiment, the power of the old soldier should be as great as it is. +There was but little exaggeration in Shorty's last remark. In his +present position he exercised a far greater influence on the men around +him than if he had been a sergeant. It was his individuality--an +individuality which made him an oracle whom all approached with their +little grievances and their little troubles. Had he been a senior +N.C.O. there would have been the bar of rank; and though his influence +would have been very great, now it was even greater. But with our +friend the case was different. He had no such individuality developed +as yet which marked him out at once as a man among men; and before he +could become an oracle to whom others would turn in their troubles, he +must first be given a helping hand--shown a short cut, so to speak--to +the character on which men lean instinctively. + +And there is only one way to produce that character--only one. It may +succeed and it may fail; the shrewdest judges of human character make +mistakes, the best leaders err sometimes. But--give him +responsibility, and help him to understand that responsibility, with +the help that only a good leader can give. Help him to grasp that +phrase--_My_ men; help him to realise that their worries are his +worries, their amusements his amusements; help him to understand the +value of cheerfulness when everything is damnable--utterly damnable. +Then watch him. He may fail; well, you've made a mistake; but he may +succeed, and then you've made a man. Which is always a thing worth +doing. . . . + + + + +VIII + +THE THIRD LESSON IS LEARNED + +And so it came about that three months later Reginald +Simpkins--lance-corporal--and Shorty Bill--private--were seated on the +fire-step of a trench side by side. With one continuous droning roar +the shells passed over their heads and crumped into the German lines +opposite. The days of peace for the battalion were over; in a quarter +of an hour they were going over the top. Thousands like them sat on +similar fire-steps and realised that same fact, for it was no little +show this time: it was one where divisions and corps were involved. +But to the pawns in the game, the horizon is limited: it is just their +own destination, their own life, their own fate that looms up big and +blots out the rest. It's not the other hundred thousand who matter at +the moment--it's the pawn himself who wonders, and laughs, and sings, +and prays. . . . + +Shorty, smoking his pipe imperturbably, was feeling the edge of his own +particular weapon, with critical finger, and every now and then +stealing a look at the boy beside him. Apparently satisfied at last +with its sharpness he laid it down on the step and turned to our friend. + +"You done well, son," he remarked at length, thoughtfully removing his +pipe. "I'm pleased with you. I was afraid at one time--just after you +took the stripe--when some of 'em was ragging you, as you would turn +out a quitter. But you got guts. You're twice the man you was when +you took it; and as for what you was when you joined us, you wasn't +nothing at all save a walking disease." + +"I'm glad you think I've made good, Shorty." Reginald was swallowing a +little hard. "I--er--I--Good God! Shorty, I'm just sick with +funk--that's straight." It was out at last, and Shorty Bill smiled +gently and nodded his head. + +"Son," he remarked, "it's one good sign that you ain't afraid o' saying +so. Now personally I'm not--though it ain't no credit to me. It's how +we're made, I reckon. When my time comes, it comes, and there's no +blamed use worrying." + +"I know all that, but--somehow--it ain't much comfort that idea, when +it comes to the point. I tell you, Shorty, I don't want to be killed; +I----" His voice died away, and he looked shamefacedly at the sandbags +in front of him. + +"No more don't I, son; no more don't I. An' no more don't your +men--your six boys you are responsible for. They're your men, that +little bunch: they're looking to you, they're relying on you." He put +his hand on the other's knee. "Are you a'-goin' to let 'em down, that +six?" + +Once again the great doctrine--the third great lesson--the doctrine +that laughs at life and death, the doctrine of thinking for others--of +responsibility. + +"It's better, I reckon, to die a man than live a worm. So long, son; +time's up." + +The last words were shouted, and even then they could not be heard. +Five minutes previously it would have seemed impossible that there +could have been more noise; then suddenly it seemed to double and +treble in intensity. The ground shook; and over the German trenches +there hung a choking cloud of fumes which drifted slowly across the +front with the wind. As if by clockwork, the men got out of their +trenches and walked slowly over No Man's Land behind the creeping +barrage towards the reeking caldron. A great long line of +men--thousands and thousands of men; but do not think of them as the +men of "some of our county regiments who did well, whom we are now +allowed to mention"; as some "kilted battalions and Canadians who +greatly distinguished themselves"; do not think of them in the mass, +rather think of the individual. + +The farm-hand, until two years ago just a clod-hopping countryman, was +there; and the local lawyer's articled clerk. The gillie from a Scotch +stream, and the bar-tender from a Yukon saloon walked side by side; and +close to them a High Church curate in a captain's uniform grinned +pleasantly and strolled on. The sheep-rancher, the poacher, the fifth +son of an impecunious earl, and the man from the chorus were all +there--leaving their respective lives behind them, the things which +they had done, good and bad, the successes and the failures. For the +moment nothing mattered save that seething volcano in front: it might +be the end--it might not. + +And some were quiet, and some were green; some were shouting, and some +were red; some laughed, and some cursed. But whatever they did, +however they took it, the leaders of whom I have spoken, each in his +own sphere, big or little as the case might be, kept 'em, held 'em, +looked after 'em, cheered 'em. Though their own stomachs were turning, +though their own throats were dry, they had a job to do: a +responsibility rested on their shoulders. And until death relieved +them of that responsibility they could not lay it down. They were the +leaders; to them much had been given; of them much was expected. . . . + +But in this great advance, which has already been ably portrayed by the +powers of the journalistic world, we are only concerned with the +fortunes of two individuals. To them those flowery phrases, those +magnificent "dashes carried out in faultless style," those wonderful +"lines which went into the jaws of hell as if on parade," would have +conveyed a peculiarly inept description of their feelings. Not that +the descriptions in many cases are not wonderfully good! They are--but +they represent the point of view of the spectator in a pageant; not the +point of view of one of the actors. To him they are meaningless: he +only knows the intense vital part he plays himself. The shell that +burst next door to him and killed his sergeant is only one of similar +thousands to the looker-on behind. . . . + +And so, in a dazed world of his own, Reginald Simpkins, Lance-Corporal +and sometime pride of Mogg's, walked over No Man's Land. Every now and +then he looked mechanically to his left and right, and grinned. At +least he made a contortion with his facial muscles, which experience +told him used to produce a grin. He did it to encourage the six. +Whether he succeeded or not is immaterial: the intention was good, even +if the peculiar tightness of his skin spoiled the result. Occasionally +he spoke. No one could have heard what he said, but once again the +intention was good. + +"Steady, boys--come on." He said it four or five times and punctuated +it with grins. Then he tripped over a body and cursed. + +He wondered if he was doing all right; he wondered if Shorty was +pleased with him. The funk seemed to have gone: in its place had come +a kind of dazed doggedness, while a fury of impatience to justify +himself and his powers of leadership shook him at times. Surely to God +they could go faster than this cursed crawl. Why was the barrage +lifting so slowly? It seemed interminable that walk over the torn-up +earth; and yet the German trenches were still some way off. + +He grinned again, and turned round just in time to see the garage +assistant next to him fall forward into a shell hole, and lie with his +head stuck in the slimy ooze at the bottom. He frowned, and then +almost uncomprehendingly he saw the back of the fallen man's head. Of +course--he was shot, that's what it was: his six were reduced to five. + +"Steady, boys--come on." As he spoke he felt something catch his coat, +and he looked down irritably on feeling the material tear. It was a +strand of barbed wire that stuck up from the ground, with its free end +loose. They had come to the wire. . . . + +In all directions--twisted and torn, with ends that stuck up, and stray +strands uncut--was wire: thick and rusty it coiled in and out between +the screw pickets--cut to pieces, but still there. Men picked their +way over it gingerly, stepping with care and walking round the little +ridges that separated the shell holes. Festoons of it lay in these +holes, and in one large crater a dead Hun lay sprawled on a mattress of +it. To the spectator behind, it was one dead Hun--one of thousands. +To the man who happened to see him as he passed, it was an individual +whose chalky face had been ripped by one of the barbs as he fell. + +And there is a difference. . . . + +Then they came to the trenches--the front line, or what was left of it. +Just facing them a man with his hands above his head opened and shut +his mouth. He appeared to be saying something, but no voice could be +heard above the din. Reginald grinned again: the Hun who was trying to +imitate a fish struck him as a humorous spectacle; moreover, in a flash +of memory, he reminded him very much of Mr. Mogg's ample wife. He +grinned again as he thought of Mogg's. + +Once more they were advancing again over the other side of the trench: +the moppers-up would attend to the piscatorial gentleman. Our friend +was better now--very much better; he felt more sure of himself; in +fact, absolutely sure of himself. In addition he was beginning to get +excited. And then a machine gun opened fire. + +Hundreds of other machine guns opened fire too; but this one was +Reginald's machine gun--the one that concerned his limited horizon. +For a moment it did not strike him that way, though he saw the gun +quite clearly. He looked round for help, and in looking round for +help, he found that his five and three others who were close to him +were looking to him for help. And he realised his responsibility: he +had learned the lesson. . . . + +It was a masterly little piece of work: an excellent piece of +subordinate leadership. With his arm he directed those eight--he had +not been trained as a scout in vain--and with the loss of only two he +got them out of the direct zone of fire. A few minutes later he, with +the six remaining, fell upon that gun's team from a flank. In five +seconds it was over, and the little group passed on. + +It was just after this that he saw Shorty. At the moment that worthy +was lying in a shell hole drawing a bead on some target with the utmost +care. Reggie saw the kick of the gun, but failed to see what he had +been firing at until the firer stood up and screamed in his ear. + +"Machine gunner--nest of them over there. Hanging up the ruddy +advance." + +"We're doing well, Shorty." He howled back the answer. + +"I reckon so. The swine are running all along the line; only one or +two of 'em holdin' us up. Look out." He pulled Reginald to one side, +and pointed behind him. + +Majestically, squelching through the mud, came Tiny Tim, or the Tired +Tank. It was pitching and rolling like a squat old tramp making heavy +weather beating up Channel. They waved at it as it passed by, lurching +ominously but going straight for the machine-gun nest. Once it almost +seemed to disappear as it waddled down an extra large hole with its two +stern wheels waving foolishly in the air; but a moment later it +squirmed solemnly up the far side, and rolled on to its chosen target. +The wire was uncut; but it trod on the wire, and the wire was not. + +"Look at the perishers running," howled Shorty, as he watched some men +doubling back from the death-trap. Their arms were waving foolishly: +one could imagine their faces grey-green with terror, their hoarse +shouts of fear, their desperate hurry to avoid the thing that was +coming. "Lumme! I must draw a bead on that bunch," muttered Shorty +eagerly. "Now then, son, you can hit one of that lot." He turned from +the scene in front, and the next instant he was down on his knees. +"What is it, boy, what is it?" + +The man lying stiffly on the ground grinned yet once again, and shook +his head. Thus does it come--suddenly, in a second. To the spectator +behind--"our losses were not as great as had been anticipated." To the +man--journey's end. + +"I've got it this time, Shorty," he remarked, and he seemed to speak +with difficulty. The roar of the guns was passing onwards, the din was +not quite so deafening. "My bally old back seems all numb." + +Just a stray bullet; just a broken back; just a finish. With the eye +of knowledge Shorty looked at the grey tinge already spreading over the +boy's face, and the mystery of death struck him forcibly: something of +the strangeness of it all. In five minutes--four--ten--what +matter?--the lips now capable of speech would close for ever: the man +whom he had known and lived alongside of for months would be gone for +good. The desperate finality of it; the utter futility of the +onlooker. . . . + +"Is the Tank clearing 'em out, Shorty?" The dying man interrupted his +thoughts, and he looked up to see what was happening. + +"It is that, son; it's doing fine. The old thing is sittin' there like +a broody hen spittin' at 'em, and the swine are running like hell." + +"God! Shorty, could one hit 'em with a gun?" The glazing eyes +brightened; the lolling head straightened with a jerk. + +"Sure thing." Shorty looked at him, and understood. "Like to try, +boy; you'd get the cocoa-nut, I'll bet." + +"That's it, Shorty; that's it. Turn me over, an' prop me up. I'd like +to. . . . Lord! man, I can see 'em there, hundreds of 'em running to +beat the band. Give me the gun, Bill, quick; I must just get one; +I. . . ." + +With powerless hands he took the rifle for the last time, and looked +along the sights. "God!" he whimpered, "I can't hold it steady--I +can't. . . . Shorty, Shorty, I'm wobbling all over the target." + +But Shorty did not come to him. He was lying on the ground two or +three feet away, with his own rifle hugged to his shoulder. "If there +be anything in religion," he muttered fiercely, "let me shoot straight +this time, God." + +"That's all right," he shouted; "you've got him covered fine. Fire, +son, fire--an' hit the perisher. You ain't wobbling." + +And so Reginald Simpkins, lance-corporal and man, fired his last shot. +Heaven knows where it went; all that matters is that a running +grey-green figure two hundred yards away suddenly threw his hands above +his head and pitched forward on his face. + +"Great shooting, son, great shooting." Shorty Bill was beside him, +turning him over once again on his back. "You plugged him clean as a +whistle. Good boy." + +The grey had spread; the end was very near. "I thought I +heard--another shot--close by." The tired eyelids closed. "I've made +good, Shorty, ain't I? . . . Honourable Jimmy . . . Regiment great +thing . . . responsibility . . . greater. . . ." And so he died. + + + + +IX + +"AND OTHER FELL ON GOOD GROUND" + +Shorty Bill thoughtfully ejected a spent cartridge case from his +magazine and pulled back the safety catch. "I'm glad I hit him. It'll +be something for the boy to take away with him. I suppose he'll +remember it." Shorty's brow wrinkled with the strain of this abstruse +theological problem. Then he shrugged his shoulders and gave it up. +"So long, son; you made good--you did well. But the old Tank has +cleared 'em out, an' I must be toddling on." Then he remembered +something, and produced his own patent weapon. It was only as he +actually started to cut another nick in the long row which adorned the +stock of his rifle that he paused: paused and looked up. + +"Lumme! I'd better wait a bit; it wouldn't never do for the boy to +know it was me what hit that Hun. I'll just go on a little, I'll . . . +Good-bye, boy; I'm sorry--dam sorry." + +With his strange, loping walk the poacher and jailbird walked off in +the wake of the Tank, which was now ploughing merrily forward again. +Fifty yards away he stopped, and cut another nick. "Ninety-three," he +muttered; "not bad. But it wouldn't never have done for the boy to +have known." Undoubtedly theology was not his strong point. + + +Slowly, an inch or two at a time, Reginald Simpkins slithered down the +sloping side of the shell hole till he reached the bottom. To the +batches of prisoners coming back--just a casualty; to the +reinforcements coming up--just a casualty. To the boy himself--the +great price. + + +And so, in the shell-ploughed, gun-furrowed No Man's Land is the seed +of Britain sown. And the harvest----? + + + + +PART IV + +HARVEST + + + +"Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn +them: but gather the wheat into my barn." + +MATTHEW xiii. 30. + + + +HARVEST + + "For shoulders curved with the counter stoop will be carried + erect and square; + And faces white from the office light will be bronzed by the + open air; + And we'll walk with the stride of a new-born pride, with a + new-found joy in our eyes; + Scornful men who have diced with death under the naked skies. + + "For some of us smirk in a chiffon shop, and some of us teach + in a school; + Some of us help with the seat of our pants to polish an + office stool; + The merits of somebody's soap or jam some of us seek to explain; + But all of us wonder what we'll do when we have to go back + again."--R. W. SERVICE. + + +What of the harvest? It is coming, perhaps sooner than we expect, +perhaps not for many weary months. But the reaper is even now +sharpening his sickle in readiness, and--what of the crops? + +Into No Man's Land have gone alike, the wheat of honest endeavour and +hardship well borne, and the tares of class hatred and selfishness. +Had ever reaper nobler task in front of him than the burning of those +tares and the gathering of that wheat into the nation's barn? . . . + +In the Château at Boesinghe, where the moss is growing round the broken +doors and the rank weeds fill the garden, with the stagnant Yser hard +by; in Ypres, where the rooks nest in the crumbling Cloth Hall and a +man's footsteps ring loud and hollow on the silent square; in +Vermelles, where the chalky plains stretch bare towards the east, and +the bloody Hohenzollern redoubt, with the great squat slag heap beside +it, lies silent and ominous; in Guillemont and Guinchy, where the +sunken road was stiff with German dead and no two bricks remain on top +of one another; on Vimy Ridge, in Bullecourt and Croisilles, in all +these places, in all the hundred others, the seed has been sown. What +of the harvest? + +If I have made of war a hideous thing--unredeemed, repulsive--the +picture is not consciously exaggerated. As far as in me lies I have +drawn the thing as I have seen it. + +But after the lean years, the fat; after the hideous sowing, the +glorious aftermath. + +The more one thinks of it, the more amazing does the paradox +become--the paradox of cause and effect. To fit these civilians of +Britain for all the dirty details which go to make winning or losing, +to fit them for the business of killing in the most efficient manner, +the tuition must include the inculcation of ideals--more, the +assimilation of ideals--which are immeasurably superior to any they +learned in their civilian life. At least so it seems to one who makes +their acquaintance when they first join up. In their civilian life +self ruled; there, each individual pawn scrambled and snarled as he +pushed the next pawn to him under--or went under himself as the case +might be--in his frenzied endeavour to better himself, to win a little +brief authority! The community was composed of a mass of struggling, +fighting units, each one all out for himself and only himself. + +But from the tuition which the manhood of Britain is now undergoing, +there must surely be a very different result. Self no longer rules; +self is sunk for the good of the cause--for the good of the community. +And the community, realising that fact, endeavours, by every means in +its power, to develop that self to the very maximum of which it is +capable, knowing that, in due course, it will reap the benefit. No +longer do individual pawns struggle one against the other, but +each--developing his own particular gift to the maximum--places it at +the disposal of the community who helped him in his development. And +that is the result of so-called militarism--_British_ militarism. + +Surely what has been accomplished in the Army can be carried into other +matters in the fullness of time. I am no prophet; I am no social +reformer to speak of ways and means. All I can say with certainty is +that I have seen them come in by hundreds, by thousands--these men of +our country now fighting in every corner of the globe--resentful, +suspicious, intolerant of authority. I have seen them in training; I +have seen the finished article. And the result is good: the change for +the better wonderful. + +It cannot be that one must presuppose such a hideous thing as this war +to be necessary, in order to attain such results. I cannot believe it. +There must be some other method of teaching the lessons of playing for +the side and unselfishness. The spurred culprits of Mr. Wells' +imagination have given a lead over the fence; surely all the rest of +the field is not going to jib. + +And when the harvest does come in, when the sickle is finally put to +the crop, there will be such an opportunity for statesmanship as the +world has never before seen. + +Winnowed by the fan of suffering and death, the wheat of the harvest +will shed its tares of discord and suspicion. The duke and the +labourer will have stood side by side, and will have found one +another--men. No longer self the only thing; no longer a ceaseless +growse against everybody and everything; no longer an instinctive +suspicion of the man one rung higher up the ladder. But more +self-reliant and cheery; stronger in character and bigger in outlook; +with a newly acquired sense of self-control and understanding; in +short, grown a little nearer to its maximum development, the manhood of +the nation will be ripe for the moulder's hand. It has tasted of +discipline; it has realised that only by discipline for the individual +can there be true freedom for the community; and that without that +discipline, chaos is inevitable. Pray heavens there be a moulder--a +moulder worthy of the task. + + +"Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one +vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?" + + +He will have grand clay--that moulder: clay such as has never been +known before. Its God will be the God of Reality, its devil the Devil +of Pretence. Just as it has ceased to look at Death through a haze of +drawn window-blinds and frock-coats redolent of moth-balls, so it will +cease with scorn to look at some of the clumsy sophistries of modern +life through the rose-tinted spectacles so kindly provided for the +purpose by men of great vocal, and correspondingly small mental, power. + + +Out of the evil, good will come: surely it must be so. In the wisdom +of the Infinite Power, madness has been let loose on the world. The +madness was not of our seeking. It was hurled upon us by a race whose +standards are based on bombing or crucifying their prisoners, and +eating their own dead; on sinking unarmed liners and murdering an odd +woman or two to fill in time; and finally--though perhaps last on the +list of witticisms from a material point of view, almost first from +that of contempt--of crucifying an emaciated cat and stuffing a cigar +in its mouth. A race without an instinct of sport, without an idea of +playing the game. Gross and contemptible they bluster first, and then +they whine; and the rare exceptions only make the great drab mass seem +even more nauseating. . . . + +But the crushing of that race will have been hard, the sacrifices +great. And even so will the results of those sacrifices be great. Of +social problems I am, as I have said, not qualified to speak; indeed of +any of the great problems of reconstruction it would be presumption on +my part to hold forth. + +It is not for the soldier to see visions and dream dreams: there are +others more fitted, more suited to the task. It is of the individual I +have written; it is to the individual I dedicate the result of my +labours. + +I remember meeting a Padre one day several months ago. He was +conjuring at a concert for an Infantry Battalion that evening--between +the forefinger and thumb of the right hand you now perceive a baby +giraffe sort of business--and I told him I thought it was very good of +him to take the immense amount of trouble he always did to amuse the +boys. + +"Good!" His face expressed genuine amazement. "Good! To these boys! +I tell you, when I think of what the ordinary private soldier is doing +for me--aye! and for all of us who are not in the Infantry--I just +stand quite still and take off my hat." + +And so I have written of the individual. Inadequately it is true, and +with a due sense of my short-comings in attempting the task, I have +written of the men I have met and lived with across the narrow sea. +Not of armies and army corps, not of divisions and brigades, but of the +units--the individual men--who form them. For it is the man we know. +It is the man who has suffered and endured, the man who touches our +laughter and our tears. He has given his all, unstintingly, +unsparingly; and now, perchance, he lies peaceful and at rest in the +land where the seed has been sown; perchance he will come back to the +country he has fought for when the final reckoning is over. And +whichever it is--the quiet, solitary grave with the cross above it and +the wild flowers blooming freshly underneath the crumbling walls of a +town that was; or the taking up again of the work so long +neglected--the office or the ranch, the railway in Yukon or the rubber +in Malay--whichever it is, he has played the great game well. To him +the great reward. . . . + +And the women? the women who have suffered and endured with their +men--more than their men. To some the great reunion, the blessed +feeling that it is over. Never again will he go into the great +unknown; never again that clutching terror of the telegraph boy. He +has come back, and there shall be no more parting. The joy bells will +be ringing out: the war will be over--won. + +Thus shall it be for some. + + +And for the others. . . . + +It is not for me to comfort: there are things too deep for the written +word. Only one thing I say, and I say it with a full sense of its +pitiful inadequacy. When the joy bells do ring out, and in the ringing +seem to mock so hideously the empty chair, the voice for ever silent, +then in that bitter moment, remember one thing. Somewhere or other, in +the Soldier's Valhalla, he is waiting for you--waiting with a trusty +band of friends, happy, contented, proud. He was glad to pay that +final price; he knows now, where all is clear, that it was necessary. +He would have you know it too. . . . + + +_For except a grain of wheat fall into the ground and die. . . ._ + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO MAN'S LAND*** + + +******* This file should be named 23874-8.txt or 23874-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/8/7/23874 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/23874-8.zip b/23874-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ec9a726 --- /dev/null +++ b/23874-8.zip diff --git a/23874.txt b/23874.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e6d9298 --- /dev/null +++ b/23874.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8830 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, No Man's Land, by H. C. McNeile + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: No Man's Land + + +Author: H. C. McNeile + + + +Release Date: December 16, 2007 [eBook #23874] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO MAN'S LAND*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +Transcriber's note: + + In the original book, the author was given as "Sapper," the + pseudonym of Herman Cyril McNeile. This e-book uses the + author's real name. + + + + + +NO MAN'S LAND + +by + +H. C. McNEILE + +Author of + "Men, Women, and Guns," + "Sergeant Michael Cassidy, R.E.," and + "The Lieutenant and Others" + + + + + + + +Hodder and Stoughton +London ---- New York ---- Toronto +MCMXVII + + + + +TO + +THE INFANTRYMAN + + + + +PREFACE + + +During the first few days of November 1914 Messines was lost--in +silence; during the first few days of June 1917 Messines was +regained--and the noise of its capture was heard in London. And during +the two and a half years between these two events the game over the +water has been going on. + +It hasn't changed very much in the time--that game--to the player. To +those who look on, doubtless, the difference is enormous. Now they +speak easily of millions where before they thought diffidently of +thousands. But to the individual--well, Messines is lost or Messines +is won; and he is the performer. It is of those performers that I +write: of the hole-and-corner work, of the little thumb-nail sketches +which go to make up the big battle panels so ably depicted over the +matutinal bacon and eggs. + +And as one privileged to assist at times in that hole-and-corner work, +I offer these pages as a small tribute to those who have done so far +more than I: to the men who have borne the burden of the days, the +months, the years--to the men who have saved the world--to the +Infantrymen. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +PART I + +THE WAY TO THE LAND + + +PART II + +THE LAND: + + I. A DAY OF PEACE + II. OVER THE TOP + III. THE MAN-TRAP + IV. A POINT OF DETAIL + V. MY LADY OF THE JASMINE + VI. MORPHIA + VII. BENDIGO JONES--HIS TREE + VIII. THE SONG OF THE BAYONET + + +PART III + +SEED TIME: + + I. THE SEED + II. THE FIRST LESSON + III. AN IMPERSONAL DEMONSTRATION + IV. SOMEWHAT MORE PERSONAL + V. A PROJECT AND SOME SIDE-ISSUES + VI. THE SECOND LESSON AND SOME FURTHER SIDE-ISSUES + VII. THE THIRD LESSON, AND A DIGRESSION + VIII. THE THIRD LESSON IS LEARNED + IX. "AND OTHER FELL ON GOOD GROUND" + + +PART IV + +HARVEST + + + + +PART I + + +THE WAY TO THE LAND + +I + +It came suddenly when it did come, it may be remembered. Every one +knew it was coming, and yet--it was all so impossible, so incredible. +I remember Clive Draycott looking foolishly at his recall telegram in +the club--he had just come home on leave from Egypt--and then +brandishing it in front of my nose. + +"My dear old boy," he remarked peevishly, "it's out of the question. +I'm shooting on the 12th." + +But he crossed the next day to Boulogne. + +It was a Sunday morning, and Folkestone looked just the same as it +always did look. Down by the Pavilion Hotel the usual crowd of Knuts +in very tight trousers and very yellow shoes, with suits most obviously +bought off the peg, wandered about with ladies of striking aspect. +Occasional snatches of conversation, stray gems of wit, scintillated +through the tranquil August air, and came familiarly to the ears of a +party of some half-dozen men who stood by a pile of baggage at the +entrance to the hotel. + +"Go hon, Bill; you hare a caution, not 'arf." A shrill girlish giggle, +a playful jerk of the "caution's" arm, a deprecating noise from his +manly lips, which may have been caused by bashfulness at the +compliment, or more probably by the unconsumed portion of the morning +Woodbine, and the couple moved out of hearing. + +"I wonder," said a voice from the group, "if we are looking on the +passing of the breed." + +He was a tall, thin, spare fellow, the man who spoke; and amongst other +labels on his baggage was one marked Khartoum. His hands were sinewy +and his face was bronzed, while his eyes, brown and deep-set, held in +them the glint of the desert places of the earth: the mark of the +jungle where birds flit through the shadows like bars of glorious +colour; the mark of the swamp where the ague mists lie dank and +stagnant in the rays of the morning sun. + +No one answered his remark; it seemed unnecessary, and each was busy +with his own thoughts. What did the next few days hold in store for +the world, for England, for him? The ghastly, haunting fear that +possibly they held nothing for England gnawed at men's hearts. It +would be incredible, inconceivable; but impossible things had happened +before. Many must have felt that fear, but to none can it have been +quite so personal, so hideously personal, as to the officers of the old +Army and the Navy. To them it was as if their own honour were at +stake, and I can see now a man opposite me almost sobbing with the fury +and the shame of it when for a while we thought--the worst. But that +was later. + + +"Time to go on board, gentlemen." + +Almost as beings from another world, they passed through the noisy +throng, so utterly inconsequent, so absolutely ignorant and careless. +One cannot help wondering now just how that throng has answered the +great call; how many lie in nameless graves, with the remnants of Ypres +standing sentinel to their last sleep; how many have fought and cursed +and killed in the mud-holes of the Somme; how many have chosen the +other path, and even though they had no skill and aptitude to recommend +them, are earning now their three and four pounds a week making +munitions. But they _have_ answered the call, that throng and others +like them; they _have_ learned out of the book of life and death; and +perhaps the tall man with the bronzed face might find the answer to his +question could he see England to-day. Only he lies somewhere between +Fletre and Meteren, and beside him are twenty men of his battalion. He +took it in the fighting before the first battle of Ypres . . . + +"I call it a bit steep." A man in the Indian Cavalry broke the silence +of the group who were leaning over the side watching the coast fade +away. "In England two days after three years of it, and now here we +are again. But the sun being over the yard-arm--what say you?" + +With one last final look at the blue line astern, with one last +involuntary thought--"Is it _au revoir_, or is it good-bye?"--they went +below. The sun was indeed over the yard-arm, and the steward was a +hospitable lad of cosmopolitan instincts. . . . + + +II + +"It is impossible to _guarantee_ a ticket to Marseilles." So the +ticket vendor at Folkestone had informed them, and his pessimism was +justified by future events. + +The fun began at the Gare du Nord. From what I have since learned, I +have often wished since that my mission in life had been to drive a +fiacre in Paris during the early days of August '14. A taxi conjures +up visions too wonderful to contemplate; but even with the humble +horse-bus I feel that I should now be able to afford a piano, or +whatever it is the multi-millionaire munition-man buys without a +quiver. I might even get the missus a fur coat. + +Every living soul in Paris seemed obsessed with the idea of going +somewhere else; and the chances of the stranger within their gates +approached those of an icicle in Hades, as our friends across the water +would say. Finally, in despair, Draycott rushed into the road and +seized a venerable flea-bitten grey that was ambling along with +Monsieur, Madame, and all the little olive-branches sitting solemnly +inside the cab. He embraced Madame, he embraced the olive-branches; +finally--in despair--I believe he embraced Monsieur. He wept, he +entreated, he implored them to take him to the Gare de Lyon. It was +imperative. He would continue to kiss them without cessation and in +turn, if only they would take him and his belongings to the Gare de +Lyon. He murmured: "Anglais--officier anglais"; he wailed the mystic +word, "Mobilisation." Several people who were watching thought he was +acting for the cinematograph, and applauded loudly; others were +convinced he was mad, and called for the police. + +But Monsieur--God bless him!--and Madame--God bless her!--and all the +little olive-branches--God bless them!--decided in his favour; and +having piled two suit-cases and a portmanteau upon that creaking cab, +he plunged into the family circle. + +It was very hot; he was very hot; they were very hot; and though +Draycott confesses that he has done that familiar journey between the +two stations in greater comfort, he affirms that never has he done it +with a greater sense of elation and triumph. The boat train to +Marseilles, he reflected complacently; if possible a bath first; +anyway, a sleeper, a comfortable dinner, and---- + +"Parbleu, M'sieur; la Gare de Lyon c'est fermee." Madame's voice cut +into his reflections. + +As in a dream he extricated himself from to-night's supper and three +sticky children, and gazed at the station. They were standing six deep +around the steps--a gesticulating, excited mob; while at the top, by +the iron railings, a cordon of soldiers kept them back. Inside, +between the railings and the station, there was no one save an odd +officer or two who strolled about, smoking and talking. + +Mechanically he removed his baggage and dumped it in the road; +mechanically he re-kissed the entire party; he says he even kissed the +flea-bitten grey. Then he sat down on a suit-case and thought. + +It was perfectly true: the Gare de Lyon was shut to all civilians; the +first shadow of war had come. As if drawn by a magnet the old men were +there, the men who remembered the last time when the Prussian swine had +stamped their way across the fields of France. Their eyes were bright, +their shoulders thrown back as they glanced appraisingly at the next +generation--their sons who would wipe out Sedan for ever from the pages +of history. There was something grimly pathetic and grimly inspiring +in the presence of those old soldiers: the men who had failed through +no fault of their own. + +"Not again," they seemed to say; "for God's sake, not a second time. +This time--Victory. Wipe it out--that stain." + +They had failed, true; but there were others who would succeed; and it +was their presence that made one feel the unconquerable spirit of +France. + + +III + +The French officer in charge was polite, but firmly non-committal. + +"There is a train which will leave here about midnight, we hope. If +you can get a seat on it--well and good. If not----" he shrugged his +shoulders superbly, and the conversation closed. + +It was a troop train apparently, and in the course of time it would +arrive at Marseilles--perhaps. It would not be comfortable. "Mais, +que voulez-vous, M'sieur? c'est la guerre." + +At first he had not been genial; but when he had grasped the fact that +mufti invariably cloaked the British officer, _en permission_, he had +become more friendly. + +He advised dinner; in these days, as he truly remarked, one never +knows. Also, what was England going to do? + +"Fight," Draycott answered promptly, with an assurance he did not feel. +"Fight, mon Colonel; ca va sans dire." + +"C'est bien," he murmured, and stood up. "Vive l'Angleterre." Gravely +he saluted, and Draycott took off his hat. + +"Mon Colonel, vive la France." They shook hands; and having once again +solemnly saluted one another, he took the Frenchman's advice and went +in search of dinner. + +In the restaurant itself everything seemed normal. To the close +observer there was possibly an undue proportion of women who did not +eat, but who watched with hungry, loving eyes the men who were with +them. Now and again one would look round, and in her face was the +pitiful look of the hunted animal; then _he_ would speak, and with a +smile on her lips and a jest on her tongue she would cover a heart that +seemed like to burst with the agony of it. Inexorably the clock moved +on: the finger of fate that was to take him from her. They had +quarrelled, _sans doute_--who has not? there had been days when they +had not spoken. He had not been to her all that he might have been, +but . . . But--he was her man. + +And now he was going; in half an hour her Pierre was going to leave +her. For him the bustle and glamour of the unknown; for her--the empty +chair, the lonely house, and her thoughts. Dear God! but war is a bad +thing for the women who stop behind. . . . + +And on Draycott's brain a tableau is stamped indelibly, just a little +tableau he saw that night in the restaurant of the Gare de Lyon. They +came, the three of them, up the flight of steps from the seething +station below, into the peace and quiet of the room, and a roar of +sound swept in with them as the doors swung open. Threading their way +between the tables, they stopped just opposite to where he sat, and +instinctively he turned his head away. For her the half-hour was over, +her Pierre had gone; and it is not given to a man to look on a woman's +grief save with a catching in the throat and a pricking in the eyes. +It is so utterly terrible in its overwhelming agony at the moment, so +absolutely final; one feels so helpless. + +The little boy clambered on to a chair and sat watching his mother +gravely; a grey-haired woman with anxious eyes held one of her hands +clasped tight. And the girl--she was just a girl, that's all--sat +dry-eyed and rigid, staring, staring, while every now and then she +seemed to whisper something through lips that hardly moved. + +"Maman," a childish voice piped out. "Maman." He solemnly extended a +small and grubby hand towards her. + +Slowly her head came round, her eyes took him in--almost +uncomprehendingly; she saw the childish face, the little dirty hand, +and suddenly there came to her the great gift of the Healer. + +"Oh! mon bebe, mon pauv' p'tit bebe!" She picked him up off the chair +and, clutching him in her arms, put her face on his head and sobbed out +her heart. + +"Come on." Draycott got up suddenly and turned to the man he was +dining with. "Let's go." They passed close to the table, and the fat +waiter, wiping his eyes on a dinner napkin, and the grey-haired woman +leaning gently over her, were talking in low tones. They seemed +satisfied as they watched the sobbing girl; and they were people of +understanding. "Pauvre petite," muttered the waiter as they passed. +"Mon Dieu! quelle vache de guerre." + +"My God!" said Draycott, as they went down the steps. "I didn't +realise before what war meant to a woman. And we shall never realise +what it means to our own women. We only see them before we go. Never +after." + + +IV + +Half an hour later he encountered Monsieur le Colonel once again, and +suggested that they should split a bottle of wine together if he could +spare the time. It was then nine o'clock, and the three hours till +midnight loomed uninviting. His only hope, as he told him, was that +the train at present standing at the platform was not going to be +typical of the one he was to embark on. It seemed to be of endless +length, and presented a most enticing spectacle. Four fortunates in +each compartment had got the racks, otherwise the passengers stood: on +the footboards, in the corridors, on the seats. If any one opened a +door the pressure was such that at least six people fell on to the +platform, and in one carriage a small _poilu_ was being squeezed +through the open window. In the end he went--suddenly like a cork out +of a bottle, and the human mass closed up behind him. + +Draycott laughed, the Colonel laughed, and went on laughing. He +laughed unrestrainedly, even as a man who enjoys a secret jest. At +last, with some difficulty, he controlled his mirth. + +"Monsieur," he remarked gravely, but with twinkling eyes, "I fear your +hopes are ill-founded. This is the midnight train." + +"Under those circumstances," Draycott murmured, with a ghastly attempt +at mirth, "the wine is off. I must go and secure my sleeping-berth." + +Have you ever seen a fly-paper which has come "to the end of a perfect +day"? Lumps of glutinous flies drop off on one's head, and still it +seems as full as ever. It was the same with that train. Lumps of +Frenchmen, permanently welded together, fell out periodically, unstuck +themselves, and departed, only to return in a few moments with the long +thin loaves of France and bottles of wine. Sometimes they got in +again, sometimes they didn't--but they were happy, those poilus. What +matter anything, bar killing the Boche? And that was the only thing in +the air that night. . . . + +In every carriage it was the same, until suddenly there came salvation. +A horse-box, with two horses in it and some grooms singing the +Marseillaise, loomed out of the darkness, and into it the fed-up +wanderer hurled his bag. Yet again did he embrace every one, including +the horses; and then, overcome with his labours, he sank into a corner +and laughed. And it was only when they had been under way for two +hours that he remembered his two other bags, sitting alone and forlorn +at the Gare de Lyon. . . . + +It was a great journey that. The heat was sweltering, and they stopped +at every station between Paris and Marseilles--generally twice, because +the train was too long for the platform. And at every station the same +programme was repeated. Completely regardless of the infuriated +whistles and toots of the French conductors, absolutely unmindful of +the agonised shouts of "En voiture, en voiture! Montez, messieurs, le +train part," the human freight unloaded itself and made merry. As far +as they were concerned, let the train "part." It never did, and the +immediate necessity was the inner man. But it was all very +nerve-racking. + +At times there were forty Frenchmen in the truck, at others none. +Whether they fell off or were pushed Draycott knew not: they simply +occurred--periodically. One man disappeared for five hours, and then +came back again; possibly he was walking to stretch his legs; there was +plenty of time. But to those who travel in trains de luxe, let me +recommend a journey in a cattle-truck, where, if one is lucky, one gets +a front seat, and sits on the floor with legs dangling over the side; a +bottle of wine in one hand, a loaf of bread in the other, and a song +when the spirit is in one. No breathless rushing through space: just a +gentle amble through the ripening corn, with the poppies glinting red +and the purple mountains in the distance; with a three days' growth on +one's chin and an amalgamation of engine soots and dust on one's face +that would give a dust storm off the desert points and a beating. That +is the way to travel, even if the journey lasts from Sunday night to +Tuesday evening, and a horse occasionally stamps on your face. And +even so did Clive Draycott, Captain of "Feet," go to the great +war. . . . + + +V + +Marseilles has always been a town of mystery--the gateway of the East. +Going from it one leaves European civilisation--if such a thing can be +said to exist to-day--and steps into the unknown. Coming to it through +that appalling Gulf of Lyons, beside which the dreaded Bay of Biscay +seems like the proverbial duck-pond, Notre Dame de la Garde holds out a +welcoming hand, and breathes of fast trains and restaurant cars, and +London. It is the town of tongues, the city of nations. It is not +French; it is universal. + +And never can Marseilles have been so universal as in the early days of +August 1914. Usually a port of call only, then it was a terminus. The +ships came in, but did not leave: there seemed to be a concensus of +opinion amongst skippers that the _Goeben_ was a nasty thing to meet +alone on a dark night. And so the overcrowded docks filled up with +waiting vessels, while Lascars and Levantine Greeks, Cingalese and +Chinamen, jostled one another in the cafes. + +The other jostlers were principally Americans of fabulous wealth: at +least as they thronged the shipping offices they said so. Also they +were very angry, which is where they differed from the Cingalese and +Chinamen, who liked Marseilles and prayed to remain for ever. But the +Americans desired to return to God's own country--they and their wives +and their sons and daughters; moreover, they expressed their desire +fluently and frequently. There is something stupendous about an +American magnate insisting on his rights on a hot day, when he can't +get them. . . . It cheers a man up when he is waiting and +wondering--and England is still silent. + +It was just as Draycott had made the unpleasant discovery that no +longer did the weekly boat run from Marseilles to Tunis and thence to +Malta, and was debating on the rival merits of a journey through Italy, +and thence by Syracuse to the island of goats; or a journey through +Spain to Gibraltar, and thence by sea--with luck, that a railway +magnate entered and gave his celebrated rendering of a boiler +explosion. It appeared--when every one had partially recovered--that +he was the proud possessor of ten francs and three sous. He also +admitted to a wife suffering from something with a name that hurt, and +various young railway magnates of both sexes. It transpired that the +ten francs and three sous had been laboriously collected from his +_menage_ only that morning; that the youngest hopeful had wept +copiously on losing her life's savings; and further, that it was the +limit of his resources. He had letters of credit, or something +dangerous of that sort, to the extent of a few million; he was prepared +to buy the whole one-donkey country by a stroke of the pen, but--in +hard cash--he had ten francs and three sous. . . . + +It was pathetic; it was dreadful. An American multi-millionaire, one +of those strange beings of whom one reads, who corner tin-tacks and +things, and ruin or make thousands with a word, reduced to ten francs +and three sous. + +For not another cent piece did America's pride obtain; not another sou +to add to the three. Politely, firmly, a harassed clerk shooed him +away. No, he could not tell him when the next boat would sail--perhaps +to-morrow, perhaps in a fortnight. He did not know, and he did not +care how he proposed to live during that period, and he had no +intention of furnishing him with any money to do it with. He had +definite orders from his firm: no cheques cashed under any +circumstances whatever. He was sorry the gentleman didn't like +Marseilles, or war, or France, or him personally; he regretted deeply +that the gentleman's wife liked peaches with every meal, and hoped he'd +manage all right on his ten francs; he---- And then came the +interruption. + +They crowded to the door, and watched them coming. Occasionally a +cheer rang out, but for the most part they came in silence, passing +through the ranks of people that lined the road each side. Half way +down the column a band blared forth, and every now and then the Colonel +in front lifted his right hand gravely in a salute. They were small +men, the poilus of that regiment; but they marched well, with a swing, +and the glint of white teeth. Sometimes they waved a greeting to a +girl on the footpath, and she would smile back, or throw them a flower +or a kiss. And like a ripple going down the lines of spectators, men +took off their hats suddenly. The Colours were passing. . . . + +Almost dazedly the American took off his hat as the ripple reached him; +then he put it on again and turned to Draycott. + +"Hell!" he remarked tersely, "and I've been worry in' over a ten-franc +note. I guess I feel a bit small." He turned and followed the +regiment, with his hands deep in his pockets, and his shoulders squared. + + +VI + +It came through the following afternoon--the news they had been waiting +for; and now for a certain period the curtain of discretion must be +drawn. I gather that Draycott has dim recollections of a stout field +officer endeavouring to stand on a small marble-topped table, with a +glass of beer in each hand. He was making a speech--chiefly in +Hindustani--to the frenzied mob of cheering Frenchmen around him. Then +he came to the point when the best people say "Vive la France!" He +remembered he had a hat on; he remembered he ought to take it off; he +did. The only thing he forgot was the beer. But as he said later when +they sorted him out, it was an old suit, and England didn't declare war +every day. . . . + +The following night they left in an ancient old cargo boat, skippered +by the type of man who has since made our mercantile marine the glory +of the world. His job was to get his peculiarly odoriferous cargo home +to his owners as soon as possible; beyond that he either failed or +refused to look. The entire German Navy might have been waiting +outside for all he cared; he merely consumed a little more whisky, and +conducted morning prayers. He would give them no assurance; they went +at their own risk, but, if the boat got there, he would land them at +Gibraltar. And having thought the matter over, and realised that +firstly a journey through Italy might result in their being kept as +prisoners of war; secondly, that a journey through Spain would probably +take a fortnight at least; and thirdly, that any way they could do +neither as they could get no money, Draycott and his friends embarked +with the patent manure, and watched the lights of Marseilles growing +fainter and fainter till they dropped below the horizon astern. + +It was an uneventful voyage, and never for one hour after the first day +were they out of sight of land. It was the only concession the skipper +would make for the safety of his boat; and so they jogged along at a +peaceful ten knots and watched the sun set each evening in a blaze of +golden glory over the rocky coast of Spain. For the first time since +leaving England a week before, they were able to think. In the rush to +Paris, in the horse-box to Marseilles, in Marseilles itself, they had +been too busy. Besides, they were outsiders. . . . + +Now, England was in it; the thing which they had known in their hearts +was coming, ever since a kindly senior subaltern had first taken it +upon himself to shape their destinies, had actually come. And +bitterest thought of all--_they_ were not there. + +"It can't last more than three months." A pessimistic garrison gunner +from Malta, who was playing patience, cheated savagely. "I tell you no +European country could stand it." Undoubtedly the fatuous drivel of +certain writers had influenced even the Army itself. "Peace will be +declared before Christmas. An' I'll have sat on that cursed island, +and whenever I see a ship I'd like to poop at, the searchlight will go +out, an' I'll be bitten by sand flies." He glared morosely at +Draycott; until, suddenly, a dawning look of joy spread over his face. +"It's coming out. I swear it's coming out!" + +"You cheated," remarked an onlooker cruelly. "I saw you with my own +eyes." + +It was then that he burst into tears. . . . + +Shut off as they were from the outside world--the old tramp had no +wireless--they could only wonder, and wait, fuming with impatience. +What had happened? Had the fleets met? Had the wonderful day which +the German Navy was popularly supposed to be living for--had it +arrived? And if it had--what had been the result? They could only +lean over the stern and try and grasp the one monumental fact--war. +And what did it hold in store? . . . + +Visions of forlorn hopes, visions of glory, visions of the glamour of +war rose unbidden in their minds. And then, when they had got as far +as that, the smell of that patent manure obtruded itself once again, +and the dreamers of honours to come passed sadly down the gangway to +the Levantine villain who presided over the vermouth and the gin. +Which might be taken as the text for a sermon on things as they are. +In this war it is the patent manure and the vermouth which dominate the +situation as far as the fighters, at any rate, are concerned. The +talkers may think otherwise, may prate of soul-stirring motives, and +great ideals. But for the soldiers, life is a bit too grim and +overpowering for gloss. After a spell they come for their vermouth, +for something to help nerves a trifle jangled, something to give a +contrast to stark reality, and having had it they go back again to the +patent manure; while the onlookers see visions and dream dreams. I +suppose it's a fair division of labour! . . . + + +VII + +It was the distinguished-looking gentleman in blue who came alongside +just after they dropped anchor at the Rock, who brought the glorious +news. He ascended the gangway with great dignity, and disappeared into +some secret place with the skipper. After some delay and a slight +commotion, various flags were hoisted, and he majestically appeared +again. It seemed that the hoisting of the flags had apparently been +successful. Suspicion had been averted by this simple act; there was +no longer any danger of being made a target for enthusiastic gunners. +And, what was more to the point, the distinguished gentleman was now +free to impart his great tidings. + +"The German fleet, gentlemen," he remarked genially, "has ceased to +exist." + +"Who said so?" asked a doubting voice. + +"It is in all the Spanish papers." The Admiral, or whatever he was, +eyed the speaker compassionately. "A great action has taken place in +the North Sea; we have lost nineteen big ships in addition to +destroyers, and the German fleet is wiped out." + +"It doesn't seem good enough, does it?" murmured a graceless member of +the group. + +"But if it's really authentic?" Draycott turned to him doubtfully. +"And there must be something in it if it's in all the Spanish papers." + +"On the contrary," returned the graceless one. "It is precisely that +fact that makes me believe there is nothing in it." + +The remark seemed conclusive; and yet so detailed was the information +all over Gib, so definite the lists of vessels sunk on each side, that +even intelligent Scorps--as the inhabitants of the place are +known--were impressed. Strangely enough, exactly the same detailed +lists, with just sufficient difference to make them credible, were in +all the Italian papers at the same time--though this only transpired +later. + +At the moment nothing much mattered but the time of the next boat going +East: it was their own little personal future that counted. A naval +battle--yes, perhaps; nineteen ships down--the German fleet as well; +fifty or sixty thousand men--gone, finished, wiped out. And yet it was +the next boat they wanted to know about. + +Callous--I think not; merely a total incapability to realise a thing so +stupendous. It has been the same all through the war: the tragedies +have been too big for human minds to grasp. It is the little things +that tell; the isolated thumb-nail impressions that live in one's mind, +and will go with us to the grave. The one huddled form lying +motionless in the shell-hole, with its staring, sightless eyes; the one +small, but supreme sacrifice: that is the thing which hits--hits harder +than the _Lusitania_, or any other of the gigantic panels of the war. +The pin-pricks we feel; the sledge hammer merely stuns. And the danger +is that those who have felt the pin-pricks may confuse them with the +sledge hammer; may lose the right road in the bypaths of personal +emotion. War means so infinitely much to the individual; the +individual means so infinitely little to war. Only it is sometimes +hard to remember that simple fact. . . . + + +VIII + +It was from the top of the Rock that they watched their evil-smelling +boat depart, to plug on northward up the home trail, unperturbed by +naval battles or rumours thereof. And it was from the top of the Rock +they first saw the smoke of the P. and O., outward bound, on which they +were destined to complete the journey. Below lay the bay, dotted with +German and Austrian ships caught on the high seas at the outbreak of +war; a destroyer was going half-speed towards the Atlantic; a cruiser +lay in dock, her funnels smoking placidly. Out towards Algeciras an +American battleship, with her peculiar steel trellis turrets, was +weighing anchor; and in the distance, across the Straits, Africa, +rugged and inhospitable, shimmered in the heat haze of an August day. + +"So long." The gunner subaltern waved a weary hand from his point of +vantage, where he was inspecting life with a telescope. "There's your +barge, but she won't leave till to-morrow. If this goes on for much +longer, my nerves will give way under the strain. The excitement is +too great." + +It appears that Draycott had forebodings even before he got on board +that P. and O. Since then she has become almost historic amongst those +of the Regular Army whose abode at the beginning of the war was +overseas. Save for the fact that no one was playing the harmonium, or +any other musical instrument, the appearance of her decks as they came +alongside was reminiscent of one of those delightful pleasure steamers +on which one may journey, at comparatively small cost, up and down the +Thames. A seething mob of people, almost exclusively composed of the +male sex, glared furiously at them and one another--but principally at +them--as they came up the gangway, and departed in search of the +purser. All the stairs down to the dining saloon were occupied by +morose passengers, and an enlivening altercation was in progress +between two elderly gentlemen of ferocious aspect anent the remnants of +what had once been a cushion. A mild-looking being, closely clutching +a tired deck-chair, was descending to the dining saloon, where +infuriated men were loudly thumping the tables. + +"Good heavens, gentlemen! what do you want?" A haggard purser peered +at them from his office. "Berths!" He broke into a shout of maniacal +laughter, and then pulled himself together. "The fourteenth stair +leading to the engine-room is not taken, but there's an exhaust pipe +passes under it, and it becomes too hot to sit on. There is room for +two in a coal bunker which should be empty by to-night; otherwise, the +hold, if you can find room." + +"But what's all the trouble," they queried peevishly. "Surely----" + +"Trouble!" The purser swallowed hard. "We have on board eighty-four +generals, two hundred and twenty colonels, and one thousand eight +hundred and ninety-one what-nots of junior rank. They have all been +recalled from leave; they have all come by this boat. The eighteenth +breakfast is now being served--perhaps." With a dreadful cry he seized +the brandy bottle, while they faded slowly and sadly away. There are +things too terrible for contemplation. . . . + +It was a wonderful trip--that final stage to the Half Way House of +Malta. There was the dreadful incident of the short-sighted subaltern +who got into a full Colonel's bed by mistake, when that worthy officer +had just gone down on four no trumps redoubled. In vain to point out +the similarity of engine-room gratings--in vain to plead short sight. +The subsequent scene lingered in the memory for days. + +There was the case of the sleep walker, who got loose in the hold, and +ambled heavily over four hundred infuriated human sardines, till he +finally fell prostrate into what was apparently the abode of spare +china. + +Last but not least there was the dreadful Case of the Major-General's +Bath. Of this Draycott speaks first hand; he, personally, was an +awe-struck spectator. Now the question of baths on that boat was not +one to be trifled with. The queue for the pit of a popular play was as +nothing to the procession that advanced to the bath in the morning. +And the least penalty for sharp practice with regard to one's turn was +death. + +Into the bathroom, then, prepared for him by a perspiring Lascar, the +Major-General stepped. At the time Draycott did not know he was a +Major-General: he was just a supreme being resplendent in a green silk +dressing-gown. The door closed, only to open again at once. + +"I have forgotten my sponge," he announced. "I shall not be a moment." +He gazed directly at Draycott, who bowed, choking slightly. It was +inconceivable to imagine that the resplendent one thought he might--to +put it in the vulgar tongue--pinch his bath. By nature he was a +timorous individual, and that green dressing-gown--ye gods! perish the +thought. + +It was while he waited humbly that the catastrophe occurred. Advancing +magnificently came a second being, still more resplendent, in a purple +dressing-gown; and he was complete, with towel, sponge, and soap. His +eye would have impaled a London taxi-driver, and, scenting trouble, the +Lascar made himself scarce. + +"It is preposterous to keep people waiting in this manner," he boomed; +"perfectly monstrous." The next moment the door was shut and bolted, +and Draycott followed the Lascar's example--just in time: green +dressing-gown was returning with his sponge. In official parlance, a +general action seemed imminent. . . . + +It opened with the crash of heavy artillery in the shape of strange and +loud expletives of an Indian nature, to be followed immediately by an +attack in force on the hostile position. This resulted in a sanguinary +repulse, and the attacking party hopped round, apparently in pain, +nursing a stubbed toe. The temporary set-back, however, seemed only to +raise the _morale_ of the force; and after a further heavy bombardment +of a similar nature to the one before, a succession of blows were +delivered in rapid succession at all points along the front, which +suddenly gave way and the victor was precipitated in some confusion, +but triumphant, upon the floor of the captured position. + +How true it is, that great utterance of our hand-books on war! "Every +leader must bear in mind the necessity of immediately consolidating a +newly won position, in order to resist the counter-attack of the enemy, +which sooner or later is bound to be launched." + +In this case it was distinctly sooner. With a loud shout the defending +troops arose from a recumbent position--to wit, the bath--and with +deadly accuracy launched the contents of a large bucket of hot water +upon the still prostrate foe. + +"What is the meaning of this monstrous intrusion?" The battle cry of +the purples rang through the quivering air. + +"You s'scoundrel! you impudent s'scoundrel!" + +With a loud spluttering noise the greens got up and assumed a +belligerent attitude. "You m'miserable villain! that is _my_ bath. +How d'dare you--how d'dare you--throw w'water over me. D'do you know +what I am, sir? I am a Major-General, sir, and I shall report your +infamous c'conduct to the captain." + +"And I, sir," howled his opponent, "will have you put in irons; I will +have you chained to the crow's-nest, if they have one on board. +Keel-hauled, sir, amongst the barnacles and things. I, sir, I am a +Lieutenant-General." + +Draycott was still slightly dazed when he landed in Malta. + + +IX + +Thus did he reach the Half Way House on his journey to the Land; and at +that Half Way House he was destined to remain for a short space. It +may be that there is a harder school than forced inaction; if so, I +have no desire to become a pupil. "Those are your orders; there is +nothing more to be said." Only too true; there _is_ nothing more to be +said--but thinking is a different matter. . . . + +And what brush can paint the indescribable longing of those who were +fitted for it, who were trained in its ways, to get to their goal--to +get to the Land of Promise. For it was a Land of Promise; it was the +land of the regular soldier's dreams. And in those days there was no +thought of the dream becoming a nightmare. . . . + +So Clive Draycott and those with him, in that little rocky outpost of +Empire, carried on as cheerfully as a wet sirocco wind and an +ever-present heart-burning to be in France would allow, and waited for +deliverance. + +Perhaps they suffered more acutely than even those who were in the +Great Retreat. Out of it, as they thought, out of it. Would they ever +be able to hold up their heads again? + +And then the worst thing of all: that awful day when the news came +through--the news which England got one Sunday. Fellows kept it from +the men as far as they could; they covered up places on the map with +their hand, unostentatiously; and when they had found Compiegne they +folded the map up, and told the men everything was well. It was that +evening that Draycott and a pal watched the sun go down over Gozo from +St. Paul's Bay, where the statue stands in the sea, and the shallow +blue water ripples against the white sandstone. + +"My God! it can't be true!" His companion turned to him, and his eyes +were tired. "It can't be true. We're b----" And his lips would not +frame the word. + +Only, in their hearts they knew it was true; and in their hearts a +dreadful hopelessness wormed its bitter way. But crushing it down +there was another feeling--stronger and more powerful. England _could_ +not be beaten, _would_ not be beaten; the thing was impossible, +unbelievable. Triumphant it arose, that great certainty. It arose +then, and has never died since, though at times the sky has been black +and the storm clouds ominous. They knew that all would be well; and +now--after three years--all is well. Their faith has been justified, +the faith of the men who waited their call to the work. Only a small +proportion remain to see that justification with their own eyes; the +Land has claimed the rest. Ypres, the Marne, Neuve Chapelle, +Festubert--names well-nigh forgotten in the greater battles of +to-day--in each and all of them the seed of "a contemptible little +Army" has been sown. Thus it was ordained in the Book of Fate. + +But at the moment there were just two men, sick of heart, watching the +sun, in a blaze of golden glory, setting over Gozo. . . . + + +X + +Draycott's deliverance from the Half Way House came in three or four +weeks. With the men swarming in the rigging, and the Territorials who +had come to replace them cheering from the shore, the transport moved +slowly down the Grand Harbour past the French and British warships that +lay at anchor. It would indeed be pleasing to record the fact that the +departing warriors sang patriotic songs concerning their country's +greatness; and that the officers with a few well-chosen words improved +the shining hour, and pointed the moral of the great Entente with +special reference to the warships around them. But being a +truthful--or, shall we say, comparatively truthful--historian, I regret +that it cannot be done. + +Such songs as did rise above the medley of catcalls and gibes of a dark +nature which passed in playful badinage between the sister services +were of a nature exclusively frivolous; and the conversation of such +officers as were not consuming the midday cocktail consisted entirely +of a great thankfulness that they had seen the last of an abominable +island, and a fervent prayer that they would never see it again. + +The relief of it--the blessed relief! They would be in time for the +end of the show any way, which was something. They were not going to +miss it all; they would be able to look their pals in the face after it +was over. A few, it is true, shook their heads and communed together +in secret places: a paltry few, who looked serious, and spoke of a long +war and a bloody war such as had never been thought of. Avaunt +pessimism! war was war, and a damned good show at the best of times for +those who were trained to its ways. The Germans had asked for it for +years, and now they had got it--and serve 'em right. A good sporting +show, and with any luck they would get the fag end of the hunting at +home after peace was declared. + +Thus it was, nearly three years ago; thus it has been, with slight +modifications, ever since. A nation of sportsmen going merrily forth, +with the ideal of sport as their guide, to fight a nation of swine, +with the ideal of fouling as theirs. And so the world wags on in its +funny old way, while the gods laugh, and laugh, and laugh. . . . + + +XI + +On the boat Draycott hardly realised. For the first week of the three +he spent in England he hardly realised--he was too excited. He was +going out; that was all that mattered; until one morning his eyes were +opened to his personal case. It is easy to see things where others are +concerned; but in one's own case. . . . + +He was at home on three days' leave, and the girl was there too. + +"Good Lord!" he remarked at breakfast; "Jerry Thornton gone too." His +eye was running down the casualty list. "Whole battalion must have +taken it in the neck--five officers killed, fourteen wounded. I wish +to heaven----" He looked up, and the words died away on his lips. + +"I didn't realise what war meant to women." His remarks at the Gare de +Lyon hit him like a blow. For he had seen the look in the girl's eyes; +he had seen the look in his mother's. Blotted out at once, it is true; +effaced the instant they had realised he was watching them; but--too +late. He had seen. + +"Was that Major Thornton, dear?" His mother was speaking. "The one +who shot so well?" Her voice was casual; her acting superb. And God! +how they can act--these women of ours. + +For a moment something stuck in his throat. He saw just such another +breakfast room, with a woman staring with dull eyes at the laconic name +in the paper: a name which so baldly confirmed the wire she had had +three days before. Stunned, still dazed by the shock, she sat +silently, apathetically; as yet she could hardly feel the blow which +Fate had dealt her. In time perhaps; just now--well, it couldn't be; +there must be some mistake. Other men had died--true; but--not hers. +He was different; there must be some mistake. . . . + +For each and every name in that list Clive Draycott of a sudden +realised the same thing was occurring. And then he saw it--personally; +he felt it--personally; he realised that it concerned him--personally. +Those other women had looked, just as had his mother and the girl, a +few weeks ago. Those other women had laughed and joked and asked +casual questions to cover their true feelings, just the same. Those +other women had been through it all and---- "We only see them before +we go--never after." In the theatre, at the restaurant, playing the +fool with us, dancing with us--then we see them; afterwards--when the +train has gone and we are looking out of the window or talking with the +man opposite, then, we do not see them. And it is just as well. "Mon +Dieu! Quelle vache de guerre." . . . + +Something of all this did Draycott feel at that moment; something which +caught him and shook him and mocked him. Something which whispered, +"You ass, you wretched ass! You think it's you who will suffer; you +think it's you who will be acclaimed a hero. Fool! Your sufferings, +your achievements, whether you live or die, are as nothing to those of +these two women. You may wear the cross for a moment's heroism: they +bear it all the time. And they get no praise; they just endure." . . . + +Yes; something like that struck him for the first time as being +personally applicable to himself. And having looked thoughtfully out +of the window for a moment, he laughed gently, and then he spoke. + +"That's the fellow," he remarked quietly. "An' if the tea ain't cold +I'll take another dish. Three glasses of the old man's port, Dolly, is +enough. I had four last night." + + +XII + +A week later he sat in a mud bath at Havre, which went by the name of a +rest camp; the Way to the Land was nearly trodden. Thousands of others +had sat in that glutinous mud before him; hundreds of thousands were +destined to do so after. And each and all of them were thinking men; +wondering in a greater or less degree according to the size and +activity of their grey matter what it was all about. To some the +Unknown gave the prospect of sport, and they thanked their stars they +were nearly there; to some it gave the prospect of Duty, and they +trusted they would not fail. With some the fear of the future blotted +out their curiosity; with others curiosity left no room for fear. But +in every case they had something to think about--even if it were only +the intense discomfort of their surroundings. And in every case the +woman over the water had--nothing. + +By cattle trucks and carriages, by so-called fast trains and unabashed +troop trains they left in batches big and small; and others came and +filled the gaps. The Land was calling; the Seed must not be delayed. + + * * * * * * + +"You'll have to wait till it's dark." A weary Quartermaster, wandering +through Ypres, met Draycott and stopped. "Thank God! you've come. +We've got three officers left and a hundred and twenty men." + +"Where are they?" he demanded. "How shall I find them?" + +"Very likely you won't." The other laughed mirthlessly. "I'll take +you up to-night--we walk the last bit to the trenches. If a flare goes +up--stand still; there's no other rule." + +"You're about done in, Seymour," said Draycott, watching him keenly. +"What's the trouble?" + +"The trouble is Hell." The Quartermaster passed his hand wearily over +his forehead. "Utter, absolute, complete--Hell. The boys have been in +the front line for twenty-one days; and"--he spoke with a sudden +dreadful earnestness--"the end is not far off." + +"My God!" muttered Draycott, "is it as bad as that?" + + * * * * * * + +No trenches, no dug outs, no reserves. Ceaseless German attacks, rain, +mud, death. And then, three or four days of icy coldness, with the +bitter Arctic wind cutting the sodden, tired, breaking men like a +knife. Fighting every hour, with rifles and bayonets and +fists--sleepless, tired out, finished. Only a spirit which made +possible the impossible supported them: only the glory of their +traditions held the breaking line of Old Contemptibles to the end. And +at the end--they died. . . . + +But their spirit lives on, undimmed, untarnished. It is the spirit of +the New Armies--the Civilian Armies of Britain. They were training +back in England when Clive Draycott went to the Land: they were +learning the message of the old Regulars from New Zealand to Yukon. It +is not learned in a day--that message: there is much watering and +weeding to do before the seed can reach perfection, but the Land would +not wait. . . . It was greedy then--as now; the only difference was +the amount of grain available. And when Clive Draycott went to it +there was very little. To God Almighty the praise. What there was, +was very good. + + + + +PART II + + +THE LAND + + I. A DAY OF PEACE + II. OVER THE TOP + III. THE MAN-TRAP + IV. A POINT OF DETAIL + V. MY LADY OF THE JASMINE + VI. MORPHIA + VII. BENDIGO JONES--HIS TREE + VIII. THE SONG OF THE BAYONET + + + + +I + +A DAY OF PEACE + +"For the fourteenth morning in succession I rise to a point of order. +Why is there no marmalade?" The Doctor glared round the breakfast table. +"I perceive a pot of unhealthy-looking damson, and a tin of golden syrup, +the greater part of which now adorns the infant's face. Why is there no +marmalade?" + +"Could I remind you that there is a war on two miles up the road, my +splay-footed bolus-booster?" With a grand rolling of his R's, the man +who had driven a railway through the Rocky Mountains, and who now boasted +the badges of a subaltern in His Majesty's Corps of Royal Engineers, let +drive. "Ye come to live with us much against our will, because you're a +poor homeless wanderer----" + +"All dressed up and nowhere to go," broke in the Doctor mournfully. + +"You come to live with us, I say," went on the Scotchman, "and then do +nothing but criticise our food and our morals." + +"Heaven knows they both need it. Pass me what's left of the syrup, +little one. Scrape the rest of it off your chin, my cherub, and wrap it +up in a handkerchief and take it up to the trenches with you." + +"You're vewy wude." The junior subaltern adjusted the balance in the +matter of the letter R with the Scotchman. Two months ago he had been at +home--in peace time he would still have been at school. But of such +mixtures is the present British Army made. "It's my face." + +As a statement of fact the remark left nothing to be desired; as a +statement of expediency, when other infants were present, the same cannot +be said. Words, in fact, were trembling on the tongue of a veteran of +six months when the C.O. came suddenly into the room. + +"Bring me an egg," he shouted to the mess waiter in the kitchen next +door. "Listen to this, my bonnie boys." He produced a paper from his +coat pocket and sat down at the table. "Secret. A large object has +fallen beside the sap leading out to Vesuvius crater. It is about the +size of a rum jar, and is thought to be filled with explosive. It has +been covered with sandbags and its early removal would seem desirable, as +the sap is frequently bombarded--Damn it, this egg's addled. Take it +away, it's got spots on it. Where did I get to? Oh! yes--bombarded with +aerial darts and rifle grenades." He replaced the paper in his pocket +and reached for the teapot. + +"Thought to be filled with explosive!" The Scotchman looked up +sarcastically from the letter he was censoring. "What's it likely to be +filled with?" + +"Marmalade, ducky," remarked the Doctor, still harping on his grievance. + +"In addition to that the Pumpkin desires my presence at the Centre +Battalion Head-quarters at 10 ak emma." The C.O. was prodding his second +egg suspiciously. + +The Pumpkin, it may be explained in parenthesis, was the not unsuitable +nickname of the Divisional General. + +"Is the old man coming round the trenches?" Jackson, the subaltern in +whose tender care reposed the crater of Vesuvius and all that appertained +thereto, including rum jars, looked up with mild interest. + +The C.O. glanced at the message beside him. "'The G.O.C. wishes to meet +the Engineer Officer in charge of Left Section, at Centre Battalion +Headquarters, at 10 a.m., A.A.A. Message ends.' There in a nutshell you +have the glorious news." + +Breakfast is never a loquacious meal, and for a while silence reigned, +broken only by a few desultory remarks as to the vileness of the food +produced by the officer responsible for the mess catering, and the +exorbitant price he demanded for it--statements which had staled with +much vain repetition. + +"For heaven's sake dry up," he remarked peevishly. "You've had sardines +on toast twenty-one nights running; what more do you want? Listen to the +words of Sapper Mackintosh--the pudding-faced marvel. This"--he held up +a letter--"is the fifth which he hopes will find the recipient as it +leaves him at present--in the pink, and with the dreadful pains in his +stummik quite gone." + +"Our Doctor has a wonderful bedside manner," remarked the Scotchman. +"Did ye no hear the story of him and the lady way back by Hazebrook?" + +"That'll do," said the Doctor, rising hurriedly. "She had very bad +rheumatism--that poor girl." + +"I know she had, Doc," put in the C.O. heartily. "And when I think of +the way you eased her sufferings I became lost in admiration over the +noble nature of your calling. In the meantime I'd be glad if you'd see +one of the men in the Head-quarters Section. From the strange explosive +noises he made when I spoke to him before breakfast I gathered by the aid +of an interpreter that he had somewhat foolishly placed his complete set +of uppers and lowers on a truss of compressed hay, and one of the mules +has eaten them." + +He strolled to the door on his way to the kitchen in the next house that +served as his office. + +"You'd better be careful with that rum jar, Jacko. Unless you're pretty +certain there's no danger, I'd put a slab of gun-cotton against it where +it is, and pop her off. No sense in running any risks carrying it back." + +"Right-ho! I'll have a look as soon as I go up. Are you coming, Mac?" +He turned to the Scotchman. + +"In five minutes, my boy. I have to perform a few blasting operations on +my pipe before I start, and then I'm with you." He pulled a battered +veteran out of his pocket, and peered into its noisome bowl. + +"Not indoors, man, for heaven's sake!" The Doctor backed hurriedly out +of the room. "The last billet you cleaned your pipe in they complained +to the Mayor of the village." + +"Go away, Doctor, go away. Go and put chloride of lime round the +cook-house," Mac was shouting through the window at the receding medico. +"And ask yon woman if she has a hairpin. My pipe. . . ." But the Doctor +was out of sight. + +Ten minutes later the room was empty save for a batman clearing the +breakfast table. + + * * * * * * + +Now as a general rule the Sappers do not live in the trenches, but go up +there each day and most nights, the remainder of the time being spent in +dwellings of dubious sanitation and indubitable draughtiness a mile or so +in rear. To each company a certain front is allotted, and it is their +joy and pride to maintain this front and the network of trenches behind +it spotless and untarnished, what time they minister ceaselessly to the +lightest whim of its heroic defenders--usually known by the generic term +of P.B.I., or poor bally Infantry. Which, of course, is not what really +happens, but one likes to think thus beautifully. + +In addition to the Infantry, other people thrust themselves forward in a +manner which requires firmness and tact to deal with: gunners require +O.P.'s, or observation posts; other gunners require trench mortar +emplacements; dangerous men with machine guns sit up and take notice, and +demand concrete and other abominations; while last, but not least, the +medical profession demand secret and secure places in which to practise +their nefarious trade. Finally, the Ordnance Department is with one +always. It was that branch of the great Machine which caused the frown +on the face of the Sapper Captain, hitherto alluded to as the O.C., while +next door the batman cleared the breakfast table. + +"We're six bicycles short, you say, Quartermaster-Sergeant?" he exclaimed +irritably, gazing at some papers in front of him, while he filled his +pipe. + +"Yes, sir; and two more with wheels buckled, and three that free-wheel +both ways." + +"What d'you mean--free-wheel both ways?" + +"The pedals rotate, sir, with great speed, but the bicycle remains +motionless." When a man habitually calls an armchair, A chair, +arm--Officers, for the use of, one--his conversation is apt to become +stilted. + +"How were the wheels buckled?" demanded the Captain when he had digested +this great thought. + +"Two of the officers, sir--playing what I believe they called bicycle +polo with a brick and two pick-helves--had--er--a slight mishap." + +"When did it happen?" + +"Er--after dinner, sir, one night." The N.C.O. looked tactfully out of +the window. + +The officer did not pursue the topic. "Well, what about these six that +have been lost?" + +"Completely destroyed by shell-fire," said the C.Q.M.S. firmly. "I have +prepared a statement of what happened for your perusal and signature." +He handed the officer a written paper and respectfully withdrew a few +paces to avoid any semblance of coercion. + +"'The six bicycles were placed on the morning of the 10th ult. against +the entrance to the R.E. Dump at A.21, C.2.4. It would appear that +during the absence of the riders a hostile shell of large calibre fell on +the six said bicycles, completely demolishing them, for when the riders +returned after the day's work merely a few fragments remained scattered +round the shell crater.'" + +The Captain read it over slowly, and then, in tones of awe, a murmured +"Wonderful" wafted through the office. + +"I beg your pardon, sir?" The N.C.O. was again at his side. + +"I said wonderful, Quartermaster-Sergeant--quite wonderful. Do you think +they'll swallow it?" + +"It has been done before, sir." The tone was non-committal. "And one of +the six was undoubtedly badly punctured by a stray rifle bullet before we +lost it--er--that is, before it was finally destroyed by shell-fire." + +"Right." With the air of a man who communes with great destinies, the +Captain signed his name. "Anything more?" + +"Nothing at present, sir. The question of the consumption of Candles, +Tallow dip, Pounds Twenty-four, stolen from our yard by the 940th +Tunnelling Company has come back again with remarks from the Chief +Ordnance Officer at the Base--but it will wait until you come back from +the trenches." + +"I'm glad of that," remarked the Captain, rising. "I'm not feeling very +strong this morning, and candles, tallow dip--especially lbs. 24 of +them--would cause a relapse. Orderly"--he strolled to the door--"my +bicycle, please." + +A few minutes later he was riding slowly down the road towards the place +where there was "a war on." A cool mist hung over the fields on each +side of him, and in the early morning stray cobwebs glistening with +moisture brushed lightly across his face. + +"_B'jour, monsieur._" A woman standing in the door of a roadside +_estaminet_ greeted him as he passed--a woman undisturbed by the guns +that at times roared close by; a woman whose house was one concentrated +draught, which whistled through what had once been walls and now were +holes held together by odd bricks. + +He returned the greeting and rode on, while once again the +comparison--never far absent from those who live "within range"--came +into his mind: the comparison between England and France--between the +country which has only learned of war through its soldiers, and the +country whose women and children have learned of it first hand, even unto +death. All was absolutely silent--the peace and glory of a summer's +morning hung over everything, while the smell of the wet clover came +faintly to his nostrils. A military policeman at the corner saluted +smartly, while a small boy in a little cart drawn by three straining dogs +raced him blithely up the village street. At the end of the battered +houses still occupied by their owners, and the temporary abode of half a +battalion of infantry resting from a spell in the trenches, progression +by bicycle became a little harder. Great branches lay across the road, +and pits torn out of the pave by bursting shells made steering a trifle +intricate; while occasionally one of the many signal wires which had +slipped during the night and was hanging low above his head, scraped the +top of his steel helmet. + +Once more the familiar "_B'jour, monsieur_"--this time from an old dame +who sat day in day out in a corner under a wall selling chocolate. Just +above her head, so that by raising her arm she could have touched it, the +nose of a "dud" German shell poked out from the brickwork. + +Ruin, desolation--and shrouding it all the cool damp mist of seven +o'clock in July. + + +"The very man!" A voice hailed him from behind, and a gunner subaltern +materialised. "Are you going up the line?" + +"I am--at once." The Sapper placed his bicycle against a heap of +sandbags. "What does my dear one desire? + +"The accursed Hun placed two large obuses into the Ritz yesterday +afternoon. What do you propose to do about it?" They were strolling +slowly through the sopping grass. + +"Nothing--if I can possibly avoid it," answered the Sapper firmly. "You +select for an O.P. the most prominent house in the locality--put a +signaller on the top of it with a large flag--wait till midday, when the +sun is at its brightest, and then send a message back that the bully beef +is bad. You----" + +"Laddie," interrupted the gunner, "desist. All that you say is true and +more--but we must stick to the Ritz, if we can. It commands a +soul-inspiring view of the trenches behind that new crater in a way we +can't get from anywhere else. What I want you to do is to cover the +cellar with boards. Yesterday the second shell knocked two men +insensible, and they fell backwards into it. As they nearly drowned, it +will be obvious, even to your intelligence, that it contains--amongst +other things--water. Moreover, the water is deep, and stinketh. If, +therefore, my brainy _confrere_, you will authorise me to draw planks +twelve, I myself will cover yon hole with my own fair hands. The +cadaverous gentleman at your store, whose face has been passed over by +some heavy body, proved both unsympathetic and suspicious this morning +when I asked him for them. Wherefore, if you will sign----" He held out +a book to the Sapper. + +"'Please issue bearer with twelve planks 9 inch by 2 inch; length, 6 +feet.'" The Sapper glanced at the page and signed. "There you are, +James. Tell him to get them cut for you." + +"I was going to, dearie. How marvellously your brain grasps the +importance of these trifling details! Are you passing the Ritz by any +chance? If so, tell my warriors to come down to the Store." + +"Aren't you coming up?" + +"No--it's too light. I have to be careful whom I'm seen with." He +turned back and was quickly lost in the white mist--though for some time +afterwards the faint strains of musical items selected from _The Bing +Boys_ followed the Sapper as he walked on. + +Occasional voices came mysteriously from apparently nowhere, as a party +of men went up one of the deep communication trenches close by him--a +trench invisible in summer until you actually stood over it, for the long +rank grass hid everything: grass splashed with the red of great masses of +poppies, and the white of the daisies, with odd little patches of blue +cornflowers and borage, and buttercups glinting yellow. Just rank +luxuriant vegetation, run wild--untouched for more than a year. + +Suddenly out of the mist there loomed the Ritz--the name of the +broken-down, shell-battered house which served his late companion as an +O.P. The Sapper gave the message as requested, and stepped down three +stairs into the communication trench, which passed close under one of the +crumbling walls. There was no necessity, as far as safety was concerned, +to get into the trench for several hundred yards--the mist effectually +prevented any chance of being seen from the German lines half a mile +farther on. + +But he was mindful to see the condition of the trench--whether the sides +were crumbling, and whether the floor was suitably provided with +trench-boards and bricks. Twisting, winding with the poppies and the +weeds meeting over his head, and the water brushing off them against his +face and coat, he walked slowly on. Seven feet deep, perhaps three feet +wide, it might have been a sunken Devonshire lane in model, and a faint +red tinge in the soil helped the illusion. + +Stale as it all was, unprofitable and a weariness to the flesh as it had +all become, the strangeness of it still struck him at times. He wondered +lazily what the people he knew at home would think if they were following +him at that moment on a tour of inspection. Especially his Uncle John. +Uncle John was something in the City, and looked it. He lived near +Ascot, and nightly slept with a gas-mask beside his bed. He could +imagine Uncle John trembling audibly in that quiet model lane, and +assuring his faithful wife of his ability to protect her. He laughed at +the picture in his mind, and then with a slight frown stopped. + +The trench bent sharply to the right, and almost subconsciously he +noticed a hole framed in thick wood, half filled in, in the wall in front +of him. The top had broken. He bent and peered through it. It went +right through the wall in front, and beyond, the same deep communication +trench could be seen stretching away. Just a loophole placed in a +traverse through which a rifle could be fired along a straight thirty +yards of trench, if the Germans ever got in. But to fire a rifle to any +purpose the loop-hole must not be broken, and so the Sapper made a note +before resuming his stroll. + +Rounding a bend, a big white board at a cross-roads confronted him. It +advertised two or three salient facts written in large black letters. It +appeared that by turning to the right one would ultimately reach +Leicester Square and an aid post, to say nothing of the Charing Cross +Road, which was a down trench. By turning to the left, on the contrary, +one would reach Regent Street and a pump. It also stated that the name +of our wanderer's present route was the Haymarket, and further affirmed +that it was an up trench. For it will be plain to all that, where a +trench is but three feet wide, it is essential not to have men going both +ways in it--and further, it will also be plain why the aid posts occur in +the down ones. + +A further interesting and momentous piece of information was imparted +from another board, to the effect that the name of the trench by which +one could reach the pump on one hand and the aid post on the other was +Piccadilly, and that it constituted the reserve line of the position. + +In other words, it was not merely a communication trench, but was +recessed and traversed like a fire trench. In very fact, it was a fire +trench--the third of the system. In front was the support line, known as +Pall Mall, and in front of that, again, the firing line, whither later +the Sapper proposed to wend his way. He wanted to gaze on "the rum jar +reputed to be filled with explosive." But in the meantime there was the +question of the pump--the ever-present question which is associated with +all pumps. To work or not to work, and the answer is generally in the +negative. + +He turned to the left down Piccadilly, wondering what particular ailment +had attacked this specimen of the breed, and had caused the Adjutant of +the battalion to write winged words anent it. The aspect of the trench +had changed; no longer did the red, white, and blue of the tangled wild +flowers meet over his head, but grey and drab the sandbag walls rose on +each side of him. Occasionally the mouth of a dug-out yawned in the +front of the trench, a dark passage cased in with timber, sloping steeply +down to the cave below. Voices, and sometimes snores, came drowsily up +from the bottom, where odd bunches of the South Loamshires for a space +existed beautifully. + + +"Hullo, old man--how's life?" He rounded a traverse to find an officer +of the battalion lathering his chin for his morning shave. A cracked +mirror was scotched up between two sandbags, and a small indiarubber +basin leaked stealthily on the firing step. + +"So-so! That bally pump of yours won't work again, or so the cook says. +Jenkins, pass the word along for Smithson. He is the cook, and will tell +you the whole sordid story." + +"Quiet night?" The Sapper sat down and refilled his pipe. + +"Fairly. They caught one of our fellows in the entrance to his dug-out +up in the front line with an aerial dart about seven o'clock. Landed +just at the entrance. Blew the top of his head off. Good boy, too--just +been given his stripe. Oh, Smithson!--tell the Engineer officer about +that pump. Confound!--I've shaved a mosquito bite!" + +The cook--a veteran of many years--looked at the placidly smoking Sapper +and cleared his throat. On any subject he was an artist; on pumps and +the deficiencies of Ally Sloper's Cavalry--as the A.S.C. is vulgarly +known--he was a genius. + +"Well, sir, it's like this 'ere. That there pump is a funny kind o' +pump. Sometimes it gives you water and sometimes it don't." + +"You surprise me," murmured the Sapper. + +"Now, if I might be so bold, sir, I would suggest that another well be +sunk, sir--starting fresh-like from the beginning. Then I could keep my +heye on it, and see that no one wasn't a-monkeying with it. As it is, +wot with the stuff we're a-getting and the shortage of tea and the +distance I 'ave to go for water, and----" + +"Well, what do you expect?" A bitter voice from round the traverse +rudely interrupted the discourse. "We make pumps to pump water--not dead +rats. Wasting my time, that's what it is. Where 'ave I put it? In that +there perisher Smithson's dug-out, and 'e can 'ave it for his dinner." +The plumber previously sent up on receipt of the Adjutant's note came +round the corner, and, seeing his officer, stopped and saluted. + +"That there pump's all right, sir. There was a dead rat in it. They +_will_ leave the cover off the well." He perceived the horrified +Smithson, and fixed him with the frozen eye. + +"Right. Then you can rejoin your section." The Sapper rose, the plumber +departed, the cook faded away, and for a space there was silence. + +"Damn that fellow Smithson--he's the limit." The Infantry Officer +laughed. "I'll rend him for this." + +"Sometimes it gives you water, and sometimes it don't," remarked the +Sapper pensively. "Last time it was a sock. Bye-bye. I hope he'll +enjoy his dinner." + +He followed the plumber back along Piccadilly, composing in his mind a +suitable answer to the message of despair from the Adjutant. + +"With ref. to your min. of yesterday I would suggest that a larger flow +of somewhat purer water would be available if the practice of inserting +deceased rodents in the delivery pipe was discontinued forthwith. I am +fully alive to the fact that what the eye does not see the heart does not +grieve about, and I realise that, viewed from that standpoint only, the +grave of the little animal in question could not well be improved on. I +also realise that it adds that flavour to the tea which is so sought +after by the true connoisseur. But, desiring to view the matter from the +clearer vantage point of an unbiassed onlooker, I venture to suggest----" + +His meditations were interrupted by a procession of gunners each carrying +on his shoulder an unpleasant-looking object which resembled a gigantic +dumb-bell with only one blob on the end--a huge spherical cannon-ball on +a steel stalk. They were coming from Leicester Square, and he met them +just as they turned up the Haymarket. Waiting until they had all gone +by, he followed on in the rear of the party, which suddenly turned sharp +to the left, and disappeared into the bowels of the earth. + +"No. 7," murmured the Sapper to himself. "I wonder if the officer is +new?" He turned to a bombardier standing at the entrance to the passage. +"Is your officer here?" + +"He's down below, sir." The man drew to one side, and the Sapper passed +up a narrow deep trench and went "down below" to the trench-mortar +emplacement, a cave hewn out of the ground much on the principle of an +ordinary dug-out. But there were certain great differences; for half the +roof had been removed, and through the hole thus formed streamed in the +early morning sun. A screen of rabbit wire covered with bits of grass, +lying horizontally over the open hole when the gun was not firing, helped +to conceal it from the prying eyes of Hun aeroplanes. Let into the +ground and mounted and clamped to a stand was the mortar itself--while +beside it sat a very young gunner officer, much in the attitude of a +mother beside her firstborn. He was obviously new to the game, and the +Sapper surveyed him with indulgent eye. + +"Good morning." The Gunner looked up quickly. "I'm the Sapper Officer +on this bit of line. You've just come in, haven't you?" + +"Yes, early this morning. Everything seems very quiet here." + +"From four till eight or nine it's always peaceful. But I don't know +that you'll find this spot very quiet once you start pooping off. This +particular emplacement was spotted some two months ago by the wily Hun, +and he got some direct hits on it with small stuff. Since then it hasn't +been used. There are lots of others, you know." + +"I was ordered to come to this one," answered the boy doubtfully. + +"Right-oh! my dear fellow--it's your funeral. I thought I'd just let you +know. Are you letting drive this morning?" + +"Yes--as soon as I get the order to fire." + +The boy was keen as mustard, and, as I have said, very young--just +another infant. He had not long to wait, for hardly were the words out +of his mouth when a sergeant came in. + +"Captain's compliments, sir, and will you fire two rounds at G. 10 C. 5 +4?" + +Rapidly and without confusion the men did their appointed jobs; the great +stalk slithered down the gun, the bomb--big as a football--filled with +high explosive was fixed with a detonator, the lanyard to fire the charge +was adjusted. Then every one cleared out of the emplacement, while the +Sapper took his stand in the trench outside. + +"Let her rip." The lanyard was pulled, and with a muffled crack the huge +cannon-ball rose into the air, its steel stalk swaying behind it. +Plainly visible, it reached its highest point, and still wobbling +drunkenly went swishing down on to G. 10 C. 54--or thereabouts. A roar +and a great column of black smoke rose from the German lines. + +Almost before the report had died away, the gun was sponged out, and +another inebriated monster departed on its mission. But the Sapper was +already some way up the Haymarket. It was not his first view of a +trench-mortar firing. + +A vicious crack from a rifle now and then broke the stillness, and +proclaimed that the sun was clearing away the morning mist, and that +rest-time was nearly over; while the sudden rattle of a machine gun close +by him, indulging in a little indirect fire at a well-known Hun gathering +place a thousand yards or so behind their lines, disturbed a covey of +partridges, which rose with an angry whirring of wings. Then came four +of those unmistakable faint muffled bursts from high above his head, +which betokened an aeroplane's morning gallop; and even as he +automatically jerked his head skywards, with a swishing noise something +buried itself in the earth not far away. It is well to remember that +even Archibald's offspring obey the laws of gravity, and shells from an +anti-aircraft gun, burst they never so high, descend sooner or later in +the shape of jagged fragments--somewhere. And if the somewhere is your +face, upturned to see the fun . . . ! + +The Sapper, with the remembrance fresh in his mind of a pal looking up in +just such a way a week before, quickly presented the top of his tin hat +to the skies, and all that might descend from them. There had been that +same swishing all round them as they stood watching some close shooting +at one of our own planes. He recalled the moment when he cried +suddenly--"Jove! they've got him!" He had turned as he spoke to see the +officer with him, slipping sideways, knees crumpling, body sagging. +"Good God! old man, what is it?" The question was involuntary, for as he +caught the limp figure--he knew. + +The plane was all right: the German shells had not got it; but a piece of +shrapnel, the size of a match-box, had passed through that officer's eye, +and entered his brain. He had laid him on the firing-step, and covered +his head--or what was left of it. . . . + + +He reached Pall Mall, to be once again confronted with a large white +notice board. To the right were Boyaux 93 and 94--to the left, 91 and +90. Straight on to the front, 92 led to the firing line. With his +ultimate destination Vesuvius crater and the rum jar in view, he turned +to the right, and walked along the support trench. It was much the same +as Piccadilly: only being one degree nearer the front, it was one degree +more warlike. Boxes of bombs everywhere; stands for rifles on the +firing-step, which held them rigidly when they fired rifle grenades; and +every now and then a row of grey-painted rockets with a red top, which in +case of emergency send up the coloured flares that give the S.O.S. +signals to those behind. Also men: men who slept and ate and shaved and +wrote and got bored. A poor show is trench warfare! + +"Look out, sir. They've knocked it in just round the corner last night +with trench mortars." A sergeant of the South Loamshires was speaking. +"Having a go at Laburnum Cottage, I'm thinking." + +"What, that sniper's post? Have you been using it?" + +"One of our men in there now, sir. He saw an Allemand go to ground in +his dug-out half an hour ago through the mist, and he reckons he ought to +finish breakfast soon, and come out again." + +The Sapper crawled on his stomach over the _debris_ that blocked the +trench, and stopped at the entrance to Laburnum Cottage, officially known +as Sniper's Post No. 4. In a little recess pushed out to the front of +the trench, covered in with corrugated iron and surrounded by sandbags, +sprawled the motionless figure of a Lance-Corporal. With his eye glued +to his telescopic sight and his finger on the trigger of his rifle, he +seemed hardly to be breathing. Suddenly he gave a slight grunt, and the +next instant, with a sharp crack, the rifle fired. + +"Get him?" asked the Sapper. + +"Dunno, sir," answered the sniper, his eye still fixed to the telescope. +"Three 'undred yards, and 'e ducked like 'ell. It wasn't far off 'is +nibs, but one can't tell for sure." He got down and stretched himself. +"I've waited 'alf an 'our for the perisher, too, without no breakfast." +He grinned and scrambled over the broken-down trench to remedy the latter +deficiency, while once more the Sapper walked on. No need with this +particular regiment to suggest rebuilding the broken-in trench; it would +be done automatically--which cannot be said of them all. + +At last he reached Boyau 94, and turned up towards the firing-line. +Twenty yards from the turn a mass of barbed wire crossed the trench above +his head, the barbed wire which ran in front of the support line. For it +is not only the fire-trench that is wired--each line behind is +plentifully supplied with this beautiful vegetable growth. + +The mist had cleared away, and the morning sun was blazing down from a +cloudless sky, as he reached the front trench. Just to his left a +monstrous pair of bellows, slowly heaving up and down under the +ministrations of two pessimistic miners, sent a little of God's fresh air +down to the men in the mine-shafts underneath. The moles were there--the +moles who scratched and scraped stolidly, at the end of their gallery +thirty or forty yards in front, deep down under the earth in No Man's +Land. + +A steady stream of sandbags filled with the result of their labours came +up the shaft down which the pipe from the bellows stretched into the +darkness--sandbags which must be taken somewhere and emptied, or used to +revet a bit of trench which needed repair. + +To right and left there stretched the fire-trench--twisting and turning, +traversed and recessed--just one small bit of the edge of British land. +A hundred yards away, a similar line stretched right and left, where +other pessimistic miners ministered to other monstrous bellows, and +Piccadilly was known as Unter den Linden. The strange stagnation of it +all! + +Look through the periscope at the country in front. Not a sign of life +in the torn-up crusted earth; not a movement between the two long lines +of wire. A few poppies here and there, and at one point a motionless +grey-green lump close to the farther wire. Impossible to tell exactly +what it is from the periscope--the range is too far. But, in No Man's +Land, such strange grey--and khaki--lumps may often be seen. The night, +a wiring party, perhaps a little raid or an officer's patrol, +and--discovery. You cannot always get your dead back to the trench, and +the laws that govern No Man's Land savour of the primitive. . . . + +The Sapper watched the phlegmatic bellows-heaver for a few moments +curiously. His stoical indifference to any one or anything save the job +in hand, the wonderful accuracy with which he spat from time to time, the +appalling fumes from his short clay pipe, all tended to make of him an +interesting study. Supremely apathetic to friend or foe, Generals or +Huns, he did his shift without comment and, as far as could be seen, +without thought. + +"Where are you putting the earth?" asked the Sapper after watching for a +while. + +"Round corner, in a 'ole." The speaker pointed with his pipe, and the +subject dropped. + +The officer turned away smiling slightly, and decided on the inspection +of the rum jar. The answer was clear and succinct, even if not couched +in the language of the old army discipline. He inspected the hole, and, +finding it was at the back of the trench, in a crater that was formed +nightly by German _minenwerfer_, and that more earth there not only would +not block the trench but, _mirabile dicta_, would be an actual advantage, +he passed on and shortly came to a passage leading out of the front of +the trench. + +The passage was labelled Sap No. 130, and presented exactly the same +appearance as the boyaux which ran out of the support line to the front +trench. Only when one got into it did the difference become apparent, +for whereas the boyaux had continued until finally opening into a new +trench, the sap was a cul-de-sac, and finished abruptly in a little +covered-in recess built into a miniature mountain of newly-thrown-up +earth. And this great, tumbled mass of soil was the near lip of Vesuvius +crater--blown up half way between the two front lines. + +Over the top of the mountain there was no passage. A man standing or +crawling there in daytime would have been in full view of German snipers +at a range of forty yards; while had he accomplished it in safety, he +would have slithered down the farther side into a great cavity shaped +like an egg-cup, at the bottom of which a pool of dirty, stagnant water +was slowly forming. Moreover, if we imagine the man continuing his +journey and climbing up the other side, he would run the gauntlet of the +English snipers as he topped the farther lip, before reaching the German +sap which ran out in just such a similar cul-de-sac to the one already +described. + +Thus are craters consolidated; each side holds the lip nearest to them, +and hurls curses and bombs at his opponents on the other. The distance +between the sapheads is perhaps twenty or twenty-five yards, instead of +the hundred odd of the parent fire-trenches; and any closer +acquaintanceship is barred by the egg-cup crater, which stretches between +them. + +"Keep down, sir--well down. Lot of sniping to-day." A sergeant of the +South Loamshires whispered hoarsely to the Sapper as he reached the end +of the sap--it is etiquette to whisper in a sap. Three men inside the +recess were drinking tea with the calmness born of long custom, while +lying on his side, with a periscope to his eye, was Jackson, the +subaltern. + +"Anything fresh, Jacko?" muttered the Sapper, crouching down beside him. + +"Yes--I think they're coming closer with their left sap round the crater. +Their periscope seems to be nearer than it was yesterday." + +"Let's have a look." The two changed position, and the Captain turned +the periscope gently round until he got the exact direction. Absolute +stillness brooded over the ground he could see; a few rough strands of +wire straggled about, and disappeared into the great mound of earth that +formed the _debris_ of the crater. + +There were the enemies' trenches--a railway embankment behind them with a +derelict row of trucks--a great chimney, gaunt and desolate, with the +buildings at its foot in ruins. But it was not on these old friends that +he was concentrating; his target was the bit of ground just in front of +him that lay close to the thrown-up earth of Vesuvius, along which the +German sap was reputed to be creeping nearer. + +At last he got what he wanted. Close at hand, perhaps twenty yards away, +there stuck up out of the ground a motionless stick with something on the +end--the German's periscope. Now it is reputed to be a fact by several +people of apparent truthfulness that it is possible, in circumstances +such as these, for each watcher to see the other man's eyes reflected +from the mirrors of the periscopes; and it is an undoubted fact that the +laws which govern the refraction of light would allow of this phenomenon. +Personally, I am glad to say I have never seen a German's eye through a +periscope; but then personally I am inclined to doubt if any one has. It +must be quite dreadful to see a thing like a poached egg regarding you +balefully from the top of a stick a few yards away. + +At last the Sapper got up. "He's no nearer, Jacko. What do you think, +sergeant?" + +"I don't think they were working last night, sir," one of the +tea-drinkers answered. + +"There was a party of 'em out, and we bunged some bombs. We 'eard 'em +padding the 'oof back." + +"Been pretty quiet, then?" + +"Except for that there rum jar, sir," answered the sergeant. "We thought +we was napoo[1] when we 'eard that little bundle of fun a-coming." + +"Have you seen it, Jacko?" + +"Yes, it rolled into the sap, and I've had it put into the fire-trench. +I'm taking it back to blow it up. I think it's a percussion fuse, but it +seems fairly safe. I've sent for a stretcher to carry it on." + +"Let's go and have a look at it." + +The two officers walked down the sap and back into the trench, and +started to investigate with a professional eye the object lying on the +fire-step. Apparently of steel, and painted a dull grey, it looked +harmless enough--but all those little love offerings of the Hun are +treated with respect. About the size of an ordinary rum jar, with a fuse +of sorts in place of a neck, it was at the time an unknown brand of +abomination, to them at any rate. + +"It differs only in appearance, I fear," remarked the Captain, after +inspecting it gingerly, "from other presents they give us. Its object is +undoubtedly nefarious. Where do you propose to blow it up?" + +"In that little quarry near the Ritz. Will that do all right?" + +"Most excellently." With a smile he looked at his watch. "Just set your +watch by mine, Jacko--and poop it off at 10.5 ak emma. Do you take me?" + +The other looked puzzled for a moment; then his face cleared. + +"I'd forgotten for the moment that Centre Battalion Head-quarters was not +far from the quarry," he grinned. "Sir--I take you." + +"My dear boy, the day is hot, and the Pumpkin is fat, and the flies are +glutinous. He doesn't want to see the trenches any more than I do--and +one's mission in life is to anticipate the wishes of the great." + +It was just as he finished speaking that from up the line in the +direction of the Haymarket there came four dull, vicious cracks in +succession, and some clouds of black smoke drifted slowly over his head. + +"Just about No. 7 T.M. emplacement," he muttered to himself. "I hope to +heavens . . ." + +"Put it on the stretcher carefully, boys." His subaltern was speaking to +the two men who had arrived with a stretcher. "Have you got the slab of +gun-cotton?" + +"Corporal 'Amick 'as gone to get it at the store, sir. He's a-going to +meet us at the quarry." + +"Right-ho! Walk march." + +The cavalcade departed, and the Captain resumed his morning walk, while +his thoughts wandered to the beer which is cold and light yellow. For +many weary months had he taken a similar constitutional daily; not always +in the same place, true; but variety is hard to find in the actual +trenches themselves. It is the country behind that makes the difference. + +Time was when communication trenches existed only in the fertile brain of +those who were never called upon to use them; but that time has passed +long since. Time was when the thin, tired breaking line of men who +fought the Prussian Guard at Ypres in 1914--and beat them--had hard work +to find the fire-trenches, let alone the communication ones; when a daily +supervision was a nerve-shattering nightly crawl, and dug-outs were +shell-holes covered with a leaking mackintosh. It was then that men +stood for three weeks on end in an icy composition of water and slime, +and if by chance they did get a relief for a night, merely clambered out +over the back, and squelched wearily over the open ground with bullets +pinging past them from the Germans a few score yards away. + +But now there are trenches in canal banks where dead things drift slowly +by, and trenches in railway embankments where the rails are red with rust +and the sleepers green with rot; there are trenches in the chalk, good +and deep, which stand well, and trenches in the slush and slime which +never stand at all; there are trenches where the smell of the long grass +comes sweetly on the west wind, and trenches where the stench of death +comes nauseous on the east. And one and all are they damnable, for ever +accursed . . . + +But the country behind--ah! there's where the difference comes. You may +have the dead flat of pastoral Flanders, the little woods, the plough, +the dykes of Ypres and Boesinghe; you may have the slag-heaps and smoking +chimneys of La Bassee and Loos; you may have the gently undulating +country of Albert and the Somme. Each bears the marks of the German +beast--and, like their inhabitants, they show those marks differently. +Ypres and the North, apathetic, seemingly lifeless; the mining districts, +grim and dour; the rolling plains still, in spite of all, cheerful and +smiling. But underlying them all--deep implacable determination, a grand +national hatred of the Power who has done this thing. . . . + + +He turned out of the Old Kent Road into a siding which harboured the +dug-outs of the Centre Battalion. + +"Is the General here yet, Murdock?" A tall sergeant of the regiment--an +old friend of his--flattened himself against the side of the trench to +let him pass. + +"Yes, sir." The sergeant's face was expressionless, though his eyes +twinkled. "I think, sir, as 'ow the General is feeling the 'eat. 'E +seems worried. 'E's been trying to telephone." + +The Sapper, with a suppressed chuckle, went down some steps into a +spacious dug-out. The darkness made him temporarily blind, so he saluted +and stood still just inside the doorway. + +"Damn you, don't blow at me! What's that fool blowin' down the thing +for? I _have_ pressed a button--confound you!--and rung the bell twice. +No--I didn't ring off; somebody blew at me, and the machine fell on the +floor." + +"The General is trying to get through to his chateau." A voice full of +unholy joy whispered in the Sapper's ear, and that worthy, whose eyes had +got accustomed to the gloom, recognised the Adjutant. + +"I gathered that something of the sort was occurring," he whispered back. + +But the General was at it again. "Who are you--the R.T.O.? Well, ring +off. Exchange. Exchange. It is the Divisional General speaking. I +want my head-quarters. I say, I want my--oh, don't twitter, and the +bally thing's singin' now! First it blows and then it sings. Good God! +what's that?" + +A deafening explosion shook the dug-out, and a shower of earth and stones +rained down in the trench outside. + +"They're very active this morning, sir," said the Sapper, stepping +forward. "Lot of rum jars and things coming over." + +"Are you the Sapper officer? Good morning. I wish you'd get this +accursed instrument to work." + +"There may be a line broken," he remarked tactfully. + +"Well--I shall have to go back; I can't hear a word. The thing does +nothin' but squeak. Now it's purring like a cat. I hate cats. Most +annoyin'. I wanted to come round the front line this morning." + +"In very good condition, sir; I've just been all round it. Mighty hot up +there, General--and swarms of flies." + +"And they're puttin' over some stuff, you say?" + +"Yes, sir--quite a lot." + +"Hum! Well, of course, I fully intended to come round--but, dash it all, +I must get back. Can't hear a word the fellow says. Does nothing but +play tunes." The Pumpkin rose and stalked to the door. "Well, I'll come +round another morning, my boy. I wonder, by Jove! if that last one was +meant for this head-quarters? Devilish near, you know." He walked up +the stairs, followed by his staff officer. "Good mornin'--mind you see +about that telephone. Cursed thing blows." + +"Dear old Pumpkin," murmured the Adjutant as his steps died away. "He's +a topper. His figure's against him, but he's got the heart of a lion." + +"He has," answered the Sapper, preparing to follow his footsteps. "And +the men would do anything for him." + +"What price that rum jar I sent in a bird about?" + +"That was the last explosion you heard," laughed the Sapper. "I wasn't +leaving anything to chance. I am going to go and drink beer--iced beer, +in long glasses. _Toujours a toi_." + +He was gone, leaving the Adjutant staring. A few moments later he +clambered out of the trench, and struck out for the crumbling church that +betokened a road and the near presence of his bicycle. + + * * * * * * + +A day of peace--yes, as things go, a day of perfect peace. Away down +South things were moving; this was stagnation. And yet--well, it was at +dinner that night . . . + +"For the fourteenth night in succession I rise to a point of order." The +Doctor was speaking. "Why is the lady with the butterfly on her back +pushed away into one corner, and that horrible woman with the green wig +accorded the place of honour?" + +I would hurriedly state that the Doctor's remarks were anent two pictures +which are, I believe, occasionally to be found in officers' messes in the +B.E.F.--pictures of a Parisian flavour as befits the Entente--pictures +which--at any rate they are well known to many, and I will not specify +further. + +"Yes, the lady with the gween wig is dweadful." The boy sipped his port. + +"Infant, I'm shocked at you. The depravity of these children +nowadays . . ." + +An orderly came into the room with an envelope, which he handed to the +Captain. + +The C.O. spread out the flimsy paper and frowned slightly as he read the +message. + +"T.M. Emp. No. 7, completely wrecked by a direct hit 9.30 a.m. this +morning, A.A.A. Please inspect and report, A.A.A., C.R.E., 140th +Division." + +"Delayed as usual," grunted the Scotchman. "I was there just after it +happened, and reported it to the O.C. Trench Mortars. Did you not hear, +sir, for it's useless repairing it? That position is too well known." + +"Were there any casualties?" The Sapper Captain's voice was quiet. + +"Aye. The poor lad that was crooning over his gun when I saw him this +morning, like a cat over her undrowned kitten, just disappeared." + +"What d'you mean, Mac?" + +"It was one of the big ones, and it came right through the wire on top of +him." The gruff voice was soft. "Poor bairn!" + + + +[1] _Special Note to Lovers of Etymology_. + +_Il n'y en a plus_. There is no more. French phrase signifying complete +absence of. Largely heard in estaminets near closing time. + +_Naploo_.--Original pure English phrase signifying the perisher has run +out of beer. + +_Napoo_.--Vulgar and bastardised shortening of original pure English +phrase. Has now been added to B.E.F. dictionary, and is used to imply +that a man, thing, person, animal, or what not, is "finished." + + + + +II + +OVER THE TOP + +"On the afternoon of the 21st we gained a small local success. Our +line was advanced on a front of six hundred yards, over an average +depth of a quarter of a mile. All the ground gained was successfully +consolidated. Up to date eighty-six unwounded prisoners have passed +through the corps cage, of whom three are officers." + +Thus ran the brief official notice so tersely given in the +"Intelligence Summary," known to the ribald as "Comic Cuts"; later it +will appear even more tersely in the daily communique which delights +the matutinal kipper and twin eggs of England. It's all so simple; it +all sounds such a ridiculously easy matter to those who read. Map +maniacs stab inaccurate maps with pins; a few amateur strategists +discourse at length, and with incredible ignorance, on the bearing +it--and countless other similar operations--will have on the main +issue. And the vast majority remark gloomily to the other members of +the breakfast table that there is nothing in the paper as usual. +Nothing, my friend! I wonder. . . . + +This is not a story; there is no plot; it is just what happens every +day somewhere or other in the land of glutinous, stinking mud, where +the soles are pulled off a man's boots when he walks and horses go in +up to their bellies; where one steers a precarious and slippery course +on the narrow necks of earth that separate shell holes, and huddled +things stare up at the sky with unseeing eyes. They went "over the +top" themselves--ten days ago--in just such another local success. +Nothing, my friend! Perhaps you're right; it's mainly a sense of +proportion that is needed in war, as in other things. . . . + + +"Good morning, dear old soul." The machine-gun officer emerged from a +watery hole of doubtful aspect, covered with a dented sheet of +corrugated iron and a flattened-out biscuit tin--the hole that is, not +the officer. "We have slept well, thank you; and the wife and family +are flourishing. Moreover--you're late." + +The Sapper regarded him pessimistically through the chilly mist of an +October dawn. "Entirely owing to my new and expensive waders being +plucked from my feet with a sucking noise. A section of haggard men +are now engaged in salvage operations. Shall we process?" + +"We shall--in one sweet moment, not before. Sweet, brave heart, +because----" He put his head round the corner. "Jones--the raspberry +wine--_toute suite_. Just a hollow tooth full, and we will gambol like +young lambs the whole long weary way." + +"It is well," remarked the Sapper, returning the empty mug to the +soldier servant. "Personally I like it burnt at night, with a noggin +of port. You put it in a mug, add three spoonfuls of sugar, set light +to it, and let it burn for seven minutes. Then add some port, and +drink hot. Man, you can lead an army corps . . ." His voice died away +as the two officers departed on their three-mile squelch to the front +line, and the unshaven Jones gazed after them admiringly. + +"A hartist!" he murmured admiringly, "a plurry hartist. Personally, +the rasberry juice, any old 'ow for me." He disappeared from view, and +further disclosures would be tactless. . . . + +And so we lift the curtain on the dawn of the 21st. Doubtless the +setting is frivolous, but it has served to introduce two of the supers +who go to make up the final scene. In the portion of the front line +for which they were bound there lay the battalion which was cast for +the principal part, and it is the prerogative of stars to have their +entrance led up to. . . . + +The mist hung thick over the shell-torn ground as the two officers +walked on. In places stretches of half-demolished wire and blown-in +trenches showed where the Germans had put up a fight. Stray graves, +ours and theirs, were dotted about promiscuously, and little heaps of +dirty and caked equipment showed that salvage work was in progress. +Away to the left a few crumbling walls and shattered trees marked a +one-time prosperous agricultural village, from which with great +regularity there came the sighing drone of a German crump followed by a +column of black smoke and a shower of bricks and _debris_. But the +place was dead; its inhabitants gone--God knows where. And soldiers: +well, soldiers have a rooted dislike to dead villages near the trenches. + +A strange squat object loomed suddenly into sight--a well-known +landmark to those who wandered daily behind the lines. Derelict, +motionless, it lay on a sunken road, completely blocking it; and the +sunken road was heavy with the stench of death. It is not good for the +Hun to take liberties with a tank, even if it is temporarily +_hors-de-combat_. + +A man limping wearily, his head bandaged, his face unshaved, his khaki +coated with half-dry mud, plodded heavily towards them. + +"Can you tell me the way to the dressing-station, sir?" He had stopped +and, swaying slightly, stood in front of the two officers. + +"Straight on, lad. You'll find it somewhere back there." The +machine-gun officer pointed vaguely into the mist. "About half a mile." + +"You ain't got a drop of water, 'ave you, sir? The water party got +lost last night, and we've only had about a teacupful this last +twenty-four hours." + +But when going up to visit the trenches water-bottles are a useless +encumbrance, and, with a tired sigh, the wounded Tommy resumed his +thirsty way in the direction of the dressing-station. + +"Cooked, poor devil," remarked the Sapper, as he disappeared. "Pretty +nearly finished." + +"But he'll be his mother's own bright boy again when he gets his nose +inside that aid post. We go left here, I think." + +They paused for a moment to get their bearings--a matter of some +importance and no little difficulty. + +It may seem an easy thing to walk up to the trenches. One goes on, and +ultimately one arrives, the casual reader will surmise. And with luck +the casual reader will be right. But there are certain small points +which may have escaped his ken and which render the task of reaching +the front line a trifle harder than walking to the club for lunch. + +In the first place the aspect of the ground is not of that cheerful and +varied type which has inspired so many gifted landscape painters. No +trees and little rivers, no cottages and flowering paths delight one's +eye. It is impossible to say: "Take the turn to the left after passing +the cactus bush, and keep straight on till you come to the asparagus +bed; and then you'll see the front trench on your right." + +The local cactus bush or its equivalent is hurled into space twice +daily, thereby largely interfering with its use as a landmark. The +local asparagus bed or its equivalent differs only from the remainder +of the ground in the fact that a mule passed peacefully away on it some +weeks previously. And one day even that difference vanished. The mule +passed away again--in small fragments. + +Even the front trenches where they exist have a variegated career. At +certain periods quite a large proportion of them are in the air at the +same time, in company with the village just behind; and when they come +down again it is more than likely their position will change to the +next row of damp and unpleasant holes. + +That is the trouble: the whole ground is one huge hole. Holes are the +only features of the landscape: big holes, little holes, damp ones, +smelly ones; holes occupied and holes to let; holes you fall into and +holes you don't--but, holes. Everywhere holes. The cactus bush is a +hole; the asparagus bed is a hole; the trenches are holes. The whole +country looks like a disease. A large amount of the wandering must +perforce be done at night; and should the casual reader still doubt the +difficulty of finding one's way, let him imagine three voluntary +descents, and as many compulsory ones, into the wet brand of hole; let +him further imagine a steady downpour of rain, no sign of a star, and a +shrewd suspicion that if he's walked as far as he thinks he has in the +right direction he ought to be in the front line; and then let him +imagine--holes. Whenever he moves he either negotiates or fails to +negotiate--holes. Having, in scrambling out of holes turned round +twice he doesn't know which way he's facing; he only knows there +are--holes. Toc--toc--toc; the slow tapping of a German machine-gun +sounds from the direction he had fondly imagined Battalion +Head-quarters to be; the swish of bullets come nearer as the Hun sweeps +the ground; a flare goes up, showing--holes. Another compulsory +descent; a phut! as a bullet passes over his head, and the swishing +passes on. Shortly that swishing will come back, and in the meantime +are there not--holes? But as for the front trench, whither he is +bound, the contest is unequal. No man can fight--holes. + +A further point which is worthy of remark _en passant_ may possibly +escape the notice of the uninitiated. It is a well-known fact, and +will be vouched for by all who have experienced the Somme, that that +part of the ground which is not hole is carried, like the unexpended +portion of the day's rations, on the person. Acres of soil have been +removed from their original abode and have been carried laboriously to +other acres. They have then been brought back again; not by boot only, +but by hand, and face, by hair and teeth. It is reported--though I +will not vouch for the accuracy of the statement--that on one occasion +a relieving battalion completely defeated a small German counter-attack +by standing on the parapet and kicking viciously towards the advancing +Huns. The enormous mass of soil thus propelled not only crushed the +hated foe but effectually buried him. However, that is by the way. We +are digressing far from the Sapper and the machine-gun officer who +stood by a derelict tank in the damp mist of an October dawn and +cogitated on the direction of their particular piece of front line. + +"It is amazing," said a voice behind them, "that man can have descended +to such a state of congenital idiocy as to do all this to an +inoffensive carrot field." + +The Brigade-Major, followed by the Brigadier, joined the two officers. +Behind them the signal officer plucked France from his face. And then +of a sudden five officers disappeared. A droning roar rose with +extreme rapidity to that pitch of loudness that denotes undesirable +closeness; a mass of black fumes and flying mud shot up twenty odd +yards away; a flight of cockchafers seemed to pass into the distance as +the jagged fragments whizzed overhead--and five faces appeared as +suddenly from the ground. Holes have their uses at times. + +"This sunken road is always hairy," remarked the signal officer--known +to his intimates as Sigs--giving the General a hand-up from his +particular lair. "It were unwise to linger, sir." + +"Another quarter-mile and we hit Essex Trench," remarked the +Brigade-Major. "Sally's head-quarters are there." The five officers +passed on, squelching loudly, and once again peace and silence reigned +in the sunken road. . . . + +And now we come to the principal actors in the drama. Crowded in Essex +Trench, damp with mist, were the men of the South Loamshires. A few +were scribbling notes, and an all-pervading smell of frying bacon +permeated the air. One or two, wrapped in great-coats, with a +mackintosh sheet over them, still slept peacefully--but the whole +regiment was stirring into life. The morning of the day had come. To +many it was a new experience; to others it was stale--going over the +top. But, new or old, not a man but realised that by evening the roll +of the regiment would have many gaps; new or old, not a man but +realised that his name might be one of those gaps. Just the luck of +the game; perhaps nothing, perhaps a Blighty, perhaps . . . + +It is well without doubt that the lower the intelligence the less the +imagination. To ninety per cent. of these men the situation lost much +of its edge; to the remaining ten the edge was sharpened. What is to +be is to be, in war as elsewhere. Fatalism as regards one's own +prospects is inevitable; essential. But fatalism is an unsatisfying +creed; the word "Why?" is apt to creep into the back of a man's mind, +and the word "Why?" when the intelligence is low, is a dangerous one. +For the word "Why?" can only be satisfactorily answered by the +realisation of the bigness of the issue; by the knowledge that +individual effort is imperative if collective success is to be +obtained; by the absolute conviction that no man can be a law unto +himself. To the ten per cent. these facts were clear; but then, to the +ten per cent. the "Why?" was louder. The factor of their composition +which said to them "Why?"--clearly and insistently--even as they lay +motionless under their coats or outwardly wrangled for bacon and +tea--that very factor supplied the answer. + +To the thinkers and dreamers there comes at such times the greater +knowledge: the knowledge which lifts them above self and the +trivialities of their own lives; the knowledge that is almost Divine. +They appreciate the futility--but they realise the necessity. And in +their hearts they laugh sardonically as the shadow of Dream's End +clouds the sky. The utter futility of it all--the utter necessity now +that futility has caught the world. Then they realise the bacon is +cold--and curse. + +To the ninety per cent. it is not so. Not theirs to reason so acutely, +not theirs to care so much; to them the two dominant features of this +war--death and boredom--appeal with far less force. For both depend so +utterly on imagination in their effect on the individual. Death is +only awful in anticipation; boredom only an affliction to the +keen-witted. So to the ninety, perhaps, the "Why?" does not sound +insistently. It is as well, for if the answer is not forthcoming there +is danger, as I have said. And one wonders sometimes which class +produces the best results for the business in hand--the business of +slaughtering Huns. . . . The small one that rises to great heights and +sinks to great depths, or the big one, the plodders. + +But I have digressed again. It is easy to wander into by-paths when +the main road is prosaic, and the study of a body of men before an +attack--the men who fear and don't show it, the men who fear and try +not to show it, the men who don't care a hang what happens--cannot but +grip the observer who has eyes to see. Almost does he forget his own +allotted part in the drama; the psychology of the thing is too +absorbing. And it can only be realised when seen first hand. + +Let us leave them there for the time--that battalion of the South +Loamshires. Sally--as the C.O. is generally known--has talked with the +Brigadier and the Brigade-Major. He knows that zero hour is 11.30 +a.m.; he knows his objective--Suffolk Trench; he knows the strong point +at its northern end which the sappers are going to consolidate. The +Sapper has found his section subaltern and his section nursing coils of +barbed wire and shovels, and has been informed with much blasphemy that +the guide had lost his way, and the party had been wandering all night. +The machine-gun officer has delivered words of wisdom to various guns' +crews--both Lewis and otherwise--who came under his eagle eye at +intervals along the trench. Just the prosaic main road; the details +are tedious; the actual orders uninteresting. The attack would either +succeed or it would fail; the strong point would either be consolidated +or it would not. The orders--the details--are necessary adjuncts to +the operation; of no more interest than the arrangements for pulling up +the fire curtain. Only if the fire curtain sticks, the play is robbed +of much of its natural charm to the onlooker. + + +"Bring me some more breakfast. That walk gives one the devil of a +hunger." The Brigadier was back once more in his dug-out, while, +outside, the mist had lifted and the autumn sun shone down on a world +of mud. + +The Brigade-Major was shaving; the Staff Captain--a non-starter in the +morning's walk--was demanding corrugated iron from the unmoved Sapper. + +"I tell you this roof is a disgrace. Cascades of water pour through +into the soup at dinner. Why don't you do something?" + +"What do you propose I should do, brave heart? Sit on the roof and +catch it?" + +The subject was a complicated one, touching deep problems of supply and +demand, to say nothing of carrying parties; so let us leave them to +their warfare. + +The signal officer was looking wise over something that boomed and +buzzed alternately; the machine-gun officer may, or may not, have been +enjoying another toothful. + +In short, the supers, the stage-managers had departed. The last +directions had been given, and the play was due to start in an hour and +a quarter. All that could be done for its success had been done by +those who were behind; now it was up to the men who sat and sprawled in +the mud-holes in front, with the blue smoke of their cigarettes curling +upwards and their equipment and rifles stacked beside them. + +A desultory bombardment on each side droned stolidly on, while away to +the front three British aeroplanes, seemingly come from nowhere, +tumbled and looped round two Germans like mosquitoes over a pool. A +row of sausage balloons like a barber's rash adorned the sky as far as +the eye could see. Just an everyday scene on the Somme, and meanwhile +the actors waited. + +"Come up to the top. There's ten minutes to go." The Staff Captain +and the Sapper--their dispute settled--strolled amicably to the top of +the hill behind the dug-out and produced their field-glasses. Away in +front Essex Trench could be seen, and the men inside it, standing to. +For them the period of suspense was nearly over--the curtain was just +going up. + +"One minute." The Sapper snapped his watch to and focussed his +glasses. "They're on." + +Suddenly from all around, as if touched by a spring, an ear-splitting +din leaped into life. In the valley behind them it seemed as if +hundreds of tongues of flame were darting and quivering, sprouting from +what a moment before was barren ground. The acrid smell of cordite +drifted over them, while without cessation there came the solemn +boom--boom--boom of the heavier guns way back. Like the _motif_ of an +opera, the field-guns and light howitzers cracked and snorted, +permeating everything with one continuous blast of sound; while the +sonorous roar and rumble of the giant pieces behind--slower, as +befitted them--completed the mighty orchestra. Neither man could hear +the other speak; but then, they were both watching too intently for +that. + +Hardly had hell been let loose when a line of men arose from Essex +Trench and walked steadily to their front. Just ahead of them great +clouds of smoke rose belching from the ground: clouds into which they +vanished at times, only to reappear a moment later. They were +advancing behind a creeping barrage, and advancing with the steadiness +of automatic machines. + +"Good lads! Good lads!" The Staff Captain's lips framed the words; +his voice was inaudible. + +Every now and then a man pitched forward and lay still; or muttered a +curse as he felt the sting of something in his arm. A section on the +left dropped suddenly, only to worm on again by ones and twos, trying +to avoid the dreaded toc-toc--slow and menacing--of a German +machine-gun. Then the bombers were there. Crouching back, a man would +pull the pin out of his bomb, run forward, and hurl it into the trench +where the Germans were huddled in groups. And away behind the South +Loamshires, on the shell-pocked ground that now boiled and heaved like +some monstrous sulphur spring, with thick black and yellow fumes +drifting slowly across it, there lay the first fruits of the harvest: a +few of the gaps in the evening's roll-call. + +On the flank a machine-gun was going, taking them in enfilade. In +front, Germans--numbers of Germans--glared snarling at them out of the +trench, or whimpered in a corner with arms upraised, as was the nature +of the beasts. A non-commissioned officer picked up a bomb and hurled +it at the advancing platoon sergeant; only to cry "_Kamerad_" when it +failed to explode. . . . + +And so the South Loamshires, or such as were left of them, came to +their objective; the first part of the play was over. The +machine-gunner who had enfiladed them passed in his checks, fighting to +the end, brained with the butt of a rifle. + +Occasionally a wounded man crawled into the trench; a German officer +sat sullenly in a corner stanching a gaping hole in his leg. Behind +them, towards the Essex Trench, the air was now clearer; the +bombardment had moved over the line they had won, and thundered down on +the German communications. + +"Runner!" A Company Commander stood shakily trying to patch up a wound +in his arm. As far as he could tell from a hasty reconnaissance, he +was the senior officer present. "Give this to the C.O.: 'Objectives +won. Situation on right doubtful. Estimated casualties two hundred.'" +He handed the man a slip of paper. + +At a steady lope the runner went over the back of the trench, into the +barrage of German shrapnel and high explosive. They saw him reach it, +stop suddenly, twist round, and slither slowly forward. + +"Runner down, sir." A sergeant standing by spoke almost casually. + +"Runner!" Once again the officer called; once again a man went off at +a jog-trot. They saw him reach his predecessor; stop a moment and bend +down. He looked round and shook his head and went steadily on. The +luck of the game--that's all. And it's only when one's sitting +still--waiting, that one asks "Why?" Ten minutes later he was with the +C.O., waiting for the answer to take back. + +And so the drama is over; the play has been a success. From the wings +the Staff Captain and the Sapper have returned to Brigade Head-quarters. + +"Saw 'em getting over the top, sir. Then they got into the smoke and +we lost 'em. Like a witches' cauldron." + +"We shan't hear anything for two hours." The General thoughtfully +knocked the ashes out of his pipe. They were his men who had gone into +that witches' cauldron; with them daily he lived and daily died. Their +Dream's End was his too. But--a sense of proportion, always. "We +might as well have lunch," he remarked casually. + + +Gradually the bombardment died away, though from time to time the guns +burst into sullen mutterings, as though hungry at being baulked of +their food. + +The same old aeroplanes--or different ones--buzzed busily about; the +same old stoical balloons looked more rash-like than ever. + +And then suddenly outside the brigade office there was a stir. + +A runner had hove in sight, and the signal officer emerged to get his +tidings. + +"Good," he muttered to himself; "the old man will be pleased." He went +into the General's dug-out. + +"Message just through, sir, from C.O. South Loamshires: 'Objectives +obtained. A.A.A. Situation on right somewhere obscure. A.A.A. +Estimated casualties 200 all ranks. A.A.A. Will be consolidated +to-night. A.A.A.'" + +The "old man" _was_ pleased. + +And so, on the afternoon of the 21st, we gained a small local success. +We advanced our line on a front of six hundred yards over an average +depth of a quarter of a mile, etc., etc. + +It wasn't much, my friends at home; but--that runner will run no more, +and some eighty odd of that odd two hundred have cooked their last +ration of bacon. Their "Why?" is answered. + +No, it wasn't much; but it wasn't--nothing. + + + + +III + +THE MAN-TRAP + +Should you, in the course of your wanderings, ever run across +Brigadier-General Herbert Firebrace, do not ask him if he knows Percy +FitzPercy. The warning is probably quite unnecessary: not knowing +FitzP. yourself, the question is hardly likely to occur to you. But I +mention it in case. One never knows, and Herbert will not be +prejudiced in your favour if you do. + +As far as I know, the story of their first--and last--meeting has never +yet been told to the world at large. It is a harrowing tale, and it +found no place in official _communiques_. Just one of those +regrettable incidents that fade into the limbo of forgotten things, it +served as a topic of conversation to certain ribald subalterns, and +then it gradually disappeared into obscurity along with Percy +FitzPercy. Only it took several months for the topic to fade; Percy +beat it in about ten seconds. + +Before the war Percy had been, amongst other things, an actor of +indifferent calibre; he had helped a barman in Canada, carried a chain +for a railroad survey, done a bit of rubber-planting, and written +poetry. He was, in fact, a man of many parts, and cultivated a +frivolous demeanour and an eyeglass. Unkind acquaintances described +him as the most monumental ass that has yet been produced by a +painstaking world; personally, I think the picture a trifle harsh. +Percy meant well; and it wasn't really his fault that the events I am +about to chronicle ended so disastrously. Unfortunately, however, he +was unable to get the General to see eye to eye with him in this +trifling matter; and so, as I have already said, Percy beat it in about +ten seconds. + +The whole trouble started over the question of man-traps. "If," +remarked a Sapper subaltern one night after the port had been round +more than once--"If one could construct a large conical hole like an +inverted funnel in the front-line trench, so that the small opening was +in the trench itself, and the bottom of the funnel fifteen or twenty +feet below in the ground, and if the Huns came over and raided us one +night, one might catch one or two." He dreamily emptied and refilled +his glass. + +"By Jove, dear old boy"--Percy fixed his eye-glass and gazed admiringly +at the speaker--"that's a splendid idea! Sort of glorified +man-trap--what!--dear old thing." + +"That's it, Percy, old lad. Why don't you make one next time you're in +the trenches?" The speaker winked at the remainder of the party. + +"'Pon my soul, dear old man, I think I will." Percy was clearly struck +with the idea. "Cover the hole, don't you know, with trench-boards by +day, and have it open at night. Great idea, old sport, great idea!" + +"You could go and fish for them in the morning with a sausage on the +end of a string," murmured some one. "Get 'em to sing the 'Hymn of +Hate' before they got any breakfast." + +"Or even place large spikes at the bottom on which they would fall and +become impaled." The first speaker was becoming bloodthirsty. + +"Oh, no, dear old chap! I don't think an impaled Hun would look very +nice. It would be quite horrible in the morning, when one started to +count up the bag, to find them all impaled. Besides, there might be +two on one stake." Exactly the objection to the last contingency was +not clear; but after dinner attention to such trifles is of secondary +importance. + +"Percy inaugurates new form of frightfulness," laughed the Major. "May +I be there when you catch your first!" + +The conversation dropped; other and more intimate topics anent the fair +ones at home took its place; but in the mind of Percy FitzPercy the +germ of invention was sown. When he went back to his battalion that +night, in their so-called rest-billets, he was thinking. Which was +always a perilous proceeding for Percy. + +Now it so happened that his part of the line at the moment had +originally belonged to the Hun. It was a confused bit of trench, in +which miners carried on extensively their reprehensible trade. And +where there are miners there is also spoil. Spoil, for the benefit of +the uninitiated, is the technical name given to the material they +remove from the centre of the earth during the process of driving their +galleries. It is brought up to the surface in sandbags, and is then +carried away and dumped somewhere out of harm's way. In reality it is +generally stacked carefully in the trenches themselves, thereby +completely blocking all traffic; which is by the way. + +But after mining has been in progress for some time, and various +craters have been blown and sapped out to, and after trench mortars +have "strafed" consistently for many months and torn the original +surface of the ground to pieces, the actual position of the trenches +themselves becomes haphazard. They cease in many cases to bear the +slightest likeness to the ordinary trenches of commerce; they become +deep gorges in mountains of sandbags. I have sometimes wished that +those officers who apparently write home to devoted bands of female +workers asking for more sandbags would get in touch with me instead. I +shall be delighted to let them have anything up to five million, all +filled, by return; which is again by the way. + +To return to Percy. In his part of the front sandbags grew like +pebbles on a shingly beach; and from time to time fresh cuts off the +trenches were opened to allow for further expansion in the sandbag +family. The existing front line in one place had started life as a cut +off the old trench, and had gradually been taken into use as a +permanency, and it was at this point that he stumbled on the great +discovery which was destined to cause all the trouble. How he first +stumbled is not recorded; but early one morning Percy FitzPercy could +have been seen like a terrier with his nose down a rabbit-hole, lying +flat at the bottom of the trench, peering into a noisome and +foul-smelling cavity underneath him. + +"My dear old boy," he remarked, enthusiastically, to a brother +subaltern, who was watching the proceeding coldly, "it's an old German +dug-out; I'm certain it's an old German dug-out." + +"I don't care a damn if it is," answered the other, without enthusiasm. +"It stinks like a polecat, and is undoubtedly full of all creeping +things. For heaven's sake, let's go and get something to eat." + +Slowly and reluctantly Percy allowed himself to be led away, thinking +deeply. Only the week before had the Hun attempted a raid and actually +entered the trench close to the spot in question, and here was +apparently a ready-made man-trap should he do so again. After +breakfast he would explore his find; after breakfast he would himself +set to work and labour unceasingly. As I have said, Percy FitzPercy +meant well. + +It is possible that lesser men might have been deterred by the +unpromising results of that exploration. Descending gingerly through +the hole, which had been widened sufficiently to allow of the passage, +Percy switched his torch around the cavity he found himself in. Above +his head long rounded timbers, side by side and touching one another, +formed the roof, which was in good condition, save in the centre, where +the blue sky shone through the hole he had entered by. In one corner +stood a bedstead covered by a moth-eaten blanket, while all over the +floor crumbling sandbags and old clothes and equipment gave it the +appearance of a rag-and-bone shop. In one place the wall had fallen +in, a mound of chalk filled the corner, and from a score of vantage +points elderly rodents watched with increasing disfavour this +unexpected human invasion. + +Up above in the trench the disfavour was repeated in that picturesque +phraseology for which Thomas is famous. + +"Wot are you a-doing 'ere?" An incensed sergeant rounded a corner, and +gazed wrathfully at three privates, each armed with a spade and wearing +gas helmets. "Wot 'ave you got them 'elmets on for?" He approached +the fatal hole, and recoiled slightly. "Gaw-lumme! Wot's that smell?" + +"Percy," answered a sepulchral voice. "Our little Perce." + +"Wot yer mean--Percy? Wot's that 'ole?" A cloud of dust at that +moment rose through it, and he recoiled still farther. "Oo's down +there?" + +"Percy," answered the same sepulchral voice. "Percy FitzP. carrying +hout a reconaysance in force. 'E's found a 'Un smell factory, and 'e's +fair wallowing in it." + +At that moment a voice came gently through the opening. "I say, you +fellahs, just come down here a moment, and bring your shovels--what?" + +A face, covered with a fine coating of blackish-grey dust, popped up +out of the bottom of the trench. "We're fairly going to catch the old +Hun before we've finished." + +With a choking gasp the sergeant lost all self-control and faded +rapidly away, while the three privates slowly and reluctantly followed +the face through the hole. + +It was fortunate--or possibly, in view of future events, +unfortunate--that during the next two hours no responsible individual +came along that particular piece of front line. Incidentally there was +nothing surprising in the fact. In most places, especially during the +day, the front line is held but lightly by isolated posts, which are +visited from time to time by the company or platoon commander, and more +rarely by the Colonel. On this particular occasion the C.O. had +already paid his visit to the scene of activity. The company commander +was wrestling with returns, and Percy himself led the long-suffering +platoon. And so without hindrance from any outsiders the fell business +proceeded. + +Volumes of evil-smelling dust poured out into the trench, punctuated +from time to time with boots, a few rats who had met with an untimely +end, some unrecognisable garments, and large numbers of empty bottles. +An early investigation had shown the indomitable leader that the old +shaft which had led down to the dug-out in the days when it was used +was completely blocked up, and so the hole through the roof was the +only means of entrance or exit. Moreover, the hole being in the centre +of the roof, and the dug-out being a high one, there was no method of +reaching it other than by standing on the bed or the decomposing chair. +Once the bird was in there, granted the bed had been removed, there was +therefore no way by which he could get out without being helped from +above. And so with joy in his heart the indefatigable Percy laboured +on, what time three sweating privates consigned him to the uttermost +depths of the pit. + +Now one may say at once that Percy had all the makings in him of the +true artist. Having decided to stage his performance, he had no +intention of letting it fail through lack of attention to detail. Life +in the front trenches is not at any time an enlivening proceeding; the +days drag wearily by, the nights are full of noises and Verey +lights--and this particular part of the line was no exception to the +general rule. So our hero was not distracted by mundane influences or +stress of work from elaborating his scheme. In addition, once the +miasma had subsided, and the idea had been explained to them, the three +supers became quite keen themselves. It was one of them, in fact, who +suggested the first detail. + +"'Ow are we to know, sir," he remarked, as they sat resting on an +adjacent fire-step after three hours' strenuous exhuming, "that +supposing two of the perishers fall through the 'ole they won't escape? +Two men could get out of that there place without no bed to 'elp 'em." + +"By Jove, yes!" Percy scratched his forehead and left furrows of white +in the general darkness. "By Jove, yes; you're quite right--what? +Break one's heart to lose the blighters, don't you know. You're a +doocid clever fellow to think of that, Jenkins." + +"Tomkins, sir," murmured the originator of the brain-wave, slightly +abashed by the unexpected praise. + +"We might," remarked another of the world's workers, thoughtfully +sucking his teeth--"we might 'ave a trap-door, a 'eavy one, to let down +over the 'ole once they was in." + +"Yus--and 'ow are we to know when they is in?" The third member of the +party proceeded to justify his existence. "They won't come over 'ere +and fall into the 'ole and then shout to us to let down the trap." He +thoughtfully lit a Woodbine. "The 'Un will be strafing if there's a +raid on, and there'll be the 'ell of a beano going on, and no one won't +never 'ear nothing." + +With which sage aphorism he relapsed into silence, and a gloom settled +on the meeting. + +"By Jove, you fellows, we must think of something! We must pull up our +socks and think--what? After we've spent all this time clearing the +bally place out we must really think of something--by Jove!" Percy +gazed hopefully at his three supers, but it seemed that their +contributions to the conversation were at an end, and for a space +silence reigned, broken only by the gentle lullaby of the tooth-sucker. + +"We might," remarked Tomkins at length, after a period of profound +thought, "'ave a trip-wire, wot would ring a gong." + +"That's it--that's it! 'Pon my word, you're a doocid clever fellow, +Thomson, doocid clever fellow--what?" Percy became enthusiastic. +"Ring the gong where the fellah is who lets down the door. He lets +down the door, and we bag the Hun. Dam good idea!" + +"I don't believe in no gongs," remarked the musical one scornfully. +"No--nor trip-wires neither." He eyed his audience pugnaciously. + +"But, my good fellah--er--what do you believe in?" Percy's spirits +were sinking. + +"Tins, china, cups and saucers, plates, old saucepans--anything and +everything wot will make a noise when the 'Un falls on it. That's the +ticket, sir," he continued, with gathering emphasis as he noted the +impression he was causing. "Lumme--a trip-wire: it might break, or the +gong mightn't ring, or the blighter mightn't 'ear it. Wiv china--every +step he took 'e'd smash anuvver pot. Drahn a rum jar 'e would. But--a +trip-wire!" He spat impartially and resumed his tune. + +"By Jove, that's a splendid idea!" The mercurial Percy's face shone +again. "Splendid idea! Fill it full of old tins and china--what? And +when we hear the second fellah hit the floor and start breakin' up the +home we can pull the string and let down the trap-door. Splendid idea! +Doocid clever of you, 'pon my soul it is!" + +"And where do you think of getting the china from?" Tomkins, fearing +that his mantle of doocid cleverness was descending upon the +tooth-sucker, eyed him unconvinced. "I wasn't aware as 'ow there was a +penny bazaar in the neighbourhood, nor yet a William Whiteley's." + +"Yes, by Jove," chirped Percy, "where do we get it all from? We shall +want lots of it, too, don't you know--what?" + +"Get it?" The suggester of the idea looked scornful and addressed +himself to Tomkins. "There ain't no bully tins in the perishing +trenches, are there? Ho no! An' there hain't no china an' bits of +glass and old cups and things in that there village about 'alf a mile +down the road? Ho no! I reckon there's enough to fill twenty 'oles +like that there." Once again the oracle resumed his hobby. + +"Splendid!" Percy jumped to his feet. "The very thing! We'll do it +this next company relief, by Jove! Now, boys, two more hours. We just +want to get the bedstead out and straighten things up, and we'll be all +ready for the dinner-service--what?" + +Now there was another thing in which Percy FitzPercy showed that he had +the makings of a true artist. He fully appreciated the value of +secrecy in presenting his performances to the public at large. True, +all his platoon were bound to find out, and the remainder of the +company had a shrewd idea that something was afoot. But one does not +walk along trenches--especially in the front line--for pleasure; and +beyond a casual inquiry as to what new form of insanity he was up to +now, the company commander was not interested in Percy's doings. Now +that the place had been cleared out, the opening was covered during the +day by a trench-board carefully stolen from the nearest R.E. dump; +while the members of the platoon assiduously collected old tin and +china utensils, both great and small, which were thrown into the cavity +and arranged tastefully by the stage-manager. + +At night the trench-board was removed, and after careful weighting with +two dud shells, a piece of rail, and the stalk of a sixty-pound +trench-mortar bomb, it was placed on edge beside the hole. It was so +arranged that it leaned slightly inwards, and was only kept from +falling by a cord which passed in front of it and which was attached to +two screw pickets--one on each side. The hole itself was covered with +a sack. So much for the scenery. + +The stage directions were equally simple. The curtain rises on a +German raid. Noises off, etc.; the flashes of guns, the bursting of +rum jars, the dazzling brilliance of flares lighting up the lowering +night. On the entrance of the Hun into the trench (if he did), a watch +would be kept on the hole (if any one was there to watch). On the +sound of the first crash of breaking china, no action. On the sound of +the second crash of breaking china, Percy himself (if alive) or a +substitute (if not), would dash forward and cut the string. The +trap-door would fall; and then, having repelled the Hun, they could +return and examine the bag at their leisure. So much for the plot. +Now for the action. + +It has always been my contention that Brigadier-General Herbert +Firebrace rather brought it on himself. There are things which +generals may do, and there are things which they may not; or shall we +say, lest I be deemed guilty of _lese majeste_, things it were better +they did not? All things to them are lawful, but all things most +undoubtedly are not expedient. And no one--not even his most fervent +admirer--could say that the General's action was a wise one. Let it be +understood that when the more exalted ones of the earth desire to make +a tour of trenches, there is a recognised procedure for doing it. +First comes the sergeant of the platoon occupying the portion of the +line under inspection--experience has shown the wisdom of having the +only trustworthy guide in front. Then comes the company commander, +followed by the Colonel, the Staff officer and the Great One. +Immediately behind, the Adjutant (taking notes), the platoon commander +(partially dazed), the machine-gun officer (not essential), and the +Sapper (if he's been caught by the human avalanche) advance in echelon. +At intervals the procession halts, and the same religious rite takes +place. + +SERGEANT (_peering round the next traverse, in voice of fury_): "Don't +drink tea out of yer tin 'at, yer perisher! 'Ere's the General +a-coming." + +COLONEL (_prompted by company commander_): "Now from here, sir, we get +a most magnificent field of fire behind--ah--those craters there. I +thought that--where was it we decided?--oh, yes, by--ah--putting a +Lewis gun here . . . er, well, perhaps you'd like to look yourself, +sir." + +GREAT ONE: "Yes, very much. Have you got my periscope?" (_Staff +officer produces, and Great One peers through it._) "I quite agree +with you." (_After long inspection_) "You might make a note of it." + +STAFF OFFICER: "Just make a note of that, will you?" + +ADJUTANT (_makes note_): "Make a note of it, Bill, will you?" + +PLATOON COMMANDER (_recovering slightly from stupor_): "Make a note of +what?" + +MACHINE-GUN OFFICER: "All right, old boy. It's my pidgeon." (_Sotto +voce to SAPPER_) "I've had a gun there for the last two nights." +(_Aloud to OMNES_) "An excellent place, sir. I'll see to it." + +SAPPER (_to M.G.O., with seeming irrelevance_): "Well, when he got to +the house he was told she was having a bath, and----" Procession moves +on, while infuriated sentry on sap duty misses the point of the story. +And that is the right way of touring the trenches. + +Unfortunately General Firebrace was a new broom. It was quite +permissible for him to do what he did, but, as I said before, I am +doubtful if it was altogether wise. In a moment of rashness he decided +to go round the trenches alone. As a matter of fact, at the moment of +this resolve the Brigade-Major was out, the evening was fine, and the +General was energetic. Perfect peace reigned over that portion of the +battle area which concerned him, and he was anxious to see that the +arrangement of sentry groups in the various sap-heads met with his +approval. His predecessor, he recalled, had had words with the still +greater ones of the earth anent a couple of small, but nevertheless +regrettable, incidents when men had been removed somewhat forcibly by +the wily Hun from out those same sap-heads. So he settled his steel +helmet firmly on his head, and stepped out of his dug-out into the +communication trench. + +Now in that particular part of the line the communication trenches were +long ones, and by the time he reached the front line it was getting +dark. A man of small stature, but withal fiery appearance, General +Herbert Firebrace strode along through the deepening gloom, humming +gently to himself. At first the trenches were fairly populous--he was +in a part of the front line between two groups of craters--and he found +it necessary to bark "Gangway!" continuously. Then he reached his +goal, the saps behind one of the groups--short trenches which stretch +out from the fire trench into No Man's Land and finish on the near lips +of the craters. He grunted with satisfaction as he found the first of +the saps held to his satisfaction. The sentry group were quietly +smoking; the sentry up at the head of the sap was watching fixedly +through his periscope. The rifles and bayonets of the men rested close +at hand, the Mills bombs were conveniently placed on a narrow ledge +under cover. + +"Ha, good! All quiet here, my lads?" + +"All quiet, sir," answered the corporal, scrambling up. + +"That's all right. Good night, corporal." And the martial little +figure disappeared round the corner. + +Now the corporal was new in that bit of the line; to be exact, he had +just returned from leave. That was one cause. + +"Look out--oil-can!" The sentry gave a hail, and every one ducked. +That was the other cause. + +For at the precise moment that an oil-can exploded with a thunderous +crump twenty yards or so beyond the trench, there was a sudden noise of +ripping canvas, an agonised shout, and the heavy crash of a body +encountering china. Then--silence. The sap parties heard only the +oil-can; Percy FitzPercy for a wonder was not brooding over his +invention, and there was no one who knew that close beside them in an +odoriferous underground abode the Brigadier-General lay completely +stunned, with his head in a metal soup tureen and his rather extensive +set of uppers in a disused tin hitherto devoted to that painstaking +gentleman, Mr. Maconochie. + +Up to this point it will be willingly conceded, I think, by any one +acquainted with trench etiquette that the unfortunate predicament of +Herbert Firebrace, General and Great One, was only what he deserved. +To depart so flagrantly from the spirit of the rules as to wander round +front-line trenches alone and in the falling shades of night is asking +for trouble; and if the matter had ended there I have no doubt--knowing +the strict sense of justice which is one of the praiseworthy features +of the house of Firebrace--I have no doubt that he would have sent for +Percy FitzPercy and apologised handsomely for the inconvenience he had +so unwittingly caused. But the matter did not end there; it only +began. And the finale, reviewed dispassionately, undoubtedly gives one +to think--one might even say think furiously. + +A quarter of an hour after the regrettable occurrence just described +Percy stood chatting lightly and inconsequently with his company +commander in the support line. At the moment he was expatiating on the +merits of a new pipe of his own invention designed for use in No Man's +Land on a dark night. Its exact beauties escape my memory; as far as I +can remember one put the bowl in one's mouth and the tobacco in the +stem and blew. It was an invention typical of Percy--utterly futile. +He had just called the company commander "dear old soul" for the tenth +time, and was explaining how no sparks or glowing ash could be seen if +you made use of this patent atrocity, when a Lewis gun started rattling +away in front. Half a dozen Verey lights shot up, there was a sudden +brisk burst of firing, with the explosion of a number of bombs. + +"By Jove!" cried Percy, pipe and all else forgotten. "By Jove, dear +old man--a raid--what? A Hun raid--now for the man-trap!" He departed +at speed up the nearest boyau, leaving a trail of sparks behind him +like a catherine-wheel that has been out in the rain; to be followed by +his Captain, who had first taken the precaution of loading his +automatic. + +The first man Percy met was the tooth-sucker, who was shaking with +uncontrollable excitement. + +"There's a perisher fell in the 'ole, sir! Three of 'em come in, and +we killed two an' the other fell in the 'ole." + +I am given to understand that on receipt of the news what little +intellect our pipe-inventor ever possessed completely deserted him. +Uttering hoarse cries, he dashed down the trench, and, unmindful of his +own orders to wait on the chance of catching a second, he feverishly +slashed at the string, and with an ominous clang and a squelch of mud +the trap-door descended into its appointed position. Certain it is, +when the company commander came in sight, he was standing upon it, in +an attitude strongly reminiscent of the heavy tragedian--out of a +"shop"--holding forth in his favourite Bodega. + +"What the blazes are you doing there?" howled his infuriated Captain. +"Why aren't you in number eight sap, instead of doing a dumb-crambo +show?" + +"The raid is over, sir," answered Percy, majestically. "The raider +is--ah--below." + +"What the----" began the frenzied senior. And then he paused. "Great +Scott! What's that infernal shindy?" + +From below their feet there rose a perfect orgy of breaking china and +rattling tins, with ever and anon a loud musical note as of a bucket +being belaboured with a stick. Grunts and guttural curses, followed by +strange hollow noises indicative of pain, for a while drowned all +attempts at conversation. Finally there was a grand finale of crashing +cups and tinkling tins, the sound of a heavy blow, a grunt of muffled +agony and--silence. The lights still hissed up into the night, stray +rifles still cracked at intervals, but otherwise--silence. + +At last Percy spoke. "Do you know, dear old boy, I believe there are +two of them down there; 'pon my soul, I do--what?" He spoke with +deliberation, as befits an inventor. "It seemed to me that the one who +swore and the one who grunted were different people." + +The tooth-sucker opined likewise; also Tomkins, who had arrived on the +scene. + +"What is this dam foolishness?" said the Captain irritably. "Am I to +understand there are two Germans inside there, under the trench?" + +"One for certain; two possibly--or even three, dear old boy." At the +thought of three, he of the teeth played a tune in his excitement. + +"Then for heaven's sake get the top off and let's get them out!" + +It was then that the last cruel blow of Fate was dealt to the hapless +Herbert. For after a brief period of feverish pulling, during which +the company commander broke his nails and Percy fell over backwards, +the trap-door remained _in statu quo_. + +"What the devil's the matter with the beastly thing?" muttered the +Captain, savagely. "It's your fool-trick, FitzPercy! Can't you open +it?" + +"My dear old boy," remarked the proud inventor vaguely, "it generally +opens--'pon my soul, it does." He turned his torch on to the reluctant +trench-board and examined it through his eyeglass. "By Jove! that's +it, dear old son, there's the trouble. The dud shell has slipped +forward and got wedged in the rafters. How doocid funny--what?" + +"What is doocid funny, you blithering ass?" + +"Why, if we'd gone on, dear old sport, the shell might have gone off. +By Jove, that's good, that is!" Percy chuckled immoderately. "If we go +on, the shell goes off!" + +"You're the type of man who ought to be in a home," remarked his senior +officer dispassionately. "Get a saw as soon as you can, and cut +through the board. And if the bally shell goes off and kills you, +it'll serve you right. You're a disease, FitzPercy, that's what you +are. A walking microbe; an example of atavism; a throw-back to the +tail period." Still muttering, his company commander passed out of +sight, leaving the triumphant Percy completely unabashed and glowing +with righteous success. + +Now, in the trenches saws do not grow freely. You cannot wander round +a corner and pick one up; in fact, a saw that will saw is an exceeding +precious thing. Moreover, they are closely guarded by their rightful +owners, who show great reluctance in parting with them. It therefore +was not surprising that over an hour elapsed before a perspiring +messenger returned with one and operations commenced. And during that +hour Percy lived. + +It is given to few to see their hopes and aspirations realised so +beautifully and quickly; as in a dream he listened to the hideous +cachinnations that floated up through the slabs of the trench-board. A +continuous booming noise as of a bittern calling to its young was +varied with heavy grunts and occasional blows of a heavy bludgeon on +metal. And throughout it all there ran a delicate motif of crashing +cups and tinkling tins. + +"We have them, dear old soul," murmured Percy ecstatically to himself; +"we have them simply wallowing in the mulligatawny!" + +But there is an end of everything--even of getting a saw out of an R.E. +store. A glorious full moon shone down upon the scene as, an hour +afterwards, the trench-board was removed and the entrance opened. An +"up-and-over"--or trench-ladder--was lowered into the dug-out, and the +excited onlookers waited to vet the catch. At last the ladder shook, +as the first of the prisoners prepared to ascend. + +"Entrance, dear old man," cried the stage-manager, majestically, "of +what we have hitherto described as 'male voices off.'" + +"Get up, you swine, and get a move on!" rasped a voice in perfect +English from the depths of the hole; while a palsied silence settled on +the audience. + +The ladder shook again, and at last there emerged from the bottom of +the trench a large round tin which completely encased the head of its +wearer, who slowly followed, maintaining a continuous booming roar. +Immediately behind him came the owner of the voice, severely chipped +about the face, but with the light of battle in his eyes. + +"Now, you----" The words died away in his mouth. "Great heavens! The +General!" And as the frozen eye of the speaker, who had been the other +occupant of the hole, wandered round the stricken onlookers, even +Percy's nerve broke. It was the Colonel. + + +I will draw the veil of reticence over the remainder of this harrowing +narrative. The procession back to Brigade Head-quarters has become +historic. The attempt to remove the soup tureen on the spot caused its +unhappy possessor such agony, and gave rise to so much unseemly and +ill-repressed mirth on the part of the audience, that it was hastily +abandoned, and the wretched man was led gently back to his dug-out. + +The Brigade-Major, who had been notified over the telephone, met him at +the entrance with a handkerchief suspiciously near his mouth. + +"How dreadful, sir!" he murmured, in a voice that shook a little. "I +have--er--sent for a tin-opener." + +The General was led to a chair, into which he sank wearily, while in +hushed tones the Colonel explained what had happened to the shaking +Staff. + +"I was told that the General had been seen going down to the front line +alone," he remarked in a low tone, "and so I at once followed him. +Just as I got to the craters there was a small Hun raid. I let drive +at one of them with my revolver, and the next instant I fell through a +hole, full on top of some one's back. He let out a roar of pain and +scrambled up. Of course I thought it was a Hun, and proceeded to beat +him over the head with my stick. Great Scott, what a show!" + +The Colonel mopped his brow, and the Staff shook still more. + +"I'd dropped my revolver, or I'd probably have shot him. Then suddenly +there was a clang, and the hole was closed up, while at the same moment +something charged past me, head down, and hit the wall. There was a +roar of pain, and the tin became a fixture. The poor old boy had +rammed the wall with the soup tureen." + +A gurgling noise from the chair interrupted him. + +"What is it, sir?" cried the Staff Captain, solicitously. + +The General hooted mournfully. + +"Yes, sir. He'll be here very soon, sir. Not much longer now. We've +sent for a tinsmith from one of the Engineer companies." + +But the booming cantata continued. + +"What does he want?" whispered the Staff Captain. "A drink?" + +The Brigade-Major looked hopeful. + +"Yes; get a whisky and soda and a straw, if there's one left." + +The booming died away. + +A few minutes later the Staff, ably assisted by the General's batman, +got one end of the straw into the worthy Brigadier's mouth. The +Colonel closed those holes he could see with his fingers, and the +signalling officer held the drink. + +"Now, are we ready?" cried the Brigade-Major anxiously. "All right, +sir--suck." + +The experiment was not a success. Jets of liquid spurted in all +directions, an explosion like a geyser shook the tin, and the Staff +recoiled a pace. In fact, I am given to understand that the chief +clerk, an intensely interested spectator, so far forgot himself as to +counsel the Staff Captain to "sit on 'is 'ead." + +"Do you think we could do anything with one of those instruments for +opening tongues?" hazarded the Staff Captain, when the silence had +become oppressive and the outbursts of fire extinguished. + +"We might try." The signalling officer was doubtful, but sallied +forth, and after some delay returned with one. "Where shall we start?" + +"Any old place." The Staff Captain gripped the implement and stepped +manfully forward. "We're going to try something else, sir--a +tongue-opener." + +The General hooted apathetically; the onlookers looked anxious, and the +Staff Captain got his first grip on the tin. + +"Hold the General's head, Bill," he cried to the Brigade-Major, "so +that I can get a purchase. Now, then--one--two----" + +A howl of agony rent the air, and even the chief clerk looked pensive. + +"It's his ear, you fool!" The Colonel dodged rapidly out of the door +to evade the human tornado within, and the situation became crucial. +Even the tinsmith, who arrived at that moment, a man of phlegmatic +disposition, was moved out of his habitual calm and applauded loudly. + +"Thank heavens you've come!" gasped the Brigade-Major, keeping a wary +eye fixed on his frenzied senior, who, surrounded with _debris_ and red +ink, was now endeavouring to pull the tin off with his hands. "The +General has had a slight mishap. Can you remove that tin from his +head?" + +The expert contemplated his victim in silence for a few moments. + +"Yus," he remarked at length, "I can, sir, if 'e keeps quite still. +But I won't be answerable for the consequences if 'e don't." + +"No more will I." The Brigade-Major mopped his brow. "For heaven's +sake get on with it." + + +Thus ended the episode of Percy FitzPercy--his man-trap. + +It might have happened to any one, but only FitzPercy would have +searched carefully amongst the crockery, and having found what he was +looking for made a point of bringing it to head-quarters just as the +tin was finally removed. + +To emerge into the light of two candles and an electric torch with a +bit of one ear and half a face deficient, and realise that the man +responsible for it is offering you your uppers in three parts and some +fragments, is a situation too dreadful to contemplate. + +As I said before, Percy gave up trying after about ten seconds. + + + + +IV + +A POINT OF DETAIL + +"Hist!" The officer gripped the sergeant's arm just above the elbow, +bringing his mouth close up to his ear. "Don't move." The words were +hardly breathed, so low was the tense, sudden whisper, and the two men +crouched motionless, peering into the darkness which enveloped them. + +"Where, sir?" The sergeant slowly twisted his head till it was almost +touching that of the man beside him; and he too, whose normal voice +resembled a human fog horn, scarcely did more than frame the words with +his lips. + +"Behind that mound of chalk. Several of them." The sergeant's eyes +followed the line of the outstretched hand until they picked up the +dark menacing lump in the ground twenty feet away. Sombre, grim, +apparently lifeless, outlined against the night sky--it appeared almost +monstrous in size to the men who lay on the edge of a shell hole, with +every nerve alert. A bullet spat over them viciously, but they did not +alter their position--they knew they were not the target; and from +their own lines came the sudden clang of a shovel. All around them the +night was full of vague, indefinable noises; instinctively a man, +brought suddenly into such a place and ignorant of his whereabouts, +would have known that there were men all around him: men whom he could +not see, men who flitted through the shadows bent on mysterious tasks, +men who moved silently, with eyes strained to pierce the darkness. +Behind the German lines a trench tramway was in use; the metallic +rumble of the trolleys on the iron rails came continuously from the +distance. And suddenly from close at hand a man laughed. . . . + +"Do you see them?" Once again the officer was whispering, while he +still grasped, almost unconsciously, the sergeant's arm. +"There--there! Look!" + +Two or three shadowy blobs seemed to move uncertainly above the edge of +the chalk mound and then disappear again; and a moment afterwards, from +almost on top of them, came a hoarse guttural whisper. The officer's +grip tightened convulsively; the night of a sudden seemed alive with +men close to them--pressing around them. Almost involuntarily he got +up and moved back a few steps, still peering, straining to see in the +inky blackness. Something loomed up and bumped into him, only to +recoil with a muttered oath; and even as he realised it was a German he +heard his sergeant's low voice from a few feet away. "Where are you, +sir? Where are you?" The next moment he was back at his side. + +"Get back your own way," he whispered; "we've bumped a big patrol. +Don't fire." And as he spoke, with a slight hiss a flare shot up into +the night. + +Now had it not been for that one untimely flare this story would never +have been written. Indecent curiosity in other wanderers' doings in No +Man's Land is an unprofitable amusement; while the sound of strafing, +to say nothing of revolver shots, is calculated to produce a tornado of +fire from all directions, administered impartially by friend and foe +alike. Wherefore it is more than likely that but for the sudden +ghostly light both the Englishmen would have got away. As it was, John +Brinton, M.C., Lieutenant in His Majesty's Regiment of the Royal +Loamshires, found himself crouching in a slight dip in the ground and +contemplating from a range of four feet no less than six Huns similarly +engaged. There was the sharp crack of a revolver, a struggle, a +muffled cry; then silence. Half a dozen more flares went up from each +line; everywhere sentries peered earnestly towards the sound of the +shot; a few desultory rifles cracked, and then the night resumed its +whispering mystery. But at the bottom of the dip five Huns lay on the +top of a stunned English officer; while the sixth lay still and +twisted, with a revolver bullet in his brain. + +Twenty minutes afterwards the sergeant, crawling warily on his belly, +approached a saphead and after a brief word or two dropped in. + +"'Ave you seen Mr. Brinton, sir," he asked anxiously of an officer whom +he found in the sap, pessimistically smoking a cigarette--saps are +pessimistic places. + +"No." The officer looked up quickly. "He was out with you, wasn't he, +Sergeant Dawson?" + +"Yes, sir--on patrol. We'd just a-got to that there chalk 'ummock, +when we ran into some of 'em. 'E said to me--'Get back,' 'e said, +'your own way,' and then they put up a flare. I couldn't see 'im as I +was lying doggo in a 'ole, but I 'eard a revolver shot about ten yards +away. I looked round when the flare was out, but couldn't see him, nor +'ear him. So I thought 'e might 'ave got back." + +"Pass the word along for Mr. Brinton." The officer went out of the sap +into the fire trench. "And get a move on with it." He stood for a few +moments, looking thoughtful. "I hope," he muttered to himself, "I hope +the old boy hasn't been scuppered." + +But--the old boy _had_ been scuppered. A runner failed to discover him +in the trench; two strong patrols scoured the ground around the chalk +'ummock and drew blank. And so, in the fullness of time there appeared +in the Roll of Honour the name of Lieut. John Brinton, of the Royal +Loamshires, under the laconic heading of Missing, believed Prisoner of +War, which is the prologue of this tale of the coalfields of France. + + +The part of the line in which the Royal Loamshires found themselves at +the time of the unfortunate matter of John Brinton, M.C., was somewhere +south of La Bassee and somewhere north of Loos--closer identification +is undesirable. It is not a pleasant part of the line, though there +are many worse. The principal bugbears of one's existence are the +tunnelling companies, who without cessation practise their nefarious +trade, thereby causing alarm and despondency to all concerned. +Doubtless they mean well, but their habit of exploding large quantities +of ammonal at uncertain hours and places does not endear them to the +frenzied onlookers, who spend the next hour plucking boulders from +their eyes. In addition, there is the matter of sandbags. The +proximity of a mine shaft is invariably indicated by a young mountain +of these useful and hygienic articles, which tower and spread and +expand in every direction where they are most inconvenient. I admit +that, having placed half the interior of France in bags, the disposal +of the same on arriving in the light of day presents difficulties. I +admit that the fault lies entirely with the harassed and long-suffering +gentleman who boasts the proud title of "spoil's officer." I admit---- +But I grow warm, in addition to digressing unpardonably. The trouble +is that I always do grow warm, and digress at the mention of sandbags. + +In part of the Loamshires' front line, mining activity was great. A +continuous group of craters stretched along No Man's Land, separating +them from the wily Hun, for half the battalion front--a group which we +will call Outpost. The name is wrong, but it will serve. To the near +lips of each crater a sap ran out from the front line, so that merely +the great yawning hole lay between the saphead and the corresponding +abode of the Germans on the other lip. Each night these sapheads were +held by a small group of men armed with Verey lights, bombs, +bowie-knives, and other impedimenta of destruction; while between the +saps the trench was held but lightly--in some cases, not at all. The +idea of concentrating men in the front line has long been given up by +both sides. + +If therefore one strolls along the firing line--a tedious amusement at +all times--it is more than likely that one will find long stretches +completely deserted. The scene is desolate; the walk is strangely +eerie. Walls of sandbags tower on each side, in some cases two or +three feet above one's head; the clouds go scudding by, while the +shadows of a traverse dance fantastically as a flare comes hissing +down. The Hun is thirty yards away; the silence is absolute; the place +is ghostly with the phantoms of forgotten men. And sometimes, as one +walks, strange fancies creep into one's brain. Relics of childish +fears, memories of the bogey man who waited round the end of the dark +passage at home, come faintly from the past. And foolish though it be, +one wonders sometimes with a sharp, clutching pang of nervous +fear--What is round the next corner? + +Nothing--of course not. What should there be? The night is quiet; the +trench is English. The next party is forty yards farther on; the +voices of the last still come softly through the air. And yet--and +yet----! But I digress again. + +Now not one of the least of all the crimes of those responsible for the +disposal of the underworld of France, when it comes to the surface in +sandbags, is the following. (Lest any one may think that I am writing +a text-book, I would crave patience.) Be it known, then, that to keep +out a bullet some four feet of earth are necessary. Less than that and +the bullet will come through and impinge with great violence on the +warrior behind. This fact is well known to all whose path in life +leads them to the trenches; but for all that Tommy is a feckless lad. +In some ways he bears a marked resemblance to that sagacious bird, the +ostrich; and because of that resemblance, I have remarked on this +question of disposing sandbags in terms of pain and grief. The easiest +thing to do with a sandbag in a trench, if you don't want it, is to +chuck it out. Human nature being what it is, the distance chucked is +reduced to a minimum--in other words, it is placed on the edge of the +parapet. More follow--and they are placed beside it on the edge of the +parapet; which causes the inside edge of the parapet to increase in +height, but not in thickness. In other words, after a while the top +two or three layers of bags, though looking perfectly safe from the +inside, are not bullet proof. Which Tommy knows--but . . . well, I +have mentioned the ostrich. + +Now this state of affairs existed in one or two places behind Outpost +craters. There were spots where the top of the parapet was not of +sufficient thickness to keep out a rifle bullet. And it was just by +one of these spots that the Company Commander, going round one night, +suddenly stumbled on something that lay sprawling at the bottom of the +trench--an unmistakable something. It lay half on the fire step and +half off, midway between two saps, and the head sagged back helplessly. +He switched on his torch, and having looked at the huddled form, cursed +softly under his breath. For it was his senior subaltern, and a bullet +had entered his head from behind just above the neck. It had come out +at his forehead, and we will not specify further. + +"Stretcher bearers at once." He went back to the group he had just +left. "Mr. Dixon has been shot through the parapet, farther up." + +"Killed, sir?" The N.C.O. in charge was in Dixon's platoon. + +"Yes." The Company Officer was laconic. "Brains blown out. It's that +damned parapet--one sandbag thick. What the hell's the use of my +speaking?" + +He had had a trying day, and his tone may be excused. "You sit here +and you do nothing. The whole company are a set of cursed lazy +loafers." + +Seeing that the men were getting an average of six hours' sleep the +remark was hardly fair, but, as I said, the day had been a trying one +and this had been the last straw. He strode back again to the dead +subaltern, muttering angrily. + +"Poor old man," he whispered gently, lifting the legs on to the fire +step and bending over the still form. "Poor old man; you've solved the +Big Mystery by now, anyway." The light of his torch fell on the dead +man's face, and he shuddered slightly: a bullet can do a lot of damage. +Then he climbed on the fire step and looked over the parapet. It was a +place where the spoils party had been particularly busy; and though the +Company Officer was full six foot, he could only just see over the top; +as a fire step it was useless to any one but a giant from a freak show. + +"Hullo! what's happened?" A voice behind him made him turn round. + +"That you, Dick? Poor little Jerry Dixon been shot through the +parapet--that's what's happened." He got down and stood at the bottom +of the trench beside the second-in-command. "The three top layers +there are only one bag thick." Once again his language became heated. + +"Steady, old man," Dick Staunton puffed steadily at his pipe, and +looked at the body lying beside them. "Were you with him when he was +hit?" + +"No. Came round visiting the sentries and found him lying there dead." + +"Oh!" He switched on his torch and continued smoking in silence. +Suddenly he bent forward and peered closely at the shattered head. +"Give me a hand for a minute. I want to turn the boy over." + +Faintly surprised, he did as he was bid. + +In silence they turned the body over, and again there was silence while +Staunton carefully examined the spot where the bullet had entered. + +"Strange," he muttered to himself after a few moments, "very strange. +Tell me, Joe"--his voice was normal again--"exactly how did you find +him? What position was he in?" + +"He was half sitting on the fire step; with his head in the corner and +his legs sprawling in the bottom of the trench." + +"Sitting? Then his face was towards you." + +"Why, yes. Is there anything peculiar in the fact? He'd probably just +been having a look over the top, and as he turned away to get down he +was hit through the sandbags in the back of the neck. His head was a +bit forward as he was getting down, so the bullet passed through his +head and out of his forehead." + +In silence they turned the boy over again and covered his face with a +pocket-handkerchief. + +"You're too much of a blooming detective, you know, old man. Much +police work has made thee mad," laughed the Company Commander. "What +else can have happened?" + +"I'm no detective, Joe." The other man smiled slightly. "But there +are one or two small points of detail which strike me, though I can +make nothing out of them, I admit. First--his height. He's six inches +shorter than you, and yet you could barely see over the top. +Therefore, what was he doing trying to look over the parapet here of +all places? Secondly, the way he fell. A man killed instantaneously, +and shot through the back of his head, would in all probability pitch +forward on his face. You say his face was towards you, and that he was +sitting in the corner of the traverse." He paused to fill his pipe. + +"Go on," said the Company Commander curiously. "You interest me." + +"The third point is one on which I admit that I am doubtful. The +bullet wound is clean. Now I am inclined to think--though I don't +know--that a bullet passing through a chalk bag would become jagged, +and would not be travelling straight when it continued its flight. +However, I don't attach much importance to that. And the fourth and +last point is almost too trifling to mention. Do you notice anything +peculiar about his uniform?" + +The listener flashed his torch over the dead officer, "No," he said at +length. "I can't say that I do. Except that one of his regimental +badges is missing. I suppose you don't mean that, do you?" The +Company Officer laughed irritably. + +"I do," returned the other quietly. "It's a point of detail, even if a +little one." He looked thoughtfully at the man in front of him. "Do I +strike you as a callous sort of devil, old man?" + +"You seem to be treating the boy rather on the line of a specimen for +improving your deductive powers." + +"Perhaps you're right." Staunton turned away. "But I didn't mean it +that way--quite. Sorry, Joe; the boy was a pal of yours?" + +"He was." + +"God rest his soul!" The second-in-command spoke low. Then, with a +final salute to the youngster whose soul had gone to the haven of +fighting men, he turned away and vanished into the night. + + * * * * * * + +The next day the Company Commander came round to Battalion +Head-quarters. + +"My two best subalterns," grunted the Colonel in disgust, "within two +days. Very annoying. Good boys--toppers both of them. You'd go quite +a way, Dick, before you bettered Brinton and Dixon." + +"You would," affirmed the second-in-command. "Quite a way." + +"And with all your theorising last night, old man," remarked the +Captain slyly, "we both forgot the obvious solution. He got on the +fire step, found he couldn't see over--so he clambered up on top. +Then, when he was getting down, he was hit, and slithered into the +position I found him in." + +Staunton regarded the speaker through a haze of tobacco smoke. "I +wonder," he murmured at length. "I wonder." + +He did not state that during the morning he had made a point of +interrogating Jerry Dixon's servant. And that worthy--an old and +trusted soldier--had very positively denied that either of the Pelicans +Rampant, which formed the regimental badge, had been missing from his +master's coat the previous evening. + +"Now Mr. Brinton's coat, sir," he remarked thoughtfully, "that did 'ave +a badge off, that did. But 'is servant!" He snorted, and dismissed +the subject scornfully. + +As I say, the Major did not mention this fact. After all, it was such +a very small point of detail. + + +To the frivolous-minded, Dick Staunton was at times the cause of a +certain amount of amusement. Originally in the Army, he had left it +when a junior captain, and had settled down to the normal life of a +country gentleman. By nature of a silent disposition, he abominated +social functions of all sorts. He hunted, he fished, and he shot, and +spent the rest of his time studying the habits of the wild. And as +always happens to a man who lives much with nature, his mind gradually +got skilled in the noticing of little things. Small signs, invisible +to the casual observer, he noticed automatically; and without being in +any sense a Sherlock Holmes, he had acquired the habit of putting two +and two together in a manner that was, at times, disconcertingly +correct. + +"Points of detail," he remarked one evening in the dug-out after +dinner, "are very easy to see if you have eyes to see them with. One +is nothing; two are a coincidence; three are a moral certainty. A +really trained man can see a molehill; I can see a mountain; most of +you fellows couldn't see the Himalayas." With which sage remark he +thoughtfully lit his pipe and relapsed into silence. And silence being +his usual characteristic he came into the Battalion Head-quarters +dug-out one evening and dropped quietly into a seat, almost unnoticed +by the somewhat noisy group around the table. + +"Afternoon, Dickie." The Sapper officer looked up and saw him. "D'you +hear we're pinching your last recruit? Jesson--this is Major +Staunton." He turned to a second lieutenant in the Royal Loamshires +beside him as he made the introduction. + +"How d'you do, sir." Jesson got up and saluted. "I've only just got +over from England; and now apparently they're attaching me to the R.E., +as I'm a miner." + +He sat down again, and once more turned his attention to that excellent +French illustrated weekly without which no officers' mess in France is +complete. Lest I be run in for libel, I will refrain from further +information as to its title and general effect on officers concerned. + +For a few moments Staunton sat watching the group and listening with +some amusement to the criticisms on those lovely members of the fair +sex so ably portrayed in its pages, and then his attention centred on +the revolver he was cleaning. Jesson, a good-looking, clean-cut man of +about twenty-nine or thirty was holding forth on an experience he had +had in Alaska, which concerned a woman, a team of dogs, and a gentleman +known as One-eyed Pete, and as he spoke Staunton watched him idly. It +struck him that he seemed a promising type, and that it was a pity the +Tunnellers were getting him. + +"Haven't you got enough disturbers of the peace already," he remarked +to the Tunnelling officer, "without snatching our ewe lamb?" + +"We are at full strength as a matter of fact, Major," answered an +officer covered with chalk; "but they do some funny things in the +palaces of the great. We often get odd birds blowing in. I've been +initiating him all this morning into the joys of Outpost." + +"And how is jolly old Blighty?" remarked the Adjutant. "Thank Heaven! +leave approaches." + +"About the same." Jesson helped himself to a whisky-and-soda. "Darker +than ever, and taxis an impossibility. Still I dare say I shall be +glad enough to go back when my first leave comes due," he added with a +laugh. + +"Is this your first time out?" asked Staunton. + +"Yes." Jesson unbuttoned his burberry and took out his cigarette case. +Outside the dusk was falling, and he bent forward to get a light from +the candle flickering on the table in front of him. "The very first +time. I've been on Government work up to now." + +It was at that moment that a very close observer might have noticed +that Dick Staunton's pipe ceased to draw with monotonous regularity: he +might even have heard a quick intake of breath. But he would have had +to be a very close one--very close indeed; for the next instant he was +again speaking and his voice was normal. + +"I suppose you've been at the depot," he hazarded. "Who are there now?" + +"Oh, the usual old crowd," answered Jesson "I don't expect you know +many of them though, do you, Major? Ginger Stretton in the 14th +Battalion--do you know him by any chance?" + +"No, I don't think I do." His face was in the shadow, but had it been +visible a slightly puzzled frown might have been seen on his forehead. +"I suppose they still make all you fellows on joining go to the +regimental tailor, don't they?" + +Jesson looked a trifle surprised at the question. "I don't think they +are as particular as they were," he returned after a moment. +"Personally I went to Jones & Jones." He casually buttoned up his +mackintosh and turned to the Tunneller. "If you're ready I think we +might be going. I want to see about my kit." He got up as he spoke +and turned towards the entrance, while at the same moment the Sapper +rose too. "I'd like to drop in again, sir, sometimes if I may." He +spoke to the shadow where Staunton had been sitting. + +"Do." Jesson gave a violent start, for the voice came from just behind +his shoulder. Like the hunter he was, Dick Staunton had moved without +a sound, and now stood directly between Jesson and the door. "But +don't go yet. I want to tell you a story that may amuse you. Have +some tea." + +"Er--won't it keep till some other time, Major? I'm rather anxious to +see about my kit." + +"Let the kit keep. Sit down and have some tea." + +"What the devil has come over you, Dickie?" The Adjutant was looking +frankly amazed. "You aren't generally so loquacious." + +"That's why to-night my little whim must be humoured," answered +Staunton with a slight smile. "Sit down, please, Jesson. It's quite +an amusing little yarn, and I would like your opinion on it." + +"No hope for you, old boy. Dickie has turned into a social success." +The Adjutant laughed and lit a cigarette, and once again became +immersed in his paper. + +To the casual observer the scene was a very normal one. Four men in a +dug-out, yarning and reading; while outside the occasional whine of a +shell, the dirty deeds of a Stokes gun, the noises of the trenches +filled the air. Nothing unusual, nothing out of the way +except--something, an indefinable something. As the Sapper said +afterwards there must have been something tangible in the +atmosphere--else why did his pulses quicken. He glanced at the +Adjutant sitting opposite him engrossed in his book; he looked at +Staunton across the table--Staunton, with a slight smile on his +lips--and his eyes fixed on Jesson. He looked at Jesson beside +him--Jesson, whom he had met that morning for the first time. And all +he noticed about Jesson was that his left knee twitched +ceaselessly. . . . + +He ran over in his mind the day's work. He had met him at about eleven +that morning, wandering along the support line with an officer in the +Loamshires whom he knew well, who had hailed him and introduced Jesson. + +"A recruit--a new recruit," he had said, "for your atrocious trade. +He's just left old pimple-faced Charlie, who was writing returns in +triplicate as usual." + +Now pimple-faced Charlie was his own Major, who habitually did write +returns in triplicate; wherefore, after a few remarks of a casual +nature in which he elicited the fact that Jesson was a mining engineer +and had suddenly been ordered while waiting at the base to join the +940th Tunnelling Company, he took him in tow and showed him round the +mine galleries. + +Mining work was very active in the sector. Four or five small mines +and one big one were going up in the near future, so the tour of +inspection had been a long one. That his companion was not new to the +game was obvious from the outset; and his pertinent inquiries anent +cross-cuts, listening galleries, and the whole of the work in hand had +shown that he was keen as well. Altogether a promising recruit, he had +mused: quite a find--keen and able, two qualities which unfortunately +do not go hand in hand quite as often as one would like. And now +Staunton and this find of his were facing one another in silence across +the plank table of the dug-out; Jesson, with an expression of polite +indifference as befitted a subaltern compelled to listen to a senior +officer's story which he didn't want to hear; Staunton, with an +enigmatic smile. Then of a sudden Staunton spoke. + +"Have you ever studied the question of the importance of matters of +detail, Jesson?" he remarked quietly to the impassive figure facing him +across the table. + +"I can't say that I have, sir," answered the other, politely stifling a +yawn. + +"You should. A most interesting study. My story concerns points of +detail. The imperative thing is to be able to sort out the vital +points from all the others; then piece them together, and arrive at the +right answer." + +"It must be very easy to be led astray, I should imagine; and arrive at +the--er--wrong one." Jesson concealed a smile, and waited for the +Major to continue. + +"Yes and no. It's all a matter of practice." Staunton's imperturbable +voice was as quiet as ever. "And anyway, it's only in peace time that +it matters very much whether one is right or wrong. Nowadays! +Well--_a la guerre comme a la guerre_." He smiled gently. "But my +story. I want you, as an impartial observer, just arrived, with an +unbiassed mind, to tell me if you think my joining up of two or three +points of detail is a sound one. Both these officers know the points +of detail, so your opinion will be more valuable than theirs. + +"A few nights ago our battalion had one of those unfortunate little +contretemps that so often happen in war. A subaltern of ours, John +Brinton by name, went out on patrol, and never returned. An exhaustive +search in No Man's Land failed to discover his body; so we were +reluctantly compelled to conclude that he was in German hands; whether +alive or dead we don't know. There we have the first fact in my case. +Now for the second. + +"Two nights after that another of our subalterns was killed in a way +which struck me as peculiar. I will not weary you with all the various +little points that led me to believe that the bullet which killed him +did not come from the trenches opposite; I will merely say that his +position, his height, and the depth of the trench were the most +obvious. And granted that my conclusions were correct, strange as it +might appear at first sight, his death must have been caused at close +quarters, possibly in the trench itself." + +"Good Lord!" muttered the Adjutant, who was now listening with +interest. "What do you mean?" + +"Two facts, you see," went on Staunton quietly. "And they would have +remained unconnected in my mind--Brinton's capture and Dixon's +death--but for a small point of detail. Dixon's jacket was without the +left regimental badge when his body was found. His servant knows he +had them both earlier in the day. On the contrary, Brinton had lost +his left regimental badge for some time. Am I interesting you?" + +"Profoundly, thank you, sir." The man opposite smiled amiably. + +"I'm glad of that; it's an interesting problem. You see the +significance of that small point about the badge, the way in which it +connects very intimately Brinton's capture and Dixon's death. So +intimately, in fact, does it connect them, that one is almost tempted +to assume that the man who killed Dixon was the man in possession of +Brinton's uniform. Are you with me so far?" + +"The evidence seems a trifle slight," remarked Jesson. + +"Quite true; the evidence is very slight. But then, it often is. +Everything up to date turns on the question of the badge. Let me +reconstruct a possible--only possible, mark you--story, based on the +supposition that my badge theory is correct. A German who speaks +English perfectly is given a nice warm uniform taken from a captured +British officer. Then he is told to go over to the British lines and +see what he can find out. He comes one night; perfectly easy; no +trouble; until walking along the front line he meets another +officer--alone: an officer of the same regiment as that whose uniform +he is wearing. Unavoidable; in fact, less likely to raise suspicion +with the frequent changes that occur if he goes to the same regiment +than if he went to another. But something happens: either the other +officer's suspicions are aroused, or the German does not wish to be +recognised again by him. The trench is quiet; an occasional rifle is +going off, so he does the bold thing. He shoots him from point-blank +range--probably with a Colt. As he stands there with the dead officer +in front of him, waiting, listening hard, wondering if he has been +heard, he sees the two badges on the officer's coat. So, being a cool +hand, he takes off the left one, puts it on his own coat, and +disappears for a time. Quite easy; especially when the trenches are +old German ones." + +"Really, Major, you seem to have made a speciality of detective +fiction. As you said, I suppose your theory is possible." + +Jesson spoke casually, but his eyes for the first time left the face of +the man opposite him and roved towards the door. For the first time a +sudden ghastly suspicion of the truth entered the Sapper's brain; and +even as it did so he noticed that Staunton's revolver--the cleansing +finished--pointed steadily at Jesson's chest. + +"I am glad you think it possible. To render it probable we must go a +bit farther. The essence of all detective stories is the final clue +that catches the criminal, isn't it?" The revolver moved an inch or +two farther into prominence. + +"Good Lord, Dickie? Is that gun of yours loaded?" cried the Adjutant +in alarm. For the first time he also seemed to become aware that +something unusual was happening, and he suddenly stood up. "What the +devil is it, Major? What have you got that gun on him for?" + +"For fun, dear boy, for fun. It's part of the atmosphere. We've got +to the point haven't we, where--in my story, of course--the German +dressed in Brinton's uniform comes into the English lines. Now what +sort of a man would they send in this part of the line, where mining +activity is great? I continue the theory, you see; that's all." + +He looked at Jesson, who made no reply; though without cessation he +moistened his lips with his tongue. + +"A miner." The Adjutant's voice cut in. "Go on, for God's sake." + +"Precisely--a miner. The second point of detail; and two points of +detail are a strange coincidence--nothing more. Only--there is a +third." + +"And three are a moral certainty, as you've often said." The Adjutant +once again bent across the table and spoke softly. "Are you fooling, +Dickie--are you fooling? If so, the joke has gone far enough." + +But the Sapper's eyes were fixed on a leg that twitched, and they +wandered now and then to a neck where--even in the dim light of a +candle--he could see a pulse throbbing--throbbing. + +"It's not a joke," he said, and his mouth was dry. "What is the third +point of detail, Dickie?" + +"Yes, what is the third point of detail, sir?" Jesson's voice was +steady as a rock. "I am very interested in your problem." He raised +his hands from the table and stretched them in front of him. Not a +finger quivered, and with a sublime insolence he examined his nails. + +To the Sapper there occurred suddenly those lines of Kipling, + + "For there is neither East nor West, border nor breed nor birth, + When two strong men come face to face though they come from + the ends of the earth." + +He _knew_ now; he realised the man beside him was a German; he knew +that the sentence of death was very near. What the clue was that had +given the man away he hardly thought about--in fact, he hardly cared. +All he knew was that death was waiting for the man beside him, and that +his hands were steady as a rock. + +Quietly Staunton leant forward and undid Jesson's mackintosh. Then he +sat back and with his finger he pointed at a spot above his left +breast-pocket. "You have never been out to the front, you say; your +coat is a new one by Jones & Jones; and yet--until recently--you have +been wearing the ribbon of a medal. What medal, Jesson, what medal? +It shows up, that clean patch in the light. John Brinton went to Jones +& Jones; and John Brinton had a Military Cross." + +For a full minute the two men looked into one another's eyes--deep +down, and read the things that are written underneath, be a man English +or German. Then suddenly Jesson smiled slightly and spoke. + +"You are a clever man, Major Staunton. When will the rifle practice +take place?" + + * * * * * * + +Thus it ended, the play of which John Brinton's disappearance formed +the prologue. But before the curtain rang down on the epilogue the +German told them one or two little things: that John Brinton was alive +and well; that the existence of Ginger Stretton, to whom he had alluded +so glibly, had only become known to him from a letter in Brinton's +coat; that the peculiarities of pimple-faced Charlie had been forced on +him by his guide before they met the Sapper. + +"In fact," as the Adjutant remarked, "the fellow was almost too good a +sportsman to----" But that's the epilogue. + + +A file of men; a watery sun just starting its day's work; a raw, chilly +morning. In front--a man: a man with a white disc of paper pinned over +the heart. + +A word of command; a pushing forward of safety catches; a volley; a +finish. + + + + +V + +MY LADY OF THE JASMINE + +The Kid staggered wearily along the road through the blinding rain. +Dodging between the endless streams of traffic, which moved slowly in +both directions, now stopping for ten minutes, now jolting forward +again for a couple of hundred yards, he walked on towards where he +thought his battalion was. The last Staff officer he had seen had told +him that, as far as he knew, they had pulled out to rest in some +dug-outs about four miles farther on--dug-outs which had only recently +been taken from the Germans. To start with he had got on to a lorry, +but when darkness fell, and the total progression had been one mile, he +decided to walk and save time. Occasionally the lights of a car shone +in his face, as its infuriated occupant broke every rule of the Somme +roads by double banking; that is, trying to pass the vehicles in front. +But at last the traffic wore thinner as the road approached the front +line, and an hour and a half after he had left the lorry, it stopped +altogether, save for pack-mules and squelching men. The rain still +sogged down, and--ye gods! the Kid was tired. Away into the night +there stretched a path of slippery duck-boards, threading its way +between shell holes half filled with water. Men loomed up out of the +darkness and went past him, slipping and sliding, cursing below their +breath. A shower of sparks shot up into the air from a dug-out on his +right, and a great lobbing flare away in the distance lit up the scene +for a second or two with a ghostly radiance. It showed the Kid the +only other near occupant of the reclaimed territory at the moment: a +mule, whose four hoofs stuck stiffly out of a shell hole--pointing at +him, motionless. With a shudder he moved on along the duck-walk. +After all he was but a kid, and he was almighty tired. + +For three days he seemed to have been on the run without closing his +eyes. First the battalion had gone over the top; then they had worked +like slaves consolidating what they'd won; afterwards he had been sent +for because of his knowledge of French and German to go back to +Divisional Head-quarters; and then he had come back to find the +battalion had moved. And any who may have tried walking five or six +miles by night in heavy rain to an unknown destination along some of +the roads east of Albert, will bear out that it is a wearisome +performance. When to these facts is added the further information that +the age of the boy was only eighteen, it will be conceded that the +breaking-point was not far off. + +Now I have emphasised the physical condition of the Kid, as he was +known to all and sundry, because I think it may have a bearing on the +story I am going to relate. I am no expert in "ologies" and other +things dealing with so-called spiritualistic revelations. I might even +say, in fact, that I am profoundly sceptical of them all, though to say +so may reveal my abysmal ignorance. So be it; my thumbs are crossed. +This is not a controversial treatise on spiritualism, and all that +appertains thereto. One thing, however, I will say--in my ignorance, +of course. Until some of the great thinkers of the world have beaten +down the jungle of facts beyond our ken, and made a track--be it never +so narrow--free from knaves and charlatans, it is ill-advised for Mrs. +Smith or Lady de Smythe to believe that Signer Macaroni--_ne_ +Jones--will reveal to them the secrets of the infinite for two pounds. +He may; on the other hand, he may not. That the secrets are there, who +but a fool can doubt; it is only Signer Macaroni's power of +disinterested revelation that causes my unworthy scepticism. + +And so let us come back to the Kid, and the strange thing that happened +in a recently captured German dug-out on the night of which I have been +writing. It was just as he had decided--rain or no rain--to lie down +and sleep in the mud and filth--anywhere, anything, as long as he could +sleep--that suddenly out of the darkness ahead he heard the Adjutant's +voice, and knew that he had found the battalion. With almost a sob of +thankfulness at the unexpected finish to his worries, he hailed him. + +"Hullo! is that you, Kid?" The Adjutant loomed out of the darkness. +"We thought you were lost for good. Are you cooked?" + +"I'm just about done in," answered the boy. "Where is B Company?" + +"I'll show you. It's the hell of a place to find even by day; but +you've got 'some' dug-out. Beer, and tables, and beds; in fact, it's +the first dug-out I've seen that in any way resembles the descriptions +one reads in the papers." + +"Well, as long as I can get to sleep, old man, I don't care a damn if +it's the Ritz or a pigsty." The Kid plucked his foot from a mud-hole, +and squelched on behind the Adjutant. + +Now much has been written about German dug-outs--their size, their +comfort, the revolving book-cases, the four-poster beds. Special +mention has frequently been made of cellars full of rare old vintages, +and of concreted buttery hatches; of lifts to take stout officers to +the ground, and of portable derricks to sling even stouter ones into +their scented valises. In fact, such stress has been laid upon these +things by people of great knowledge, that I understand an opinion is +prevalent amongst some earnest thinkers at home that when a high German +officer wishes to surrender he first sends up two dozen of light beer +on the lift to placate his capturers, rapidly following himself with a +corkscrew. This may or may not be so; personally, I have had no such +gratifying experience. But then, personally, I have generally been +hard put to it to recognise the dug-outs of reality from the dug-outs +of the daily papers. Most of them are much the same as any ordinary, +vulgar English dug-out; many are worse; but one or two undoubtedly are +very good. In places where the nature of the ground has lent itself to +deep work, and the lines have been stagnant for many moons, the Huns +have carried out excellent work for the suitable housing of their +officers. And it was down the entrance of one of these few and far +between abodes that the Kid ultimately staggered, with the blessed +feeling in his mind of rest at last. Round a table in the centre sat +the other officers of B Company, discussing the remains of a very +excellent German repast. As he came in they all looked up. + +"The lost sheep," sang out the Captain cheerfully. "Come on, my +kidlet, draw up, and put your nose inside some beer." + +"Not a bad place, is it?" chimed in the Doctor, puffing at a large and +fat cigar of Hun extraction. "Excellent cellar of rare old ale, cigars +of great potency--real genuine Flor de Boche--a picture gallery +of--er--a pleasing description, and a bed. What more can man desire?" + +"Private MacPherson does not approve, I fear me, of the pictures," +chuckled the senior subaltern. "I heard him muttering dark things +about 'painted Jezebels,' and 'yon scarlet women of Babylon.'" + +"It must be very dreadful for all concerned to go through life with a +mind like MacPherson's." The Doctor was examining his cigar +doubtfully. "There is an obstruction in this. It's either going to +explode with great force in a minute, or else I'm coming to the motto. +Hi! you blighter----" he jumped up hurriedly to avoid the stream of +beer that shot across the table from the Kid's overturned glass. + +"Idiot child." The Company Commander roused himself from his gentle +doze to contemplate the delinquent. Then he smiled. "Man, he's +asleep; the boy's beat to a frazzle." + +"Aye, you're right. Tim, come off that bed; the Kid is fair cooked. +Wake up, infant." The Doctor shook him by the shoulder. "Wake up. +Take off your boots, and then get down to it on the bed." + +The Kid sat up blinking. "I'm very sorry," he said after a moment. +"Did I upset the beer?" + +"You did--all over me," laughed the Doctor. "Get your boots off and +turn in." + +"I'm so cursed sleepy." The Kid was removing his sodden puttees. +"I've walked, and walked, and I'm just about----" He straightened +himself in his chair, and as he did so the words died away on his lips. +With a peculiar fixed look he stared past the Doctor into the corner of +the dug-out. "My God!" he whispered at last, "what are you doing here?" + +A sudden silence settled on the mess, and instinctively everybody, +including the Doctor, glanced towards the corner. Then the Doctor +turned once more to the boy, and his glance was the glance of his +profession. + +"What's the matter, Kid?" His tone was abrupt, even to curtness. "Did +you think you saw something?" + +"I thought--I thought----" The boy passed his hand over his forehead. +"I'm sorry--I must have been dreaming. It's gone now. I suppose I'm +tired." But his eyes still searched the dug-out fearfully. + +"What did you think you saw?" asked the Doctor shortly. + +"I thought I saw----" Once again he stopped; then he laughed a little +shakily. "Oh! it doesn't matter what I thought I saw. Damn it! I'm +tired; let me turn in." + +The Doctor's eye met the Company Commander's over the table, and he +shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Dead beat." His lips framed the +words, and he returned to the contemplation of his cigar, which was not +doing all that a well-trained cigar should. + +The Kid stood up and glanced round the mess at his brother officers a +little shamefacedly; only to find them engrossed--a trifle +ostentatiously--in their own business. "I'm sorry, you fellows," he +blurted out suddenly. "Forgive me being such a fool; I suppose I'm a +bit tired." + +The Doctor took him firmly by the arm, and led him towards the bed. +"Look here, old soul," he remarked, "if you wish to avoid the wrath of +my displeasure, you will cease talking and go to bed. Every one knows +what it is to be weary; and there's only one cure--sleep." + +The Kid laughed and threw himself on the bed. "Jove!" he muttered +sleepily; "then it's a pleasant medicine, Doctor dear." He pulled a +blanket over his shoulders; his head touched the pillow; his eyes +closed; and before the Doctor had resumed his seat the Kid was asleep. + + * * * * * * + +It seemed only a minute afterwards that he was awake again, staring +into the dim-lit dug-out with every sense alert. He was conscious +first of a faint elusive scent--a scent which was new to him. His mind +wandered to the scents he knew--Chaminade, Mysterieuse, Trefle +Incarnat--but this was different. Delicate, sensuous, with the +slightest suggestion of jasmine about it, it seemed to permeate every +part of him. Vaguely expectant, he waited for something that he knew +must happen. What it would be, he had no idea; he felt like a man +waiting for the curtain to rise on a first night, when the music of the +overture is dying away to a finish. He experienced no fear: merely an +overwhelming curiosity to witness the drama, and to confirm his +certainty about the owner of the scent. In his mind there was no doubt +as to who she was. It was the girl he had seen in the corner as he was +taking off his puttees: the girl who had looked at him with eyes that +held the sadness of the world and its despair in them; the girl who had +vanished so quickly. Her disappearance did not strike him as peculiar; +she would explain when she came. And so the Kid waited for the +drop-scene to lift. + +It struck him as he glanced round the dug-out that the furniture had +been moved. The table seemed nearer the wall; the chairs were +differently arranged. Instead of the remnants of a finished meal, +papers arranged in neat piles met his eye. The place looked more like +an office than a mess. Suddenly he stiffened into attention; steps +were coming down the entrance to the dug-out. A man came in, and with +a gasp the Kid recognised a German soldier. He strove to shout--to +warn his brother officers who he knew were peacefully sleeping in +valises on the floor; but no sound came. His tongue stuck to the roof +of his mouth; he could only watch, rigid and motionless. + +The German moved to the hanging lamp, and turned it up till a bright +light flooded the dug-out. + +"Now," the Kid's brain was racing, "he must see them. My God! they +must have got back during the night." + +But no. The German servant moved towards the cupboard which contained +the food, brushing so close to the bed that the Kid could have touched +him with ease as he passed. Very cautiously he raised his head as he +saw the man, his back turned, fumbling on the shelves, and looked round +the room. Then with the icy hand of terror clutching at his heart he +lay back again. The room was empty; his brother officers had +gone--murdered probably--and with him it could only be a question of +moments before he too was discovered. + +For an instant he had a wild idea of hurling himself upon the German: +of taking him unawares--of trying to escape. Then the soldier turned: +the opportunity had passed, and once again the silent spectator on the +bed lay rigid. The servant, stolid and unemotional, moved heavily +about the dug-out, laying the table for a meal. Once it seemed to the +Kid that he looked straight at him; he could have sworn that he must +have been seen; and yet--apparently not. The man gave no sign, and it +occurred to the Kid that perhaps he was lying in the shadow. +Stealthily he wormed himself even nearer the wall: impelled by the +instinct of self-preservation that would put off to the last possible +moment the inevitable discovery. And hardly had he edged himself in +against the wall, when with a sinking heart he heard voices outside: +voices which spoke in German. With only the servant to tackle, somehow +he had not felt so hopeless; now he knew the end had come. + +Two officers entered, wiping the perspiration from their foreheads. +One from his badges of rank he recognised as a Colonel--the other was a +Lieutenant; and the discussion was--as far as their difference of rank +allowed--obviously of an acrimonious nature. The Kid listened +intently; thanking Heaven, not for the first time in his life, that +some one with a grain of common sense had had him taught French and +German by a method other than the Public School one. The predilection +of his aunt's gardener for pens, ink, and paper would not have helped +him much in that conversation. + +"Beer, you fool," grunted the Colonel to the stolid servant. "Then, +go." + +Impatiently he waited till the orderly's footsteps died away, and then +he turned savagely on the other officer. + +"I tell you, Lieutenant Rutter, we _must_ know," he snarled. "A +girl--what is a girl, when big issues are at stake? There are many +more girls, Lieutenant Rutter; many more girls. Be very careful lest +not only does this one die, but you also meet with an accident. Dead +men cannot make love to those other girls." He banged his fist on the +table and glared at the Lieutenant, who was staring moodily in front of +him. + +"I know that, Excellency," he returned after a moment. "But there is a +proverb about bringing a horse to the water and not being able to make +him drink." + +"Bah! There are methods, my friend, of drowning the brute with water, +if it won't drink willingly. And those methods will have to be adopted +in this case." + +"They are doubtless effective in killing the horse; but they will not +lead us very much farther in our inquiries." + +"Which is the reason why I have allowed you so much rope. I know as +well as you do that willing information is worth ten times as much as +when it is forced. You have made love to the girl, you have been +playing the fool for six weeks with her, and we are no nearer than when +we started." He sneered openly. "Since when have we become so +dilatory, my friend? You seem to have lost your form with the fair +sex." + +The Lieutenant flushed, and his fist clenched. "Don't mention those +others. I love this girl." + +"No doubt thinking of marriage?" The sneer was even more in evidence. + +"Yes, Excellency, I am thinking of marriage." His voice was ominously +quiet. + +"I am afraid, Lieutenant Rutter, it will remain in the beautiful and +nebulous realms of thought, unless----" He paused and drained his beer +ostentatiously, though all the while his eyes never left his +companion's face. + +"Unless," repeated the Lieutenant drearily, "she agrees to do some +charming and honourable spying work for us on the other side of the +lines." + +"You speak very strangely, Lieutenant Rutter." The little pig eyes of +the senior officer glinted menacingly. "Have a care." + +"Pardon, Excellency. For the moment I forgot." With a weary gesture +he got up. "I will ask her this morning." He looked at his watch. +"She should be here very soon." + +"Then I will await the result of your interview through here." The +Colonel moved to a door half concealed by a curtain. "You shall have +your turtle dove, Rutter, in peace and quiet." He chuckled harshly. +"You know what we want?" + +"By heart, Excellency." + +"And you remember that her brother the Comte is not really dead. For +our purposes he is a prisoner." + +"I am not likely to forget; but I warn you, Excellency, I have but +little hope of succeeding." + +The Colonel's jaw shut like a vice. "Then God help you both, my +friend; God help you both." His voice was soft, but horribly menacing; +and as the curtain dropped behind him, the Kid, who had been listening +spellbound, understood for the first time the type of man who +represented Prussian militarism. + +Instinctively his heart warmed towards the Lieutenant, who with a weary +gesture of despair was resting his head on his arms. He was young, +clean cut, almost an Englishman to look at, save for his close-cropped +bristling hair; and, moreover, he was up against it. All the Kid's +sporting instincts rose within him. Boche or no Boche this was not the +type of swine who launched gas and liquid fire on a horror-struck +world. Forgetful of everything he was on the point of going over to +him and telling him to stick it out, when his eyes rested on the +entrance. And there was the girl: the girl he had seen in the corner, +the girl of the jasmine scent. For a while she stood watching the +bowed figure at the table, and then she tip-toed across to him and laid +her hand on his head. + +With a quick start he looked up, and into his face there came the light +of all the ages, the light of the man for the woman he loves. + +"Marie," he whispered hoarsely. "Marie--_que je t'adore_." He caught +her to him and kissed her on the lips. Then, with a bitter groan, he +pushed her away and sat down again. + +"Fritz, what is it?" she cried in wondering tones. "You sent for me, +my dear. Why? I came; but it is not right for me to come to you +here--in your dug-out." + +"I was ordered to send for you, my Marie." His French was pure if +guttural. + +"Ordered!" An adorable look of amazement came on her face. "And you +liked not this order, my Fritz. But why? It is not right for me to be +here, I know; but now that I have come, it is very nice, _mon ami_. +Why do you look so glum?" + +For a while he did not reply, but paced the dug-out with long, uneven +steps. And the Kid, watching his lady of the jasmine, saw her bite her +lips, as a look of puzzled fear came into her great round eyes. At +last the man paused in front of her and took her roughly by the arms, +so that she cried out. + +"You love me, Marie?" he demanded hoarsely. "You love me enough to +marry me when this accursed war is over?" His voice sank over the last +few words, and he glanced, half fearfully, at the curtained door. + +"But of course, my Fritz," she answered softly. "You have been good to +me, and you are different to these others. Mon Dieu! they frighten +me--those harsh, brutal men; but they have been good to me and the +little mother for your sake. It is terrible, I suppose--a French girl +and a German officer; but the little god Love, _mon ami_, he laughs at +the great god Mars--sometimes. Poor little me--I cannot help myself." +She laughed adorably, and the Kid laughed with her. She seemed to him +like the spirit of the Spring, when the bluebells are flowering and the +world is young. But on the German's face there was no answering smile. +It was set and stern, and imprinted with a look of such utter +hopelessness that the Kid, who saw it over the girl's shoulder, almost +cried out with the pain of it. + +"Do you love me enough, Marie," he went on at length, "to do a big +thing for me--a very big thing?" + +"That depends on what it is." She spoke gaily, but the Kid could see +her body stiffen slightly. "I'm no good at big things." + +"Will you go to Paris for me?" His voice was dull and jerky. + +"Paris!" She gazed at him in amazement. "But how, and why?" + +"It will be easy to get you there." He seized on the part of her +question which postponed for a few seconds the hideous thing he was to +ask her. "We can arrange all that quite easily. You see----" He +rambled on with the method of making plans for the journey, until he +caught her eyes, and the look in them made his faltering words die away +to a dreadful silence. + +"And why do you want me to go to Paris, Fritz?" Her voice was hardly +above a whisper. + +Twice he essayed to speak; twice he failed to do more than falter her +name. Then with a gasping cry he took her in his arms and kissed her +passionately. "They shan't," he muttered; "by God! they shan't." And +it was as the Kid watched the scene, with parted lips and quickened +breath, that the curtain moved aside, and he saw the Colonel, like an +evil spirit, regarding the pair with cold malevolence. + +"Delightful!" he remarked after a few moments of cynical observation; +"delightful! Lieutenant Rutter, you are to be congratulated. +Mademoiselle--you are charming; all that my young friend has said, and +more." + +He moved forward and stood by the table, while Marie--her face as white +as death--clung to her lover. "Who is he, Fritz, this ugly old man?" +she whispered terrified. + +"Permit me to introduce to you . . ." Fritz forced the words from his +dry lips, only to stop at the upraised hand of the other. + +"My name, dear young lady, is immaterial," he remarked genially. "Just +an ugly old man, who has had no time to bask in the sunshine of the +smiles of your charming sex." He sat down and lit a cigar. "So you +are going to become a German's wife! Ah, Fritz, my boy, you're a lucky +dog! You'll have to guard your Marie carefully from the rest of the +garrison, when we have finally won and the war is over." He gave a +grating laugh, and blew out a cloud of smoke. + +"What do you want of me?" asked Marie, in a terrified whisper, looking +at him like a bird at a snake. + +"A little service, my dear young Fraeulein to be--a little service to +the Fatherland. You must not forget that Germany is now your country +in spirit, if not in actual truth. You are pledged to her just as you +are pledged to your Fritz--in fact, he being an officer, the two are +one and the same thing." He smiled again, and waved his cigar gently +in the air. "And not only will your service benefit the country that +you have chosen as your own, but it will benefit you, because it will +bring the end of the war, and with it your marriage, closer." + +He paused to let the words sink in, but she still watched him +fascinated. + +"One thing more." His eyes gleamed dully through the haze of smoke as +he fixed them on her. "Unless this little service is fulfilled, though +it won't make any difference to the ultimate result as far as Germany +is concerned, it will make a very considerable difference as far as you +and--er--Fritz are concerned." + +"What do you mean?" The girl hardly breathed the words. + +"I mean that there will be no marriage. Painful--but true." + +The Kid watched the young officer's arm tighten convulsively round her +waist--and began to see red. Then the harsh guttural voice continued. +"Well, now, without wasting any more time, let us come to the point. I +had proposed to let Lieutenant Rutter explain things to you; +but--er--from one or two things I overheard, it struck me he might not +make them clear." The beady eyes came slowly round to the Lieutenant. +"That is why I interrupted." Once again he stared at the trembling +girl. "To be brief, Mademoiselle Marie, we anticipate an attack--a big +attack--by the English. We have good information that it is coming in +this neighbourhood." + +The Kid pricked up his ears; what the devil was the man talking about? +"We have every reason to hope that Ovillers, Fricourt, Thiepval are +impregnable; at the same time--in war--one never leaves things to +chance." The Kid's astonishment turned to stupefaction; he himself had +been in the storming of Ovillers. "And the chance," continued the +imperturbable voice, "in this matter is the probable action of the +French--your charming compatriots--er--compatriots, _that were_, +Fraeulein. We anticipate this offensive in about a month or six weeks; +and the matter on which we require all the confirmation we can is +whether the French, after their hideous losses at Verdun, can play any +important part in this operation of the enemy. That is where you can +help us." + +For a moment there was dead silence, and then the girl turned her +stricken face to the man beside her. "Dear God!" she muttered, "is +this why you made love to me? To make me a spy?" + +"Marie--no, on my honour; I swear it!" Forgetful of the man sitting at +the table Fritz stretched out his hand in an agony of supplication. + +"Lieutenant Rutter." With a snarl the Colonel stood up. "You forget +yourself. I am speaking. A truce to this fooling. Mademoiselle"--he +turned again on the girl--"we have other things to do beside babble of +love. Call it spying if you will, but we want information, and you can +help us to get it--_must_ help us to get it." + +"And what if I refuse?" Superbly she confronted him; her voice had +come back; her head was thrown up. + +"In the first place you will not marry Lieutenant Rutter; and in the +second place--have you heard that the Comte de St. Jean was taken +prisoner at Verdun?" + +"Philippe. Oh, monsieur, where is he?" The girl threw herself on her +knees before him. "I implore you--he is my only brother." + +"Indeed. Well, if you ever desire to see him again you will carry out +my suggestion. Otherwise----" he paused significantly. + +"Oh, you could not! You could not be so cruel, so vile as to harm him +if he is a prisoner. It would break my mother's heart." + +"Mademoiselle, there is nothing which I would scruple to +do--nothing--if by so doing I advanced the glorious cause of our +Fatherland." The man's small eyes gleamed with the fire of a fanatic; +revolting though he was, yet was there an element of grandeur about +him. Even the Kid, watching silently from the bed, felt conscious of +the power which seemed to spring from him as he stood there, squat and +repulsive, with the lovely French girl kneeling at his feet. He saw +her throw her arms around his knees, and turn up her face to his in an +agony of pleading; and then of a sudden came the tragedy. + +Discipline or no discipline, a man is a man, and Fritz Rutter had +reached the breaking-point. Perhaps it was the sight of the woman he +loved kneeling at the feet of one of the grossest sensualists in +Europe, perhaps---- But who knows? + +"Marie," he cried hoarsely, "it's not true. Philippe is dead; they +cannot hurt him now. Get up, my dear, get up." With folded arms he +faced the other man as the girl staggered to her feet. Heedless of the +blazing passion on the Colonel's face, she crept to Fritz and hid her +face against his chest. And as she stood there she heard the voice of +her tormentor, thick and twisted with hate. + +"For that, Lieutenant Rutter, I will have you disgraced. And then I +will look after your Marie. Orderly!" His voice rose to a shout as he +strode to the door. + +"Good-bye, my love." Fritz strained her to him, and the Kid saw her +kiss him once on the lips. Then she disengaged herself from his arms, +and walked steadily to where the Colonel still shouted up the entrance. +Outside there was the sound of many footsteps, and the girl paused just +behind the cursing maniac in the door. + +"So you will look after me, will you, monsieur?" Her voice rose clear +above the noise, and the man turned round, his malignant face +quivering. The Kid watched it fascinated, and suddenly he saw it +change. "I think not," went on the same clear voice; and the guttural +cry of fear rang out simultaneously with the sharp crack of a revolver. + +"My God!" Rutter stood watching the crumpling figure as it slipped to +the ground in front of the girl; and then with a great cry he sprang +forward. And with that cry, which seemed to ring through his brain, +there came the power of movement to the Kid. He hurled himself off the +bed towards the girl--his girl--his lady of the jasmine. But he was +too late. The second shot was even truer than the first, and as her +head hit the floor she was dead. + +Regardless of Rutter the Kid knelt down beside her, and as he did so, +he got it--in the face. + +"What the blazes are you doing?" roared an infuriated voice. "Damn +you! you young fool--you've nearly killed me." + +Stupefied the boy looked around. The same dug-out; the same officers +of B company; the same beer bottles; but where was the lady of the +jasmine? Where was the man who lay dead in the doorway? Where was +Rutter? + +He blinked foolishly, and looked round to find the lamp still burning +and his brother officers roaring with laughter. All, that is, except +the Doctor on whose stomach he had apparently landed. + +But the Kid was not to be put off by laughter. "I tell you it happened +in this very dug-out," he cried excitedly. "She killed the swine in +the doorway there, and then she killed herself. This is where she +fell, Doc, just where you're lying, and her head hit the wall there. +Look, there's a board there, nailed over the wall--where her head went. +Don't laugh, you fool! don't laugh--it happened. I dreamed it. I know +that now; but it happened for all that--before the big advance. I tell +you she had light golden hair--ah! look." The Doctor had prised off +the board, and there on the wall an ominous red stain showed dull in +the candlelight. Slowly the Doctor bent down and picked up something +with his fingers. Getting up he laid it on the table. And when the +officers of B Company had looked at it, the laughter ceased. It was a +little wisp of light golden hair--and the end was thick and clotted. + +"To-morrow, Kid, you can tell us the yarn," said the Doctor quietly. +"Just now you're going to have a quarter-grain of sleep dope and go to +bed again." + + * * * * * * + +The following evening the officers of B Company, less the Kid, who was +out, sat round the table and talked. + +"What do you make of it, Doc?" asked the Company Commander. "Do you +really think there is anything in the Kid's yarn? I mean, we know he +dreamed it--but do you think it's true? I suppose that tired as he was +he would be in a receptive mood for his imagination to run riot." + +For a long while the Doctor puffed stolidly at his pipe without +answering. Then he leaned forward and put his hand in his pocket. + +"Imagination, you say. Do you call that imagination?" He produced the +lock of hair from a matchbox. "Further, do you call that imagination? +I found it under the pillow this morning." On the table beside the +match-box he placed a small pocket handkerchief, and from it there came +the faint, elusive scent of jasmine. "And last of all, do you call +that imagination? I found it in one of the books yonder." He placed +an old envelope in front of him, and the others crowded round. It was +addressed to Ober-Lieutenant Fritz Rutter. + + + + +VI + +MORPHIA + +The man stirred uneasily, and a faint moan came from his lips. A +numbness seemed to envelop his body from the waist downwards, and in +the intervals of a stabbing pain in his head, he seemed to hear people +whispering near by. A figure passed close to him, the figure of a girl +with fair hair, in a grey dress--the figure of a girl like Molly. A +red-hot iron stabbed his brain; his teeth clenched on his lips; he +fought with all his will, but once again he moaned; he couldn't help +it--it was involuntary. The girl stopped and came towards him; she was +speaking to him, for he heard her voice. But what was she saying? Why +did she speak so indistinctly? Why--ah, but her hand on his forehead +was cool. It seemed to quiet those raging devils in his head; it +helped him, as Molly always helped him. It seemed to--why, surely, it +must be Molly herself, with her dear, soft touch, and her lips ready to +kiss, and the sweet smell of her hair mounting to his brain like wine. +Something pricked his arm: something that felt like the needle of a +syringe; something that . . . But anyway, what the deuce was she +doing? Then suddenly he recalled that pin at the back of her dress, +where he'd pricked his wrist so badly the first time he'd kissed her. + +He laughed gently at the remembrance; and the hand on his forehead +trembled. For laughter to be a pleasant thing to hear it is essential +that the person who laughs should be in full possession of--well, it is +better, at any rate, that his head should not have been hit by a bomb, +especially if it was his lower jaw that bore the brunt. + +"What are you trembling for, Molly?" The voice was tender. "The pain +has quite gone--I must have had a touch of the sun." + +But for a question to be answered it must be audible; and the girl +whose hand was on his forehead heard no words. Merely was there a +great and wonderful pity in her eyes, for the remnant--the torn-up +remnant--who had fought and suffered for her. And the remnant, well, +he was way back in the Land of Has-been. Did I not say that the pin +was at the back of Molly's waist? + + +The woods were just at their best, with the glorious yellow and brown +of early autumn, touched with the gold of the setting sun. In a +clearing a boy was sitting on a fallen tree-trunk, puffing furiously at +a cigarette. Twice had the smoke gone the wrong way, and once had it +got into his eyes; but when one is aged sixteen such trifles are merely +there to be overcome. The annoying thing was that he was still engaged +in absorbing the overflowing moisture from his eyes, with a +handkerchief of doubtful cleanliness, when a girl came into the glade +and started to laugh. + +"There's no good pretending, Billy. The smoke has got into your eyes, +and your handkerchief is dirty, and you aren't impressing me in the +slightest." + +"Hallo, Molly! I wasn't expecting you so soon." The smoker looked a +little sheepish. + +"Indeed! Then if I'm not wanted, I'll go away again." + +"No, no, Molly--don't do that." The boy rose eagerly, and went towards +her. Then he stopped awkwardly, and putting his hands in his pocket, +fidgeted with his feet. + +"Well--why not?" The girl smiled provokingly. "And what are you +hopping about for? Are you going to try to learn to dance, as I +suggested?" + +"I will if you will teach me, Molly--dear." He took a step forward +eagerly--and then paused again, aghast at the audacity of that "dear." +Something in the cool, fresh young girl standing so easily in front of +him, smiling with faint derision, seemed to knock on the head all that +carefully thought out plan which had matured in his mind during the +silent watches of the previous night. It had all seemed so easy then. +Johnson major's philosophy on life in general and girls in particular +was one thing in the abstract, and quite another when viewed in the +concrete, with a real, live specimen to practice on. And yet Johnson +major was a man of much experience--and a prefect of some standing at +school. + +"My dear fellows," he had said on one occasion when holding the floor +in his study, "I don't want to brag, and _we_ do not speak about these +things." The accent on the _we_ had been wonderful. It implied +membership of that great body of youthful dare-devils to whom the wiles +of women present no terrors. "But women, my dear fellows, why--good +lord, there's nothing in it when one knows the way to manage them. +They adore being kissed--provided it's done the right way. And if you +don't know the right way instinctively, it comes with practice, old +boy, it comes with practice." Billy had listened in awe, though +preserving sufficient presence of mind to agree with the speaker in +words of suitable nonchalance. + +Of course, Johnson major must have been right; but, devil take it, +there seemed remarkably little instinct available at the present +moment; and up to date in Billy's career, practice in the proper +procedure had been conspicuous by its absence. + +"I think you're rather dull to-day." The girl was speaking again, and +there was more than a hint of laughter in her voice. "What's the +matter with you? Has that cigarette made you feel sick?" + +"Certainly not. I--er--oh, Molly, I----" + +The desperate words trembled on his lips--trembled and died away under +the laughter in her eyes. + +"Yes?" she murmured inquiringly. "What is it, Billy?" + +Oh, woman, woman! Just sixteen, but at two you have learned the +beginnings of the book of Eve. + +"I--er--I--oh, dash it, let's go for a walk!" With a gasp of relief he +swung on his heel; the fatal plunge had been put off for a little; he +hadn't made a fool of himself--yet, at any rate. "Do you mind if I +smoke?" + +"Not if you don't." The girl was walking demurely beside him, down the +narrow lane carpeted with its first layers of auburn brown. "Are you +sure it's wise? Two so close together might not be good for you." + +Two close together--not good for him! Absurd; it was nothing to what +he was accustomed to, and yet--why, his head was throbbing, throbbing +as he looked at the girl beside him? What was that distant noise like +the slow beating of a mighty drum, that seemed to quiver and vibrate in +the air till it filled his brain with a great rush of sound, and then +sobbed away into silence? What was the matter with his right hand that +it burned and twitched so ceaselessly? Surely he hadn't burnt himself +with the cigarette! He looked down to see, but somehow things were +indistinct. It almost seemed as if he hadn't got a hand; the woods +were hazy--Molly seemed far away. In her place was a man, a man with a +stubby growth on his chin, a man who bent over him and muttered +something. + +"Gawd, Ginger, the poor devil ain't dead neither! Lift him up +carefully. There's his right arm over there, and his back---- Oh, my +gawd! Poor devil!" + +Thus had the battalion stretcher-bearers found him the day before. . . . + +The man became irritable. + +"Go away at once! Can't you see I'm with a lady. Molly, dear, where +are you? What is this dirty-looking fellow doing here at all?" + +But Molly for the moment seemed aloof. He saw her there, standing in +the path in front of him--so close and yet somehow so curiously far +away. + +"Molly, do you hear that noise--that strange beating in the air? I +think I'm going to be ill. Perhaps two close together are too much." + +But no--apparently not. Suddenly everything was clear again, and there +was Molly with the autumn wind blowing the soft tendrils of hair back +from the nape of her neck; Molly, with the skirt that betokens the +half-way period between flapperhood and coming out; Molly, with her +lithe young figure half turned from him as she watched the sun sinking +over the distant hills. + +"They adore being kissed." The words of the wonderful Johnson major +were ringing in his brain as he watched her, and suddenly something +surged up within him. What matter rules and theories? What matter +practice? There is only one way to kiss a girl, and rules and theories +avail not one jot. With a quick step he had her in his arms, and, with +his pulses hammering with the wonder of it, he watched her face come +round to his. He kissed her cheek, her eyes, her mouth--shyly at +first, and then with gathering confidence as a boy should kiss a girl. + +The sweetness of it, the newness of it, the eternal joy of a woman in a +man's arms for the first time! Surely it had never been quite like +that with any one else before. Of course, other people kissed, +but--this was different. Suddenly the girl disengaged her arms and +wound them gently round his neck. She pulled his head towards her, and +kissed him again and again, while he felt her heart beating against his +coat. + +"Billy, my dear!" + +Almost he missed the whispered words coming faintly from somewhere in +the neighbourhood of his tie. + +"Molly--Molly, darling--I love you!" + +The boy's voice was shaky, his grip almost crushed her. + +"Do you, Billy? I'm so glad! I want you to love me, +because--because----" + +She looked at him shyly. + +"Say it, sweetheart, say it." He held her at arm's-length--no longer +bashful, no longer wondering whether he dared; but insistent, +imperious, a young god for the moment. "Because what?" + +"Because I love you too, you darling!" + +Once again she was in his arms, once again did time cease, while the +lengthening shadows stole softly towards them; and a squirrel, +emboldened by their stillness, watched for a while with indulgent eyes. + +At last the girl gently turned away, and the boy's arms fell to his +side. + +"Molly, you've got a pin in your waistband. Look, you've pricked my +wrist." + +"Billy, my dear, let me do it up. Why didn't you tell me, you poor old +boy?" + +"I didn't notice it, I didn't even feel it, you darling." + +The boy laughed gladly as she bound his handkerchief round the wounded +arm; and, bending forward, kissed her neck, just where the hair left +it, just where--but what had happened? Where was she? She had gone, +the trees had gone, the sun had set, and it was dark, terribly dark. + +Once again that mighty drum beat close by, and voices came dimly +through a haze to the man's brain. Some one was touching him, a finger +was probing gently over his head, a sentence came to him as if from a +vast distance. + +"Good God! Poor devil! If we have to go we must leave him. Any +movement would kill him at once." + +"I won't have you touching the bandage that Molly has put on!" said the +man angrily. "My wrist will be quite all right; it's absurd to make a +fuss about a pin-prick." + +And perhaps because there are sounds to which no man can listen +unmoved, the quiet-faced doctor drew out his hypodermic syringe. The +girl with the grey dress, her steps lagging a little with utter +physical weariness, paused at the foot of his bed, and waited with an +encouraging smile. + +"Molly," he cried eagerly, "come and talk to me! I've been dreaming +about you." + +But she merely continued to smile at him, though in her eyes there was +the sadness of a divine pity. Then once again something pricked his +arm. A great silence seemed to come down on him like a pall, a silence +that was tangible, in which strange faces passed before him in a +jumbled procession. They seemed to swing past like fishes drifting +across the glass window of an aquarium--ghostly, mysterious, and yet +very real. A man in a dirty grey uniform, with a bloodstained bandage +round his forehead, who leered at him; Chilcote, his company commander, +who seemed to be shouting and cheering and waving his arm; a sergeant +of his platoon, with a grim smile on his face, who held a rifle with a +fixed bayonet that dripped. + +"All right, Chilcote," he shouted, "we'll have the swine out in a +minute!" + +But Chilcote had gone, and through the silence came a muffled roar. + +"The drum again!" he muttered irritably. "What the devil is the good +of trying to surprise the Huns if we have the band with us! You don't +want a band when you're attacking a village! A band is for marching +to, and dancing, not for fighting." Of course, if it was going to +continue playing, they might just as well have a dance, and be done +with it. He laughed a little. "You've had too much champagne for +supper, my boy," he soliloquised. "What do you mean by 'might as well +have a dance'? Can't you see that awe-inspiring gentleman in the red +coat is on the point of striking up now?" He looked across the room, a +room that seemed a trifle hazy, and thought hard. Surely he hadn't had +too much to drink, and yet the people were so vague and unreal? And +why the deuce did a ballroom band have a big drum? He gave it up after +a moment, and silently watched the scene. + +He remembered now quite clearly, and with an amused laugh at his +momentary forgetfulness, he looked at his programme. The third supper +extra was just beginning, and two dances after that he had four in +succession with Molly--the fateful hour when he had determined to try +his luck. + +At present she was having supper with a nasty-looking man, with long +hair and an eyeglass, who was reputed to be a rising politician, in the +running for an under-secretaryship, and was also reputed to be in love +with Molly. He looked savagely round the room, and, having failed to +discover them, he strolled to the bar to get a drink. + +"Hallo, Billy; not dancing? She loves me; she loves me not! Cheer up, +dearie!" + +An inane-looking ass raised his whisky-and-soda to his lips with a +fatuous cackle. + +"I wonder they don't have a home for people like you, Jackson," +remarked Billy curtly. "Whisky-and-soda, please." + +He gave his order to the waiter and lit a cigarette. He hardly heard +what the irrepressible Jackson was saying, but allowed him to babble on +in peace while his thoughts centred on Molly. How absolutely sweet she +was looking in that shimmering, gauzy stuff that just went with her +hair, and showed off her figure to perfection! If only she said "yes," +he'd arrange the party going back in the cars so that he got her alone +in the two-seater. If only--good lord, would the dance never come? + +He looked up, and saw her passing into the ball-room with her supper +partner; and, as he did so, she looked half round and caught his eye. +Just a second, no more; but on her lips had trembled the faintest +suspicion of a smile--a smile that caused his heart to beat madly with +hope, a smile that said things. He sat back in his chair and the hand +that held his glass trembled a little. + +"I don't believe you've been listening to me, Billy." The egregious +Jackson emitted a plaintive wail. "I don't believe you've heard a word +I said." + +"Perfectly correct in both statements, dear boy!" Billy rose abruptly +to his feet and smacked him on the back. "One must give up something +in Lent, you know." + +"But it isn't Lent." Jackson looked aggrieved. "And you've made me +spill my drink." + +But he spoke to the empty air and a melancholy waiter, for Billy was +back in the ballroom, waiting. . . . + +"You smiled at me, lady, a while ago," he said softly in her ear, as +they swung gently through the crowded room. "I thought it was a smile +that said things. Was thy servant very presumptuous in thus reading +his queen's glance? Confound you, sir; that's my back!" + +He glared furiously at a bull-necked thruster in a pink coat. + +"Hush, Billy!" laughed the girl, as they lost him in the crowd. +"That's our master!" + +"I don't care a hang who he is, but he's rammed one of my brace-buttons +into my spine! He's the sort of man who knocks you down and tramples +on your face, after supper!" + +For a few moments they continued in silence, perhaps the two best +dancers in the room, and gradually she seemed to come closer to him, to +give herself up entirely to him, until, as in a dream, they moved like +one being and the music softly died away. For a moment the man stood +still, pressing the girl close to him, and then, with a slight sigh +that was almost one of pain, he let her go. + +"Are you glad I taught you to dance?" she asked laughingly; while the +room shouted for an encore. + +"Glad," he whispered, "glad! Ah! my lady, my lady, to dance with you +is the nearest approach to heaven that we poor mortals may have. For +all that"--he steered her swiftly through the expectant couples towards +a door covered with a curtain--"I want an answer to a question I asked +you just before my spine was broken!" He held up the curtain for her +to pass through, and piloted her to an easy-chair hidden behind some +screens in a discreetly lighted room. "Did your smile say things, my +lady? Did you tell me something as you went into the ballroom with +that long-haired lawyer?" + +"My dear boy, I wasn't smiling at you! I was smiling at that nice Mr. +Jackson man." + +"Molly, you're a liar! You know you hate that ass; you told me so +yourself yesterday!" + +"All the more reason to smile at him. Billy, give me a cigarette." +She leaned towards him slightly as he offered her his case, and their +eyes met. Her breath came a little quicker as she read the message +blazing out of his, and then she looked away again. "And a match, +please," she continued quietly. + +"Confound the match and the cigarette, too!" His voice was shaking. +"Molly, Molly, I know I'm mad! I know it's just the height of idiocy +from a so-called worldly point of view, but I can't help it. I've +tried and struggled; I've been away for two years and haven't seen you. +But, oh! my dear, the kisses you gave me when you were a flapper, +before you came out, before your mother got this bee in her bonnet +about some big marriage for you--those kisses are still burning my +lips. I can feel them now, princess, and the remembrance of 'em drives +me mad! I know I'm asking you to chuck your mother's ambitions; I know +I've got nothing to offer you, except the old name, which doesn't count +for much these days. But, oh! my lady, I just worship the very ground +you walk on. Is there just a chance for me? I'd simply slave for you, +if you'd let me!" + +Through the closed door came stealing the soft music of a waltz, while +from another corner came the sound of a whispered tete-a-tete. Very +still was the girl as she sat in the big arm-chair, with the man +pleading passionately at her side. Once she caught her breath quickly +when he recalled the time gone by--the time before her mother's +political ambitions had ruthlessly waged war on her, and done their +best to drive Nature out of her outlook on life; and, when he had +finished speaking, she gave a little tired smile. + +"Billy boy," she whispered, "is that how you've felt about it all this +while?" + +He made no answer, but, stretching out his hands, he took hold of her +two wrists. + +"You've really remembered those kisses when we were kids?" she went on +softly. + +"Remembered them? Dear heavens, my lady, I wouldn't lose that +remembrance for untold wealth! It's been with me in Alaska; it's been +with me in Hong Kong. I've woken up at nights with the feel of your +lips on mine, and all the glory of you, and the sweetness; and it's +helped me on when everything was black, and made things bright when the +world was rotten!" With a bitter sigh he took his hands away and sat +back in his chair. "And I've failed! Jove! the wild schemes and the +plans, the golden visions and the Eldorados--all failed. Just a little +money, just enough to have a burst in England, just enough to be able +to see you. And then it slipped out. Lady, dear, I never meant to +before I came to the Towers. I knew you were there, but I never meant +to ask you. Wash it out, my princess; wash it out! I haven't said a +word. You've been teaching me a new step; let's go back and dance. +I've been mad this evening, and, unless we go back and dance, I can't +guarantee remaining sane!" + +But the girl made no move. With parted lips she swayed towards him, +while he watched her, with the veins standing out on his forehead. +"Billy--I don't care; I'm mad, too!" The scent she used was mounting +to his brain--the nearness of her was driving him mad. + +"Molly, get back to that ballroom; get back quick, or----" He spoke +through his clenched teeth. + +"Or what, Billy boy?" She smiled deliciously. + +And then he kissed her: a kiss that seemed to draw her soul to her +lips: a kiss that lifted him until he travelled through endless spaces +in a great aching void where time and distance ceased, and nothing +happened save a wonderful ecstasy, and ever and anon the mighty booming +of a giant drum. + +He seemed to be treading on air, and though the ballroom had vanished, +and the discreet apartment with shaded lights had faded away, yet he +was very conscious of the nearness of his girl. But just now, he could +not see her--she eluded him, leaving an ever-present feeling that she +would be waiting for him round the next of those intangible masses he +seemed to be drifting through. + +"You don't mind waiting, my princess?" he murmured ceaselessly. "After +this war it will all come right. Just now I've got to go--I must go +out there; but afterwards, it will all come right--and we'll live in a +house in the country and grow cabbages and pigs. You'll wait, you say? +Ah! my dear, my dear; it's sweet of you; but perhaps you ought to have +married the lawyer man. You might have been Mrs. Prime Minister one of +these days." + +For a while the tired brain refused to act; the man felt himself +falling into unplumbed depths--depths which echoed with monstrous +reverberations. + +"Molly, where are you, dear? It's cold, and my head is throbbing to +beat the band. If only that cursed drum would stop! Do you hear it +echoing through the air? And the noise hurts--hurts like hell, Molly. +Ah! Heaven, but it's cold; and I can't see you, my lady; I don't know +where you are." + +Once again he became conscious of figures moving around him. They +seemed to be carrying motionless men past his feet--men on stretchers +covered with blankets. With staring eyes he watched the proceeding, +trying to understand what was happening. In front of him was a window +in which the glass had been smashed, leaving great jagged pieces +sticking out from the sides of the frame. He wondered vaguely why it +had been left in such a dangerous condition; when he and Molly had +their house such a thing would never be allowed to happen--if it did it +would be mended at once. He asked one of the passing figures what had +caused the damage, and when he got no answer he angrily repeated the +question. + +He fretted irritably because no one seemed to take any notice of him, +and suddenly his head began throbbing worse than ever. But the hazy +indistinctness was gone; the man was acutely conscious of everything +around him. Memory had come back, and he knew where he was and why he +was there. He remembered the fierce artillery bombardment; he recalled +getting over the parapet, out on to the brown shell-pocked earth, +sodden and heavy with the drenching rain; he recalled the steady +shamble over the ground with boots so coated with wet mud that they +seemed to drag him back. Then clear in his mind came the picture of +Chilcote cheering, shouting, lifting them on to the ruins of what once +had been a village; he saw Chilcote falter, stop, and, with a curious +spinning movement, crash forward on to his face; he saw the Germans--he +saw fierce-faced men like animals at bay, snarling, fighting; he heard +once again that trembling cry of "_Kamerade_"; and then--a blank. The +amazing thing was that it was all jumbled up with Molly. He seemed to +have been with her lately--and yet she couldn't have been out there +with him. He puzzled a bit, and then gave it up: it hurt his head so +terribly to think. He just lay still, gazing fixedly at the jagged, +torn pane of glass. . . . + + +"They are all out, Doctor, except this one." + +A woman was speaking close beside him, and his eyes slowly travelled +round in the direction of the voice. It was another woman--a woman he +hadn't seen before--swaying slightly as if she would drop. + +"Good heavens! it's Billy Saunders!" + +A man in khaki was bending over him--a man whom he recognised as a +civilian doctor he'd known at home--a man, moreover, who knew Molly. + +"Do you know me, old chap?" + +"Of course," answered the man. "What's all the trouble?" + +The doctor bit his lip, and the man noticed his hand clench hard. Then +there started a low-voiced conversation, a conversation to which he +listened attentively--his hearing seemed abnormally acute. + +"Has he spoken since he's been in, sister?" + +"No--only those dreadful moans. The whole of his face--absolutely +hopeless--spinal cord." + +The man lying motionless caught the disjointed words. What did they +mean? They were mad--insane. Dying? He--Billy Saunders! What about +Molly--his Molly? What about. . . . Gentle fingers once again touched +his head, and, looking up, he saw the doctor's eyes fixed on his. + +"They're shelling the hospital, dear old man; we've got to get---- +Great Scott, look out!" + +Like the moan of a giant insect, the shrill whine came through the air, +rising to an overwhelming scream. There was a deafening crash--a great +hole was torn in the wall just by the window with the jagged pane, and +the room filled with stifling black fumes. A sudden agonising stab, +and the man, looking up, saw Molly in front of him. She was standing +in the acrid smoke--beckoning. + +"I'm coming, dear, I'm coming!" he cried; "it's good of you to have +waited, girl of mine--so good." + + * * * * * * + +"Are you hurt, sister?" The doctor, who had been crouching by the bed, +stood up. + +"Not touched, thank you." She was white and shaking. "Did you hear +the bits whizzing through the room?" + +"I did," remarked the doctor grimly, holding out an arm from which the +blood already dripped. "And I felt one of them too. But there's no +time to lose--I don't know what to do about him, poor old chap." + + +He turned once again to the bed, and even as he turned he knew that the +decision had been made for him: and he thanked the Maker. Billy +Saunders had also felt a bit--a jagged bit--through the heart. + + + + +VII + +BENDIGO JONES--HIS TREE + +My story--such as it is--concerns a camouflage tree and Bendigo Jones: +both of which--or whom--will require a little more introduction. That +Bendigo would indignantly repudiate any such necessity, I am fully +aware; nevertheless, even at the risk of offending him, I propose to +outline briefly his claims to greatness, before embarking on the +incident in his military career which forms the subject of these pages. + +First however--the camouflage tree. It is only meet that the material +and sordid details of the stage properties should be given, before +branching into any discussion of the capabilities of the actor. The +phrase, then, does not imply--as the ignorant might possibly be led to +believe--a new type of tree. It does not grow in the tropics amongst a +riotous tangle of pungent undergrowth; it does not creak sadly in the +north wind on the open hill. It shelters not the hibiscus anthropoid, +it gives not lodging to the two-tailed newt. From a botanical point of +view, the tree is a complete and utter frost. It is, in point of hard +and bitter fact, not a tree at all. + +"Camouflage" is that which conceals: it is a fraud, and speaketh not +the truth. I am not even certain whether it is a noun or a +preposition, but the point is immaterial. Along with other canons of +military matters, its virtue lies in its application rather than in its +etymology. What the eye doth not see the trench mortars do not trouble +is as true to-day as when Noah first mentioned the fact; and camouflage +is the application of this mighty dictum. + +The value of any particular piece of camouflage depends entirely on its +capability for deceit; but to the youthful enthusiast I would speak a +word of warning. I have in mind the particular case of young Angus +MacTaggart, a lad from Glasgow, with freckles and a sunny disposition. +He was a sapper by trade, and on his shoulders there devolved, on one +occasion, the job of covering a trench mortar emplacement with a +camouflage of wire and grass which would screen the hole in which sat +the mortar from the prying gaze of Hun aeroplanes. It was a deep hole, +for the mortar was large; and the screen of wire was fastened to a +framework of wood. When the gun wished to do its morning hate, a +pessimistic individual first scoured the heavens with his glasses in +search of Hun planes. If the scouring revealed nothing, the screen was +lowered, and the gun was made ready. Then the detachment faded away, +and the gun was fired by a man of great personal bravery by means of a +long string. Ever since the first trench mortars, which consisted of a +piece of piping down which a jam-tin bomb was dropped, in the hopes +that when the charge at the bottom was lighted, the bomb would again +emerge, I have regarded trench mortars as dangerous and unpleasant +objects, and the people who deal with them as persons of a high order +of courage. One remembers the times when the bomb did not emerge, but +stuck half way and exploded violently; one remembers when the entire +gun fell over and propelled the bomb in the direction of battalion +headquarters; above all, one remembers the loathing and contumely with +which the mere arrival of the trench mortar in any part of the trenches +was greeted. Then there was no attempt at camouflage; one's sole +endeavour was to avoid being killed by the beastly thing. + +To return, however, to Angus. Though of a sunny disposition, as I have +said, he was a somewhat earnest individual--and thorough withal. He +determined that as a camouflage, _his_ should stand pre-eminent; it +should be the model and pattern of all camouflages. He succeeded. + +Labouring at night--largely with his own fair hands--he produced a +screen cunningly woven with grasses and weeds which he swore would defy +the most lynx-eyed pilot. He even went so far as to place in the +centre of it a large bunch of nettles, which he contended gave it an +air of insouciance and lightheartedness that had been lacking before. + +Now, as I mentioned above, the value of camouflage depends on its +capability for deceit; and it is by this criterion that I claim his +work as a success. It should be added, however, in no uncertain tones, +that it is the Germans whom one is desirous of deceiving, and that is +where my warning to the youthful enthusiast comes in. + +The thing came too quickly for warning. Suddenly from above the +inhabitants of the hole, with whom Angus was consuming a midday glass +of port, was heard the voice: "It must be somewhere about here, sir, I +think." The voice was right--it was. + +They came through in a phalanx of fire, and descended abruptly on the +detachment below. It was a magnificent compliment to the work, but it +was unfortunate that the General should have been the one to consume +the nettles. However, I have always thought that Angus's voice of +disgust as he contemplated the wreckage of his screen did not improve +matters. + +"The door," he remarked, with painful distinctness, "is full of +possibilities." With that he left. + +I trust the moral of my digression is obvious. . . . Having then, in a +few well-chosen phrases, discussed one type of camouflage, I would pass +on and lead the thirster for information still farther into the +by-paths of knowledge. Just as there are many and divers types of +deceit, varying from that which conceals what is, to that which exposes +what is not--involved that last, but think it out--so are there many +types of camouflage. And the particular one with which I am concerned, +deals with a tree. + +On a certain slight eminence in what was otherwise a flat and dreary +outlook, there stood the stump of a tree. It was a tired stump, +strongly reminiscent of the morning after. It had had a hard life, and +much of its pristine glory had faded. No longer did the sprightly +sparrow chirrup cheerfully to its young from leafy branches; no longer +did cattle recline in its shade during the heat of the day. It was +just a stump--a stump complete with splinters. + +Its sole claim to notoriety lay in its position. It commanded a view +of the German lines which was not to be had elsewhere; in fact, from +the eminence on which it stood you could obtain the only good +observation of the opposite trenches in that particular sector of the +line. + +It was the Brigade Major who first suggested the idea in the fertile +brain of the C.R.E. of the Division, who happened to be talking to him +at the moment. They were in the support line trenches, and close to +where they stood, the tree--gaunt, repulsive and toothpicky--raised its +stunted head to heaven. + +"What a pity that tree ain't hollow!" ruminated the Staff officer +thoughtfully. "Splendid view from it of the Huns. Can't do anything +in that line, can you, Colonel?" + +The C.R.E. thoughtfully considered the proposition. "Afraid not, old +boy," he answered after a few moments' deliberation. "Bit of a job +hollowing out a tree. All the same, you're quite right. It would make +a great O.P." + +"Why not make another down in your yard, and put it up instead?" The +Brigadier joined in the discussion. "We must have better observation +in this sector if we possibly can." + +"Cut this one down one night and put up a dummy in its place." The +C.R.E once again considered the wretched stump. "Not a bad idea, +General; the only question is who is to do it. It will have to be a +good model, or the Huns will spot the difference; and . . ." Suddenly +his face cleared. "By Jove! I've got it--Bendigo Jones. He's the man +for the job." + +"And who the deuce is Bendigo Jones?" asked the General, as the Sapper +rapidly jotted down something in his note-book. "He sounds like a +prize fighter or the inventor of a patent medicine." + +"Bendigo Jones, General, is my latest acquisition. I have it on no +less an authority than his own that he is a very remarkable man. I +gather that he is futurist by inclination, and dyspeptic by nature, +which I take to be a more or less natural sequence of events. At +present he adorns my office, and looks intense." + +"He sounds rather like a disease," murmured the Brigade Major. "From +what you say, I gather he considers himself an artist." + +"He sculpts, or whatever a sculptor does when he gets busy." The +Colonel smiled gently. "How he ever blew out here I cannot imagine, +but these things will occur. I offended him mortally, I regret to say, +the first day he arrived, by confessing that I had never even heard his +name, much less seen his work, but I think he's forgiven me. I allowed +him to arrange the timber yard to-day more aesthetically, and the +Sergeant-major thinks he is soft in the head, so Bendigo is supremely +happy." + +"He sounds a perfect treasure," remarked the Brigadier drily. +"However, as long as he models that tree and we get it up somehow, and +I never see him, I shall be quite happy, old boy." + +"It shall be done," answered the C.R.E., "by our little Bendy himself. +A life-size, hollow camouflage stump shall replace the original, +complete with peephole and seat." + +Thus lightly was settled the immediate future of one of the world's +great ones. In view, however, of the fact that the world is so often +lamentably ignorant of greatness, it now becomes necessary for me to +carry out my second introduction and enlighten the Philistines as to +what they have missed by their miserable and sordid materialism. + +Be it known then that for several years Bendigo Jones had been in the +habit of inflicting upon a long-suffering and inoffensive public a +series of lumps of material. What these lumps were supposed to +represent no one has yet discovered; and I am given to understand that +unless the proud perpetrator noted it himself on completion, he too was +usually unable to elucidate the mystery. It was not of great account, +as he ran not the slightest risk of contradiction whatever he said; and +as no person ever willingly went twice to his exhibitions, he could +vary the title daily without fear of discovery. Another great point +about his work was its many-sidedness. A lump looked at from one side +would perhaps represent "Pelican with young," while on the other "The +Children's Hour, or six o'clock at Mud View Villa," would be depicted. +This, needless to say, economised greatly in space and matter; and in +case any special exhibit failed to arrive in time, or was thrown away +by mistake, an old one turned upside down at once remedied the defect. + +His nearest approach to fame occurred during the period which followed +the perpetration of his celebrated "Mother with her Child." It was +announced that the gifted sculptor had worked on it for five years; and +a certain amount of light was thrown on his methods by an interview he +managed to get published in some obscure journal. + +"Rising with a hoarse cry," ran this effusion, "Mr. Bendigo Jones +hurled himself at his work. With a single blow he removed a +protuberance, and then sank back exhausted. + +"'You see the difference,' he cried, 'you see how I have altered her +expression.' + +"'Whose?' I murmured dazedly. + +"'Why, the face of the woman. Ah! dolt, blockhead, have you no +eyes--have you no soul?' + +"'But you told me that was a church at sunset,' I remonstrated feebly. + +"'What has that to do with it?' he shouted. 'It is what I like to make +it, fool. What is a name? Nothing--a bagatelle. I have changed my +mind every day for the last five years, and now my life's work is +done--done.' + +"Mr. Bendigo Jones sobbed quietly, and I stole away. It was not for me +to gaze on such grief. And as I went through the open window I heard +his final whisper. + +"'It shall be none of these things. I will pander to vile +utilitarianism. It shall be--"A City Magnate at Lunch."'" + +It may be remembered that when it was finally put on view in London, +enormous interest was aroused by an enterprising weekly paper offering +prizes to the extent of a thousand pounds to any one who could guess +what it was; and though Bendigo Jones's pocket was helped considerably +by his percentage of the gate money, his pride suffered considerably +when the answers were made public. They ranged from, "Model of the +first steam engine when out of control," to "An explosion of a ship at +sea," both of which happy efforts gained a bag of nuts. The answer +adjudged most nearly correct was sent in by a Fulham butcher, who +banked on "Angry gentleman quarrelling with his landlord on +quarter-day": which at any rate had the merit of making it human. + +But I have digressed enough; I will return to my sad story. How our +friend ever did arrive in France is as much of a mystery to me as it +was to the Colonel; presumably a ruthless government, having decided it +required men, roped him in along with the other lesser lights. The +fiat went forth, and so did Bendigo--mildly protesting: to adorn in the +fullness of time the office of the C.R.E. of whom I have spoken. And +he was sitting there exhausted by his labours in helping the +Sergeant-major rearrange the timber yard aesthetically, when a message +arrived that the Colonel wished to speak to him. + +"I understand, Jones, that you are a sculptor," remarked that officer +genially, as our hero entered the office. "Now, can you model a tree?" + +Bendigo gazed dreamily out of the window. "A tree," he murmured at +length. "A little, beautiful tree. Green with the verdant loveliness +of youth . . . green . . . green." + +"It isn't," snapped the Colonel. "It's brown, and damned hideous, and +full of splinters." + +"Only to the eye of unbelief, sir." The sculptor regarded him +compassionately. "To us--to those who can see things as they ought to +be--more, as they spiritually are . . . it is different." + +A door closed somewhat hastily, and the sounds from the next room +seemed to indicate that the Adjutant's cough was again troubling him. +The Colonel however remained calm. + +"I have no doubt, Jones," he remarked dispassionately, "that what you +have just said has some meaning. It is even remotely possible that you +know what it means yourself. I don't; and I do not propose to try. I +propose, on the other hand, to descend to the sordid details of what I +wish you to do. You will commence without delay." He leaned back in +his chair, and proceeded to fill his pipe. + +"Up the line there is a tree stump standing on rising ground, which I +wish you to copy. The model must be sufficiently good to deceive the +Germans. It will be hollow, and of such a size as will accommodate an +observer. The back will be hinged. When your model is made, the real +tree stump will be removed one night and the sham one substituted. Do +you follow me?" + +It is more than doubtful if he even heard. A slight attack of +dyspepsia shook him as the Colonel finished speaking, and he passed his +hands twice through his hair. "The thought--the future vista--is +beautiful," he murmured. "And think; think of the advertisement. +To-morrow, sir, I will gaze upon it, and fashion it in clay. Then I +will return and commence the great work." + +He faded slowly through the door; and after a long pause the Colonel +spoke. "I wonder," he remarked thoughtfully to the Adjutant who had +returned: "I wonder why such things are. . . ." + + * * * * * * + +I am given to understand that the arrival of Bendigo Jones at the scene +of his labours the next morning caused such a sensation amongst those +privileged to witness the spectacle that the entire trench was blocked +for two hours. To only a chosen band was vouchsafed the actual sight +of the genius at work; the remainder had to be content with absorbing +his remarks as they were passed down the expectant line. And it was +doubtless unfortunate that the Divisional General should have chosen +the particular moment when the divine fire of genius was at its +brightest to visit the support line in company with his G.S.O.I. and a +galaxy of other bright and shining luminaries of the military world. + +"What is the meaning of this extraordinary crush in the trench this +morning?" he remarked irritably to his Staff officer, as the procession +was again held up by a knot of interested men. + +"I really don't know, sir," murmured that worthy. "It's most unusual; +it's . . ." + +His words were drowned by howls of delighted laughter from round the +traverse in front, and the next moment a perspiring soldier forced his +way into the bay where the great ones were temporarily wedged. It was +the special runner who was carrying the latest gem from the lips of +Bendigo--at work a little farther up--to the expectant and breathless +audience. + +"Hay! little sandbag! Ho! little sandbag! 'Ow beautiful hart thou in +textchah." + +"Go on, Bill. Did the perisher say that?" An incredulous member of +the group looked doubtful. + +"Did 'e say it?" The carrier of news looked scornfully at the doubter. +"Did 'e say it? Lumme! 'E said it twice, and then he buried 'is mug +in its loverly fragrant surface, and pricked his nose on Ginger's +bayonet. 'E's mad, boys; 'e's as mad as a plurry 'atter; 'e's got bats +in 'is belfry." + +Now, in spite of what I know of Bendigo Jones, I must admit that this +reputed remark taxes even my credulity. Mad he undoubtedly was when +viewed by the sordid standards of the vandals around him, but this +inspiring ode to a sandbag grew somewhat, I cannot but help thinking, +in the transmission. The regrettable thing was that it should have +reached this stage when it was unwittingly presented to the Divisional +General. + +"Gangway!" he roared, as the hilarity remained unabated: "gangway!" He +elbowed his way through the suddenly silent throng and confronted the +special runner. "Now, my man, tell me--what is all this tommy rot +about?" + +"Bloke farther up the trenches, sir, wot don't seem quite right in the +'ead." Somewhat confused at the sudden appearance of the powers that +be, the perspiring harbinger of bons mots relapsed into an +uncomfortable and depressing silence. + +"Not right in the head," barked the General. "God bless my soul! It +must be the heat. Dreadful. What shall we do, Curtis?" He appealed +for support to his Staff officer. + +"I think, sir, the Doctor might precede us," answered the other +resourcefully, "and see if the man is dangerous. If so, no doubt he +will arrange for his removal before he does any harm." + +The A.D.M.S., or Assistant Director of Medical Services--the official +title of the principal bolus booster in a Division--emerged with a +sickly smile from behind a corner, and advanced unwillingly to the head +of the procession. + +"Excellent idea," remarked the General affably. "You can prescribe for +him when you see the symptoms, old boy. Probably a most interesting +case--provided he doesn't stab you on sight." + +"Sit on his head, Doc., if he comes for you," remarked the Staff +officer, gracefully handing over the position of leader, "and, above +all, dear old thing, don't let him bite you. Give him a Number Nine to +chew, and we'll bind him when he becomes unconscious." + +"It's all jolly fine for you to laugh," said the Doctor peevishly. +"I'm fat and you're thin, and you can hide behind me." + +They reached the bay of the trench next to Bendigo, just as a further +great utterance was starting on its way. In the excitement of the +moment, caused by the General's sudden appearance, much of this gem was +lost. + +What was heard, however, did not diminish the Doctor's alarm. + +"Howls in the leafy verdure," he remarked anxiously. "Good Heavens, +General, he must be up the tree stump!" + +"That's all right, sir!" remarked a sergeant reassuringly. "'E's quite +'armless. It's his spirit mind, 'e says. He thinks the tree is full +of leaves." + +"Yes--but who is howling in it," asked the General irritably. "I don't +hear a sound." + +"It's his spirit mind again, sir," answered the sergeant respectfully. +"There ain't no one 'owling really; 'e means howls wot 'oot." + +The procession paused awhile to digest this momentous fact, and the +Staff officer seized the opportunity to again comfort the Doctor. + +"Get him at once, old sport, before he becomes homicidal. You never +know when the phase will change. He may fish in his tin hat with a +bent pin first or he may shoot you on sight, but I'd go at once if I +were you. You stand more chance." + +Undoubtedly the sight which confronted them on rounding the traverse +justified their worst fears. The Doctor recoiled with a choking noise +and endeavoured to wave the Staff officer forward. + +"Not on your life, Doc.," remarked that worthy grimly--"not on your +life. Go right in; and with your bulk you oughtn't to feel it much, +wherever he kicks you." + +Personally, I maintain the whole thing was rather hard on Bendigo. +Before sending him up the line he should have been labelled; some +warning as to his habits should have been noised abroad by the town +crier. Then the unfortunate episode with the General would never have +occurred. He would have made allowances, and withdrawn early for light +refreshment. + +But when a man whose face is of the type peculiar--the sort that you +give the baby to play with--practises the habits of fourteen years +unsuccessful dyspeptic futurism in a support line trench on a hot day, +the result is likely to be full of incident. True--the wretched +Bendigo knew no better; but no more did the General. And life is made +of these trifling misunderstandings. . . . + +The entranced spectators stiffened to attention as the procession of +great ones--partially hidden behind the Doctor--advanced with due +military precautions. Even the phlegmatic and weary Sapper who was +assisting the genius, with base utilitarian details, such as the size +of the trap door at the back of the proposed model, showed signs of +animation. Not so Bendigo. With an expression on his face suggestive +of great internal pain, he remained seated on the fire-step muttering +softly to himself and clasping to his bosom a large lump of what +appeared to be mud. + +Suddenly he placed it on the step beside him and rose with an air of +determination. The staff performed two or three nimble steps of the +foxtrot variety to the rear, and as they did so Bendigo sprang to the +assault. With a sweeping half-arm blow he struck the mud and the mud +retaliated. While it lasted the action was brisk, but the issue was +never in doubt. After two minutes in fighting, Bendigo withdrew +exhausted, and most of the mud went with him. What was left looked +tired. + +"A clear case of shell shock," muttered the Staff officer nervously in +the Doctor's ear. "For Heaven's sake do something!" + +"Yes, but what the deuce am I to do?" Perspiring freely the gallant +officer advanced slowly in the direction of Bendigo, who suddenly +perceived him. + +The sculptor smiled wearily and pointed a languid hand at the result of +his labours. "A great work, my friend," he murmured. "One of my most +wonderful studies." + +"Doubtless," remarked the Doctor cautiously. "Don't you +think--er--you'd better lie down?" + +"The leafy foliage; the wonderful green effect; the tree--as I see it. +Fresh, fragrant, superb." Bendigo burbled on, heedless of his mundane +surroundings. + +"What is the fool talkin' about?" howled the General, who was standing +on tip toe trying to see what was happening. + +"Hush, sir, I beg of you!" The Doctor looked round nervously. "A most +peculiar----" + +"I won't hush," roared his irascible senior. "Why should I hush? Some +idiot is standing on my feet; and I'm wedged in here like a sardine. +Let me speak to him." The General forced his way forward. "Now, +you--my man, what the devil are you doing? And what's that damned lump +of mud on the fire-step?" + +"I am Bendigo Jones," returned the other dreamily. +"Sculptah--artist--genius." + +"I didn't ask who you were," barked the now infuriated General. "I +asked you what that thing that looks like an inebriated blancmange is +meant to be." + +"That model?" Bendigo bent forward and gazed at it lovingly. "That is +yonder tree as I see it. The base materialist with the foot rule will +inform you of the mundane details." + +The Sapper alluded to scowled heavily at the unconscious Bendigo. +Somewhat uncertain as to what a base materialist might be, he felt +dimly that it was a term to be resented. + +"I was sent up 'ere, sir, with 'im to help 'im make a model of that +there stump," he remarked morosely. "That's the fifteenth mess 'e's +made this morning; and 'e's carried on 'orrible over the 'ole lot. If +I might say so, sir, 'e don't seem quite right in his 'ead." + +"I am inclined to agree with you," answered the General grimly. "He +must be swept up and . . ." + +Exactly what fate was in store for Bendigo will never be known. One of +those visitations of fate which occur periodically in the trenches +interrupted the General's words, and ended the situation in more ways +than one. + +"Look out, sir," cried a sergeant, with a sudden shout. "Rum jar +coming." + +It came: wobbling, turning, and twisting, the little black object +descended from the skies towards them, and the crouching occupants of +the trench heard it hit the ground a few yards away. Then it burst +with a deafening roar: a roar which was followed by an ominous creaking. + +It was the phlegmatic Sapper--the base materialist--who broke the news +first. + +With an expression of great relief on his face he gazed over the top of +the trench. "Thank 'Eavens! you can't make a sixteenth, mate. The +whole plurry tree's nah poo." + +"Nah poo," murmured Bendigo Jones. "Nah poo. What is nah poo?" He +stood up and peered over the top also. "I see no change. To some eyes +it might seem that the tree had fallen; to mine it lives for +ever--fragrant and cool." He descended and trod heavily on the +General's toe. "To you, sir, as a man of understanding, I give my +morning's labours. I have rechristened it. It symbolises 'Children at +play in Epping Forest.'" + +Magnificently he thrust the lump of disintegrating dirt into the arms +of his outraged superior. "It is yours, sir; I, Bendigo Jones, have +given you my masterpiece." + +Then he departed. + + * * * * * * + +The only man who really suffered was the base materialist. Two hours +later he rolled up for his dinner, in a mood even more uncommunicative +than usual. + +"'Ullo, Nobby," remarked the cook affably, "you don't seem yer usual +chatty self this morning. An' wot 'ave you got on your neck?" + +"Less of it," returned the other morosely. "It's Hepping Forest. And +that"--he plucked a fragment from his hair--"that is the bally twins +playin' ''Unt the slipper.'" + +Even the cook was stirred out of his usual air of superiority by this +assertion, and contemplated the speaker with interest. "You don't +say." He inspected the phenomenon more closely. "I thought as 'ow it +was mud." + +"It is." Nobby was even more morose. "It belonged to that 'orror +Bendigo Jones, and 'e went and give it to the General." The speaker +swallowed once or twice. "Then the General, 'e gives it back, in a +manner of speaking. Only Bendy had gone by the time it come, and--I +'adn't. Lumme! wot a life." + + + + +VIII + +THE SONG OF THE BAYONET + +Two men were seated at a table in a restaurant. Dinner was over, and +from all around them came the murmur of complacent and well-fed London. +A string band of just sufficient strength gave forth a ragtime effort; +a supreme being hovered near to ensure that the '65 brandy was all it +should be. Of the men themselves little need be said: my story is not +of them. Only their conversation, half serious, half joking, brought +back the picture of Jimmy O'Shea--Irishman, cowpuncher, general +scallywag, and his doctrines of war and the way of his death. As I sat +at the next table lazily watching pictures in the haze of tobacco +smoke, their words conjured up the vision of that incomparable fighter +who paid the great price a year ago, and now lies somewhere near Le +Rutoire in the plains beyond Loos. For their talk was of a strange +thing: the bayonet and the psychology of killing. . . . + +"Have you ever killed a man, Joe? that is, killed him with a bayonet?" +It was the man in mufti who was speaking; and his companion--a Major in +khaki--laughed shortly. + +"I can't say that I have. I've shot one or two Huns, but I've never +put a bayonet into one." + +The other grunted. "They were teaching me to use a bayonet this +morning. It's rather fun. An intensely pugilistic little man stamped +his foot at me, and brandished a ball on the end of a stick in front of +my face. One's aim and object, as far as I could tell from the book of +the words, was to stab the ball with the point of one's bayonet, and at +the same time grunt in a manner calculated to cause alarm and +despondency to every one within earshot. At times you hit the ball +with the butt of the rifle; at others you kick it, endeavouring if +possible not to stub your toe. Everything depends on what part of the +German's anatomy it is supposed to represent at the moment." He paused +and relit his cigar; then he smiled slightly. "I rather enjoyed it. +The pugilistic warrior was quite pleased with me. He barked 'stomach' +at me out of my turn, and there was the dam ball about a yard away. I +stabbed it, kicked it, hit it with my butt, and fell down, all in the +course of two seconds. But you know, Joe,"--again he paused +slightly--"it's one thing to joke and talk about it here. I can't help +thinking it's going to be a very different matter when one gets to the +real goods. Fancy putting a foot of cold steel into a man's body." + +A woman paused by their table on the way out. + +"So you've actually joined up, you poor dear. Your wife told me you +quite liked it." + +"Yes, dear lady." He stood up and bowed. "After refusing me a +commission for two years they've pushed me into what I believe they +call the Feet. It's rather jolly. I haven't felt so well for years." + +"And what do you do?" She adjusted her wrap to pass on. + +"Oh! learn to stab people, and kick them in the tummy; and all sorts of +little parlour tricks like that." + +"You dreadful man! I don't believe you're a bit bloodthirsty really." +She shook a reproving finger at him and laughed. "But I shan't mind a +bit if you kill a lot of those nasty Germans." + +She drifted away, and the man in mufti sat down again. "The last time +I saw her she had a concert for the wounded at her house. A slightly +bow-legged woman of great bulk was singing about her soldier lover, who +saved her icckle bruvver. My hostess cried--she's that type. Only a +little of course; but one tear somehow arrived." + +The soldier laughed. "There are a few like that; thank heaven! not +many. They've learned, Dick; they're learning every day." + +"Up to a point. I am learning to stab people; a thing which, when you +actually come down to it, is beyond her comprehension. She vaguely +knows that that is a soldier's job--or one of them; but it means +nothing to her. And I don't know that it means very much more to me." + +"You'll find it will, my dear fellow, when the moment comes, and you've +got your rag out and are seeing red. Let's go." + +The two men got up; waiters hastened forward; and in a few moments +their table was empty. For a brief space the curtain of imagination +had been lifted; the drama of grim stark death had flashed into a +setting of luxury and life. . . . + +And with the rise of the curtain Jimmy O'Shea had stepped on to the +boards; for no man who knew him could ever hear the word bayonet +without recalling him, if only for a second. + +He was a mixture was Jimmy--one of those strange jumbles of character +in which no country is more rich than Ireland. He would not take a +commission, though times and again he was offered one by his Colonel. + +"I can teach the boys more as a sergeant, sir," he would answer; "teach +them better how to score the points that win." + +"You bloodthirsty ruffian," laughed the Colonel. "Your old doctrine, I +suppose, of close-quarter work." + +"You have it, sir," answered O'Shea quietly. "Every dead German is one +point up to us; every dead Englishman is a point down. I am teaching +the boys how to kill, and not be killed themselves." + +"But what the devil do you suppose they have been taught?" The C.O. +would lean back and light a cigarette. "To sit and pick buttercups, +and ask the Huns to shoot 'em?" + +"Shooting, is it?" Jimmy's tone expressed immeasurable scorn. "The +shooting will look after itself. It's the bayonet I talk to them +about, and where to put it, and how to use it. As you know yourself, +sir, a man will shoot to kill, where he'll hesitate to use his +bayonet--if he's new." + +"That's so. It's instinctive at times." + +"Bedad, sir, they have no instinct when I've finished with them--save +one. Kill clean and kill fast; and God help you if you slip. . . ." + +It is possible that when a person has given no thought to war, and the +objects of war, this distinction may seem strange. Death is a big +matter to the average being, and one of some finality; and the manner +of one's going may strike him as of little account. In which +assumption he is perfectly right--if he is the member of the party who +is going to be killed. But that is not the idea which a man going into +a scrap should hold for a moment. A man goes into a scrap to kill--not +to be killed. To die for one's country may be glorious; to kill for +one's country is very much more so, and a deuced sight less +uncomfortable. Wherefore, as Jimmy O'Shea would have said, if you'd +asked him, "It's outing the other swine you're after, me bucko; not +being outed yourself. Once you've got your manicured lunch hooks (as a +phrase for hands I liked that sentence) on the blighter's throat, it's +up to you to kill him before he kills you. And don't forget it's no +dress rehearsal show. You won't fail twice." + +Now I do not wish to appear over-bloodthirsty, or to pretend for one +moment that war is a gigantic and continuous shambles. It is not. But +the essence of war is man power, and the points are scored by putting +men out of action, without being put out of action yourself. The idea +may not be nice--but war is not nice: one may not approve of the sea +being salt, but disapproval does not alter hard truth. And having once +granted that fact--and surely none can deny it--it is the different +methods of scoring points which must be discussed. Some are +impersonal--some are not: some are done in cold blood--some in hot. +The whole thing is just a question of human nature; and in war, above +every other known thing in this world, it is human nature that tells: +it is human nature that is the great deciding factor. A man throws a +bomb into a saphead full of Huns. He lies there covered by the +darkness, crouching, waiting---- One, two, three--and the sharp roar +of the explosion shatters the peace of the night. Guttural cursings +and a dreadful agonised moaning follow in the silence that seems the +more intense through the contrast. And with a smile of great content +wreathing his face, the bomber creeps stealthily away to avoid +intrusive flares. The matter was impersonal, the groaning Hun was a +Hun, not an individuality. . . . + +A couple of men, mud-caked and weary, with a Lewis gun between them, +are peering over the top in an early light of dawn. Beside them there +are others: tense, with every nerve alert, looking fixedly into the +grey shadows, wondering, a little jumpy. + +"Wot is it, Bill?" A man at the bottom of the trench is fixing a rifle +grenade in his rifle. "Shall I put this one over?" + +"Gawd knows." Bill is craning his head from side to side, standing on +the fire-step. "Lumme! there they are. Let 'em 'ave it, Joe. It's a +ruddy working party." Drawing a steady hand he fires, only to eject +his spent cartridge at once and fire again. With a sudden phlop the +rifle grenade goes drunkenly up into the mist; with a grunt of joy the +Lewis gun and its warrior discharge a magazine at the dim-seen figures. +And later, with intense eagerness, the ground in front will be searched +with periscopes for the discovering and counting of the bag. The +matter is impersonal; the dead are Huns, not individuals. . . . + +But with a bayonet the matter is different. No longer is the man you +fight an unknown impersonality. He stands before you, an individual +whose face you can see, whose eyes you can read. He has taken unto +himself the guise of a man; he has dropped the disguise of an +automaton. In those eyes you may read the redness of fury or the +greyness of terror; in either case it is you or him. And a soldier's +job is to kill. . . . + +In nine cases out of ten he has forfeited the right to surrender, for +as Jimmy used to say, "There's only one method of surrendering, and +that's by long-distance running. When the blackguards come out of +their trenches fifty yards away and walk towards you bleating, 'Yes, +sare; coming at once, sare, thick or clear, sare;' you may take 'em +prisoners, boys." + + +Thus the doctrine in brief of Jimmy O'Shea, sergeant and cowpuncher, +scallywag and sahib, devil and tender-hearted gentleman. I lifted my +glass in a silent toast. The music was sobbing gently; the voices of +women came stealing into my reverie; the smell of the brandy in my +glass brought back a memory of other women, other brandy. . . . + +The square in the old French town was alive with market carts, which +lumbered noisily over the cobble stones, while around the pavements, +stalls and barrows did a roaring trade. It was market-day, and the hot +summer sun shone down on the busy crowds. Soldiers and civilians, +women and small children bargained and laughed and squabbled over the +prices of "oofs" and other delicacies for the inner man. Except for +the khaki and the ever present ambulance which threaded its way through +the creaking country carts, it might have been peace time again in +Northern France. Yet eight or nine miles away were the trenches. + +Facing the square was an open-air cafe, where a procession of large +light beers was pursuing its way down various dry throats, belonging to +officers both French and British: beer that was iced, and beautiful to +behold. Away down a little farther on sat Jimmy O'Shea; not admitted +into the sacred portals marked "Officers only," but none the less happy +for that. In front of him was a small glass of cognac. . . . + +It was just as a stout and somewhat heated Frenchman in civilian +clothes got up from the little table next to mine that it happened. +There was no sound of warning--it just occurred. The house by the +clock was there one moment; the next moment it was not. A roar filled +the air, drowning the clattering carts; bricks, tables, beds went +hurtling up into space; walls collapsed and crashed on to the cobbles. +A great cloud of stifling dust rose swiftly and blotted out the scene. +Then silence--the silence of stupefaction settled for a while on the +watching hundreds, while bricks and stones rained down on them from the +sky. + +It was the little Frenchman who spoke first. "Mon Dieu! une bombe. Et +moi je suis le Maire." He walked unsteadily towards the cloud of dust, +and with his going pandemonium broke loose. Mechanically the beer went +down our throats, while in all directions carts bumped and jolted, +wheels got locked, barrows overturned. Still the same blue sky; still +the same serene sun; but in the place of a quiet grey house--wreckage, +dust, death. And around us the first frenzy of panic. + +"Do you put that down to an aeroplane?" I looked up to see Jimmy +O'Shea beside me. "All right, mother." He was patting an excited +woman on her back. "I'll help you." He started to pick up the +contents of her barrow, which reposed principally in the gutter, having +been knocked off by a bolting horse. "No need to get your wind up. +You're cutting no ice in this show; you're only on as a super." + +The woman somewhat naturally did not understand a word; but O'Shea had +a way with women and children, wherein lay the charm of his strange +mixture of character. + +"Now these eggs, mother dear, these eggs. Bedad! they've gone to their +last long rest. We can't even scramble them. Oofs, dear heart, oofs; +napoo--finis." + +"_C'est tout napoo._" She even laughed as she looked at the +concentrated essence of yellow and white flowing slowly down the +gutter. "_Mon Dieu! voila une autre._" Another thunderous roar; +another belching, choking cloud of dust and death, and a house on the +other side of the square collapsed. + +"It's no aeroplane, sir," said Jimmy, with his eyes on the sky. "It's +a long-range gun, or I'm a Dutchman." He looked down to find a little +girl clasping his knee and whimpering. "And phwat is it, me angel?" +He caught her up in his arms and laughed. "Shure! and I've forgotten +me little glass of stuff. Come along with me and find it." + +He strode away, only to return with her in a second or two, laughing +all over her face. Yes--he had a way with him, had Jimmy O'Shea. + +But it was in the final tableau of that morning's work that I remember +him best. It was a long-range gun as he said; and they put in fifteen +twelve-inch shells in an hour, round about the square. Two got the +hospital, and one hit a barber's shop where an officer was being +shaved. I remember we saw him with half his face lathered, and later +on we found his hand still gripping the arm of the chair. As for the +barber--God knows---- + +We sorted out the remnants of some children from the debris of one +house; and I left O'Shea after a while with a little kid of eight or +nine in his arms. She was booked for God's nursery, and the passing +was not going to be easy, for she was hit--nastily. And it was while +Jimmy was nursing the poor torn atom with the tenderness of a woman +that another sergeant of his battalion came on the scene to see if he +could help. + +"God! Jimmy," I heard him say, "this makes one sick." + +"Sick!" O'Shea's voice was quiet. "Sick! I've stuck many of them, +thank the powers, but never again--never again, my bucko--will it be +anywhere save in the stomach. Anything else is too quick." + +I looked at his face; and I understood. . . . + + +Yes--I understood because I had seen: otherwise, I should not. He +would have been talking another language--one to which I was a +stranger: even as were those around me, in that London restaurant, +strangers--even as the men, when they first come to France, are +strangers. That is the point which is in danger at times of being +overlooked, especially by those who remain behind. The men are not +changed in nature because they don a khaki coat, or even because they +go into the trenches. They have gone to a new school, that is all; and +if they would do well they must learn all the lessons--the many and +very divergent lessons--they are taught. For in the hotch-potch of war +there is a strange mixture of the material and the spiritual; and +though at present I am concerned with the former, the latter is just as +important. It is the material side of which the men such as Jimmy +O'Shea are the teachers. Unless the pupils learn from the O'Sheas, +they will have to do so from the Hun. And the process may not be +pleasant. . . . + +There are many branches of the main lesson: the counters in the game +may be shells or bombs or rifle bullets or bayonets. But the method of +scoring is the same in each case--one down or one up. And of them all +the bayonet is the counter which is at once the most deadly and the +most intolerant of mistakes. A good friend, a hard taskmaster is the +bayonet, and O'Shea was the greatest of all its prophets. . . . The +main object of his life was to imbue his men, and any one else he could +persuade to listen, with its song. His practical teaching was sound, +very sound; his verbal lashings were wonderful, unique. He'd talk and +talk, and one's joy was to watch his audience. A sudden twitch, a snap +of the jaw, and a bovine face would light up with unholy joy. The +squad drawn up ready for practice, with the straw-filled sacks in front +of them, would mutter ominously, and teeth would show in a snarl. +Absurd, you say; not a bit; just a magnetic personality, and men of the +right stuff. Dash it! I've seen even the Quartermaster, whose ways do +not lie near such matters, hopping about from one leg to the other when +Jimmy's peroration rose to its height. + +"Have you a child, MacNab, a little wee kid?" he would begin. + +"I have, sargint," MacNab would answer. + +"Then can you imagine that wee kid with his little hands cut off? Is +it a boy, MacNab?" + +"It is, sargint." + +"It is. That's good. But they preferred doing it to boys, MacNab. +Listen to me, the lot of you. Don't mind the aeroplane. Number Two in +the rear rank. They're like gooseberries out here." Number Two's eyes +would abruptly come to earth again and focus themselves on the man in +front. "I want you to think," Jimmy would go on quietly, "of the +dirty, lousy crowd of German waiters you remember at home in the days +before the war. Do you remember their greasy-looking clothes, and +their greasy-looking faces, and the way you used to treat 'em as the +scum of the world? Would you have one of them, MacNab, cut the hands +off your kid; would you, me bucko?" + +"I would not, sargint." MacNab's slow brain was working; his eyes were +beginning to glint. + +"Then come out here." Jimmy's voice rose to a shout. "Come out and +move. Do you see that sack? do you see that white disc? Run at it, +you blighter; run, snarl, spit. That's the German who has killed your +kid. The white paper is his heart; run, man, run. Stab him, kill him; +stuff your bayonet in him, and scream with rage." + +The bewildered MacNab, on the conclusion of this tirade, would amble up +to the sack, push his gun feebly in its direction, completely miss +it--and look sheepishly into space. + +"Mother of heaven! The first competitor in Nuts and May. Did you hear +me tell you to hit the sack, MacNab? For God's sake, man, stick your +bayonet in; hit it with your butt; kick it; tear it in pieces with your +teeth; worry it; do anything--but don't stand there looking like a +Scotchman on Sunday. The dam thing's laughing at you." + +And so at last MacNab would begin. Bits of sacking would fly in all +directions, streams of straw and sawdust would exude. He's kicked it +twice, and hit it an appalling welt with the butt of his gun. The +sweat pours from his face; but his eyes are gleaming, as he stops at +last from sheer exhaustion. + +"Splendid, MacNab; you're a credit to Glasgow, me boy. Are you +beginning to feel what it's like to stick your point into something, +even though it's only a sack?" + +But MacNab is already more than half ashamed of his little outburst; he +is unable to understand what made him see red--and somewhat +uncomfortably he returns to his place in the squad. Only, if you look +at Jimmy, you will see the glint of a smile in his eyes: the squad is +new--the beginning has not been bad. He knows what made MacNab see +red; by the time he has finished with him, the pride of Glasgow will +never see anything else. . . . + + +And yet what do they know of seeing red, these diners of London? It is +just as well, I grant, that they should know nothing; but sometimes one +wonders, when they talk so glibly of the trenches, when they dismiss +with a casual word the many months of hideous boredom, the few moments +of blood-red passion of the overseas life, what would they think--how +would they look--if they did know. + +Would they look as did O'Neil's bride, when the robber chief's head +arrived at the breakfast table? Lest there be any unfortunates who +know not Kipling let me quote: + + As a derelict ship drifts away with the tide + The Captain went out on the Past from his Bride, + Back, back, through the springs to the chill of the year, + When he hunted the Boh from Maloon to Tsaleer. + As the shape of a corpse dimmers up through deep water, + In his eye lit the passionless passion of slaughter, + And men who had fought with O'Neil for the life + Had gazed on his face with less dread than his wife. . . . + + +Perhaps--who knows? It is difficult to imagine the results of an +impossibility--and knowledge in this case is an impossibility. Still +at times the grim cynicism of the whole thing comes over one with a +rush, and one--laughs. It is the only solution--laughter. Let us blot +it out, all this strange performance in France: let us eat, drink and +be merry. But some quotations are better not finished. . . . + +"Come and join us at our table." A girl was speaking, an awfully dear +girl, one to whom I had been among the many "also rans." Her +husband--an officer in the infantry--grinned affably from another table. + +"In a moment," I answered her, "I will come, and you won't like me at +all when I do." Then I remembered something. "Why do you dine with +that scoundrel?" + +"Who?--My funny old Dick? A dreadful sight, isn't he, but quite +harmless." + +"Is he? You ask him about the German at Les Boeufs whom he met +unexpectedly, and see what he says." + +The "Ballad of Boh da Thone" came back--the humour of it. Dick--the +old blackguard--a rifle butt, and a German's head after he'd hit +it--one side; a boiled shirt, dress clothes, and a general air of +complacent peacefulness--the other. And the girl: it is always the +girl who points the contrast. . . . + +I laughed. "Go away, and talk to your harmless husband. I am wrapped +in thought, or was, till you disturbed me." + +What did she know--God bless her--of the details, the filthy, necessary +details of war. To her it was just a parting from one man, who went +into an unknown land where there was danger--hideous, intangible danger. + +But of the reality. . . . + + +It is all contained in the one axiom--Kill, and kill at once, so as to +have a maximum of time to kill more. And with the bayonet, do not let +it be imagined for a moment that the work is easy. Bayonet fighting +requires perfect condition, a fair share of strength, and a quick eye. +Mistakes, when a man comes to the real thing, are not likely to occur +twice, and there are many things which a man must learn who aspires to +become even as Jimmy O'Shea. + +How to go round a traverse when a Boche is on the other side, and it's +him or you; how to take on three men in succession, when the last one +throws his arms round your neck, and burbles, "Ve vos friends--nein?" +Jimmy was great on that point: with the bayonet jabbed upwards into the +chin, and the sapient remark, "Ve _vos_, ma tear." But enough; this is +not a treatise on bayonet fighting, and I have in mind to tell of +O'Shea's last fight. + +There is just one more scene which comes back vividly before I reach +the end, and that is the final exercise he gave his men in their +training. When they'd thrust and parried and stabbed; when they'd +jumped trenches and thrust their bayonets into sacks on the other side; +when they'd been confronted with strange balls of straw in unexpected +places, and kicked them or jabbed them or bit them as the case might +be--then came the gem, the _bonne bouche_. + +These preliminary practices were only one stroke, one thrust; the last +was a fight to the death in a manner of speaking, and it was generally +preceded by one of Jimmy's better stories. The best he kept for +recital just before going over the top; so as to send 'em along +frothing at the mouth, as he put it. + +"You don't remember Captain Trent, do you, boys?" he'd begin. "Just +stand easy a while, and I'll tell you about him. After that you've got +to fight a bit. He was a great officer, boys, a grand officer--one of +the best. Did you ever hear how he was killed? Come out here, +Malvaney; we'll just start the scrapping while I tell you. Do you see +this straw ball on the top of the stick? As long as it's off the +ground, it's a German. Hit it, stick it, bite it, kick it, and go on +till I put it on the ground again. And curse, you blighter, curse. +Just think it's the German who stuck his bayonet into Captain +Trent--one of _your_ officers--while he was lying on the ground wounded +in the head." + +The ball began to dance. "Go on, Malvaney. Kill it, man, kill it; +grunt, snarl; think of the swine and what they've done. Jab, jab--up +in his throat. I'll get you a live one to practise on one day." At +last the ball would come to rest, and Malvaney--his teeth bared, +snarling--would face Jimmy, who stood there smiling grimly. And in a +few seconds Malvaney would grin too, and the blood lust would die out +of his eyes. . . . + +"Good boy--not half bad!" O'Shea would nod approvingly. "The worst of +it is the swine will never stand up to you--bayonet to bayonet. They +prefer women and wounded men--like the Captain. Come here, MacNab, and +get an appetite for your dinner. You can just rest a while--I'll get +on a bit with that story. It was way back in the Spring, down south a +bit; and we went over the top. Have you been over the top, MacNab?" + +"I have that," answered the Scotchman in a reminiscent tone. + +"How many did you kill?" + +"Four-r--ah'm thinking; but ah'm no certain aboot one of them." + +"Four! And none too dusty. Hit it, MacNab, me boy"--the ball would +dance in his face--"hit it, as if 'twas the one of which you are not +certain. Listen here, boys"--once again the ball was at rest on the +ground--"I was behind Captain Trent when we went over--in the third +wave; and when I got to the Germans I was just in time to see it." +Jimmy's pauses were always dramatic. + +"See wot, sargint?" An interested and comparatively new arrival to the +battalion would lean forward. + +"Captain Trent lying at the bottom of the trench--he'd gone over with +the first wave--and a Hun pulling a bayonet out of him. Moreover, +Captain Trent was wounded in the head." His voice gathered in fury. +"Think of it, me bohunks; then think of a conscientious objector; and +then come and kill this ruddy ball. A dirty filthy scut of a German +waiter murdering a wounded Englishman. Hit it, MacNab; hit it; stab +it, kick it; think you're scrambling for whisky in a prohibited area." + +"Wot did you do, sargint?" The new arrival was still interested. + +"What would you have done, Marmaduke? Come here, my boy; come here and +breathe blood." + +The new arrival--a little bashful at his sudden notoriety--stepped +forward. "I'd have killed him, sargint." + +"Then kill this ball; go on--kill it. Damme, boy; you're jumping about +like an old woman looking for a flea in a bed. Move, boy, move; the +ball's the flea, and you're the old trout. Bite it, boy, bite it; +stamp on it; take out your fork and stick it with that." The ball came +to rest; the new arrival mopped his brow. "Did I ever tell you how to +kill a man with your dinner fork, by sticking it into his neck? I will +some day; it's a good death for a Hun." + +"Did you catch that there swine, sergeant?" Another voice from the +squad took up the tale. + +"Did I catch him? Did I catch him? If I hadn't caught him, Percival, +I wouldn't be here now. I wouldn't dare look an exempted indispensable +in the face--let alone you. And for a fat man he ran well." + +"Didn't 'e fight?" Marmaduke had more or less recovered his breath. + +"Fight!" O'Shea grinned at the recollection. "He looked up; he saw me +about five yards away; he gave one squawk like the female ducked-billed +platypus calling to her young, and he faded round the traverse like the +family do when the landlord comes for the rent. Come here, +O'Sullivan--and break up the home." + +Marmaduke retired, to be replaced by a brawny Irishman. + +"I caught him, O'Sullivan--hit, man, hit--just as he reached his +dug-out. Kick it, man; you can't use your butt from there. Jab, +jab--you blighter; for God's sake use your gun as if you loved it. He +stuck in the door, O'Sullivan, for half a second. There's the +ball--that's his back. Go on. Good, good." With an awful curse the +Irishman lunged and the ball dropped to the ground. + +"Dead," O'Shea grinned. "That's what I did; through the back. But the +blamed thing stuck; I couldn't get it out. What do you do then, +Marmaduke?" + +"Put a round in, sargint, and blow it out." + +"Good boy, Marmaduke. You'll be a Field-Marshal before you've done. +That's what I did too; and I blew the swine down the entrance. Now +then, half with sticks and half with rifles; go on--fight----" + +This, as I said, was one of Jimmy's better stories. Incidentally it +had the merit of being true. . . . + +But one could continue indefinitely. Some one will write a book one +day about Jimmy O'Shea, and the manner of his life. If so, order an +advance copy; it will be the goods. Just at the moment it was the +manner of his death that had me. I was back again in derelict +Vermelles, with its spattered water tower, and the flat desolate plain +in front. Loos is out of sight over the hill; only the great slag heap +lies squat and menacing on one's left, with the remnants of Big Willie +and Little Willie near to its base in the old blood-soaked Hohenzollern +redoubt. Cambrin, Guinchy, La Bassee--silent and haunted, teeming with +ghosts, lie stagnant in the morning sun. The cobwebs drift across the +Hulluch road, and in the distance, by the first bend, a man pushing a +wheeled stretcher comes slowly walking back to the dressing station. +It's still going on: nothing much has changed; and yet--the cigar is +good; the brandy superb: the brandy Jimmy preferred. He only spent one +leave in England; as a sergeant he couldn't get more; but I dined with +him one night, dress clothes and all complete, and we drank that +brandy. One need hardly say, perhaps, that the writing on the register +of his birth would have been hard put to it to spell O'Shea. There +have been many like him this war, from "the legions of the lost ones +and the cohorts of the damned"; and they've come to us out of the waste +places, out of the lands that lie beyond the mountains. Unhonoured, +unknown, they've finished the game; and having finished, they lie at +peace. Britain called them; they came--those so-called wasters; look +to it, you overmuch righteous ones, who have had to be dragged by the +hairs of your heads--bleating of home ties and consciences. . . . + +I forget which of the stories I heard him telling the men that morning +before they went over. He read one lot a thing he swore he'd got out +of a German paper--Heaven knows if it was true. I remember it ended +up: "Above all things show no mercy to the accursed English. They are +the starters of this war; so spit on them, kick them, use them as the +swine they are." + +"There you are, boys," cried Jimmy cheerily, "listen to what the +pretties say about you. You'll be into 'em in a minute; and don't +forget what I've told you about the way to use your gun. Kill fast and +kill clean. Don't you put up with any back lash from a sausage-eating +waiter. Remember you're English, me boys; and remember the +Regiment--the Regiment that's never yet failed." + +And so he went on; worth a hundred times his weight in gold to men +going in for the first time. + +"Your point is at his throat, boy, don't forget it. You ain't playing +the goat with a dam lump of straw now; you're going to get a bit of +your own back with a real live Fritz. And if you make a mistake you +may not have a chance of making another. Go there steady; don't get +blown, or you'll find you won't be able to do what you'd like when you +bump Master Boche." + +He passed me with a salute and a wink. + +"Coming over?" he asked me. + +"I am, Jimmy, with some wire and other atrocities." + +"Good," he said. "The boys are simply frothing blood." + +He went on; and that was the last time I saw Jimmy O'Shea alive. + + +Ye Gods! My Lord ----, some day I'll tell you of your son's end. You +kicked him out--perhaps rightly; though mercy was never your strong +point. But if any of the belted ancestors in that gallery of yours did +as much for England as Jimmy did, or died as gloriously as Jimmy died, +well, you should be a proud man, prouder even than you are. He sent +the boys over raving mad with blood, and they struck Bavarians--and +good Bavarians: men who could fight, and men who did fight. They were +at it, teeth, feet, and steel for ten minutes: primitive, lustful +fighting; and then the Bavarians broke; with the boys after them, +stabbing and cursing. One or two were left, though they wouldn't +surrender, more power to them. A Bavarian officer, in fact, concluded +the eventful career of Sapper O'Toole, the company rum-swallowing +champion. True he brained that officer with a coil of barbed wire on +the end of a pick helve, even as the bullet entered his heart; but he +was a great loss to us. And it was just as we surged over their bodies +that we came to the tableau. + +Jimmy lay round the traverse. We found him at the bottom when we'd +sorted out the litter. There were six of them he'd done in in all; you +could trace what had happened. They'd been lining the trench, and he'd +taken them in order. It was in the fifth that his bayonet stuck. He +couldn't get it out. It was still there. At that moment, evidently, +Number Six had come at him, and he'd had no time. So they closed; and, +my God! they'd fought. + +I think they both must have gone out about the same time. Jimmy was +shot through the heart by the Bavarian's revolver; the Bavarian's +throat was cut with Jimmy's clasp knife. + +No bad end, my lord; what say you? I will show you the exact spot some +day, and your son's grave near by. I'd have his picture in the gallery +if I were you. . . . I've got a snapshot I can let you have, taken in +France. But I treasure it; and unless you hang it in the place of +honour, amongst the Raeburns--I keep it. Mark you, he deserves that +place of honour. . . . + + * * * * * * + +"Captain Johnson's compliments, sir, and are you coming over to have a +liqueur at his table?" + +The waiter's voice cut in on my thoughts. The band was hitting a +ragtime stunt; London had dined and was pleased with itself; Dick and +his lady were beckoning. For the moment it felt like coming to from an +anaesthetic. + +I shook myself and got up. Of course I was drinking a liqueur with +them: another glass of brandy--Jimmy O'Shea's brandy. + +"Are you in love?" queried the girl anxiously as I sat down. "You've +been muttering to yourself and squinting and Dickie got worried about +you." + +"Not more than usual--though I'm glad to learn the symptoms." Then I +looked at her, and the wonder of a girl in love hit me almost like a +blow. In it lay the answer to my thoughts. No longer a cynical +amusement in their failure to realise the contrast, but rather a mighty +thankfulness. For it is they, in their blessed ignorance, who keep us +sane. + +I raised my glass. "To things as they are, my lady," I murmured. And +from the land of shadows Jimmy drank with me. + + + + +PART III + + +SEED TIME + + I. THE SEED + II. THE FIRST LESSON + III. AN IMPERSONAL DEMONSTRATION + IV. SOMEWHAT MORE PERSONAL + V. A PROJECT AND SOME SIDE ISSUES + VI. THE SECOND LESSON, AND SOME FURTHER SIDE ISSUES + VII. THE THIRD LESSON, AND A DIGRESSION + VIII. THE THIRD LESSON IS LEARNED + IX. "AND OTHER FELL ON GOOD GROUND" + + + + +SEED TIME + + +I + +THE SEED + +I have in my mind the tale of a superior young man--a very superior +young man, genteel, and thoroughly versed in the intricacies of +etiquette. The majority of the human race was, without any loss to +itself, unaware that he existed; but the "ladies" and "gentlemen" on +the staff of Mogg's Mammoth Emporium viewed him as the supreme arbiter +of elegance. And just because the average human being would have +asserted--and asserted correctly--that for such as him there is no hope +save drowning in puppyhood, I would tell his story. It is the +exception which proves the rule. It is the proof that we are the +slaves of custom and environment; and that, given something as the +bed-rock, much may be done by a good teacher. There was something in +this very superior young man as it turned out, though few would have +suspected it, had they seen him before the war. But then, no one can +ever listen to a person of the male sex proffering a good line of +stockings in Lisle thread at one and eleven-three without experiencing +a strong desire to be sick. Which goes back to what I said before: the +whole thing is one of environment. The stocking vendors knew no +better; for want of the necessary teaching they took to their +nauseating trade. It's all in the Old Book--how shall they learn, +unless they be taught? Had they had the teaching--well, listen to the +story of this very superior young "gentleman," one time deputy chief +stomach bender of Mogg's Mammoth Millinery Emporium--terms. Strictly +Cash. What the sub deputy chief waistcoat creaser will say if he reads +these words I shudder to think. You see, the very superior young +"gentleman" was _so_ genteel. + + +A hot morning sun shone down on the outskirts of the town. Nothing +moved, nothing stirred; utter silence brooded over the houses that once +had been buzzing with people--the people of Arras. Now their only +occupants were rats. The little gardens at the back were dank with +unchecked weeds, save where a great conical hole showed the clean brown +earth. And at the bottom of each of these holes lay a pool of foetid +green water. The walls were crumbling, decay was rampant, the place +breathed corruption. Occasionally the silence would be broken by a +crash, and a little heap of brick rubble would subside into the road, +raising a cloud of thick choking dust. Occasionally there would be +another sound, like the drone of a great beetle, followed by a dull +echoing roar and a bigger cloud of dust. Occasionally would come the +ping-phut of a stray bullet; but of human life there was no sign. + +Not, that is to say, to the casual observer; but to the man who looked +out of the aeroplane circling above much was visible which you or I +would not see. To him there came the vision of an occasional move +behind some mouldering wall: sometimes an upturned face, sometimes the +glint of steel. In one garden by a broken cucumber frame a man was +polishing his bayonet, and the flash from it caught the observer's eye. +Just opposite--thirty yards away--two or three men were sitting round a +fire from which the smoke curled slowly up. And the bayonet cleaner +was clothed in khaki, while the cookers had on a dirty field grey; +between them lay No Man's Land. But to the casual observer--silence: +silence and death and the dreadful stink of corruption. Many others +had cleaned bayonets and cooked stews under these same conditions, and +many in the doing thereof had gone suddenly, and without warning, into +the great Silence. For it was a sniper's paradise, as the +victims--could they have spoken--would have testified. As it was they +lay there lightly buried, and the same fool men made the same fool +mistakes and came and joined them. As I say, it was a sniper's +paradise. . . . + +Into this abode of joy, then, came the very superior young "gentleman." +It was principally owing to the fact that Miss Belsize--the "lady" who +dispensed camisoles, or some equally seductive garments--had flatly +refused to accompany him any longer to the High Street Picture Palace +if he remained in his frock coat, that our friend had donned khaki. +For a long while he had stoutly affirmed that he was indispensable; +then the transfer of affection on the part of camisoles to a +dangerous-looking corporal from the wild and woolly West decided him. +He did not like that corporal. No man who, meeting a comparative +stranger, beat him on the back painfully, and, having looked his latest +glad rags up and down, remarked with painful distinctness, "Lumme! is +it real?" could possibly be considered a gentleman. But Miss Belsize +had laughed long and laughed loud; and--well, I will not labour the +point. In due course our superior one found himself in the haunt of +death I have briefly described above, still full of self-importance and +as inconceivably ignorant as the majority are who come for the first +time to the game across the water. + +Recently arrived with a draft it was his initial experience of war in +France, in contrast with training in England; in fact, the morning in +question was his first visit to the trenches. And because many better +men than he have endeavoured to conceal a peculiar sinking of the +stomach by an assumed bravado, let us not blame him for the attitude he +endeavoured to take up. + +"Pretty quiet, isn't it, corporal?" he remarked airily, as his section +came to rest in a trench behind a mass of broken brick and cobble +stones. "Lor', look at that glass up there, hidden in the stones." +For a moment curiosity mastered him, and he reached up towards it with +his hand. The next instant he gave a cry of anger, as a jolt in his +ribs with a rifle doubled him up. "What the deuce----" he began +angrily. + +"Don't you deuce me, my lad," said the corporal dispassionately, "or +you and me will quarrel. Just you do what you're told, and I'll write +and tell your ma you're a good little boy." The corporal--a man of few +words--went on his way, leaving our hero--whose name by the way was +Reginald Simpkins--fuming. + +"If that blighter hits me again," he remarked when the N.C.O. was out +of hearing, "I'll----" + +"You'll what?" An old soldier looked at him scornfully. "He goes an' +saves yer mouldy life and then yer bleats. Got yer bib, Reggie +darling?" + +"Not so much of your row." The corporal had come back again. "This +ain't a ruddy colony of rooks in the nesting season. Now, Simpkins, +you and Ginger--first relief. There's your periscope--you can relieve +them other two." + +"Where's the periscope?" asked Reginald of his companion in a whisper. + +"The glass up there, you flat-faced perisher--hidden in the stones. +Wot d'you think it is? A noyster laying eggs!" + +The trench settled down to silence as the company relief was completed, +and Reginald morosely nursed his grievance. Much of the gentle +flattery to which he had been accustomed at Mogg's Mammoth Emporium +seemed conspicuous by its absence in this new sphere in which he found +himself. Not to put too fine a point on it, people seemed positively +rude at times, even ruder than they had been at home. He confided as +much in an aggrieved whisper to the unsympathetic Ginger. + +"Rude!" That worthy spat with violence and accuracy. "You wait till +you bump into Shorty Bill. Rude! Gawd! 'E's a 'oly terror." + +"Who is Shorty Bill?" queried Reggie, his eyes fixed on the glass whose +mysteries he was beginning to understand. + +But Ginger was in no mood for further confidences. "You'll find out +fast enough 'oo Shorty is. 'E's down 'ere to-day. You watch that +there periscope. This ain't no rest cure--this bit 'ere. It's 'ell." + +"It seems pretty quiet," ventured the watcher after a short silence. + +"Yus! That's wot the last man said wot I was with behind this wall. +There's 'is brains on that stone behind you." + +With an involuntary shudder Reginald looked round at the stone, on +which the grim stains still remained. "What did it?" he asked, barely +above a whisper. + +"Black Fritz," answered the other. "'E's a sniper, what lives +opposite; and 'e's paid for 'is keep that swine 'as--paid for 'is keep. +Charlie Turner, an' 'Arry, an' Ginger Woodward, an' Nobby Clark, an' +the sergeant-major, an' two orficers. Yus--'e's paid for 'is keep, 'e +'as--'as Master Black Fritz." + +"And he's over there," said Reggie, a little breathlessly. + +"Yus. Where the 'ell do you think 'e is? In an aeryplane?" Once +again Ginger spat dispassionately, and then relapsed into a silence +from which he refused to be drawn until the presence of two more men +beside him indicated that the hour of relief had come. + +"Now look here, Simpkins," said the corporal when the relief was +completed, "this is your first visit to the trenches, isn't it? Well, +you can sit down now and have a sleep, or you can write or read if you +like. But, whatever you do, don't go showing your ugly face over the +top; because this place ain't healthy." He turned away, and Reggie was +left to his own resources. + +"Come round the corner," said Ginger in his ear. "I'll show you a spot +to sleep. I know this 'ere bit like me own back parlour." + +And so--had any one been sufficiently interested in his doings to +report the fact--it might have been noted that ten minutes later our +friend was sitting on the fire step writing a lurid epistle to Miss +Belsize, while Ginger lay peacefully asleep beside him, breaking the +complete silence with his snores. + +At last the letter was finished, and Reggie gave way to meditation. +Everything was so utterly different to what he had anticipated that he +could hardly believe he was actually in that mystic place the trenches. +To his left a crumbling wall ran along until it bent out of sight, a +wall which in most places was three or four feet high, but which at one +spot had been broken down until it was almost flush with the ground, +and the bricks and rubble littered the weeds. In front of him lay the +town, desolate, appalling, with a few rooks cawing discordantly round +the windowless houses. And over everything brooded an oppressive hot +stinking stillness that almost terrified him. . . . + +After a while his gaze settled on the place where the wall was broken +down, and his imagination began to play. If he went there--it was only +about ten yards away--he would be able to look straight at the Germans. +So obsessed did he become with this wonderful idea that he woke up the +sleeping Ginger and confided it to him. There being a censor of public +morals I will refrain from giving that worthy warrior's reply when he +had digested this astounding piece of information; it is sufficient to +say that it did not encourage further conversation, nor did it soothe +our hero's nerves. He was getting jangled--jangled over nothing. It +was probably because there was such a complete nothing happening that +the jangling process occurred. A shell, a noise, anything; but not +this awful, silent stagnation. He bent down mechanically and picked up +half a brick; then just as mechanically he bowled the half-brick at the +lump of debris behind the broken bit of the wall. And it was that +simple action which changed our very superior young "gentleman" into a +man: on such slender threads hang the destinies even of nations. + +He watched the brick idly as it went through space; he watched it idly +as it hit the ground just by a clump of dock leaves; and from that +moment idly ceases to be the correct adverb. Five seconds later, with +a pricking sensation in his scalp and a mouth oddly dry, he was +muttering excitedly into the ear of the now infuriated Ginger. + +"A man where, you ruddy perisher?" he grunted savagely. "Fust yer +tells me if you goes and looks at the 'Uns you can see 'em; and then +you says there's a man in the nettles. You ought to be locked up." + +"There is, I tell you. I heaved a brick at that bunch of leaves, and +it hit something that grunted." Reginald was still clutching his +companion's arm. + +"Un'and me, Clara," said the other peevishly, "this ain't a sixpenny +'op." + +He got up--impressed in spite of himself by the other's manner--and +peered at the mass of debris. "Wot d'yer want with 'eaving bricks for, +anyway," he continued irately after a long inspection which revealed +nothing. "This 'ere ain't a bean-feast where you gets the bag of nuts." + +"Watch this time, Ginger." Once again a large fragment came down in +the neighbourhood of the dock leaves--followed by an unmistakable groan. + +"Lumme, mate," said Ginger hoarsely, "wot is it?" The two men stood +peering at the rubbish, not ten yards away. "I'll go and get the +corporal. You . . ." But he didn't finish his sentence. + +Two shots rang out almost simultaneously. One was from the German +lines, and there was a short stifled scream from the other side of the +traverse. The other was from the rubbish heap ten yards away, and the +blast made a piece of hemlock rock violently. Otherwise the rubbish +heap was lifeless--save for a sepulchral voice--"Got him." There was a +crash of falling bricks from a house opposite--the sound of what seemed +to be a body slithering down--and then silence. + +Ginger's grip relaxed, and he grinned gently. "Gawd 'elp you, +Reginald; you 'ave my blessing. You've been dropping the brickyard on +Shorty Bill's back." He faded rapidly away, and our friend was left +alone, gazing with fascinated eyes at the miraculous phenomenon which +was occurring under his very nose. Suddenly and with incredible +swiftness a portion of the rubbish heap, with dock leaves, nettles, old +cans, and bricks adhering to it, detached itself from the main pile and +hurled itself into the trench. With a peculiar sliding movement it +advanced along the bottom, and then it stopped and stood upright. +Speechless with amazement, Reginald found himself gazing into the eyes +of a man which were glaring at him out of a small slit in the sacking +which completely covered him. A pair of dirty earth-stained hands +gently laid down a rifle on the fire-step--a rifle with a telescopic +sight. Then from the apparition came a voice. + +"Say, kid, are you the son of a ----, who has been practising putting +the weight in my back? Don't speak, son, don't speak, or I might +forget my manners. Once in the ribs--and once in the small of the +back. God above, my lad, if I'd missed Black Fritz, after lying up +there for him for eight hours as part of the scenery, I'd have----" + +"'Ullo, Shorty." The corporal rounded the traverse. "Fritz has got +another. Poor old Bill Trent. Copped clean through the 'ead." + +The corporal, followed by the strange uncouth being in sacking, with +his leaves and bricks hanging about him, moved away, and Reginald +followed. With his heart thumping within him he looked at the dreadful +thing that ten minutes before had been a speaking, seeing, man; and as +he looked something seemed to be born in his soul. With a sudden +lightning flash of insight he saw himself in a frock coat behind the +counter; then he looked at the silent object on the step, and his jaw +set. He turned to Shorty Bill. + +"I'm dam sorry about that brick; but I'm new to the game, and I had no +idea you were there. Didn't you say you'd got Black Fritz?" + +"'Ave you, Shorty--'ave you got the swine?" An eager chorus assailed +him, but the man in the sack had his eyes fixed on the very superior +young "gentleman." At length he turned to the men around. + +"Yep--I got him. Half left--by the base of that red house. He came +out of the top window. You can see a black thing there through a +periscope." The men thronged to have a look, and Shorty Bill turned to +the stone thrower. + +"Can you shoot?" + +"A little; not much I'm afraid." + +"Like to learn the game? Yep?--Right. I'll teach you. It's great." +He moved slowly away and turned up a communication trench, while into +the eyes of Mogg's pride there came a peculiar look quite foreign to +his general disposition. A game--a great game! He looked again at the +poor still thing on the step, and his teeth clenched. Thus began his +fall from gentility! . . . + + + + +II + +THE FIRST LESSON + +It was not a very rapid descent. The art of sniping and its attendant +pastime scouting is not learned in a day. Moreover, in company with +the other games that are played in the trenches, it has the one +dominant feature about it. One mistake made in the rules is one too +many; there is no chance of making a second. True, the player will +have taught the man who takes his place yet another of the things not +to do; but personally--even at the risk of being dubbed a +pessimist--the method of teaching is one I would prefer to see others +employ, sentiments which were shared to the full by Shorty Bill. +Therefore our superior young friend, having gazed upon the result of a +sniper's bullet, and in the gazing remoulded his frock-coated +existence, could not have come under a better master. + +Shorty Bill was a bit of a character. Poacher and trapper, with an eye +like a lynx and a fore-arm like a bullock's leg, he was undoubtedly a +tough proposition. What should have made him take a liking to Reginald +is one of those things which passes understanding, for two more totally +dissimilar characters can hardly be imagined. Our friend--at the time +of the shooting of Black Fritz--was essentially of that type of +town-bred youth who sneers at authority behind its back and cringes to +its face. Such a description may sound worse than the type deserves; +for all that, it is a true one of the street-bred crowd--they've been +reared on the doctrine. Shorty was exactly the reverse. Shorty, on +one occasion, having blocked six miles of traffic with a fractious +mule, and being confronted suddenly by an infuriated Staff officer who +howled at him, smiled genially and electrified the onlookers by +remarking pleasantly, "Dry up, little man; this is _my_ show." That +was Shorty in front of authority. Behind its back--well, his methods +may not have commended themselves to purists in etiquette, but I have +known officers sigh with relief when they have found out unofficially +that Shorty had taken some little job or other into his own personal +care. There are many little matters--which need not be gone into, and +which are bound to crop up when a thousand men are trying to live as a +happy family--where the unofficial ministrations of our Shorty +Bills--and they are a glorious if somewhat unholy company--are worth +the regimental sergeant-major, the officers, and all the N.C.O.'s put +together. But--I digress; sufficient has been said to show that the +two characters were hardly what one would have expected to form an +alliance. + +The gentle art of sniping in the battalion when Bill joined with a +draft had been woefully neglected. In fact, it was practically +non-existent. It is not necessary to give any account of how Bill got +the ear of his platoon commander, how he interested him in the +possibilities of sniping in trench warfare, or any other kind of +warfare for that matter, and how ultimately his platoon officer became +mad keen, and with the consent of his C.O. was made Battalion sniping +officer. Though interesting possibly to students of the gun and other +subjects intimately connected with sniping, I have not the time to +describe the growth of the battalion scouts from a name only to the +period when they became a holy terror to the Hun. I am chiefly +concerned with the development of our frock-coated friend into a night +prowler in holes full of death and corruption, and one or two sage +aphorisms from the lips of Shorty Bill which helped that development. +They were nothing new or original, those remarks of his teacher, and +yet they brought home to him for the first time in his life the +enormous gulf which separated him from the men who live with nature. + +"Say, kid, do you ever read poetry?" remarked Bill to him one night +soon after the episode of the brick-bats as they sat in an estaminet. +"I guess your average love tosh leaves me like a one-eyed codfish; but +there's a bit I've got in me head writ by some joker who knows me and +the likes o' me. + + "'There's a whisper on the night wind, there's a star + agleam to guide us, + And the wild is calling, calling . . . let us go.'" + + +Shorty contemplatively finished his beer. "'The wild is calling.' +Ever felt that call, kid?" + +"Can't say I have, Shorty." His tone was humble; gone was the pathetic +arrogance that had been the pride of Mogg's; in its place the +beginnings of the realisation of his utter futility had come, coupled +with a profound hero worship for the man who had condescended to notice +him. "When are you going to teach me that sniping game?" + +The real sniping commander of the battalion--I mean no disrespect to +the worthy young officer who officially filled that position--looked at +the eager face opposite him and laughed. + +"You'd better quit it, son. Why, to start with, you're frightened of +the dark." + +"I'm damned if I am." The aggrieved Percy waxed indignant. + +"Oh, cut it out! I don't mean you're frightened of going to bed in the +dark, or that you want a nightlight or a nurse. But yours is a town +dark: standing under lamps gettin' the glad from a passing skirt. But +in the real dark, when it's pressing round you like a blanket, and +there are things moving, and people breathing near by, and you don't +know whether it's a German or a pal, or where the wire is, or which way +your own trenches are--what then, son, what then? Why, I reckon you +don't even know which the Pole Star is, or what it's there for?" + +"I guess not, Shorty," remarked the other, abashed; "but I'd soon +learn, if you'd teach me." + +"Well, I'll see. An' there's that blamed old woman with a face like a +wet street tryin' to shut up the shop. Give me another, mother +darling; no good your na-poohing me--I'm going to have it if I takes +it." + +Being what he was he got it, and that evening the lessons began. Going +back to their billet, they had to cross a field. It was a pitch-black +night, and before they had proceeded twenty yards Reggie could hardly +see his hand in front of his face. + +"Dark, Shorty, ain't it?" he remarked. + +There was no answer, and he stopped and repeated the question. Still +no answer, though he seemed to feel some one close by. Something +brushed his face, and then silence. With a short laugh he walked on--a +laugh which had just the faintest touch of bravado in it. Four times +in the distance to the billet did that something brush his face again, +and though each time he felt that there was some one near him, yet he +heard nothing. The fourth time he stopped and spoke. + +"Is that you, Shorty?" The next instant he gave a jump of pure nervous +fright. From within six inches of his ear came the single word "Yep." + +"Jove! You did give me a start." He laughed a little shakily. "Where +have you been?" + +"Circling round you, son, dusting your face with my glove. Understand +now what I meant by helpless in the dark?" + +Thus ended the first lesson. . . . + +The others followed in due course. The correct way to crawl through +grass so as to avoid being mistaken for a rhinoceros going to water; +the power of observation so as to be able to spot a change in the +German trenches--maybe, only a few sand bags moved, but just enough to +place the position of a machine gun; the value of disguise to defeat +the curious on the other side; patience, the way to fire a rifle, the +use of his eyes. All these and certain other things was he taught. + +And the certain other things were mysterious and secret. They occurred +at odd times and in odd places, and the instructor was always Shorty +Bill personally. + +"Some men," he would say, "like killing with a rifle; I do for one. +Some like killing with a revolver; not bad either, and essential, son, +when you're out on the tiles by night and can't carry a rifle. A rifle +is a dam nuisance at night if one's on patrol, whatever any one says to +the contrary. An' if you don't carry a gun you can't use a bayonet, +which is a beautiful method of sticking 'em." Shorty thoughtfully +removed his pipe. "I was almost converted to the bayonet one day by a +pal of mine. He's dead now, poor devil, but he lived well. He was +givin' tongue over the beauties of picking Huns out of dug-out +entrances with the bayonet like winkles out of their shells with a pin. +Gosh! it was great--that boy's palaver. He almost converted me, an' +then I showed him a couple o' little stunts of mine." Shorty put his +pipe in his pocket. "Come here, son, an' pay attention. It was +through forgetting in the excitement of the moment and not payin' +attention that my pal the winkle plucker went west." + +Thus the mysterious lesson would start. "There'll come a time one +night, boy, when you're out in the dark, an' you're crawling near the +wire, when you'll feel on a sudden there's some one near you. Maybe, +by the smell of him, you'll know it's a Boche. Well--then it's up to +you to make good. You can plug him with your hand gun when you've got +his dirty face dead set; but if you start shooting practice in No Man's +Land, the audience join in. So I'll just show you a couple o' little +tricks--silent tricks, which you can use when you get your hands on +him. They kill just as clean if not cleaner than a gun, and no one's +the wiser. Now come at me as if you meant to hurt me. No; not as if +you were out pushing the baby in the pram, but just as if you was goin' +all out to kill me. That's better, son; an' where are you now?" + +To be correct our one and only Reginald was lying on his face with the +unpleasant knowledge in his brain that if he moved an inch his left arm +would snap at the elbow; and that kneeling above him Shorty held, in +the neighbourhood of his ear, a villainous weapon of his own invention, +which resembled a cross between a bill-hook and a kukri. + +"You see the idea, boy, don't you? Now, you ask him if he'd like to +surrender, and if you don't understand what he says or he seems +doubtful like, put your clasp knife in there." Reginald felt a prick +under his right ear. "Right in--you take me. Get up, and we'll do it +again." + +"Where did you learn that, Shorty?" asked our pupil as he got up. + +"A Jap taught me that an' a good few more in Los Angeles. Jujitsu, he +said it was; dam good sense I call it. Come on--it takes practice." + +And Reginald Simpkins practised. With growing confidence he practised +day in, day out. Mogg's had faded into the limbo of forgotten things; +his horizon consisted of a foetid shell hole, a panting, writhing Hun +fighting for his life in the darkness of the night, a cracking arm and +then . . . His imagination never took him beyond that point. +Sufficient of the old Adam of gentility still remained to prevent him +picturing the final tableau. You see, Reginald Simpkins had not as yet +killed anything larger than a rat, and even then he had bungled. . . . + + + + +III + +AN IMPERSONAL DEMONSTRATION + +As was proper and fitting his first head was gained cold-bloodedly and +from a distance. It was his blooding into the ranks of the snipers. +His probationary period was over; Shorty Bill had professed himself +satisfied. The battalion had moved from the place in which we found +them, and had gone farther north. The country was flat and desolate; +periodically the ground would shake and tremble, and in No Man's Land +chalk and rubble and the salmon-pink fumes of ammonal would shoot +upwards, showing that the men of the underworld still carried on. +Slag-heaps, sandbags, and desolate mounds of earth formed the scenery +for his debut, while the orchestra consisted of rum jars and rifle +grenades. + +D Company it was who had lost a sergeant through a German sniper; and +the fact was duly reported. Now when a German sniper takes the life of +a man in a battalion which goes in for the art itself, it is an +unwritten law that from that moment a blood feud exists between the +German and English snipers opposite. Though it takes a fortnight to +carry out, yet death is the only finish. + +Wherefore, one morning, just as the first pale glints of dawn came +stealing over the silent land, Reginald Simpkins climbed carefully into +a great mound of sandbags which had conveniently been deposited just +behind the front line by the miners. But it is doubtful if Miss +Belsize of the camisole department would have recognised him. No +longer the frock coat and pearl tie, no longer the patent-leather boots +and immaculate trousers. In their place a dirty-faced man in khaki, +tastefully draped in flapping sandbags--his boots covered, his hands +stained. Very cautiously he made himself comfortable; with immense +care he laid his rifle--also covered with sacking--in the direction he +required; and then he covered his front and sides with filled bags. +Through a hole--also carefully arranged--his screened telescope covered +the bit of German trench where the day before the German sniper had +lain. Then he waited. + +The mists cleared away; the morning sun shone down. From his point of +vantage--for he was seven or eight feet above the trenches below--he +watched the German lines. His fingers itched to pull the trigger two +or three times; and once when he saw a German officer come out of his +dug-out in the second line and lean against the back of the trench, +smoking a fat cigar, he almost yielded to the temptation. But the +splintering of a periscope glass below him, as a German bullet hit it, +told him that the sniper was there--hidden somewhere, and watching too; +and he knew that, perfect though his position was for one shot, that +one shot would probably give him away. And that _one_ shot was for the +sniper, and not to be wasted on a fat Ober Lieutenant. . . . + +Three or four hours passed, and the silence was complete. The +perspiration trickled down his neck as he lay there motionless and +clouded the eyepiece of his telescope. Then suddenly he saw a little +black object shoot up into the air from the junction of two trenches +near the German support line--an object which turned over and over in +the air, and fell with a soft thud fifty yards to his right. A +roar--and some sandbags and lumps of chalk flew in all directions, +while fragments pattered down on Reginald out of the sky. + +"Hope to God they don't come any closer," he muttered, watching the +next rum jar shoot up. "Anyway, I've marked the place they're coming +from." Then his eyes came back to the sniper's locality, and as they +did so a quiver of excitement ran through him. Utterly regardless of +the second rum jar which burst with a crack behind him, he knew for the +first time the feeling of the big game man who has stalked his quarry +successfully. There, five yards to the left of where he had been +looking, a little stunted bush was moving--_and there was no wind_. +Trembling with excitement he focussed his telescope on the bush, and +even as he did so, he knew his vigil was over. The thing which up to +that moment he had taken for a log was a man--_the_ man, the sniper. +He could see the faint outline of his face, now that his attention was +drawn to it, and with infinite care he drew a bead on the centre of it. +Then suddenly he started shaking with nervous keenness; his left hand +wobbled like a jelly through sheer excitement until he almost sobbed +with rage. The German moved again as another rum jar burst, confident +that the English would have gone to ground to escape the trench +mortaring. It was that arrogant movement that infuriated our friend. +It struck him as a deliberate challenge. And for just a moment the +German's face and the crossed hairs of his telescopic sight coincided, +and coincided steadily. + +It seemed to Reginald that his pressing the trigger and the wild +convulsive lurch of the man opposite were simultaneous. With his eye +to the telescope he watched the log that writhed and squirmed; then it +grew still, and the disguise had gone. No more a log: just a +motionless twisted form; while something that showed dark and ominous +through the telescope spread round its head. The sergeant of D Company +was avenged. . . . + +With a feeling rather as if he personally had won the war, our hero +slipped backwards into the boyau beside him, and went in search of +Shorty Bill. Two hours later he found him and poured out the story. +Shorty listened in silence; then he spoke. + +"I've heard men talk like you, son, when they've kissed their first +woman. Have you reported where that trench mortar is?" + +"God! Shorty, I clean forgot. I'll go and do it now," remarked +Reggie, his ardour somewhat damped. + +"I should dam well think you'd better." Shorty relit his pipe, and +grinned amiably. "Well done, kid; but for Holy Mike's sake don't crow +over one plurry Boche. When you've touched three figures we'll +celebrate. . . ." + +He may have been right; but even on his own showing, is there any kiss +which is quite like the first? Is there any Hun, who----? Still, +possibly the analogy is unfortunate. Anyway, I have given the account +of his first cold-blooded victim; I will follow with his first +hot-blooded one. + + + + +IV + +SOMEWHAT MORE PERSONAL + +It occurred about six weeks later in the same part of the line; and as +a mark of special favour he had been allowed to accompany Shorty on one +of his nightly prowls. That worthy was wont to remark that two men on +a joy ride in No Man's Land was one too many; wherefore it must be +assumed that Reginald had grown in wisdom and cunning, and found favour +in the sight of his taskmaster. + +They slipped over the top about ten p.m. Shorty was armed as usual +merely with the villainous billhook-kukri of his own design, while +Reggie carried a revolver and a clasp knife which resembled a young +bayonet. It was not a reconnoitring patrol as laid down in the book of +the words; it was merely a pleasure ramble, so Shorty said, as they +passed silently out of a sap and disappeared in the darkness. + +The first thing Reggie did was to kick a tin and fall into a shell +hole, where he was joined by Shorty. + +"Frightening rooks, son," he remarked kindly, "or rehearsing as a +knockabout comedian? About twenty-five yards from here on our left is +the German sap party that I am visiting to-night. I like 'em to know +I'm coming." + +"Sorry, Shorty," muttered the delinquent. "I never saw the ruddy +thing." + +"You don't say. I thought you'd a-done it on purpose," returned the +other with ponderous sarcasm. "Now you stop here; I'm goin' to that +sap--an' I'll come back for you." + +Like a wraith Shorty faded into the night, leaving our friend alone +with his thoughts. A Lewis gun was firing away down the line in short +bursts, while Verey lights and flares went up every now and then with a +faint hiss. Above, the low-flying clouds scudded over the sky, and our +friend lay back in his shell hole and pondered. With an inward chuckle +he wondered what the beautiful Miss Belsize and the other fair ones of +Mogg's would say if they could see him at that moment. A sense of +physical well-being was on him, and he stretched himself luxuriously. +The next instant he was struggling impotently in a grip that throttled +him. + +"Quite so," remarked a voice as the grip relaxed, and by the light of a +flare he found Shorty occupying the shell hole once again. "A ruddy +lot o' good you are. Killed and dead as mutton by now, if I'd been a +Boche." + +Reggie reddened in the darkness with shame. "I wasn't thinking, +Shorty. I--er . . ." His words died away. + +"Thinking! You flat-footed clam--this show ain't a debating society, +nor yet a penny reading." Shorty snorted with rage. "Go over to that +saphead there--d'you see it--an' see what thinking does." His hand +pointed to a low hummock of chalk behind a crater. "Go an' look in, I +tell you; an' if ever you sit out here again dreaming like a love-sick +poet, I hope to God it happens to you. You'll deserve it." + +With a push like the kick of an elephant's hind leg he propelled the +wretched Reggie in the required direction. Puzzled and surprised, but +feeling very ashamed of himself, he moved cautiously towards the low +mound that stood up dimly outlined against the night sky. Once on the +short journey he crouched motionless while a flare burnt itself out +twenty yards away, only to move forward immediately the darkness +settled again with quickened step. There is no time so good to +movement as the few seconds after the eyes of possible watchers have +been dazzled. . . . + +And so he came to the saphead, and cautiously peered in. Under +ordinary circumstances his action was that of a fool; but Shorty had +ordered, and those who knew Shorty got in the habit of carrying out his +instructions. For a while in the blackness he could see nothing. He +noted the sap running back towards the German lines; but at the head of +it there was no sign of life. He carefully stretched farther over, and +as he looked at the bottom of the trench he made out a dark, huddled +figure. Then the next flare went up, and Reginald Simpkins got the +shock of his life. + +The green ghostly light came flooding in, and then went out as abruptly +as it had come. But the moment was enough. Clear stamped on his +brain, like a photographic exposure, was the image of two men. One lay +at the bottom of the trench and grinned at the sky with his throat cut +from ear to ear; the other--huddled in a corner with his hand still +clutching a bomb--was even as he looked turning on his head and his +knees, only to subside with a squelch in the mud, kick spasmodically, +and lie still. + +"Right in--you take me?--with your clasp knife." Shorty's words came +back to him and he gasped. So this was what his teacher had meant, +when he'd sent him to see the dangers of thinking. + +It was just as he was visualising the scene: the sudden ghostly +appearance of Shorty on top of the unsuspecting Germans; the sudden +stroke of that awful weapon; the feeble attempt to get the bomb; +the----well, it was just then that Reggie found himself contemplating +from about six inches range the glaring face of a Prussian N.C.O. who +had suddenly materialised. By the light of a flare down the line he +watched, as he lay on top of the ground, with his head over the edge of +the sap, the ring of the Prussian's revolver as it moved up towards his +face. + +What happened, happened quickly: most of these things are touch and go. +The bullet whizzed past his face into the night--his left hand hit the +revolver just in time; and even as the bullet went wide his right hand +struck sideways with the knife. It sank into the Prussian's neck; he +felt a rush of something warm and sticky, and then he was grabbed from +behind. + +"Quick," muttered Shorty in his ear, "hop it; hop it like hell. I'll +guide you." + +Blinded and dazed by the blast of the revolver, he stumbled +mechanically after his leader. "Into this shell hole for a moment," +whispered Bill imperatively, as a machine gun let drive with a few +rounds which passed over them like a flight of cockchafers. "Now come +on. Home this trip, my boy--I didn't know that swab was there. . . ." + +"I killed him, Bill," said Reginald, half an hour later, as he sat +rubbing his eyes on the fire step of their own trenches to get the +stinging of the cordite out. + +"You done well, son," said Bill; "an' if any one doubts it--show 'em +your hand." + +By the light of a match Reggie looked at it, and he shuddered. It +bore, as Bill implied, the proof of death. + +He was silent too awhile; the first hot-blooded one is more rattling to +the nerves than a stranger three hundred yards away. Then a great +thought struck him, and he cursed. + +"I've left my knife in his neck, Bill. What a blasted idiot!" + + + + +V + +A PROJECT AND SOME SIDE-ISSUES + +It is quite possible that there are some who, having read thus far, +will consider that the education of Reginald Simpkins as a soldier was +now complete. Transformed from a dreadful being who cut up silks and +things and discoursed on the merits of what I understand is known as +lingerie, he had become a man: a man with a quick hand and a sure eye, +a man who had met one of his kind in fair fight and killed him. In his +mind there had been born pride--the right sort of pride. Not the +spurious article which had passed for it at Mogg's--that unpleasant +type of conceit of which pimples and a high collar are the outward and +visible sign. No, not that at all. He had cast that off with his +frock coat, and in its place had grown the inherent pride which is the +birthright of a _man_. + +It was just because the metamorphosis had been so complete, and the +growth had been so rapid, that his education was by no means finished. +It had only just begun. + +So far I have dealt principally with one phase in the gentle game of +war: the phase that concerns itself with outing the wily Hun by means +of a rifle bullet. True, Reginald had tasted of other pleasant methods +under the kindly guidance of Shorty Bill; he had even gone so far as to +enter into wordy warfare with the battalion exponent of bayonet +fighting with regard to the relative merits of the bayonet G.S. and the +weapon that he had presented to the Huns on his night prowl. In fact, +our friend was beginning to hold opinions--and quite decided +opinions--of his own. He was still in his infancy, I admit; but to +those who were privileged to watch his growth he seemed a hopeful +specimen. The seed appeared to be falling on good soil. + +But it may be remembered that with regard to the question of the sower, +the seed which fell on stony ground appeared good for a time, until it +was found that there was nothing behind it. Precocity is a dangerous +thing, and in his new school Reginald was certainly precocious. +Nowadays it is necessary to form judgments quickly in the Army: the +game is being played at such high pressure. And so mistakes are bound +to occur, though the Honourable James Lascelles disliked making them +now, just as much as he did in the days when he could take his time. + +The thing in question at the moment was the fitness of our friend for +the stripe when a vacancy occurred; and the Honourable Jimmy, being the +Adjutant of the South Devons, and having the headquarter specialists +under his eye, was somewhat intimately concerned with the solution of +the question. I think I have failed to mention previously that it was +the South Devons that Reginald adorned--that celebrated regiment known +to the Army and the world at large by the more familiar soubriquet of +the "Stick 'em and be damned." + +So when the edict of Toby Seymour, the C.O., went forth, the Adjutant +seized the opportunity of trying to find out a little more fully +whether it really was good soil in Reginald's case, or whether it was +stony. To-day the edict would seem almost a matter of routine; at that +time things were different. Toby ordered a raid, and it was so. + +It was to be a raid on a large scale: no isolated affair like the +pilgrimages of Shorty Bill, but an affair where the enemy's trenches +were to be entered by a large party. No silent, stealthy work, but a +thorough good jolly, with bombs and noises complete. + +To-day raids are stale, and things of but little account. Sometimes +the bag is large, and sometimes the bag is small; but the performance +occurs twice nightly, with frequently a matinee thrown in. Then they +were something new, and enterprises to be talked about. + +The project first took concrete form in the back room of a certain +estaminet which served as the Headquarters mess when the battalion was +resting after a spell in the trenches. The omelette had been +successful, the port had recently arrived, and that pleasing, though +somewhat selfish, glow which comes even to the best of us when we +realise that it is the other fellow who is out in the cold wet night +permeated the room. + +"Sarah Jane," remarked Toby to his second-in-command, as he +thoughtfully sipped his port, "I have been thinking." + +"Have you, dear old soul? That's very jolly." + +"I have been thinking," went on the C.O., "that the boys require waking +up. There is a danger of their degenerating into trench machines. +They want ginger." + +The second-in-command looked at his Colonel keenly. "I agree with +you," he returned after a short silence. "But it's rather hard to give +'em anything to ginger with in the middle of winter and in this +locality. The division will probably be pulling out to train shortly, +and then----" + +"No--that won't do," Toby interrupted him. "I don't mean that sort of +ginger. How many men of this battalion feel instinctively, and know as +a positive fact, that--man for man--they are better than the Huns? +That's the point, and training behind won't help that; at least, it +won't start it. Once give it to them as a foundation, and the training +will gain five hundred per cent. in its value." + +"True, O king, but how?" + +"They must fight the Germans, and find out for themselves. We've got +some new drafts, Sarah--quite a number of new drafts who not only have +never fought the Hun, but who have never even seen him. Their horizon +is bounded by a dirty sandbag and a smell; and I maintain that their +value as fighting troops is not one quarter what it might be." + +He carefully lit his pipe while the rest of the mess watched him +curiously--wondering what was in his mind. + +"Listen to me, you fellows." Toby leant forward in his chair and +emphasised his remarks with his ancient and powerful briar. "Every one +in this room is--for want of a better word--blooded. We have all, +thank Heavens! had the unforgettable pleasure of killing Huns at close +quarters, with our own hands. Now that broadens one's horizon at once. +We are not bounded by sandbags and stinks; when we are in the trenches, +we know--our imagination tells us--that over the way are men whom we +can visualise: living, actual beings whose ideal and object in life is +to kill us. Not so, I regret to say, with a new draft: how can you +expect it? To them the Hun is a strange something living in a trench, +whom they never see, and whom they don't particularly want to. One +might almost say that 'live and let live' is bound to be the way they +look at life at present. Until the terrier sees the rat he has no wish +to kill it; and until he has killed it he has no idea what a delightful +occupation it is. Same with the men; and we've got to alter it." + +"Bravely spoken, sir, as the poets would say," remarked the Honourable +James. "The only point is how to do it." + +"Easy as falling off a log. One night we will pay the Huns a visit and +kill 'em. Cheery amusement, charming hobby. The terriers will get +bitten on the nose, and as soon as that happens they'll see red. Then +they'll start to kill; and once they've done that there will be no +holding them. Their tails will be stickin' up above their heads." + +"It was done a few weeks ago up the line, wasn't it?" The +second-in-command thoughtfully replenished his glass. + +"I believe it was--but what matter? The Stick'ems don't require any +damned pilot for their fences." The C.O. brought a fist like a leg of +mutton down on the table. "Before the division leaves the line, we are +going to visit the Hun; we are going to kill the Hun; we are going to +capture the swab, to wound him, to out him; and when we've done it and +got him as wild as a civet cat in the nesting season, we'll laugh at +him by platoons." + +"Prolonged applause from a breathless audience," laughed the Adjutant. +"We can merely murmur a Benedictined Bismillah." . . . + + +Now it is possible that to those who sit at home, and regard war from +arm-chairs as a movement of little flags on a large-scale map, the +words of Toby Seymour may come in the nature of a surprise. It is +possible that they have never really thought about the human side of +killing: of killing as a hobby--as a trade. Vaguely they realise that +a soldier does not go into the army to pick buttercups; vaguely they +understand that men die and are killed in war, and that soldiers are +the people who kill and are killed. But I venture to think that they +do not realise the intense importance of inculcating in every private +soldier the necessity and the desire of outing the other fellow. +Horrible, you say; revolting. Of course it's horrible, my good man; of +course it's revolting; but what the devil do you think this war +is--minding a creche for imbecile children? _You_ bring in a crowd of +men whose sole qualification in August 1914 to be considered soldiers +was an intense and national love of games. _You_ pit them against a +machine perfect in technique, in which every part had been trained from +earliest infancy in the trade of soldiering, and the trade of ruthless +killing. + +_You_ ask them to go across the water and beat this machine for _you_. +And so, if I harry you at times with details of the type +blood-curdling, it is only that you may understand something of the +nature of the task: the task which _your_ brothers and sons and +partners and clerks are carrying to a successful issue. + +Has it occurred to you why they are succeeding? + +You say that right is triumphing over might; that a good cause must +win. It is beautiful, it is magnificent your contention; but it is not +war. History does not support you; common sense does not bear you out. +We are beating them because as a nation of sportsmen the men have taken +to the new sport as a duck takes to water; and the new sport is to +kill, capture, wound, or out the Boche before he kills, captures, +wounds, or outs you. And having taken to it as a sport, now that the +technique and other things are equal, we are better at it than the Hun +who views it as a business. + +Which recalls to mind the celebrated utterance of a celebrated officer. +Should he read these lines, I trust he will pardon the plagiarism; but +the utterance was so wonderful that it should be perpetuated, even thus +modestly. He spoke lightly; but if I may be forgiven the platitude, +there is many a true word spoken in jest. + +Why not institute, he suggested, a list of battalion averages? Just as +the relative position of Tottenham Hotspur and Sheffield Wednesday in +the Football League is the subject of frenzied back chat; just as the +defeat of Yorkshire by Kent causes head shakings in the public-houses +of the North towards the end of August, why not have a league of +battalions? + +A wonderful idea if one thinks into it. A dead'un two points, a +prisoner one; the Ober-lieutenant five points and a Colonel +twenty--with other grades according to fancy. Think of the frantic +excitement in the London clubs and the quiet villages when the relative +scoring merits of a Jaeger sharpshooter and a one-eyed Landsturmer were +sized up. Think of the Putney Peashooters' ladies meeting those of the +Shoreditch Snipers at a small and early, and counting up the bag: five +Saxons and a stretcher-bearer against four prisoners and a carrier +pigeon. + +One might almost wind up with England versus Scotland, the winner to +play Australia on a percentage basis. In fact, there is no limit to +it; and I will cease, lest I get lost in a maze of wonderful +developments. + +I will cease, and return to the Stick'ems; but as a last word I would +say, in all seriousness, that wildly farcical though that celebrated +utterance may be, there underlies it an absolutely true valuation of +the fundamental bed-rock of war. To emulate the deeds of others and go +one better, to put the men in good heart with their tails up, that is +the secret of winning. And the best way of doing it is to treat the +matter as a sport: the Englishman understands it that way best. . . . + + + + +VI + +THE SECOND LESSON, AND SOME FURTHER SIDE-ISSUES + +No Man's Land in that part of the line where the South Devons resided +was wide--well over a quarter of a mile to be exact. Across their +front, about a hundred and fifty yards from the German lines, there ran +a small bank two or three feet high, with its right resting on a main +road which crossed No Man's Land, and its left gradually falling away +till it came level with the ground. The remnants of a hedge and two or +three forlorn tree stumps still remained on the bank, over the top of +which could be seen the German wire--running round a small orchard in +which lay their front line trenches. The locality was peaceful; the +Hun was quiet, asking for nothing more than that he should be left +alone, which undoubtedly made Toby Seymour's breach of the rules the +more reprehensible from the exclusively Teuton point of view. They +were extremely angry; in fact, one large prisoner went so far as to +state that it was a barbarous method of fighting, and unheard of in +civilised warfare. The suggestion that he should be kept as the +battalion mascot and supply the comic relief at all subsequent smoking +concerts, unfortunately fell through. Other "non-barbarians" who +escaped joining him in captivity emulated his altruistic spirit by +informing the South Devons daily from a position where the lines ran +close together, that they were looking forward to crucifying the next +Englishman they caught, which again was an immense success, and was +greeted invariably by a specially selected choir chanting the Hymn of +Hate. And yet the damage done was not very great from the material +point of view. It was the mental jolt, the jar to their spiritual +loftiness, that tickled the dear souls up. . . . + +Now primarily my story concerns Reginald Simpkins and his +transformation to manhood. And therefore, before I tell of the raid +itself, I will touch on one or two matters concerning that +transformation, and the methods of the Honourable James. + +D Company won the toss, so to speak, and was deputed to perform; and +Reginald Simpkins was not in D Company. Being a sniper, he was +attached to that mystic band of specialists who adorn battalion +headquarters. And so, one morning, the snipers were assembled and the +Adjutant gazed at them benignly through his eyeglass. + +"D Company are going to raid the Huns," he remarked. "I want six +volunteers to go with them." The result was as he anticipated. "I +said six, not the whole bunch," he continued genially, "so I'll have to +draw lots." + +Now nothing would induce me to hint that everything was not perfectly +square in that drawing, but--Reginald Simpkins was one of the six. In +due course his part in the programme was explained to him, and during +the explanation his face became more and more suggestive of a street +corner on a rainy day. + +"You understand what you have to do, Simpkins?" The Honourable James +looked at him keenly. + +"Yes, sir, I understand; but--but--ain't I to have a go at the swine at +all?" Our friend's grievance boiled over. "Can't I just go into the +trench once and have a go at them? It'll be a bit hard sitting by the +tree stump, and hearing the boys at it, and having to . . . ." His +words died away under the steady glance of the man opposite. + +"And because it's a bit hard, you don't want to do it?" + +"It ain't that, sir, it's--it's----" + +"Well, what is it? Not the showy part of the performance, eh? Not the +part where the fun comes--sitting by a bank and taking the roll as they +come back. But some one has to do it--why not you?" + +The second lesson in the making of a soldier--subordination of +self. . . . As a matter of fact there was no reason why Reginald +should have been deputed to the job: there were many others who could +have done it equally well if not better. But the Honourable Jimmy had +his own methods. . . . + +The desire for the game was there in the pupil: that he knew: the point +was whether the character which would suppress and master that desire +when necessary was there too. Could reliability be added to keenness? + . . . + +That was what the Adjutant wished to find out. He knew that our friend +was--in the vernacular--throwing a chest. He knew that lately, well, +Reginald Simpkins had been rather full of--Reginald Simpkins. +Adjutants--good Adjutants--do know these things. Which was all to the +good--within certain limits. . . . + +An unpromising subject had learned the first lesson of the soldier: +would he be able to learn the second, without which the third and +greatest would be impossible? All soldiers must learn the first +lesson; only a limited number can learn the second and third. + +So it came about that for the good of his soul Reginald played a very +minor part in this raid, and my information on the doings that occurred +in the Hun lines was obtained from the lips of one Samuel Pipston, +sometime auctioneer's assistant, who had joined the battalion with the +last draft. He was just a second Reginald--one stage behind him in +development, that's all--an apathetic lad, finding war a tedious +operation. + +It was not until ten o'clock on the night, as he lay with his party +behind the bank of which I have spoken, that a pleasurable thrill of +anticipation began to take hold of Samuel. A slight frost nip was in +the air, and in the sky there shone a myriad stars. Away behind him +lay the trenches he had just quitted, peaceful and still in the faint +moonlight; and looking to his front he could see the German lines, just +as still, only much closer. He tried to realise that he was shortly +going to be inside those trenches, and that when he got there he would +meet real live men, who would endeavour to kill--him, Samuel Pipston. +He thought of Mary Johnston, the daughter of the leading grocer, and +wondered what she was doing at the moment, and what she would think +if---- + +"Don't shoot--for God's sake--not a sound." + +With a start Samuel heard the hoarse whisper of a subaltern beside him, +and became suddenly aware that a struggle was going on two or three +yards away. He peered eagerly in the direction of the noise, and saw +three men in a confused mass heaving on the ground behind the bank. + +"What the devil----" he muttered, and then the heaving ceased. In the +dim light he saw a still figure lying on the ground, and two men +crouching over him. "Someone 'ad a fit, I reckons," he whispered to +the man next him, an old hand at the game. + +"Fit be blowed. It's a 'Un, yer fool--or was before he 'opped it. +He's dead." + +"A 'Un!" Samuel gazed stupidly at the speaker, and then peered at the +motionless figure. "Wot's the sargint a-doin' of." + +A low question came from the officer. "Have you killed him, Melstead?" + +"I have that, sir; but I can't get my perishing bayonet out. Put your +foot on his chest, Charlie, and heave. Again, so, heave." The +sergeant sat down suddenly as the bayonet came out, and immediately +crawled to the subaltern. "There'll be another with him, sir, for a +cert." The two peered over the bank towards the German lines, while +drawn by an irresistible impulse Samuel crept towards the dead man. He +peered into the distorted face, he looked at the still twitching body, +and an uncontrollable fit of shuddering took him and gripped him. His +knees knocked together; his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth; and +only one coherent thought hammered at his brain. + +"Lemme get away; it's awful. Gawd! it's awful. Lemme go." He was +whispering and muttering to himself, and Heaven knows what might have +happened, because there are moments when a man is not responsible for +his actions, when a large body hit him on the head, and he found +himself at the bottom of a mass of struggling, kicking men. + +As a matter of fact it was merely the expected arrival of number two of +the German patrol, and he could not have selected a better place to +come to as far as Samuel was concerned. There is no better banisher of +knocking knees than a heavy kick in the ribs from a German boot, and in +an instant our friend was fighting like a tiger cat. + +"Quietly, quietly, for the love of Heaven." The officer's insistent +voice reached him, and he felt for the German's mouth with his hands. +He was lying on his back, and the Hun was on top of him; but beyond +that, the only other clear remembrance of the episode he has is of a +fine and complete set of teeth nearly meeting in his hand. That was +enough; one new terrier at any rate was blooded. He don't quite know +how he killed him; in fact, it is quite on the cards that it wasn't he +who killed him at all. The fact remains that the German died; and +whether it was the sergeant, or whether it was the subaltern, or +whether it was Samuel, is immaterial. All that matters is that as far +as motive and endeavour went Samuel Pipston killed his first rat, and +gloried in the operation. Such is the effect of mistaking the thumb of +even our nearest and dearest for a ration biscuit. . . . + +Thus ended the little episode of the German patrol. For months +previously those two men, or others like them, had wandered over No +Man's Land, and returned in due course to their sausage and their beer, +with nothing of interest to report. Then, as the invariable rule of +war, there came the hundredth time when the unexpected happened. +Shells, bombs, bullets--they take the others and pass you by. But +sooner or later, it will be "nah-poo." You can only pray Heaven it's a +Blighty. With the German patrol, it was not. + +A whispered word came down the waiting line. "Get ready." All along +the bank men tightened their belts and took a last look at their bombs +and rifles. Two parties--each under a subaltern--were going to enter +the German lines, while, as a reserve, the Company Commander, with a +machine gun and some rifle grenadiers, _and_ Reginald Simpkins were +remaining at the bank. The two parties were going to enter at +different points and move towards one another, the leading men of each +ceaselessly calling out, "'Ow's yer father?" Then when the mystic +answer came, "Merry and bright," they would know they were meeting one +another and be careful with their bombs. _En passant_, it is not too +easy to recognise who's who at night in a strange trench when every one +is somewhat excited. + +"Are you all ready, 'A' party? Then come on." Worming over the bank +Samuel followed his subaltern into the darkness, and the raid had +begun. Without a sound they approached the wire through which they had +to cut, crawling as they had practised. Timed to a nicety they reached +it and lay still, just as a couple of flashes from the rear proclaimed +the gunners were beginning. Five--six--seven seconds, and with a +shrill scream two shells whistled over their heads and burst fifty +yards in front of them. + +"Come on." The whisper was hardly audible, and quite unnecessary: they +had all been too well drilled. Snip--snip; the wire strands parted as +they forced their way through to the silent lines, while the shells +still moaned over their heads; and the German sentries, who had heard +shells before and liked them no more than any one else, kept their +heads down till the English swine should have concluded their nightly +hate. Three minutes later the party dropped into a deserted bit of +trench and the fun commenced. . . . + +Samuel was a bomber, and he carried twenty of these pleasant little +instruments as his stock in trade. With every nerve tingling with +excitement he followed the officer in front of him, who with a couple +of bayonet men headed the party. The first man they met was the +sentry, who was crouching on the fire-step to avoid the shelling, and +from that moment on--well, things hummed. + +The subaltern--an excitable youth--smiled genially at the dazed +Bavarian, who was regarding the sudden invasion of his privacy as if it +was a bad dream; and having shot him in the stomach, passed breezily on +round the traverse, followed by his surging mob. + +"Picket the other entrance," he roared to those behind, as he stepped +by the first shaft of a dug out, up which a man was rushing. "Come on, +my pet, come on--roll, bowl, or pitch, it's a cocoa-nut to a berlud +orange. . . ." The man fell back with a bullet through his brain, and +slid head down to the bottom of the shaft. "Bomb 'em, boys; bomb 'em." + +With a roar the bombs went off in the confined space below the ground; +the lights went out, and a confused medley of shouts and groans +followed them up the trench as they sought pastures new. Control was +impossible: it was every man for himself, and to hell with everything +he could see. Each man fought his own little battle, in his own little +way, against one or two or three of the bewildered men who appeared +suddenly from odd places. And though they were bewildered, they +fought--those Huns: fought like good 'uns. In one corner a great burly +miner grappled with a Bavarian N.C.O. who had suddenly dropped over the +back of the trench armed only with a pick--straight from a working +party. Farther on, the subaltern and a bayonet man carried on the good +work with howls of joy, while a small party of bombers, having found a +large sump pit covered by boards in a communication trench, removed the +boards just in time to catch a relief party of six who came rushing up +the trench. With a resounding splash they went through the ice several +feet below the top of the hole, and were immediately joined by two +bombs. + +As the corporal in charge of that party put it afterwards: "It was a +good idea that sump 'ole; because them that wern't killed by the bombs +was drowned, and the only one wot was neither, I 'it over the 'ead with +me gun; and 'ere he is. Ain't 'e a little dear?" The little dear with +a cracked jaw, and a face reminiscent of Hindenburg on the morning +after, looked the part. . . . + +But I have neglected Samuel Pipston. As I mentioned, he was a bomber, +and he was also excited. In the general confusion and darkness he got +parted from the rest of the gallant band, and found himself in a bit of +trench alone save for a large and morose sapper who was tenderly +nursing a mobile charge of several pounds of ammonal. Away in front +the noise and shouting and the crack of bursting bombs was getting +fainter, and Samuel was undecided. He had explored a little +_cul-de-sac_ on his own, and had drawn blank; and at the moment he was +in the unfortunate predicament of thirsting for blood and being unable +to get any. In front the trench was being cleared up; behind it had +been cleared up; wherefore Samuel stood undecided, and cursed fluently. + +"Shut yer mouth"--the morose sapper gripped his arm--"an' listen. I +heard some of the swine, I reckons." + +Silently the two men stood in the trench, and suddenly from close at +hand there came the noise of a man climbing a dug-out shaft. It was +exactly as a faint cry of "'Ow's yer father?" came from a long way off +that a curtain just beside them moved, and a man, crouching slightly, +came out of a screened dug-out shaft into the trench. It must be +remembered that neither of our warriors had a rifle, and that bombs and +ammonal charges are not weapons with which to tackle a man you can +touch. They are apt to be impartial to friend and foe alike. . . . +Resource was necessary, and it is at moments such as these that the +national instinct for games is so invaluable. There was a +psychological moment as the crouching man came up into the trench with +his rifle and bayonet, when his chin was in the perfect position: +moreover, the sapper was a full back of merit. He kicked hard and +true, and if any one doubts the effect of a service boot on the point +of the jaw, no doubt he can experiment with the matter--at a small +cost. The Bavarian fell forward as if he had been pole-axed, and +having relieved him of his rifle the sapper held forth. + +"There's a ruddy dug-out full of 'em, mate, wot was missed." They +peered down the opening, where a faint light showed. "They think we've +gone on, and they're coming up to see. Look, there's one." + +The shadow of a man showed grotesquely in the flickering light, and +Samuel quivered with excitement. + +"I'm a-going down the plurry steps," he affirmed, "an' I'll bomb 'em +from the bottom." + +The next instant he was down the shaft and peering cautiously round the +corner; and having peered he let out one wild whoop and gently lobbed +his first bomb into the far corner. It was a bomber's paradise. + +All round the walls in bunks were Bavarians--stout ones, thin ones, +drunk ones, sober ones--and the bunks were arranged in tiers one above +the other. Two men were up, getting on their equipment, and evidently +preparing to sally forth after the gentleman upstairs; but after the +first bomb burst the fog of war descended on that Hun hostel. Samuel +had just time to see the fearful mess up in the far corner before the +light went out, and then things moved. Shots came whizzing past his +head into the woodwork of the shaft, but Samuel didn't care a damn for +shots; had he not been bitten in the hand less than an hour previously? +Methodically he pulled out pins, and impartially he distributed his +favours in every direction, what time he softly sang a song that had +long been one of his favourites, and which dealt with the singer's +overmastering predilection for "fish and chips." + +Suddenly he found the sapper behind him. "Stand by to 'op it like a +ruddy 'are," remarked that worthy tersely. "I'm a going to give 'em my +little present from Brighton, and it won't be 'ealthy when it goes off." + +There was a sudden sizzle as he lit the fuze, and he saw a stream of +smoky light fly through the darkness and fall on to the ground in the +centre of the dug-out. Then Samuel 'opped it, the sapper just behind +him, up the shaft and into the trench. The sapper rushed him round a +bend, and then crouched down. + +"Twenty seconds," he gasped, "an' me out of training. Lumme! wot a +life." + +The next instant the ground quivered as if an earthquake had occurred; +a thunderous roar shook the air, while the blast of the explosion +nearly knocked them down. + +"Nothin' wrong with that there ammonal," remarked the Sapper +professionally. "'Andy stuff it is too. Let's go and see what's +'appened." + +But that they will never know. From the dug-out shaft a volume of +smoke and dust was belching out, while from inside there came a medley +of noises and grunts indicative of annoyance and pain. + +"Sounds like one of them there gramophone records, don't it?" murmured +Samuel. "A summer morning, or the departure of a troop ship. Ain't it +lovely? 'Ullo, wot's that?" + +Clear above the din and the moaning, and the spasmodic fighting which +they could still hear going on up the trench, there sounded the +officers' dinner call. Twice it blared forth from the British lines, +and every man knew what it meant: "Come back, at once." The raid was +over. . . . + +And so by ones and two and threes D Company returned to the fold, where +hot tea and a noggin of rum awaited them, giving their names to +Reginald on the way. To the casual observer it might have seemed that +D Company were drunk--one and all. They were--but not with wine. They +were drunk with excitement, and with the knowledge just acquired that +they could beat the Germans, man-to-man. They were blooded. + +The lies they told--those cheery lads! Not a man had done in less than +forty Boches, which rose to eighty when they wrote their girls. What +matter? D Company of the Stick'em and be damned was made for life. +The men walked three inches higher; the men, as men, had come into +their own. Every new draft that came heard the story; every new draft +realised it had got something to live up to. No longer sand bags and +smells their horizon, but the memory of one glorious half-hour. + +And when he thought over it afterwards, there was only one small thing +that struck Samuel Pipston as peculiar. He was just retailing to +Reginald Simpkins--with some wealth of detail--his experiences in the +German dug-out, when he became aware of the Honourable James beside +him, who listened for a while until he had finished. + +"So you had a good time did you, Pipston?" he remarked. "Splendid!" +Then he turned to Simpkins. "The Company Commander tells me you were a +great help to him, checking the men as they came back. Well done." + +It struck Samuel that he might have had a "Well done." + +But then, he didn't know the Honourable Jimmy's methods; nor did he +know that while he and those with him had merely learned the first and +easiest lesson that night, Reginald Simpkins had learned the second. + + + + +VII + +THE THIRD LESSON, AND A DIGRESSION + +And so, with two of the lessons learned, we come to the third and +greatest. The first was basely material, and was taught by Shorty +Bill; the second was a little nearer the heart of things, and was +taught by the Honourable James; the third is the heart of things, and +can be taught by no one. The rules--vague rules--may be given by men +who have learned it to those who have not; but its true meaning, its +real significance, can only be reached by the pupil for himself. And +there are many who fall by the way. . . . + +It arises out of the second: it must be preceded by subordination of +self. For until a man can subordinate himself, he cannot take on his +shoulders the cares of others; he cannot put those others first, And +until he can put others before him, he cannot be put in a position of +responsibility: he is not fitted to fill it. And it is the principle +of responsibility on which the British Army is built up: another thing +about which I am very doubtful as to the knowledge of those whose paths +have not led them near things military. . . . + +I have touched on things material; let me hold forth awhile on things +spiritual. + +What think you, my masters, is the driving force of a regiment in the +field? The answer is in one word--Leadership. Quite so, you say; the +remark seems to have been made before. It has, which makes it all the +stranger that it is so little understood. + +What does the word mean to you? Prancing in front of the men with a +drawn sword, shouting, "For King and Country"? They'd laugh at you, +and follow a--leader: one of their own. Ruling by fear, ruthlessly +without thought of human weakness, without tinge of mercy? They'd hate +you, and you would have to drive them like the Prussians do. Ruling by +pusillanimous kindness, by currying favour, by seeking to be a +popularity Jack? They'd despise you--and rightly. + +The quality of leadership is none of these things: it is something much +more simple, much more homely, if I may use the word. To lead men a +man must first of all understand men, understand human nature; he must +know his job, and know it better than his men; he must possess +intensity of purpose. + +Human nature! What the men like and what they dislike; the little +fetishes they put up, the little gods; the few words of praise when +they have done well, of disappointment when they have not; +consideration for them, giving them beer and concerts; being with them +in the trenches when the weather is bad, and not in a dug-out. Little +points perhaps, but it's the little points that are so important. + +Human sympathy--the appealing to the spark of better things that lies +in the worst; the inculcation of an ideal to live up to--the ideal of +the regiment. All the hundred and one things that go to make up a +man's life and not an automaton's; all the things that make for the +affection and love of those under you. It is a very great thing for an +officer to be loved by his men. . . . + +Knowledge! The capability of doing yourself anything you call on those +under you to do; of showing them when they are right and when they are +wrong; of making them trust your ability. It is a very great thing for +an officer to be trusted by his men. + +Intensity of purpose! The driving force that gives enthusiasm, that +causes the hand on the plough to remain there until the job is done; +the quality that abhors vacillation, that prevents a man taking a thing +up one moment with red-hot eagerness and dropping it the next because +he's tired of it. The men despise vacillation and chopping and +changing. Being "messed about," they call it; only the word is not +messed. And it is a terrible thing for an officer to be despised by +his men. . . . + +From good leadership there springs good discipline, that other word so +little understood by those who have not met it in the flesh. Not, +believe me, the rigorous punishment for breaking certain arbitrary +rules, enforced by an autocrat on men placed temporarily under him by a +whim of fate; far from it. Discipline is merely the doctrine which +teaches of the subordination of self for the whole; it teaches the +doctrine of playing the game; it teaches the all-important fact that +the fear of being found out and punished should _not be_ the chief +force in a man's life, but rather that the realisation of his +responsibility should be the guiding factor. + +Such is the ideal aimed at in a good regiment. That there are some who +miss that aim none but a fool would deny; the same may be said of most +professions, even, I suppose, of bishops. That there are some officers +who go the wrong way to work, who nag and bully and generally turn +themselves into something even worse than nature intended is an +undoubted fact. That there are some men who are wasters; who were born +wasters and will die as such is also quite true. But I maintain that +the training, the ideals, the traditions, the morale of the good +British regiment does produce, and has produced, a growth of character +and a condition of mind in the men who belong to it which was largely +conspicuous by its absence in civil life. + +Why, I do not profess to say. Why the great thinkers and the +vaporising burblers between them should not have hit on some method of +training character which would have produced equally good results to +those produced by what they are still pleased to call "militarism," I +do not know. All that I do know is that they did not. Let us leave it +at that. + + +I have digressed; our Reginald is calling. For weeks his battalion was +destined to remain in peace trenches, to live that dreary life of +monotony which tests the capabilities of the leader as no big push can +do. The excitement is absent, there is plenty of time--too much +time--for thought. And boredom is of all things one of the hardest to +combat. It calls for leadership of the highest type. There is many a +man capable of supreme devotion in a crisis who is incapable of the +steady, unseen strain, day in, day out, of keeping up his men's +spirits--in fact, of appreciating human nature in one of its many +phases. + +The men feel that dull routine on which the lime-light does not shine, +and only the leader can help them. It claims its victims, just as do +the big offensive, that trench life, when the flares lob up ceaselessly +and the bursts of machine-gun fire come swishing over the ground. Here +men are wiring; there is a party digging a new bit of trench; and out +beyond--in No Man's Land--an officer and three scouts are creeping +about examining the enemy's wire. So it goes on throughout the night, +until as the first streaks of dawn show faintly in the east it ceases. +The men come in, back to the dreary mud holes; and next night there is +the same damned thing to be done all over again somewhere else. . . . + +Only, Ginger won't be there any more; he has put up his last bit of +wire. He started on the last journey unnoticed save by the man +standing next him; and--Gawd above!--what's the use? They'd been +together for two years, share and share alike; and now the end. +Putting up a bit of rusty wire round a sap. . . . + +"Easy, boy, easy. 'Ere, cut them ruddy braces away. 'Orl rite, old +son, you've copped a Blighty. Thro' yer stummik--Gor luv yer--no. Get +that dressing on, Bill; turn over, mate--we'll give yer a drink in a +minute; but one thing at a time, old pal, that's my motto. Always +merry and bright, as the perisher said in the play." Back in the +trench, pulled in from the wire where the work goes on, an officer's +electric torch shines on the stretcher bearers working with clumsy +gentleness on the quivering body. "Now, then, mate, we can't get the +blinking stretcher along this 'ere trench, so we'll 'ave to carry you." + +"Copped it?" asks an N.C.O. in a whisper. + +"Gawd! a fair crumpler," mutters the other. "Come on, Ginger, let's +get off on the first stage for Blighty. On me back, we does it--on me +back. 'Ere, boy--lumme! turn 'im over, Bill." The torch shines down +on the face upturned to the stars; the stretcher bearers bend down and +suddenly straighten up again. For Ginger is even now passing along the +last great road: he has copped it. The group disperse; the officer +goes back to his job; the stretcher bearers do their work; and soon +nothing remains save the stain on the dirty sandbags. Just another +letter to a woman at home; just war. + +Only to his pal, it's Ginger: Ginger whom he'd joined up with; +Ginger--killed putting up a bit of rusty wire. Not doing anything +brilliant, not in a charge or going over the top, but putting up a bit +of ruddy wire. What is the use of it all, what? . . . + +Come on, my leader; come on, you platoon commander; the soul of +Ginger's pal is in the melting-pot, though he doesn't know it, and +would curse in your face if you told him so. A quiet hand on the back, +a laugh perhaps, just a word to show him that you feel with him. His +outlook on life is not as big as yours; help him--for Heaven's sake, +help him. Thus is it done if the leader of the regiment is a man of +understanding; for each of his assistants, right down the long chain to +the junior lance-corporal, have been imbued with their responsibility +to those under them. They are there to help them, to lighten their +burdens, to sink self for the men they lead. The strong must help the +weak--that is the principle; and every one must pull his weight for the +good of the team. + +But I have got off the rails again; I apologise. + + +During those weeks of boredom, Reginald, though he knew it not, was +being watched, still watched, by the Honourable James. And it seemed +to that judge of character that the soil was good. + +"The Adjutant asked me if I'd like to take the stripe this morning, +Shorty." Reginald and his pal were watching an inter-company football +match on the ground by the Lens main road, near the little village of +Noyelles-les-Vermelles. It is on the borders of the coal country--that +village, and all around it rise the great pyramidical slag heaps of the +pits. + +"Did 'e now?" Shorty contemplated with interest a shell bursting on +the derelict fosse in the next village of Annequin, and turned +thoughtfully to the speaker. "An' what did you say to him?" + +"I said I didn't want to. Why the devil should I? I don't want a +stripe, Bill--I'm happier as I am. It means a lot of extra work an' +trouble, an'----" + +"Did you tell him that, son?" Shorty Bill hooked himself over on his +arm and proceeded to fill his pipe. + +"Yes, I told him that: and he----" + +He did not finish his sentence for a moment or two; he seemed to be +turning something over in his mind. Then he burst out: "He talked a +lot of rot about responsibility." + +"Cut it out. It's you that is coughing up the rot. Listen here a +moment, an' I'll tell you what the Honourable James said. Got a +match?" He took the proffered box and carefully lit up. "He +first-ways told you that he'd had his eye on you for some time, an' he +was pleased with 'ow you was doing. That may have been a lie or it may +not, but the Honourable Jimmy knows more'n one cottons to. Then he +told you what a gran' thing it was to be in this regiment, and that to +be in a position of responsibility was grander still. Then he told you +that no man worthy of the name of a man ought to be afraid of +shouldering responsibility. An' lastly he said: 'Will you take the +stripe?'" + +Reggie was staring at the speaker amazed. "Lumme! you might have been +there, Shorty. How did you know?" + +"Because he offered the same thing to me six months ago," returned the +other shortly. "Now see here, boy: that there aristocratic Johnny is +the goods. It don't matter a damn to me if a man's a duke or a +coal-heaver as long as he's the goods, and the Honourable Jimmy is. +So's the ole man. An' what he says--goes. He's right d'you see, son; +he's right." Shorty brought his fist down into his open palm. "I've +been watching you lately, an' you're worth teaching--you've shown that. +But now you've begun to feel your legs, you're inclined to think you're +a bit bigger cheese-mite than you really are. You want a bit o' +sobering up; an' there's nothing like taking on responsibility to sober +up a man. As soon as you start looking after other fellows, you begin +to realise you ain't the Lord High Emperor of the whole outfit." + +"But I don't want to look after other fellows, Shorty." Our friend's +tone was dubious. "Why, good Lord! I'd be bossing it over you if I +took the stripe." + +An enigmatic smile wreathed gently over Shorty's face. "Don't you +worry about that; I'll chance it." Then he turned suddenly on the man +lying beside him. "You've got to take it--this bally little stripe in +this funny old army. Otherwise you're a quitter--see? a quitter. +You'd not be pullin' your weight. Do you get me?" + +"Right ho! Bill; I'll tell him I will." Reginald Simpkins stared +silently at the football match for a while, and then a sudden thought +struck him. "Say, why didn't _you_ take it, Shorty?" + +"Never you mind; there are things as you can't get a hold of as yet. I +pull more weight where I am, my son, than I would if I was the ruddy +sergeant-major himself." + +With which sage utterance our friend had to rest content. But while we +are on the question, it is passing strange that, in a community such as +a regiment, the power of the old soldier should be as great as it is. +There was but little exaggeration in Shorty's last remark. In his +present position he exercised a far greater influence on the men around +him than if he had been a sergeant. It was his individuality--an +individuality which made him an oracle whom all approached with their +little grievances and their little troubles. Had he been a senior +N.C.O. there would have been the bar of rank; and though his influence +would have been very great, now it was even greater. But with our +friend the case was different. He had no such individuality developed +as yet which marked him out at once as a man among men; and before he +could become an oracle to whom others would turn in their troubles, he +must first be given a helping hand--shown a short cut, so to speak--to +the character on which men lean instinctively. + +And there is only one way to produce that character--only one. It may +succeed and it may fail; the shrewdest judges of human character make +mistakes, the best leaders err sometimes. But--give him +responsibility, and help him to understand that responsibility, with +the help that only a good leader can give. Help him to grasp that +phrase--_My_ men; help him to realise that their worries are his +worries, their amusements his amusements; help him to understand the +value of cheerfulness when everything is damnable--utterly damnable. +Then watch him. He may fail; well, you've made a mistake; but he may +succeed, and then you've made a man. Which is always a thing worth +doing. . . . + + + + +VIII + +THE THIRD LESSON IS LEARNED + +And so it came about that three months later Reginald +Simpkins--lance-corporal--and Shorty Bill--private--were seated on the +fire-step of a trench side by side. With one continuous droning roar +the shells passed over their heads and crumped into the German lines +opposite. The days of peace for the battalion were over; in a quarter +of an hour they were going over the top. Thousands like them sat on +similar fire-steps and realised that same fact, for it was no little +show this time: it was one where divisions and corps were involved. +But to the pawns in the game, the horizon is limited: it is just their +own destination, their own life, their own fate that looms up big and +blots out the rest. It's not the other hundred thousand who matter at +the moment--it's the pawn himself who wonders, and laughs, and sings, +and prays. . . . + +Shorty, smoking his pipe imperturbably, was feeling the edge of his own +particular weapon, with critical finger, and every now and then +stealing a look at the boy beside him. Apparently satisfied at last +with its sharpness he laid it down on the step and turned to our friend. + +"You done well, son," he remarked at length, thoughtfully removing his +pipe. "I'm pleased with you. I was afraid at one time--just after you +took the stripe--when some of 'em was ragging you, as you would turn +out a quitter. But you got guts. You're twice the man you was when +you took it; and as for what you was when you joined us, you wasn't +nothing at all save a walking disease." + +"I'm glad you think I've made good, Shorty." Reginald was swallowing a +little hard. "I--er--I--Good God! Shorty, I'm just sick with +funk--that's straight." It was out at last, and Shorty Bill smiled +gently and nodded his head. + +"Son," he remarked, "it's one good sign that you ain't afraid o' saying +so. Now personally I'm not--though it ain't no credit to me. It's how +we're made, I reckon. When my time comes, it comes, and there's no +blamed use worrying." + +"I know all that, but--somehow--it ain't much comfort that idea, when +it comes to the point. I tell you, Shorty, I don't want to be killed; +I----" His voice died away, and he looked shamefacedly at the sandbags +in front of him. + +"No more don't I, son; no more don't I. An' no more don't your +men--your six boys you are responsible for. They're your men, that +little bunch: they're looking to you, they're relying on you." He put +his hand on the other's knee. "Are you a'-goin' to let 'em down, that +six?" + +Once again the great doctrine--the third great lesson--the doctrine +that laughs at life and death, the doctrine of thinking for others--of +responsibility. + +"It's better, I reckon, to die a man than live a worm. So long, son; +time's up." + +The last words were shouted, and even then they could not be heard. +Five minutes previously it would have seemed impossible that there +could have been more noise; then suddenly it seemed to double and +treble in intensity. The ground shook; and over the German trenches +there hung a choking cloud of fumes which drifted slowly across the +front with the wind. As if by clockwork, the men got out of their +trenches and walked slowly over No Man's Land behind the creeping +barrage towards the reeking caldron. A great long line of +men--thousands and thousands of men; but do not think of them as the +men of "some of our county regiments who did well, whom we are now +allowed to mention"; as some "kilted battalions and Canadians who +greatly distinguished themselves"; do not think of them in the mass, +rather think of the individual. + +The farm-hand, until two years ago just a clod-hopping countryman, was +there; and the local lawyer's articled clerk. The gillie from a Scotch +stream, and the bar-tender from a Yukon saloon walked side by side; and +close to them a High Church curate in a captain's uniform grinned +pleasantly and strolled on. The sheep-rancher, the poacher, the fifth +son of an impecunious earl, and the man from the chorus were all +there--leaving their respective lives behind them, the things which +they had done, good and bad, the successes and the failures. For the +moment nothing mattered save that seething volcano in front: it might +be the end--it might not. + +And some were quiet, and some were green; some were shouting, and some +were red; some laughed, and some cursed. But whatever they did, +however they took it, the leaders of whom I have spoken, each in his +own sphere, big or little as the case might be, kept 'em, held 'em, +looked after 'em, cheered 'em. Though their own stomachs were turning, +though their own throats were dry, they had a job to do: a +responsibility rested on their shoulders. And until death relieved +them of that responsibility they could not lay it down. They were the +leaders; to them much had been given; of them much was expected. . . . + +But in this great advance, which has already been ably portrayed by the +powers of the journalistic world, we are only concerned with the +fortunes of two individuals. To them those flowery phrases, those +magnificent "dashes carried out in faultless style," those wonderful +"lines which went into the jaws of hell as if on parade," would have +conveyed a peculiarly inept description of their feelings. Not that +the descriptions in many cases are not wonderfully good! They are--but +they represent the point of view of the spectator in a pageant; not the +point of view of one of the actors. To him they are meaningless: he +only knows the intense vital part he plays himself. The shell that +burst next door to him and killed his sergeant is only one of similar +thousands to the looker-on behind. . . . + +And so, in a dazed world of his own, Reginald Simpkins, Lance-Corporal +and sometime pride of Mogg's, walked over No Man's Land. Every now and +then he looked mechanically to his left and right, and grinned. At +least he made a contortion with his facial muscles, which experience +told him used to produce a grin. He did it to encourage the six. +Whether he succeeded or not is immaterial: the intention was good, even +if the peculiar tightness of his skin spoiled the result. Occasionally +he spoke. No one could have heard what he said, but once again the +intention was good. + +"Steady, boys--come on." He said it four or five times and punctuated +it with grins. Then he tripped over a body and cursed. + +He wondered if he was doing all right; he wondered if Shorty was +pleased with him. The funk seemed to have gone: in its place had come +a kind of dazed doggedness, while a fury of impatience to justify +himself and his powers of leadership shook him at times. Surely to God +they could go faster than this cursed crawl. Why was the barrage +lifting so slowly? It seemed interminable that walk over the torn-up +earth; and yet the German trenches were still some way off. + +He grinned again, and turned round just in time to see the garage +assistant next to him fall forward into a shell hole, and lie with his +head stuck in the slimy ooze at the bottom. He frowned, and then +almost uncomprehendingly he saw the back of the fallen man's head. Of +course--he was shot, that's what it was: his six were reduced to five. + +"Steady, boys--come on." As he spoke he felt something catch his coat, +and he looked down irritably on feeling the material tear. It was a +strand of barbed wire that stuck up from the ground, with its free end +loose. They had come to the wire. . . . + +In all directions--twisted and torn, with ends that stuck up, and stray +strands uncut--was wire: thick and rusty it coiled in and out between +the screw pickets--cut to pieces, but still there. Men picked their +way over it gingerly, stepping with care and walking round the little +ridges that separated the shell holes. Festoons of it lay in these +holes, and in one large crater a dead Hun lay sprawled on a mattress of +it. To the spectator behind, it was one dead Hun--one of thousands. +To the man who happened to see him as he passed, it was an individual +whose chalky face had been ripped by one of the barbs as he fell. + +And there is a difference. . . . + +Then they came to the trenches--the front line, or what was left of it. +Just facing them a man with his hands above his head opened and shut +his mouth. He appeared to be saying something, but no voice could be +heard above the din. Reginald grinned again: the Hun who was trying to +imitate a fish struck him as a humorous spectacle; moreover, in a flash +of memory, he reminded him very much of Mr. Mogg's ample wife. He +grinned again as he thought of Mogg's. + +Once more they were advancing again over the other side of the trench: +the moppers-up would attend to the piscatorial gentleman. Our friend +was better now--very much better; he felt more sure of himself; in +fact, absolutely sure of himself. In addition he was beginning to get +excited. And then a machine gun opened fire. + +Hundreds of other machine guns opened fire too; but this one was +Reginald's machine gun--the one that concerned his limited horizon. +For a moment it did not strike him that way, though he saw the gun +quite clearly. He looked round for help, and in looking round for +help, he found that his five and three others who were close to him +were looking to him for help. And he realised his responsibility: he +had learned the lesson. . . . + +It was a masterly little piece of work: an excellent piece of +subordinate leadership. With his arm he directed those eight--he had +not been trained as a scout in vain--and with the loss of only two he +got them out of the direct zone of fire. A few minutes later he, with +the six remaining, fell upon that gun's team from a flank. In five +seconds it was over, and the little group passed on. + +It was just after this that he saw Shorty. At the moment that worthy +was lying in a shell hole drawing a bead on some target with the utmost +care. Reggie saw the kick of the gun, but failed to see what he had +been firing at until the firer stood up and screamed in his ear. + +"Machine gunner--nest of them over there. Hanging up the ruddy +advance." + +"We're doing well, Shorty." He howled back the answer. + +"I reckon so. The swine are running all along the line; only one or +two of 'em holdin' us up. Look out." He pulled Reginald to one side, +and pointed behind him. + +Majestically, squelching through the mud, came Tiny Tim, or the Tired +Tank. It was pitching and rolling like a squat old tramp making heavy +weather beating up Channel. They waved at it as it passed by, lurching +ominously but going straight for the machine-gun nest. Once it almost +seemed to disappear as it waddled down an extra large hole with its two +stern wheels waving foolishly in the air; but a moment later it +squirmed solemnly up the far side, and rolled on to its chosen target. +The wire was uncut; but it trod on the wire, and the wire was not. + +"Look at the perishers running," howled Shorty, as he watched some men +doubling back from the death-trap. Their arms were waving foolishly: +one could imagine their faces grey-green with terror, their hoarse +shouts of fear, their desperate hurry to avoid the thing that was +coming. "Lumme! I must draw a bead on that bunch," muttered Shorty +eagerly. "Now then, son, you can hit one of that lot." He turned from +the scene in front, and the next instant he was down on his knees. +"What is it, boy, what is it?" + +The man lying stiffly on the ground grinned yet once again, and shook +his head. Thus does it come--suddenly, in a second. To the spectator +behind--"our losses were not as great as had been anticipated." To the +man--journey's end. + +"I've got it this time, Shorty," he remarked, and he seemed to speak +with difficulty. The roar of the guns was passing onwards, the din was +not quite so deafening. "My bally old back seems all numb." + +Just a stray bullet; just a broken back; just a finish. With the eye +of knowledge Shorty looked at the grey tinge already spreading over the +boy's face, and the mystery of death struck him forcibly: something of +the strangeness of it all. In five minutes--four--ten--what +matter?--the lips now capable of speech would close for ever: the man +whom he had known and lived alongside of for months would be gone for +good. The desperate finality of it; the utter futility of the +onlooker. . . . + +"Is the Tank clearing 'em out, Shorty?" The dying man interrupted his +thoughts, and he looked up to see what was happening. + +"It is that, son; it's doing fine. The old thing is sittin' there like +a broody hen spittin' at 'em, and the swine are running like hell." + +"God! Shorty, could one hit 'em with a gun?" The glazing eyes +brightened; the lolling head straightened with a jerk. + +"Sure thing." Shorty looked at him, and understood. "Like to try, +boy; you'd get the cocoa-nut, I'll bet." + +"That's it, Shorty; that's it. Turn me over, an' prop me up. I'd like +to. . . . Lord! man, I can see 'em there, hundreds of 'em running to +beat the band. Give me the gun, Bill, quick; I must just get one; +I. . . ." + +With powerless hands he took the rifle for the last time, and looked +along the sights. "God!" he whimpered, "I can't hold it steady--I +can't. . . . Shorty, Shorty, I'm wobbling all over the target." + +But Shorty did not come to him. He was lying on the ground two or +three feet away, with his own rifle hugged to his shoulder. "If there +be anything in religion," he muttered fiercely, "let me shoot straight +this time, God." + +"That's all right," he shouted; "you've got him covered fine. Fire, +son, fire--an' hit the perisher. You ain't wobbling." + +And so Reginald Simpkins, lance-corporal and man, fired his last shot. +Heaven knows where it went; all that matters is that a running +grey-green figure two hundred yards away suddenly threw his hands above +his head and pitched forward on his face. + +"Great shooting, son, great shooting." Shorty Bill was beside him, +turning him over once again on his back. "You plugged him clean as a +whistle. Good boy." + +The grey had spread; the end was very near. "I thought I +heard--another shot--close by." The tired eyelids closed. "I've made +good, Shorty, ain't I? . . . Honourable Jimmy . . . Regiment great +thing . . . responsibility . . . greater. . . ." And so he died. + + + + +IX + +"AND OTHER FELL ON GOOD GROUND" + +Shorty Bill thoughtfully ejected a spent cartridge case from his +magazine and pulled back the safety catch. "I'm glad I hit him. It'll +be something for the boy to take away with him. I suppose he'll +remember it." Shorty's brow wrinkled with the strain of this abstruse +theological problem. Then he shrugged his shoulders and gave it up. +"So long, son; you made good--you did well. But the old Tank has +cleared 'em out, an' I must be toddling on." Then he remembered +something, and produced his own patent weapon. It was only as he +actually started to cut another nick in the long row which adorned the +stock of his rifle that he paused: paused and looked up. + +"Lumme! I'd better wait a bit; it wouldn't never do for the boy to +know it was me what hit that Hun. I'll just go on a little, I'll . . . +Good-bye, boy; I'm sorry--dam sorry." + +With his strange, loping walk the poacher and jailbird walked off in +the wake of the Tank, which was now ploughing merrily forward again. +Fifty yards away he stopped, and cut another nick. "Ninety-three," he +muttered; "not bad. But it wouldn't never have done for the boy to +have known." Undoubtedly theology was not his strong point. + + +Slowly, an inch or two at a time, Reginald Simpkins slithered down the +sloping side of the shell hole till he reached the bottom. To the +batches of prisoners coming back--just a casualty; to the +reinforcements coming up--just a casualty. To the boy himself--the +great price. + + +And so, in the shell-ploughed, gun-furrowed No Man's Land is the seed +of Britain sown. And the harvest----? + + + + +PART IV + +HARVEST + + + +"Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn +them: but gather the wheat into my barn." + +MATTHEW xiii. 30. + + + +HARVEST + + "For shoulders curved with the counter stoop will be carried + erect and square; + And faces white from the office light will be bronzed by the + open air; + And we'll walk with the stride of a new-born pride, with a + new-found joy in our eyes; + Scornful men who have diced with death under the naked skies. + + "For some of us smirk in a chiffon shop, and some of us teach + in a school; + Some of us help with the seat of our pants to polish an + office stool; + The merits of somebody's soap or jam some of us seek to explain; + But all of us wonder what we'll do when we have to go back + again."--R. W. SERVICE. + + +What of the harvest? It is coming, perhaps sooner than we expect, +perhaps not for many weary months. But the reaper is even now +sharpening his sickle in readiness, and--what of the crops? + +Into No Man's Land have gone alike, the wheat of honest endeavour and +hardship well borne, and the tares of class hatred and selfishness. +Had ever reaper nobler task in front of him than the burning of those +tares and the gathering of that wheat into the nation's barn? . . . + +In the Chateau at Boesinghe, where the moss is growing round the broken +doors and the rank weeds fill the garden, with the stagnant Yser hard +by; in Ypres, where the rooks nest in the crumbling Cloth Hall and a +man's footsteps ring loud and hollow on the silent square; in +Vermelles, where the chalky plains stretch bare towards the east, and +the bloody Hohenzollern redoubt, with the great squat slag heap beside +it, lies silent and ominous; in Guillemont and Guinchy, where the +sunken road was stiff with German dead and no two bricks remain on top +of one another; on Vimy Ridge, in Bullecourt and Croisilles, in all +these places, in all the hundred others, the seed has been sown. What +of the harvest? + +If I have made of war a hideous thing--unredeemed, repulsive--the +picture is not consciously exaggerated. As far as in me lies I have +drawn the thing as I have seen it. + +But after the lean years, the fat; after the hideous sowing, the +glorious aftermath. + +The more one thinks of it, the more amazing does the paradox +become--the paradox of cause and effect. To fit these civilians of +Britain for all the dirty details which go to make winning or losing, +to fit them for the business of killing in the most efficient manner, +the tuition must include the inculcation of ideals--more, the +assimilation of ideals--which are immeasurably superior to any they +learned in their civilian life. At least so it seems to one who makes +their acquaintance when they first join up. In their civilian life +self ruled; there, each individual pawn scrambled and snarled as he +pushed the next pawn to him under--or went under himself as the case +might be--in his frenzied endeavour to better himself, to win a little +brief authority! The community was composed of a mass of struggling, +fighting units, each one all out for himself and only himself. + +But from the tuition which the manhood of Britain is now undergoing, +there must surely be a very different result. Self no longer rules; +self is sunk for the good of the cause--for the good of the community. +And the community, realising that fact, endeavours, by every means in +its power, to develop that self to the very maximum of which it is +capable, knowing that, in due course, it will reap the benefit. No +longer do individual pawns struggle one against the other, but +each--developing his own particular gift to the maximum--places it at +the disposal of the community who helped him in his development. And +that is the result of so-called militarism--_British_ militarism. + +Surely what has been accomplished in the Army can be carried into other +matters in the fullness of time. I am no prophet; I am no social +reformer to speak of ways and means. All I can say with certainty is +that I have seen them come in by hundreds, by thousands--these men of +our country now fighting in every corner of the globe--resentful, +suspicious, intolerant of authority. I have seen them in training; I +have seen the finished article. And the result is good: the change for +the better wonderful. + +It cannot be that one must presuppose such a hideous thing as this war +to be necessary, in order to attain such results. I cannot believe it. +There must be some other method of teaching the lessons of playing for +the side and unselfishness. The spurred culprits of Mr. Wells' +imagination have given a lead over the fence; surely all the rest of +the field is not going to jib. + +And when the harvest does come in, when the sickle is finally put to +the crop, there will be such an opportunity for statesmanship as the +world has never before seen. + +Winnowed by the fan of suffering and death, the wheat of the harvest +will shed its tares of discord and suspicion. The duke and the +labourer will have stood side by side, and will have found one +another--men. No longer self the only thing; no longer a ceaseless +growse against everybody and everything; no longer an instinctive +suspicion of the man one rung higher up the ladder. But more +self-reliant and cheery; stronger in character and bigger in outlook; +with a newly acquired sense of self-control and understanding; in +short, grown a little nearer to its maximum development, the manhood of +the nation will be ripe for the moulder's hand. It has tasted of +discipline; it has realised that only by discipline for the individual +can there be true freedom for the community; and that without that +discipline, chaos is inevitable. Pray heavens there be a moulder--a +moulder worthy of the task. + + +"Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one +vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?" + + +He will have grand clay--that moulder: clay such as has never been +known before. Its God will be the God of Reality, its devil the Devil +of Pretence. Just as it has ceased to look at Death through a haze of +drawn window-blinds and frock-coats redolent of moth-balls, so it will +cease with scorn to look at some of the clumsy sophistries of modern +life through the rose-tinted spectacles so kindly provided for the +purpose by men of great vocal, and correspondingly small mental, power. + + +Out of the evil, good will come: surely it must be so. In the wisdom +of the Infinite Power, madness has been let loose on the world. The +madness was not of our seeking. It was hurled upon us by a race whose +standards are based on bombing or crucifying their prisoners, and +eating their own dead; on sinking unarmed liners and murdering an odd +woman or two to fill in time; and finally--though perhaps last on the +list of witticisms from a material point of view, almost first from +that of contempt--of crucifying an emaciated cat and stuffing a cigar +in its mouth. A race without an instinct of sport, without an idea of +playing the game. Gross and contemptible they bluster first, and then +they whine; and the rare exceptions only make the great drab mass seem +even more nauseating. . . . + +But the crushing of that race will have been hard, the sacrifices +great. And even so will the results of those sacrifices be great. Of +social problems I am, as I have said, not qualified to speak; indeed of +any of the great problems of reconstruction it would be presumption on +my part to hold forth. + +It is not for the soldier to see visions and dream dreams: there are +others more fitted, more suited to the task. It is of the individual I +have written; it is to the individual I dedicate the result of my +labours. + +I remember meeting a Padre one day several months ago. He was +conjuring at a concert for an Infantry Battalion that evening--between +the forefinger and thumb of the right hand you now perceive a baby +giraffe sort of business--and I told him I thought it was very good of +him to take the immense amount of trouble he always did to amuse the +boys. + +"Good!" His face expressed genuine amazement. "Good! To these boys! +I tell you, when I think of what the ordinary private soldier is doing +for me--aye! and for all of us who are not in the Infantry--I just +stand quite still and take off my hat." + +And so I have written of the individual. Inadequately it is true, and +with a due sense of my short-comings in attempting the task, I have +written of the men I have met and lived with across the narrow sea. +Not of armies and army corps, not of divisions and brigades, but of the +units--the individual men--who form them. For it is the man we know. +It is the man who has suffered and endured, the man who touches our +laughter and our tears. He has given his all, unstintingly, +unsparingly; and now, perchance, he lies peaceful and at rest in the +land where the seed has been sown; perchance he will come back to the +country he has fought for when the final reckoning is over. And +whichever it is--the quiet, solitary grave with the cross above it and +the wild flowers blooming freshly underneath the crumbling walls of a +town that was; or the taking up again of the work so long +neglected--the office or the ranch, the railway in Yukon or the rubber +in Malay--whichever it is, he has played the great game well. To him +the great reward. . . . + +And the women? the women who have suffered and endured with their +men--more than their men. To some the great reunion, the blessed +feeling that it is over. Never again will he go into the great +unknown; never again that clutching terror of the telegraph boy. He +has come back, and there shall be no more parting. The joy bells will +be ringing out: the war will be over--won. + +Thus shall it be for some. + + +And for the others. . . . + +It is not for me to comfort: there are things too deep for the written +word. Only one thing I say, and I say it with a full sense of its +pitiful inadequacy. When the joy bells do ring out, and in the ringing +seem to mock so hideously the empty chair, the voice for ever silent, +then in that bitter moment, remember one thing. Somewhere or other, in +the Soldier's Valhalla, he is waiting for you--waiting with a trusty +band of friends, happy, contented, proud. He was glad to pay that +final price; he knows now, where all is clear, that it was necessary. +He would have you know it too. . . . + + +_For except a grain of wheat fall into the ground and die. . . ._ + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO MAN'S LAND*** + + +******* This file should be named 23874.txt or 23874.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/8/7/23874 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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