"I was frightened stiff, because I admit I believe in ghosts, even if Ikey doesn't, and I didn't want to run the risk of clicking it later on by listening to the story. Even Jim felt my way; he had his tail between his legs and was trembling all over and moaning his protest in dog language. But of course, Ikey insisted that the story be told, so mournfully shaking his head, Jerry's brother carried on:
"'You shouldn't o' defied the spirits, but it is written that I 'ave to talk when awsked. I'm the Recruitin' Sergeant for the absent voices, detyled h'in Jerry's plyce.
"'You want to 'ear about Jerry? Fools—they called 'im 'Aunted Jerry, but 'e weren't'aunted, 'e could just see—'e could see into the future—could sort o' tell what was a-goin' to 'appen. 'E talked to the dead bodies, the deserted 'omes o' the spirits, an' they, 'overin' in the h'air, 'eard 'im, an' talked back, an' told 'im what was a-goin' to 'appen.
"'E alw'ys 'ad spirits h'around 'im,—ghosts, you call 'em, but there h'ain't no such thing as ghosts,—they're souls a'wanderin' h'around—a'lookin' for recruits for the h'army o' the dead, as you ignorantly calls 'em. They're about us now—'
"I slowly eased down the firestep away from him.
"'Jerry used to talk to the departed. 'E would sit in a cemetery h'at night, in rest billets, an' receive messages from them what cawn't speak no more. Not the ones as what 'ad just been buried, it tykes time, it tykes time, but the ones what were just bones, the trained spirits.
"'Up the line, Jerry 'ad 'is mission. At night 'e would crawl out in front, an' listento the voices, when the wind was dead and couldn't carry 'em. The Lone Tree was 'is 'eadquarters. Bodies were a-plenty at h'its roots, reconnoitering patrols, h'English an' German, meet out there.'
"Then he paused. A faint wind was blowing. Jerry's brother listened intently, sighed, and with an unearthly fire burning in his eyes, said—
"'The Lone Tree is a-callin', it's a-callin' me. Jerry is tryin' to myke me h'understand. I'm listenin', Jerry, I'm a-listenin'.'
"With that he stood up on the firestep, head and shoulders over the top. Blinking broad daylight it was, too. We were all afraid to pull him down. Looking out towards the Lone Tree, he started murmuring,—
"'Louder, Jerry, louder. I cawn't understand, the voices are mixed. Jerry, it's your brother a-callin'; what is it, lad, what is it?'
"Every second we expected to see his brains spatter the parapet from a German sniper's bullet. Suddenly, Crack! Crack! Crack! threebullets struck the parapet and went singing over the trench. We all ducked, but apparently Jerry's brother never moved.
"With a deep sigh he sank onto the firestep, saying, 'I can 'ear the voices, but as yet cawn't understand 'em, but I will—I will—it tykes trainin'.'
"I believe he did not know that he had been fired at. Anyway it never fazed him. My blood curdled at the thought of how near he had come to joining those spirits of his.
"Ikey placed his hand on Jerry's brother's knee and said:
"'Righto, mate, we know you can see far beyond us, but tell us about 'Aunted Jerry an' the poem 'e wrote the d'y before 'e clicked it at the Lone Tree.'
"Jerry's brother nodded in a comprehending way, and unbuttoning the pocket of his tunic, drew out a creased and muddy piece of paper, which he reverently and fondly opened out upon his knee, and then in an unnatural, sing-song voice, which sent cold shivers up and downmy spine, recited the following, reading from the paper."
At this point Dick started searching the pockets of his tunic, pulling out, piece by piece, a collection of stuff that would have made a junk-man sit up and take notice. A look of disappointment came over Dick's face; he paused, thought hard for about a minute, and then with an exclamation of satisfaction, went over to his pack and extricated therefrom an old leather wallet, opened it and carefully removed a piece of paper, muddy, creased and torn. With a sigh of relief he exclaimed, "Blime me, I thought I had lost that poem. One of Jerry's brother's mates gave it to me after,—but that would be telling the story backwards."
Squinting very hard at the paper in his hand, Dick read aloud:
"Between the lines, in 'No Man's Land,'With foliage gone, an' trunk what's torn,A lonely sentry tykes 'is stand,Silently watchin' from morn to morn.When sun is gone, an' moon is bright,An' spreads its rays o' ghost-like beams;H'against the sky, that tree o' blight,A ghastly 'angman's gibbet seems.When night is black, the wind's faint sighThrough its shell-torn branches moansA call to men, 'To die, to die!'They answers with groans and groans.But obey the call, for 'more an' more,'An' Death sits by an' grins an' grins,Watchin' the fast growin' score,'Arvest of 'is sentry's whims.There they lie 'uddled, friend an' foe,Ghastly 'eaps, h'English, French an' 'Un,An' still those piles forever grow,The sorry toll is never done.No wooden cross to mark their fall,No tombstone theirs, no carven rocks,Just the Lone Tree with its grim call,Which forever mocks an' mocks."
"When Jerry's brother had finished, a dead silence ensued. I nervously lighted a fag, and out of the corner of my eye noticed that Sailor Bill was uneasily squirming on the firestep.
"Letting out a sigh, which seemed to whistle between his teeth, our 'guest' carried on:
"'Jerry weren't much at cheerful writin', were 'e? But 'e 'ad a callin'. H'even back 'ome in Blighty, 'e weren't much for lights nor fun. 'E took after our mother. The neighbors called 'er 'aunted, too, but she weren't. She could see things like Jerry. Used to talk to the governor, set 'is plyce at table an' 'e dead these fifteen years."
"Then he went on telling us about the Lone Tree as if we had never seen it, and there it blinking well was about a hundred yards from us out in front. Many a time at night on patrol work have I stumbled over a dead body at its base. I tell you, Yank, it was creepy work listening to him.
"'This 'ere Lone Tree Sentinel, Jerry writes about in 'is poetry, is an h'old tree in No Man's Land a 'underd yards or more from the firestep. It is pretty well knocked about by bullets an' shell fragments. It mykes a good 'eadquarters for spirits an' voices, stickin' sorto' lonely-like up h'against the sky at night. It are the guide-post o' the dead, h'even though patrols uses it to show 'em the w'y back to their trenches. But those what follows its pointin' arm 'as started on their w'y to the absent voices.'
"We all shivered because every one of us had used that guide-post more than once while out in front.
"'Out there in the blackness h'it's easy to lose your w'y h'unless you 'ave spirits a-guidin' you, like me an' Jerry 'as. At h'its roots were many dead, just a rottin' out there, a tykin' o' their trainin' fer the spirits. When the wind was a-blowin' our w'y, to the ignorant it were sort o' h'unpleasant, but Jerry an' me knew, h'it were their message, they was answering the roll o' the spirits.
"'At that time No Man's Land were no plyce for mortals what with the bullets an' shells a-singin' o' their death song d'y an' night, but Jerry didn't mind, 'e 'ad 'is mission an' 'ad to answer the call o' the voices.
"'Every time our Captain called for volunteers fer a raidin' party or reconnoitering patrol, 'Aunted Jerry, as you call 'im, 'ad to volunteer 'cause 'e was a recruitin' fer the dead, same as me. After a while 'e was never awsked if 'e wanted to go, 'is nyme was just plyced on the list as a-goin'. When 'e returned from h'out in front 'e used to go to 'is dugout an' if any o' the party 'ad gone West 'e put their nymes in a book an' used to sit an' talk to them nymes. 'E were a teachin' 'em their first lesson o' the voices. 'E alw'ys kep' h'account o' the number o' dead at the tree. 'E could see in the dark, could Jerry, syme as me.
"'Sometimes in the d'ytime 'e would rig up a periscope on 'is own, and sit on the firestep for hours a-lookin' out in No Man's Land at the Lone Tree, and the bodies around it. This sort o' got on our Captain's nerves, an' 'e gave Jerry orders not to use a periscope. After this order Jerry used to sit h'off by 'imself on the firestep a-musin' an' a-musin'. The otherblokes laughed at 'im, but I knew what he were a-doin'—'e were a-talkin' to the spirit o' the Lone Tree.
"'Then 'e got sort o' reckless, an' because it were against orders for 'im to use a periscope, 'e used to, in the bloomin' d'ytime, stick 'is 'ead over the top an' gaze at the Lone Tree. Bullets from German snipers would kick up the dirt an' tear the sand-bags all around 'im, but none of 'em ever 'it 'im. No bullet ever myde could kill Jerry, 'e were protected.
"'The rest o' the blokes in the trench would pull 'im down off the firestep. They thought they were a-savin' 'is life, but Jerry weren't afraid from bullets. 'E knew, same as me, that they couldn't 'arm 'im. Then our Captain—'e 'ad brains, 'e 'ad—said that Jerry was balmy, an' gave orders to the Sergeant-M'jor to tyke 'im back to the Doctors to send 'im to Blighty. Jerry was told about this the night before the mornin' 'e was to leave. 'E was greatly upset, 'e was, an' all that d'y did nothin' but talk to the spirits—the air were full of 'em—I could 'ear o' their voices. About ten o'clock Jerry was missed. The next morning 'e was still a missin'. For two d'ys nothin' was 'eard o' Jerry. Then the Royal Irish Rifles took over a sector o' trench on our right. A lot o' our blokes told 'em about Jerry bein' missin'. A few o' 'em got around me, an' I described Jerry to 'em, but I weren't afraid for Jerry—I knew where 'e was—'e were with his spirits.
"'That night an Irish patrol went out, an' when they returned they brought a body with 'em; said they'd found it at the foot o' the Lone Tree. It were Jerry, all right, but 'e weren't 'it nowhere. Two bloomin' doctors examined 'im, lookin' for wounds, but couldn't find none, because there weren't none. 'E was dead, all right, an' that bloomin' Captain—'e 'ad brains, 'e 'ad—was responsible for 'is death. 'E 'ad tried to tyke Jerry aw'y from 'is spirits, so Jerry crawled out to the Lone Tree to answer its call. 'E answered it, and now 'e's with the spirits 'e loves, an' sometime I'll join 'im an''em. 'E's with 'em, all right, I know—I know."
"Just then Jim started to whimper. If the truth were known, we all felt like whimpering.
"Without another word, Jerry's brother got up, and muttering to himself, passed out of sight around the traverse. As he disappeared from view, Sailor Bill exclaimed:
"'Blawst my deadlights, but if a bloke like that ever shipped in the Navy, in a fortnight's time 'e would bloomin' well be an Admiral, because 'e would be the only one left in the blinkin' Navy. Gives me the proper creeps. 'Ow in 'ell 'is company stands for 'im, I don't know. 'Ow about it, Curly—why 'asn't 'e been sent to Blighty as balmy?'
"'I'll tell you, Bill,' answered Curly; 'this bloke only gets these fits occasionally. He's a damned good soldier—always on the job, and next to Corporal French, and his brother, Haunted Jerry, he's the best scout for work in No Man's Land that ever put a foot in these blinkin' ditches. It's only lately that he'sbeen having these spells so often, and yesterday the Sergeant-Major told me that he was under observation, and that it would only be a short time before he was shipped back.'
"Jim was still whimpering. This got on Ikey's nerves and he gave Jim a sharp cuff on the side of the head. This was the first time a hand had been raised against Jim since he had joined us months back. He gave Ikey a piteous look, and, sticking his stump of a tail between his legs, disappeared from the firebay.
"All afternoon we tried to be as cheerful as possible, but our merriment was very artificial. Every laugh seemed forced and strained. Haunted Jerry had sure put a damper on us."
Yank started to speak, but Dick, noticing his action, held up his hand and said,—
"That isn't all, Yank, the important part is yet to come, and after hearing the rest, if you don't believe in spirits, my idea of your intelligence will be greatly lessened.
"Shortly after Jerry's brother told us his story, we were relieved and went into rest billets. A month later we again took over the same trench and there was the Lone Tree same as usual, except for a part of the branch being shot away, the end looking just like a human hand beckoning. It certainly was queer looking. I hated to look at it against the sky. Seemed to be calling me.
"As fate would have it, Jerry's brother's company was on our right. I saw him several times but avoided him. Damn me, I admit I was afraid of him.
"Then our brigade got busy and decided to go over the top. The barrage lifted at six in the morning, and the first wave went over. We were in the second. The rifle and machine-gun fire was hot and the first wave soon thinned out before they had gone thirty yards.
"A fellow in the first wave, named Johnson, clicked it in the knee from a bit of shrapnel. I could see him through the periscope. He fell, tried to get up, got hit again and went down. He was only about six yards in front of our wire.
"After going down the second time, his tunic on the right shoulder red with blood, he remained motionless. I thought he was dead, but no, in a short while he moved and slowly rose on his good knee, pushing on the ground with his left arm, and started to call to us. Down on my right, a tussle took place among the blokes crouching on the firestep and suddenly a form loomed over the parapet and I saw Jerry's brother running high through a lane in the wire. He came to the wounded man who, seeing him, tried to crawl away. Jerry's brother stopped and, standing erect, stretched both arms in the direction of the Lone Tree. Just then a Boche machine-gun turned loose. The bullets knocked up the dirt all around the two. Jerry's brother never noticed them, but stooping, picked up Johnson, as if he were a feather, and throwing him over his shoulder, head hanging down in back of him,walkedtoward our trench. When he reached the parapet he let Johnson down. Half of Johnson's head wasgone, literally torn off, and Jerry's brother wasn't hit. Seeing that Johnson was dead, Jerry paused, stooped over and gave him a long look, then, facing in the direction of the Lone Tree, he again stretched out his arms, and shouted, 'I'm a-comin', Jerry, I'm a-comin', one more, Jerry, one more.' Stooping, he lifted the dead Johnson on his shoulder and started at a slow run toward the Lone Tree, Johnson's arms dangling and flopping about his legs. Just then the word came for the second wave to go over.
"That night we were back in our original trench,—hadn't gained an inch. The stretcher-bearers brought in lots of bodies from out in front, among them Johnson and Jerry's brother. Yes, he was dead. And, Yank, the doctors could not find a mark on him, while Johnson's body had twenty-eight wounds. Now, if that isn't spirits, what is it?"
"'Eart trouble," ejaculated Ikey.
But Yank, slowly shaking his head, left the dugout and went into the fire trench.
CHRISTMAS IN A DUGOUT
As Told by Yank while on a Working Party, to a Squad of Royal Engineers, in Their Dugout
CHRISTMAS IN A DUGOUT
"Yousay you fellows have just come out and want to know how I enjoyed last Christmas. Well, I'll tell you the circumstances, and let you judge for yourself about the enjoyment part of it.
"I guess nearly all of you met our gun's crew at that show we gave at S——, so it will be unnecessary to introduce them. As well as I remember this is what happened:
"It was Christmas Eve, and cold; not the kind of cold which sends the red blood tingling through your veins and makes you want to be 'up and at 'em,' but that miserable damp kind that eats into the marrow of your bones, attacking you from the rear and sending cold shivers up and down your spinal column. It gives you a feeling of dread and loneliness.
"The three of us, Curly, Happy, and myself, were standing at the corner of Yankee Avenueand Yiddish Street, waiting for the word 'Stand to,' upon which we were to mount our machine-gun on the parapet and go on watch for two hours with our heads sticking over the top.
"Yankee Avenue was the name of the fire trench, while Yiddish Street was the communication trench leading to the rear. You see, we were occupying 'Y' Sector of the front line of our brigade.
"The trench was muddy, and in some places a thin crust of ice was beginning to form around the edges of the puddles.
"We had wrapped our feet and legs with empty sand-bags, and looked like snow shovelers on Fifth Avenue. My teeth were chattering with the cold. Happy was slapping his hands on his thighs, while Curly had unbuttoned one of the buttons on his overcoat, and with his left hand was desperately trying to reach under his right armpit,—no doubt a 'cootie' had gone marketing for its Christmas dinner.
"Then came the unwelcome 'Stand to,' and it was up on the firestep for us, to get our gun mounted. This took about five minutes.
"Curly, while working away, was muttering: 'Blime me, Christmas Eve, and 'ere I am somew'eres in Frawnce, 'alf starved with the cold.'
"Happy was humming, 'Keep the Home Fires Burning.' Right then, any kind of a home fire would have been very welcome.
"It was black as pitch in No Man's Land. Curly stopped muttering to himself and Happy's humming ceased. There was serious work in front of us. For two hours we had to penetrate that blackness with our straining eyes to see that Fritz did not surprise us with some German Kultur Christmas stunt.
"Suddenly, Happy, who was standing on the firestep next to me, gripped my arm, and in a low, excited whisper, asked:
"'Did you see that out in front, Yank, a little to the right of that black patch in the barbed wire?'
"Turning my eyes in the direction indicated, with my heart pounding against my ribs, I waited for something to develop.
"Sure enough, I could make out a slight movement. Happy must have seen it at the same time, because he carefully eased his rifle over the top, ready for instant use. My rifle was already in position. Curly was fumbling with the flare pistol. Suddenly a loud 'plop,' as he pulled the trigger, and a red streak shot up into the air as the star shell described an arc out in front; it hit the ground and burst, throwing out a white, ghostly light. A frightened 'meouw,' and a cat, with speed clutch open, darted from the wire in front of us, jumped over our gun and disappeared into the blackness of the trench. Curly ducked his head, and Happy let out a weak, squeaky laugh. I was frozen stiff with fear. Pretty soon the pump action of my heart was resumed, and once more I looked out into No Man's Land.
"For the remainder of our two hours onguard nothing happened. Then we 'turned over' to the second relief and, half frozen, waded through the icy mud to the entrance of our dugout.
"From the depths of the earth came the notes of a harmonica playing 'Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag, and Smile, Smile, Smile.' Stumbling down the muddy steps we entered the dugout. This was a regular dugout, not like the two-by-four one we generally had wished on us.
"Eight boys of our machine-gun section, sitting on their packs, had formed a circle around a wooden box. In an old ammunition tin six candles were burning. I inwardly shuddered at this extravagance but suddenly remembered that it was Christmas Eve. Sailor Bill was making cocoa over the flames of a 'Tommy's cooker,' while Ikey was toasting bread in front of a fire bucket, the fumes from which nearly choked us.
"As soon as we made our appearance in the dugout the circle stood up, and, as is usual withyou English, unselfishly made room for us to get around the fire bucket to thaw out our stiffened joints. In about twenty minutes or so the cold of the trench was forgotten and we joined in the merriment. The musician put his harmonica away, which action was greatly appreciated by the rest of us. It was Ikey. Bursting with importance, 'Sailor Bill' addressed us:
"'Gentlemen, it is now time for this ship's company to report progress as to what they have done for the Christmas feed which is to be held tomorrow at eight bells. Yank, let's hear yours.'
"I reported one dozen eggs, two bottles of white wine, one bottle of red wine, eight packets of Gold Flake 'fags' and one quart bottle of champagne, which had cost me five francs, my last and lonely note on the Banque de France, at a French estaminet.
"This report was received with a cheer. Ikey was next in order. He proudly stated that he had saved his rum issue for the lasteleven days, and consequently was able to donate to the feast his water bottle, three-fourths full of rum. We knew he had 'swiped' the rum, but said nothing because this would help out in making brandy sauce for the plum pudding. Sailor Bill informed us that he had a fruit cake, a bottle of pickled walnuts, and two tins of deviled ham, which had been sent out to him from London. Each man had something to report. I carefully made a list of the articles opposite the name of the person donating them, and turned the list over to Bill, who was to act as cook on the following day.
"Just then Lance Corporal Hall came into the dugout and, warming his hands over the fire bucket, said:
"'If you blokes want to hear something that will take you home to Blighty, come up into the fire trench a minute.'
"None of us moved. That fire bucket was too comfortable. After much coaxing, Sailor Bill, Ikey, and myself followed Hall out of thedugout up into the fire trench. A dead silence reigned, and we started to return. Hall blocked our way, and whispered:
"'Just a minute, boys, and listen.'
"Pretty soon, from the darkness out in front, we heard the strains of a cornet playing 'It's a Long, Long Trail We're Winding.' We stood entranced till the last note died out. After about a four or five minute wait the strains were repeated, and then silence. I felt lonely and homesick.
"Out of the firebay on our left a Welsh voice started singing the song. The German cornet player must have heard it, because he picked up the tune and accompanied the singer on his cornet. I had never heard anything so beautiful in my life before. The music from the German trench suddenly ceased, and in the air overhead came the sharp Crack! Crack! of machine gun bullets, as some Boche gunner butted in on the concert. We ducked and returned to our dugout.
"The men were all tired out, and soon rasping snores could be heard from under the cover of blankets and overcoats.
"The next day was Christmas, and we eagerly awaited the mail, which was to be brought up by the ration party at noon.
"Not a shot or shell had been fired all morning. The sun had come out, and although the trenches were slippery with mud, still it was warm, and we felt the Christmas spirit running through our veins. We all turned in and cleaned up the dugout. Making reflectors out of ammunition tins, sticking them into the walls of the dugout, we placed a lighted candle in each. Sailor Bill was hustling about, preparing the Christmas spread. He placed a waterproof sheet on the floor, and adding three blankets spread another waterproof over the top for a table-cloth, and arranged the men's packs around the edges for chairs.
"Presently the welcome voice of our Sergeant came from the entrance of the dugout:
"'Come on, me lads, lend a 'and with the post.'
"There was a mad rush for the entrance. In a couple of minutes or so the boys returned, staggering under a load of parcels. As each name was read off, a parcel was thrown over to the expectant Tommy. My heart was beating with eagerness as the Sergeant picked up each parcel: then a pang of disappointment as the name was read off.
"Each of the others received from one to four parcels. There were none left. I could feel their eyes sympathizing with me.
"Sailor Bill whispered something to the Sergeant that I could not get. The Sergeant turned to me and said:
"'Why, blime me, Yank, I must be goin' balmy. I left your parcel up in the trench. I'll be right back.'
"He returned in a few minutes with a large parcel addressed to me. I eagerly took the parcel and looked for the postmark. It was from London. Another pang of disappointment passed through me. I knew no one in London. My mail had to come from America.
"Then it all flashed over me in an instant. About two weeks before I had noticed a collection being taken up in the section and at the time thought it very strange that I was not asked to donate. The boys had all chipped in to make sure that I would not be forgotten on Christmas. They eagerly crowded around me as I opened the parcel. It contained nearly everything under the sun, including some American cigarettes.
"Tears of gratitude came to my eyes, but some way or other I managed not to betray myself. Those Tommies certainly were tickled at my exclamations of delight as I removed each article. Out of the corner of my eye I could see them nudging each other.
"A man named Smith in our section had been detailed as runner to our Captain and was not present at the distribution of the mail. Three parcels and five letters were placed on his pack so he would receive them on his return to the dugout.
"In about ten minutes a man came from thetrench loaded down with small oblong boxes. Each Tommy, including myself, received one. They were presents from the Queen of England, and each box contained a small plum pudding, cigarettes, a couple of cigars, matches and chocolate. Every soldier of the British Army in the trenches received one of these boxes on Christmas Day, as most of you know.
"At last Sailor Bill announced that Christmas dinner was ready and we each lost no time in getting to our respective packs, sitting around in a circle. Smith was the only absentee, and his parcels and letters, still unopened, were on his pack. He was now a half hour overdue.
"Sailor Bill, noting our eagerness to begin, held up his hand and said:
"'Now boys, we're all shipmates together. Don't you think it would be better to wait a few minutes more for Smith?"
"We all assented, but, soldier-like, cussed him for his delay.
"Ten minutes passed—fifteen—then twenty.All eyes were turned in Sailor Bill's direction. He answered our looks with: 'Go to it, boys, we can't wait for Smith. I don't know what's keeping him, but you know his name is in orders for leave and perhaps he is so tickled that he's going to see his wife and three little nippers in Blighty, that he's lost his bearings and has run aground.'
"We started in, and waxed merry for a few minutes. Then there'd be an uncomfortable pause and all eyes would turn in the direction of the vacant place. Uneasiness prevailed.
"Suddenly, the entrance to the dugout was darkened and a form came stumbling down. With one accord we all shouted:
"'Come on, Smith, you're missing one of the best Christmas dinners of your life."
"Our Sergeant entered the dugout. One look at his face was enough. We knew he was the bearer of ill tidings.
"With tears in his eyes and a catch in his voice, he asked:
"'Which is Smith's pack?'
"We all solemnly nodded our heads in the direction of the vacant place. Without a word the Sergeant picked up the letters, parcels and pack and started to leave the dugout.
"Sailor Bill could stand it no longer, and just as the Sergeant was about to leave he asked:
"'Out with it, Sergeant, what's happened?'
"The Sergeant turned around, and, in a choking voice, said:
"'Boys, Smith's gone West. Some bloody German sniper got him through the napper as he was passing that bashed-in part in Yiddish Street.'
"Sailor Bill ejaculated:
"'Poor old Smith, gone West.' Then he paused and sobbed out: 'My God, think of his wife and three little nippers waiting in Blighty for him to come home for the Christmas holidays.'
"I believe that right at that moment a solid vow of vengeance registered itself in every heart around that festive circle.
"The next day we buried poor Smith in alittle cemetery behind the lines. While standing around his grave our artillery suddenly opened up with an intense bombardment on the German lines, and as every shell passed, screaming overhead, we sent a prayer of vengeance with it.
"As the grave was filled in, I imagined a huge rainbow embracing the graves in that cemetery on which, in letters of fire, was written, sarcastically in German, 'Peace on Earth, Good Will Toward Men.' But such is war.
"So, boys, that was my last Christmas. Where I'll be next Christmas, God only knows.
"Next day my mail came in from America, and didn't cheer me much because I was thinking of Smith's wife and nippers.
"So long, boys, I've got to go."
A SIREN OF THE BOCHES
As Told by Yank from a Personal Experience Related to Him by a Soldier Named Atwell
A SIREN OF THE BOCHES
TheBritish Lion was roaring and his growls could be heard all along the Western Front. Many German Generals were stirring uneasily in their large and sumptuously furnished concrete, shell-proof dugouts, kilos behind the German front line trenches, as the ever increasing thundering roar reached their ears. Way down in their hearts there was an unknown dread, perhaps a weakening of faith in the all powerful might of their 'Me und Gott.'
"We had a close-up view of the King of Beasts, in his majestic might, as he crouched ready for a spring, his tail furiously and impatiently thumping the ground. In a way he was a sorry-looking specimen; patches of hide were missing, revealing wounds, some of whichhad entirely healed, while others were still freshly bleeding, exposing the raw flesh. If these scars had been labelled it would have been easy to read, 'Lusitania,' 'Hospital Ships Torpedoed,' 'Zeppelin Murders,' 'Poison Gas,' 'Liquid Fire.' The memory and pain of these atrocities increased his impatience to spring, whetted his appetite to rend and tear.
"The British bombardment of the German Lines was on, a bombardment which lasted for eight days and nights. At night the sky was a red glare, as if the world were on fire. Scarlet tongues of flame would suddenly shoot up from the German lines and as suddenly die out, only to be replaced by countless others as thousands of British shells burst in the air or buried themselves in the ground searching out the German Rats in their holes.
"Continuous flashes from the British rear paid tribute to the artillerymen, stripped to the waist, sweating and scorched by the breath of their guns, as they fed shells to the iron monsters. Overhead a rushing noise like the passing of an express train, or a moaning sigh through the air meant that the steel messengers of death and vengeance were on their way, on their way to give the Germans a taste of the Hell that they had prepared for others. The earth seemed to heave and crack as if some huge giant had been buried alive and was struggling for the air. This bombardment was the forerunner of the 'Battle of the Somme.'
"Atwell and I were alone in the machine gunners' dugout of the support trench, the gun's crew being on duty, in the fire trench. Atwell, a great big lovable fellow, was my mate. We had both been detailed to the Military Police of the Divisional Intelligence Department and were engaged upon 'spy work.' Atwell, although of a naturally cheery disposition, occasionally lapsed into fits of despondency.
"By the light from the stump of candle I was making out my previous day's report to turn in to Brigade Headquarters. At intervals the entrance to the dugout would light up red as ashell burst; the candle would flicker and almost go out from the pressure of the air. My mate was sitting on his pack, his back leaning against the dank and muddy wall of the dugout. Finishing my report, I got out a fag, lighted it, and with an anxious, lonely feeling hearkened to the roar of the hell outside. A long drawn sigh caused me to look in Atwell's direction. The rays from the candle lighted up his face, the rest of his body being in semi-darkness. Never before in my life had I seen such a dejected and woebegone countenance. This, in a way, angered me, because I, myself, right then had a feeling of impending disaster, a sort of dread, intermingled with a longing for the faraway fields and flowers in Blighty. I wanted to be cheered, expected it, but Atwell's face looked like a morgue.
"Forcing a smile, which, in comparison no doubt made a graveyard look like a musical comedy, I leaned over, slapped him on the knee and said:
"'Come out of your trance and cheer up. We've both got a damn good chance for Blighty with this bombardment on.'
"Atwell looked in my direction, and in a tone which I had never heard before from him, answered:
"'I've been out here since '14. I've buried many a mate'—(this to me was very cheering)—'and I've seen many a lucky bloke on a stretcher bound for Blighty, and many an unlucky one on a stretcher bound for a hole in the ground, and never gave it a thought, but right now I feel that my stay in the trenches is short.'
"I butted in with, 'Cheero, mate, we all get downhearted at times. You are going to march into Berlin with the rest of us.'
"'March into Hell!' Atwell answered. 'I tell you that I am going to click it, I can feel it coming. Whether it's Blighty or a wooden cross, remains to be seen. I've had something on my mind since September, 1914, and it's been worrying me pink. I'm going to tell youthe story and I'll give you my oath that you're the first one that ever heard it from my lips. I've got to get it out of my system.'
"Just then came a whizzing through the air. We both instinctively turned our eyes towards the entrance of the dugout and waited for the burst. Nothing happened.
"'Another bloomin' dud,' ejaculated Atwell. 'A few more German marks gone to seed.' Then again the gloomy look spread over his countenance. I was getting nervous and uneasy. Fritz was dropping his shells too near for comfort. Trying to hide my fear, I said:
"'For th' love o' Blighty, Atwell, crack a smile. Give us that story of yours, or else I'll go balmy. You'd better get it off your chest, because Fritz is replying to our strafing, and if an eight-inch shell ever hits this dugout they'll need no wooden crosses for us. Our names will appear on the Roll of Honour, under the caption "Missing."'
"With another sigh escaping from his lips, which sent a cold shiver up and down my spinalcolumn, he lighted a fag and started in. This is what he told me:
"'It was back in September, 1914. You know I came out with the First Expeditionary Force, the time when all the fighting was being done in the open. The Germans were smashing everything before them in their drive to Paris. Our Brigade was one of the few opposed to Von Kluck. It was a case of hold them for a few hours and then retreat,—always retreat,—with the German tide lapping our heels. We didn't even have time to bury our dead. The grub was rotten, and we were just about fagged out, dead tired, with no prospect of relief or rest in front of us, and Hell behind.
"'It was customary for small patrols of ten to twenty men, under a Sergeant, to reconnoitre on our flanks. One day I was sent out in command of one of these parties. Oh, yes, I was a Sergeant then, but I lost my stripes,—no, I wasn't busted,—just resigned of my own accord. I was in for a commission, too, but of course I let it go with the Sergeant's stripes.Guess I was lucky at that, because if I had received it, no doubt by this time I'd be pushing up the daisies somewhere in France. In those days, you know, officers didn't last long,—made fine targets for the Boches.
"'The patrol I was in command of carried rations for three days. We had orders to scout around on our left flank, keeping in touch with the advancing Germans, but not to engage them,—just get information. If the information was valuable, I was to send it in by one of the men. There were fourteen of us, and we were mounted. I was in the Lancers then, and was considered a fair rider,—got transferred to this outfit after I resigned from Sergeant,—guess they smelled a rat.
"'The first day nothing happened. We just scouted around. By nightfall we were pretty tired, so when we came to a village,—wasn't a village either; just five or six houses clustered around a church,—I decided to go into billets for the night.
"'Riding up to the largest house, which hada stone wall running around its garden, I dismounted at the gate and knocked at the front door—the house was on a sort of knoll. Then the sweetest voice I ever heard called out in trembling tones, in perfect English, too, with just the suspicion of an accent:
"'"Who is there, please?"
"'I answered: "Just a few English Lancers who desire a place to rest for the night. The barn will do. We don't want anything to eat, as we have rations with us. So, if you will accommodate us, miss, I will be much obliged." I was in love with that girl before I saw her—the voice had done the trick. She answered: "Just a moment, please, until I ask father." And then the door shut and the light disappeared. We didn't have to wait long before the door reopened, and she called to me: "Father bids you welcome, and so do I, soldiers of England!"
"'We could hear her dainty steps approaching. Then she opened the gate. There she stood on the gravel path with the lantern heldshoulder high. I trembled all over—thought I saw a vision. I tell you, mate, she was beautiful. One of the kind you would like to take in your arms, but wouldn't for fear of crushing. No use for me to try to describe her, it's out of my line; but she captured me heart and soul. There I stood like a great, big boob, shaking and stuttering. At last I managed to blurt out a stammering, "Thank you, miss."
"'She showed us the way to the stables, and stood in the door holding the lantern so we could see to unsaddle. I was fumbling around with the buckles, but for the life of me I couldn't get that saddle off. One of the men, with a wink and a broad grin, came over and helped me. That grin got my goat, so on the sly I kicked him on the shin. He let out an explosive "damn." After that the silence was painful, only broken by our horses impatiently champing their bits. The poor fellow felt like a fool, and I felt worse. I could have killed him for his thoughtlessness. But our embarrassment was short-lived. A silvery laughcame from behind the lantern, a laugh that was not loud, but that echoed and reëchoed among the rafters overhead,—even the horses stopped to listen. I can hear it right now, Yank.
"'After the horses had been unsaddled and fed, the men looked appealingly at me. I knew what they wanted—they were dog-tired, and dying to hit the hay. Just as I was about to ask permission for them to turn in, the angel butted in with:
"'"Poor, tired soldiers, sleepy and hungry. Come right into the house. Father has some supper and wine ready for you."
"'We stammered our thanks and followed her into the house like a string of sheep, I in the lead. To me that meal was a dream. She flitted around the table, filling a glass here and there, laughing with us, and making us feel at home. The war was forgotten. By this time I was madly in love with her, and she knew it, for when she leaned over my shoulder to replenish my glass with red wine, her hair would brush my cheek, and once she rested her handon my shoulder and gave it just the slightest squeeze. I was in heaven.
"'It was getting late, and the wine was beginning to tell on the men. They were falling asleep in their chairs. I had a hard job waking four of them to go on guard. They got their rifles and were standing around me for instructions, when our hostess came over to me, and, resting her hand on my arm, with again the slightest of squeezes and pleading eyes, interceded for them.
"'"Sergeant," she said, "let the poor boys sleep. They are so tired. There is no danger. The Germans are miles away. I know this to be true. Do this for me." And again that squeeze.
"'I, like a fool, listened to her, and gave an unwilling assent. The men looked their gratitude. Jean, an old manservant, led them out to the barn, where an abundance of hay had been spread for their beds. I was following when a whisper in my ear made my head swim:
"'"Don't go yet, my Sergeant, stay with me."
"'I stayed, worse luck.
"'We sat on a settee, talking, and her arm stole around my waist. I wasn't slow, either, and as you know, mate, I have a pretty good reach. Once she spoke to me in French, but I shook my head in bewilderment. In a few minutes the servant returned, and Adrienne—she told me her name—called him to her, and said, "Jean, go down into the wine cellar and get some of that old port and give it to the soldiers of England. Poor boys, it will warm them." She added something in French I could not understand, then she said: "Leave a bottle here for the Sergeant and me."
"'I protested against more wine for the boys. Her pleading overruled my good judgment, and I consented. The servant left to do her mission, and I proposed. Her answer was a kiss. I was the happiest man in France.
"'Presently Jean returned with a basketfulof bottles, and placing one, which had the cork removed, on the table, he silently withdrew in the direction of the stable.
"'Adrienne poured out a glass of wine and offered it to me, but as my head was already beginning to buzz, I refused it. With a shrug of the shoulders and a peculiar sort of smile, which made me feel ashamed of my rudeness, she said: "Perhaps my Sergeant will refuse to kiss me."
"'This came as a jolt to me, because our English girls are not so free in asking for kisses. I fancy something in my face betrayed my feelings in the matter, for she came right back at me: "I see the English sergeant does not understand the customs of France,—" And she puckered up her lips and I kissed her.
"'Well, mate, as is usual under the circumstances, we talked, or at least I did. She did most of the listening. That wine sure untied my tongue; another drink or two and I would have promised her Buckingham Palace. Iwas just fool crazy in love with her. Once I caught her stifling a yawn when I was in the midst of one of my verbal barrages, but the pretty smile which quickly followed once again had me in a fool's paradise.
"'My back was to the door leading to the stables. Suddenly it opened. I sprang for my rifle which I had left leaning against the table close at hand. It wasn't there. I faced around and there in the door stood Lance Corporal Hawkins. A pretty looking sight he was, with hay in his hair, cap gone, and no rifle. One look at his eyes was enough. They were red rimmed and watery. The fool was drunk, I could see that at a glance, but he seemed to be fighting it off; he wabbled on his pins, blinked his eyes, and rubbed his forehead with his hand as if bewildered.
"'Angry at being disturbed, I yelled at him, "Well, what do you want? What's the matter?"
"'This seemed to sober him momentarily, because he blurted out in a thick voice, "'Scuseme, Sergeant, but—hic,—back in Blighty,—I could drink 'em all under the table, 'ad the name for a-doin' it in the pubs. Was champeen of 'em all—an' I know this blinkin' red ink I been a drinkin' ain't made me drunk—hic—it's mighty damned queer" (a hard look from me) "excuse me, Miss, but my 'ead's like a buzz saw."
"'I was getting madder and madder. Adrienne seemed to be getting fidgety. She was looking around nervously. I could stand it no longer, so I let out on Hawkins.
"'"You get back to that stable, you drunk, you're a disgrace to that uniform; I'll attend to you in the morning. You're under arrest." Hawkins didn't move and after a strong effort started talking, more to himself than to me,—he seemed in a daze.
"'"Sergeant, I—there's a horse—there's a horse, it's missing—the rifles are gone—can't find a nary one—only thirteen horses—one from fourteen's thirteen—had fourteen—one from thirteen's fourteen—"
"'I looked for my rifle. Adrienne smiled at me and reassuringly pointed to the far corner of the room. There was my rifle. But how did it get there? I was getting alarmed and uneasy. Noting this, Adrienne with her sweetest smile said,—
"'"I see my Sergeant is not used to our French wine; it plays many tricks on the mind." And she glanced significantly at Hawkins.
"'Hawkins, giving me a wondering look, mumbled, "Sergeant's got same kind of drunk—hic—I got—rifles walk—hic—horses fly."
"'Adrienne gave me a look of disdain which decided me. Turning to Hawkins, I ordered,—
"'"You get back to that stable, quick; not another word from you. I tell you, you are drunk."
"'Hawkins gave me a sarcastic salute and muttered loud enough for me to hear, "Sergeant has more brains than Lance Corporal—or wouldn't be sergeant—don't know there'sa war on—thinks this is a blinkin' peace time maneuver—ter 'ell with the bloody horses—a bloomin' rifle's only extra weight." Then he turned around and stumbled out of the door.
"'I was mad to the core. Still I was uneasy about Hawkins's report concerning the rifles and horses and intended immediately to investigate.
"'Adrienne came over to me and, putting a hand on each of my shoulders, looked up into my eyes and said, "My sergeant has taken too much wine. I am sorry. I thought he was strong and could laugh at such trifles, but I see I was mistaken."
"'This sent me up in the air completely. I would show her. Removing her hands from my shoulders, I reached for the glass of wine. She gently took it from me and, just touching the edge of the glass to her pretty lips, passed it back and said in a voice of silver, "Drink, my Sergeant, drink to our betrothal. Drink to the honour of France. Drink to the honourof England. Drink to the confusion of our enemies."
"'I drank with my fool heart pounding against my ribs.
"'She started to fade into a mist,—she was laughing—there were three Adriennes—why was the table floating in the air—the horses—the rifles—we had been betrayed—crash—bang—a shell hit the house. Then blackness.
"'When I awoke, I was lying on the floor. My head seemed to be bursting with pain. The gray dawn was filtering through the curtained windows, and there in the middle of the room, with my Adrienne in his arms, stood a captain of Uhlans. I was a prisoner. I saw it all in a flash. She had betrayed me. Now I knew why she had wanted no guard posted,—why the horse was missing, the rifles gone. The wine we pledged our troth in was drugged. What an ass I had been! Hawkins was right.
"'I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. They were talking in German.Pretty soon the captain came over and roughly shook me. I only grunted. With an exclamation of disgust, he called out in German. Two troopers came in, and, lifting me by the shoulders and feet, carried me out into the air. I slightly opened my eyes, and saw that I had been carried out to the gate, where two horses were standing with their reins thrown over a hitching post. By the equipment I knew one of the horses belonged to the captain, while the other was the orderly's. The two troopers dumped me down on the road, one giving me a kick with his boot. I was lying on my left side, and by a certain hard pressure on my ribs, I knew they had neglected to search me. That pressure was my automatic pistol. A feeling of exultation rushed over me. I had a fighting chance.
"'Fate worked into my hands. A hail in German came from the stables, and one of the troopers left to answer it. The odds were even, one against one. I slowly turned over on my face, as if in sleep, and my fingersgrasped the butt of the automatic. But just then I heard steps on the gravel walk. The captain and Adrienne were coming toward me. She stopped beside me, and said in English: "You poor English fool! Make love to me, will you? Good-bye, my idiotic sergeant. While you are rotting in prison, think of your Adrienne, bah!"
"'My hand gave the butt of my automatic just the slightest squeeze. I was thinking of her hand on my shoulder. Well, two could play that game.
"'The captain said something to the orderly, who left in the direction of the house. Now was my chance. Springing to my feet and leveling the pistol at the captain, I grabbed the reins of his horse from the post and mounted. The orderly came running toward me, yelling out in German, and I could see Uhlans emerging from the stable. I had to work quickly.
"'When I mounted, the captain reached for his revolver. I covered him with mine. With a shriek of terror, Adrienne threw herself onhis breast to protect him. I saw her too late. My bullet pierced her left breast, and a red smudge showed on her white silk blouse as she sank to the ground. I shot the orderly's horse to prevent immediate pursuit. Then I set off at a mad gallop down the road. It was a long chase, but I escaped them.
"'So that is my story, Yank. Just forget that I ever told it to you. Enough to make a fellow get the blues occasionally, isn't it? Just pass me a fag, and take that look off your face.'
"I gave him the cigarette, and, without a word, went out of the dugout, and left him alone. I was thinking of Adrienne. Upon reaching the trench I paused in wonder and fright. The sky was alight with a red glare. The din was terrific. A constant swishing and rushing through the air, intermingled with a sighing moan, gave testimony that our batteries were sweating blood. The trench seemed to be rolling like a ship. I stood in awe. This bombardment of ours was something indescribable, and a shudder passed through me as I thought of the havoc and destruction caused in the German lines. At that moment I really pitied the Germans, but not for long; suddenly hell seemed to burst loose from the German lines as their artillery opened up. I could hear their 5.9's screeching through the air and bursting in the artillery lines in our rear. Occasionally a far off rum-rum-rump-rump-Crash! Bru-u-un-nn-ng-g! could be heard as one of their high calibered shells came over and burst in our reserve. I crouched against the parados, hardly able to breathe. While in this position, right overhead, every instant getting louder, came a German shell—whi-z-z! bang-g-g! I was blinded by the flash. Down I went, into the mud. Struggling to my feet in the red glare of the bombardment, I saw that the traverse on my left had entirely disappeared. Covered with mud, weak and trembling, I staggered to my feet, and again rested against the parados, trembling with fear. I could hear what sounded like far distantvoices coming from the direction of the bashed-in traverse.
"'Blime me, get 'is bloomin' napper out a th' mud; 'e's chokin' to death. Pass me a bandage—tyke 'is b'yonet fer a splint. Blime me, 'is leg is smashed, not 'arf h'it h'ain't. Th' rest o' you blokes 'op it fer a stretcher. 'Ello, 'e's got another one—quick, a tourniquet, the poor bloke's a-bleedin' to death. Quick, h'up against the parapet, 'ere comes another.'
"Whiz-z-z! Bang-g-g!
"Another flare, and once again I was thrown into the mud. I opened my eyes. Bending over me, shaking me by the shoulder and yelling into my ear, was Atwell. His voice sounded faint and far away. Then I came to with a rush.
"'Blime me, Yank, that was a close one. Did it get you?'
"He helped me to my feet and I felt myself all over. Seeing I was all right, he yelled into my ear:
"'We've got to leg it out of 'ere. Fritz issure sendin' over whizz-bangs and Minnies. Number 9 platoon in the next firebay sure clicked it. About eighteen of them have gone West. Come on, we'll see if we can do anything for the poor blokes.'
"We plowed through the mud and came into the next firebay. In the light of the bursting shells an awful sight met our eyes. The traverses were bashed in, the firestep was gone, and in the parados was a hole that looked like a subway entrance. There was mud and blood all around. An officer of the Royal Army Medical Corps and several stretcher-bearers were working like Trojans. We offered our aid, which was gladly accepted.
"Every now and then ducking as a whizz-bang or Minnie came over, we managed to get four of the wounded on the stretchers, and Atwell and I carried one to the rear to the First Aid Dressing Station. We passed the dugout which I had left a few minutes before, or, at least, what used to be the dugout, but now all that could be seen was a caved-in massof dirt; huge, square-cut timbers sticking out of the ground and silhouetted against the light from bursting shells. A shudder passed through me as I realized that if we had stayed in the dugout we would have now been lying fifteen to twenty feet down, covered by that caved-in earth and wreckage.
"Atwell jerked his head in the direction of the smashed-in dugout and, as was his wont, remarked: 'How about that fancy report you were writing out a few minutes ago? Didn't I tell you that it never paid to make out reports in the front line? It's best to wait until you get to Headquarters, because what's the use of wasting all that bally time when you're liable to be buried in a dugout?'
"Turning my head to listen to Atwell, I ran plump into a turn in the trench. A shout came from the form on the stretcher we were carrying: 'Why in the bloody 'ell don't you blokes look where you're a-goin'? You'd think this was a bloomin' Picadilly bus, and I was out with my best girl on a joy-ride.' Imumbled my apologies and the form relapsed into silence. Then the muddy Tommy on the stretcher began to mumble. Atwell asked him if he wanted anything. With a howl of rage, he answered: 'Of all the bloody nerve,—do I want anything? No, I don't want anything—only a bloody pair o' crutches, a dish of "fish and chips" and a glawss of stout.'
"When we came to the First Aid Dressing Station we turned our charge over to some R.A.M.C." (Royal Army Medical Corps) "men, and, ducking and running through the communication trench, we at last reached one of the roomy 'Elephant Dugouts.' We were safe. Stumbling over the feet of men, we came to an unoccupied corner and sat down in the straw. Several candles were burning. Grouped around these candles were a lot of Tommies, their faces pale and with a frightened look in their eyes. Strange to say, the conversation had nothing to do with themselves. They were sympathizing with the poor fellows in the front line who were clicking it.
"I must have dropped off to sleep. When I awoke it was morning, and after drinking our tea and eating our bread and bacon, Atwell and I reported to Brigade Headquarters, and again returned to the front line trench."
WINNING A D.C.M.
As Told by Ikey
WINNING A D.C.M.
Thegun's crew were sitting on the straw in the corner of the billet, apart from the rest of the section. The night before they had been relieved from the fire trench, and were "resting" in rest billets. Their "day's rest" had been occupied in digging a bombing trench, which was to be used for the purpose of breaking in would-be bombers.
Hungry was slicing away at a huge loaf of bread, while on his knee he was balancing a piece of "issue" cheese. His jack-knife was pretty dull and the bread was hard, so every now and then he paused in his cutting operation to take a large bite from the cheese.
Curly whispered to Yank: "Three bob to a tanner, Yank, that he eats the cheese before he finishes slicing that 'rooty.'"
Yank whispered back: "Nothing doing,Curly, you are Scotch, and did you ever see a Scotchman bet on anything unless it was a sure winner?"
He answered in an undertone: "Well, let's make it a pack of fags. How about it, Yank?"
"That's a bet," replied Yank.
(Curly won the fags.)
Sailor Bill was sitting next to Curly, and had his dog, Jim, (named after his former pet dog, Private Jim)—a scroggly-looking cur,—between his knees, and was picking hard pieces of mud from its paws. Jim was wagging his stump of a tail and was intently watching Hungry's operation on the bread. Every time Hungry reached for the cheese, Jim followed the movement with his eyes, and his tail wagged faster. Hungry, noting this look, bit off a small piece of the cheese and flipped it in Jim's direction. Jim deftly caught it in his mouth, and then the fun began. Jim hated cheese. It was amusing to watch him spit it out and sneeze.
Ikey reached over, took the candle, andstarted searching in his pack, amid a chorus of growls from the rest at his rudeness in thus depriving them of light. Yank was watching him closely and suspected what was coming. Sure enough, out came that harmonica and Yank knew it was up to him to start the ball of conversation rolling before Ikey began to play; for after he had once started nothing short of a German "five nine" shell-burst would stop him. Yank slyly kicked Sailor Bill, who immediately got wise, and then Yank broke the ice:
"Sailor, I heard you say this afternoon, while we were digging that trench, that in your opinion darn few medals were really won: that it was more or less an accident or luck. Now, just because your D.C.M. came up with the rations, and, as you say, was wished on you, there is no reason in my mind to class every winner of a medal as 'accidentally lucky.'"
This medal business was a sore point with Sailor Bill, and he came right back:
"Well, if any of you lubbers can tell me where a D.C.M. truly came aboard in a ship-shape manner; that is, up the after gangplank, and piped over the side, then h'I will strike my colors and lay up on a lee shore for a keel 'auling."
Ikey had just taken a long, indrawn breath, and his cheeks were puffed out like a balloon, preparatory to blowing it into the harmonica which he had at his lips. But he paused, and, removing the musical instrument of torture, exploded:
"Blime me, I know a bloke who won a D.C.M., and it wasn't accidental or lucky, either. I was right out in front with him. Blime me, I sure had the wind-up, but with French it was 'Business as usual.' He just carried on."
The rest chirped in, "Come on, Ikey, let's have the story."
"I will if you'll just let me play this one tune first," answered Ikey.
He started in and was accompanied by a dismal, moaning howl from Jim. Ikey hadbeen playing about a minute, when the Orderly Sergeant poked his head in the door of the billet, and said:
"The Captain says to stop that infernal noise."
Highly insulted, Ikey stopped playing and said, "Some people 'ave no idea of music." The gun's crew unanimously agreed with him.
Somewhat mollified, he started:
"Corporal French is the same bloke who just returned from Blighty and joined the 3rd Section yesterday.
"We were 'oldin' a part o' the line up Fromelles w'y, and were about two 'undred yards from the Germans. This sure was a 'ot section o' the line, h'against the Prussians, an' it was a case, at night, o' keeping your ears an' eyes open. No Man's Land was full o' their patrols and ours, an' many fights took place between them.
"One night we would send over a trench-raiding party, an' the next night over would come Fritz.
"There was a certain part o' our trench nicknamed 'Death Alley' an' the company which held it were sure to 'click' it hard in casualties.
"John French—'e was a Lance Corporal then—was in charge o' our section. This was before I went to Machine Gunners' School an' transferred to this outfit. This French certainly was an artist when it came to scoutin' in No Man's Land. 'E knew every inch o' the ground h'out in front, an' was like a cat—'e could see in the dark.
"On the night that 'e won his D.C.M., 'e 'ad been out in front with a patrol for two hours, an' had just returned to the fire trench. A sentry down on the right o' Death Alley reported a suspicious noise out in front, an' our Captain gave orders for another patrol to go out an' investigate.
"Corporal Hastings was next on the list for the job, but, blime me, 'e sure 'ad the wind-up, an' was shakin' and tremblin' like a dish o' jelly.
"A new Leftenant, Williams by name, 'ad just come out from Blighty, an' a pretty fine officer, too. Now, don't you chaps think because this chap was killed that I say he was a good officer, because, dead or alive, you would 'ave to go a bloomin' long way to get another man like Williams. But, this young Leftenant was all eagerness to get out in front. You see, it was 'is first time over the top. 'E noticed that Hastings was a bit shaky, an' so did French. French went up to the officer an' said:
"'Sir, Corporal Hastings 'as been feeling queer (sick) for the last couple of days, an' I certainly would deem it a favor if I could go in 'is place.'
"Now, don't think that Hastings was a coward, because 'e was not. The best of us are liable to get the 'shakes' at times. You know, Hastings was killed at La Bassée a few months ago,—killed while goin' over the top.
"There were seven in this patrol,—LeftenantWilliams, Corporal French, myself an' four more from B Company.
"About sixty yards from Fritz's trench an old ditch—must have been the bed of a creek, but at that time it was dry—ran parallel with the German barbed wire. Linin' the edge of this ditch was a scrubby sort o' hedge which made a fine hidin'-place for a patrol. Why Fritz had not sent out a workin' party an' done away with this screen was a mystery to us. French leadin', followed by Leftenant Williams, myself third, an' the rest trailin' behind, the patrol crawled through a gap under our barbed wire leadin' out to a listenin'-post in No Man's Land. Williams carried a revolver—one of those Yankee Colts,—and his cane. Blime me, I believe that officer slept with that cane. He never went without it. The rest of us were armed with bombs and rifles, bayonets fixed. We had previously blackened our bayonets so they would not shine in the glare of a star-shell. Reachin' the listenin'-post, French, under orders from Williams, told us towait about five minutes until he returned from a little scoutin' trip on his own. When he left, we, with every nerve tense, listened for his comin' back. We could almost 'ear h'each h'other's 'eart pumpin', but not a sound around the listenin'-post. Suddenly, a voice, about six feet on my right, whispered, 'All right, the way is clear; follow me an' carry on.' My blood froze in my veins. It was uncanny the way French approached us without being heard.