We labour in the trenches with rifle, maul and spade,We're soldiers, cooks and carpenters, and everything to trade;We stand on sentry-go all night and turn to kip at dawn,But when we're dropping off to sleep it's "Up and carry on"—For it's carry on and carry on and carry on all day;They'll make us carry on until they carry us away;It's carry on the whole day through, at dusk as well as dawn—Oh blimey! will they never stop their blooming Carry On!(From "Carry On.")
We labour in the trenches with rifle, maul and spade,We're soldiers, cooks and carpenters, and everything to trade;We stand on sentry-go all night and turn to kip at dawn,But when we're dropping off to sleep it's "Up and carry on"—For it's carry on and carry on and carry on all day;They'll make us carry on until they carry us away;It's carry on the whole day through, at dusk as well as dawn—Oh blimey! will they never stop their blooming Carry On!
(From "Carry On.")
The road by La Bassée Canal was gritty and dry and shone like a thread of gold in the afternoon sunlight. The Canal, dark and oily, was broken by hundreds of little petulant ripples; its banks were red with poppy flowers. Quiet reigned in the village of Gorre, where the London Irish were quartered. They had been out digging trenches at Cambrin the night before. Having been relieved from the fighting line, two nights after Reynolds' death, they were now supplying working parties to the trenches near La Bassée. In the presentwar the pick and shovel are as important as the rifle and bayonet.
Bubb, Flanagan and Bowdy had just got up from the straw on which they had been lying.
"Let's have a bloomin' dip in the briny," said Bubb.
"Let's," said Bowdy and Flanagan.
The trio made their way out into the village. It was a glorious day. The sky was a tender blue, the green branches of the poplars which lined the street waved sleepily, the shadows of many little clouds glided across the cobbled pavement. To eastward other little clouds formed suddenly and as suddenly paled away, and the men knew that an artillery duel of slight intensity was in progress by Cuinchy.
"This ain't a bad place for a billet," said Bubb. "I could stick 'ere for duration."
"We'll soon be out of it now," said Flanagan, handing round a packet of cigarettes. "Captain Thorley said this morning that we are going to trek to the Somme. Big doings down that way."
"We're always in it when there's a row on," said Bubb. "It's no sooner see and like a place 'ere than you're out't next day. There are some fine birds in this 'ere place too.... Look thereare the cooks gettin' dinner ready. Gawd they're sweatin' at the job too."
A field kitchen stood in the church square and the smoke curled up from the sooty funnel and paled away in the clear air. Here the company cooks were busy preparing dinner. Facing the Canal was a row of red-roofed houses, with a wealth of summer flowers round the doors, the windows looked out coquettishly through roses, and green ivy clambered up the walls.
To the left of the church was a snug little graveyard hidden in a spinney, and here a number of English soldiers were buried. Under a large tree stood a broken and rusty pump which was out of action. A large shell had fallen there and after the explosion some soldiers found a robin, dead. They buried it and were moved to poetry in inscribing the little bird's epitaph. The epitaph, written in large black letters, hung from the handle of the pump. This was the verse:—
"Cock Robin lies beside this pump,A coal-box hit him such a thump,And this is all we've got to tell,We'll lick the swine that fired the shell."
"Cock Robin lies beside this pump,A coal-box hit him such a thump,And this is all we've got to tell,We'll lick the swine that fired the shell."
Bubb looked at the epitaph.
"Mind the one over Sergeant Slade at Maroc?" he remarked.
"'Ere lies the remains of Sergeant Slade,As was slow at frowin' a 'and grenade."
"'Ere lies the remains of Sergeant Slade,As was slow at frowin' a 'and grenade."
"Not as good as the one at the Cabaret Rouge up at Souchez," said Flanagan, and quoted:—
"This marks the fallen dug-outWhere seven heroes fell,Strafed in a bomb-proof shelterBy a high velocity shell."
"This marks the fallen dug-outWhere seven heroes fell,Strafed in a bomb-proof shelterBy a high velocity shell."
"Well, we'll go into the café and have a drink," said Bowdy. "Bubb won't refuse to go in, I know. He wants to see Emily."
"It's yourself as wants to see the bird," said Spudhole. "I don't mind sayin' that I kind o' like 'er. She's not bad lookin', almost as nice as Fifi. Mind Fifi, Bowdy?"
"Poor old Fifi," said Bowdy. "Fitz was fond of her. I remember one night seeing him kissing her over the window."
"Git out."
"True," said Bowdy. "That was when we were at Y—— Farm, and I was lying in the straw up in the barn. Snogger and Fitz and Spud and myself came in from the café and all went to bed, except my bold Fitz. He sat up and I watched him. After a while he thought everyone was sleeping and up he gets and goes downstairs. I waited for ten minutes, but he didn'tcome back, so out I goes and down to see what he was up to. And what would it be but Fitz at the back of the farmhouse speaking to Fifi and kissing her. Well, it wasn't my business to spy on him, so back I comes to my roost and I was asleep before he came back."
"I always knew that 'e was a devil," said Bubb. "Pity that 'e went west.... 'Ere, can yer smell the roses."
They came to the door of the café and entered. Emilie was inside sitting at a table writing a letter. She smiled at the soldiers and went on with her work. Bubb lit a cigarette, sat on a chair and mumbled a song.
"Woola woo donna maw,Siv woo play,Pan ay burrAy cawfee ah lay."
"Woola woo donna maw,Siv woo play,Pan ay burrAy cawfee ah lay."
The girl raised her head and laughed, disclosing her pearly white teeth and red lips. Emilie was a well-made girl with dark hair, white brow, thick, strongly arched eyebrows, a charming chin and a full throat. She was of medium height, full of vitality and fun, a coquette every inch of her. Bubb was in love with her, just as he had been in love with dozens of other French girls. A billet and a bird, and no manout of the trench area could be happier than Bubb.
Having drunk their coffee, the soldiers made their way to the Canal.
Bubb's face was brimming over with good nature and vitality. Now and again he would jump into the air, cut a caper with his feet, hop to earth as gracefully as a bird, kick a pebble along the roadway, and afterwards lift the pebble in his hand and fling it into the water.
A boy, wearing a pair of English puttees drove two lean cows along the Canal bank and stopped for a moment to speak to an elderly female who was washing her household linen in the cool water. Heedless of the woman's presence, Bowdy and Flanagan undressed and flung themselves into the Canal. The swim from bank to bank was very exhilarating, the coolness warmed the heart and imparted a strange exhilaration to the body. A swim in the cold water always gave the two men the same sensation as good news that is unexpected. Bubb sat on the bank looking at the swimmers.
"Come into the water, my man," they shouted. "It's glorious."
"'Twon't be so glorious when yer get out again," said Bubb.
"Why?" Flanagan enquired.
"'Cos yer clo'es are right top o' a hant-'eap."
"An ant-heap!" ejaculated Flanagan. "Oh, my God!"
"I'm not goin' ter leave my clo'es wiv yours," said Bubb. "I'm goin' ter leave 'em where there's no bloomin' hants."
"We'll get stung to death," Bowdy said. "Bubb, put our clothes along with yours," he called.
"No blurry fear," shouted Bubb, who was undressing further along. "I don't want to get no hants."
The swimmers only ceased in their endeavours to drench him when he flung half-a-dozen bricks into the water perilously close to their heads, but it was only Bubb's trudgeon stroke that saved him from a combined attack when he dived into the Canal. Bubb was a graceful swimmer.
Bowdy was just clambering up on the bank when he heard it coming, rumbling in from the Unknown. He was back in the water immediately, beating it with his hands as he waited. The shell burst near the bank and a hundred splinters whizzed into the Canal. A second shell followed, and a third. Then it was that Bubb's clothes, caught fair, were blown in pieces....For ten minutes the men kept in the water, but when no further shells came across from the Germans, they clambered out on to the bank.
"All hail, thou twentieth century Adam!" said Flanagan, looking at Bubb and shaking the ants from the bundle of khaki clothing. "It will be splendid to see you march through Gorre on your way back.... And all the young girls...."
Bubb looked round in agony; Bowdy shook with laughter.
"And French girls, too," said Flanagan. "They're very rude sometimes."
"We'll have a little procession," Bowdy suggested. "Bubb leading."
"It's a sad plight for a bashful man," said Flanagan. "An exhibition in the nude."
Bubb opened his mouth and shut it again. Bowdy and Flanagan put their boots on.
"If only I 'ad a sandbag," said Bubb.
"We'll get back now," Bowdy said. "Come along, Spudhole."
"No blurry fear," said the Cockney. "I'd drown myself 'fore I'd go back through Gorre like this. I'm not a girl in a revue. I'm a soldier, not a hactress. Will one o' you runback and get a pair o' trousers and a shirt for me?"
"No."
"No-o!"
"Callin' yerselves mates!" shrieked Bubb. Then his voice became coaxing. "Look 'ere, Flan, you go back and get me even a shirt; or Bowdy.... Any of you. Be pals."
"Who stood by and let the ants run over our clothes?" asked Flanagan.
"Bubb," Bowdy replied. "Our pal, Spudhole."
"That was a joke," said Bubb, "but this is past a joke. It's 'ell 'avin' no clothes."
"But you wouldn't wear clothes with ants running over them, would you?" asked Bowdy.
"I must go on in front," said Flanagan. "I'll ask Emilie to come down and have a look at you. She's up to any kind of devilment, that same girl."
"Flan-a-gan," said Bubb in a slow voice, hoarse with decision, "if you'd do a thing like that, I'd cut yer blurry froat." Then he stooped down, picked up a pebble and flung it into the water.
"'Ere, wot's this?" he exclaimed suddenly. "This, in the Canal."
They looked in. A stretcher, to which a ground sheet was bound by a leathern thong, drifted slowly down the Canal. Quick as a flash, Bubb dived in and brought the stretcher to the bank.
"Carry me 'ome on this," he said. "Put the ground sheet over me."
He lay down on the wet stretcher and his mates covered him over with the sheet and raised the burden to their shoulders. Spudhole regained his good humour and began to sing. He was in the throes of a rag-time chorus when Flanagan and Bowdy halted opposite the Café Calomphie and placed the stretcher on the pavement.
Flanagan knocked at the door. Emilie came out. Bubb sweated terror from every pore.
"Take me away!" he yelled, wrapping himself very tightly in his sheet. "For Gawd's sake take me back to the billet!"
Agitation and confusion distorted his countenance; at that moment he longed for the ground to open and swallow him. Flanagan, who knew French like a native, was speaking to the girl.
"What are you saying?" Spudhole called.
"She wants the ground sheet," said Flanagan."I'm going to make her a present of it."
"For Gawd's sake——"
"She's going to take it off herself, with her own two hands," Flanagan remarked.
"Oh, blimey!" groaned Bubb; then, in an excess of rage, "I'll kill 'er if she comes near me. I'll strangle 'er, then I'll strangle you."
But Bubb's violent gestures did not deter Emilie from approaching the stretcher. She knew all about Bubb's mishap. Flanagan had explained his mate's woeful plight. Emilie bent down and raised the lower part of the ground sheet, disclosing Bubb's toes.
Spudhole curled up like a hedgehog. The girl gave the sheet a slight tug.
"Pour moi!" she said.
"Git out!" yelled Bubb. "Clear off ter 'ell. Damn yer, don't yer know wot shame is! Ally voos ong."
"Pull it off, Emilie," roared Flanagan, holding his sides.
The girl gave the sheet another tug. She did not want to take it off, but Bubb's terror amused her.
The boy could stand it no longer. He got to his feet, wrapped the sheet round his waist andfled up the street. The village came out to see him careering along; all laughed at the escapade but few were surprised at the spectacle.
"It's only the mad English," the old women said. "They are always up to mischief."
That night the London Irish set out on their trek to the Somme.
CHAPTER XIXTHE SOMME
There's a shell as 'as fell in the mud,A bloomin' big shell in the mud,A bloomin' big shell,An' it might give us 'ell.As it would if it wasn't a dud.I was watching and saw where it goed,Exactly the spot where it goed,In a sweat o' a funk,I watched where it sunk,And I'm thankful it didn't explode.(From "The Dud.")
There's a shell as 'as fell in the mud,A bloomin' big shell in the mud,A bloomin' big shell,An' it might give us 'ell.As it would if it wasn't a dud.
I was watching and saw where it goed,Exactly the spot where it goed,In a sweat o' a funk,I watched where it sunk,And I'm thankful it didn't explode.
(From "The Dud.")
The trench was quite a good one for the Somme, about six foot deep with here and there a few dug-outs where men could sleep and eat.
There, on a certain autumn morning, we find the men of the London Irish again, waiting to cross No Man's Land and attack the Germans. A month has passed since they left Gorre and during that time they have seen much fighting in which they have earned great renown.
"We're too well known," Bubb often remarked bitterly, but beneath all his grumblingit could be seen that he was more than a little proud of his regiment. "We're too well known that's wot it is," he would continue. "If there's anything to be done oo's to do it? Us. We're always in the thick o' it. If the 'eads 'ear that there's a stiff job to be done and it wants an army corps to do it, wot do the 'eads say. They say: 'Put the London Irish, the footballers of Loos on the job. They'll soon do it.'"
On this morning Bubb was preparing breakfast in a dug-out while Bowdy Benners was sleeping in a corner and Flanagan was out on the parapet watching for Tanks. These monsters were going to cross presently, but as yet they were not to be seen. In front, the self-sown crops were waving in the breeze, and the barbed wire entanglements showed red and rusty over the meadows. Nothing of the German wires remained; they had been blown to bits. The German trenches could be seen in front, dipping out of sight into a natural valley on the left and losing all outline amongst the tree stumps on the right. The stumps were all that remained of the well-known High Wood; the locality was pitted with shell-holes and littered with dead, friend and foe, who lay together in silentcommunion. The Germans still held the wood.
Bubb, having prepared breakfast, went to the door and called Flanagan in, then he turned round and kicked Bowdy on the shins.
"Git out 't," he said. "Ye're not going to fight on an empty tummy, are yer?"
Flanagan came into the dug-out. "That smells A.1." he remarked. "But the Tanks," he said. "I can't see them yet. I hope they're not late."
"I hope they're not," Bowdy replied, and yawned. The arrival of the Tanks did not interest him apparently. He reached out his hand for the mess-tin of tea and drank.
"We're givin' them 'ell wiv our guns," said Bubb. "Blowin' the place to 'ell.... That's a good drop o' tea, ain't it?"
"Indeed, it's damned good," Flanagan replied. "I'm out for a V.C. this time, anyhow.... Where's Snogger?"
"He's outside, somewhere," said Bowdy. "He thinks that he'll not come through this scrap. He is quite nervy."
"I wouldn't mind 'avin' a job at these 'ere tanks," said Bubb. "It'd be damn goodsport.... 'Ave another piece of bacon, Bowdy?"
"Thank you," Bowdy replied, taking the half rasher which Bubb handed to him. "I'm damned hungry.... Here, did you see Captain Thorley this morning. He was giving cigarettes away. Turkish they were; must have cost a penny apiece. Fat ones, like a cigar almost."
"'E's a good bloke, old Thorley," said Bubb.
"I wonder if the tanks are in sight yet," said Flanagan. "They're goin' to make a clean sweep of all the High Wood.... What's the time now?"
"A quarter to seven," Bowdy replied, looking at his wrist watch. "It'll all be over at ten o'clock one way or the other The Guards and Northumberland Fusiliers are round one side of the wood and it's almost closed in."
Having finished their breakfast, the men went outside into the trench. The shells could be heard bursting on the German lines, and the enemy were replying. The machine guns were going pit-pit, and bullets were ripping the English sandbags.
"There, look!" shouted Bowdy Benners, pointing at the sky overhead. His two mateslooked up to see an aeroplane making its way across to the enemy's lines. It was followed by two, three, half-a-dozen, flying low.
"There, the tanks!" somebody shouted, and a line of faces peeped over the sandbags. One man in Benners' bay got hit through the head and fell to the floor of the trench. The remainder drew back discreetly and kept their heads under cover. Sergeant Snogger appeared suddenly, smoking a cigarette and paring his nails with a clasp-knife. He leant his back against the parados and looked at the trio.
"Cheero, sarg," said Bubb. "Fancy yer chance?"
"Not 'arf," said Snogger. "It'll be a walk-over."
"Pass the word along for Sergeant Snogger," came the message up the trench.
The sergeant closed his knife, put it in his pocket and rushed round the traverse.
"I didn't see the tanks," said Bubb. "There are none 's far as I could see."
"I saw one," Bowdy said. "Over on the right."
"There were two," said Flanagan. "Crawlin' along as if they were pickin' up worms. Big, ugly lookin' brutes they were. God! they'llmake the Germans sit up.... You have yer helmet twisted round, Bubb."
Bubb adjusted his helmet, lit a cigarette, pulled his rifle towards him, cleaned a speck of dirt from his bayonet, then put his rifle back to its original place. Bowdy and Flanagan followed the movement with intent eyes. From their look it might seem as if their very existence depended on the job which Bubb had done.
"Yes, it's some strafing," said Bowdy. "The Germans are getting enough to go on with, anyway. Phew!"
The three men crouched to avoid the fragments from a shell which burst on the parapet to the left. Somebody called out for stretcher-bearers and the message sped along the trench.
"It'll be quite easy getting across here," said Bowdy. "One whistle and up you go and the best of luck. Here, I haven't got a cigarette.... Oh, yes, I have, here they are, I put them into the wrong pocket. Have one, Flanagan—one Bubb?"
Bubb took the cigarette, placed it behind his ear and continued smoking the one which he had in his mouth. "I'll keep this'n to smoke when we get across there," he said.
"It's about time to move now," said Bowdy,and he raised his head cautiously and looked over.
"There!" he said. "They're making head-way. No damned stopping them. Bravo! the tanks! Good old tanks!"
"Bravo!" said Bubb, sticking his head over. But he pulled it back quickly, for a bullet ripped a sandbag beside him, and a handful of clay and chalk was slapped into his face.
"Gawd, that's a bloomin' poultice," he muttered, ducking down and wiping the grit from his eyes. "It 'asn't knocked my 'ead off, but I feels as if it 'as.... I'm not goin' to look over again till the whistle's blown."
Bowdy Benners placed a mirror on a bayonet and held it over the trench. Looking in it he could see the field in front, the barbed wire entanglements, the shell-holes, the German trench on which the shells were falling, gouging out the occupants. And the tanks. Yes, he could see them crossing, mammoths moving forward with irrevocable decision, serious minded leviathans which knew their business and went about it in a deliberate manner. Bullets rattled on their hides, struck sparks out of their scaly armour, but had no effect on the air of detachment with which the great monsters in steel pursued theirinexorable way. Nosing complacently forward, they crawled down into shell-craters, hiccoughed up again, straightened themselves out, and stealthily pursued their way towards the enemy trench.
"They're getting on," said Bowdy. "We'll soon be over, too." He detached the mirror from its rest and placed it in his pocket. "I never knew a better one for shaving; it's so handy."
Sergeant Snogger came into the bay again frantic with anger.
"I would like to know oo sent that bloody message up," he thundered. "Gawd, I'll find out, and then someone will be damned unlucky."
He stopped, then gave an inarticulate cry and collapsed in a heap. Bubb's jaw dropped and he stared at Snogger with dilated eyes. The sergeant lay silent and motionless, death was instantaneous for a shrapnel bullet had smashed his spine.
Bowdy and Flanagan lifted the dead man in their arms and placed him on the firestep.
"I never seed anybody knocked out so sudden," said Bubb in a nervous voice. "One minute speakin' and then...."
"Don't think of it," said Flanagan. "Thetanks are well on now. What a funny thing—tanks. They are as old as the hills. Montaigne speaks about them. He calls them coaches. Listen."
He fumbled in his haversack, brought out a dilapidated volume—Florio's translation of Montaigne and read:—
"Were my memory sufficiently informed of them I would not think my time lost, heere to set down the infinite variety which histories present to us of the use of coaches in the service of warre: divers according to the nations and different according to the ages: to my seeming of great effect and necessity.... Even lately in our fathers' time, the Hungarians did very availefully bring them into fashion and profitably set them a work against the Turks; every one of them containing a Targattier and a Muskettier, with a certain number of harquebuses or calivers, ready charged; and so ranged that they might make good use of them: and all over covered with a pavesado, after the manner of a Galliotte. They made the front of their battaile with three thousand such coaches: and after the Canon had playd, caused them to discharge andshoote of a volie of small shott upon their enemies, before they should know or feel, what the rest of the forces could doe: which was no small advancement; or if not this, they mainely drove those coaches amidde the thickest of their enemies' squadrons, with purpose to breake, disroute and make waie through them. Besides the benefit and helpe they might make of them, in any suspicious or dangerous place to flanke their troupe marching from place to place: or in hast to encompasse, to embarricade, to cover or fortifie any lodgment or quarter."
"Were my memory sufficiently informed of them I would not think my time lost, heere to set down the infinite variety which histories present to us of the use of coaches in the service of warre: divers according to the nations and different according to the ages: to my seeming of great effect and necessity.... Even lately in our fathers' time, the Hungarians did very availefully bring them into fashion and profitably set them a work against the Turks; every one of them containing a Targattier and a Muskettier, with a certain number of harquebuses or calivers, ready charged; and so ranged that they might make good use of them: and all over covered with a pavesado, after the manner of a Galliotte. They made the front of their battaile with three thousand such coaches: and after the Canon had playd, caused them to discharge andshoote of a volie of small shott upon their enemies, before they should know or feel, what the rest of the forces could doe: which was no small advancement; or if not this, they mainely drove those coaches amidde the thickest of their enemies' squadrons, with purpose to breake, disroute and make waie through them. Besides the benefit and helpe they might make of them, in any suspicious or dangerous place to flanke their troupe marching from place to place: or in hast to encompasse, to embarricade, to cover or fortifie any lodgment or quarter."
Captain Thorley appeared round the corner, his hand bandaged. A splinter of shell had caught him a few minutes before.
"Getting ready, boys?" he asked. "You'll have no difficulty in crossing here.... Another two minutes.... Snogger dead?... What a pity!"
He disappeared.
"I wish we did get across," said Bubb. "I'm fed up wiv this waitin': I want to get at 'em."
Then a whistle was blown; another. The men scrambled up the parapet and tumbled out on to the levels.
The bombardment seemed to increase; the German trenches were hidden by smoke, flying dirt and logs. Their dug-outs were going sky-high. Over it all, two aeroplanes glided gracefully through the air. The tanks were still going forward. A platoon on the right had started too soon and the men were half-way across. Bowdy Benners and Bubb walked abreast, chatting leisurely. Flanagan had disappeared.
The air was alive with bullets, men were falling all round, groaning and screaming. In front the tanks had both stopped, one in a shell-crater, the other in a sap. The artillery lengthened its range and the shells were falling behind the first line and the High Wood. But the enemy machine guns had not been silenced, the High Wood was yet as venomous as a wasps' nest.
"Forward!" The men advanced at a steady pace, their bayonets in air. One man had his entrenching tool fastened over his stomach as a bullet shield. Bowdy saw him get hit in the head.... The machine gun fire was deadly; dozens fell and lay writhing. A tall youngster with a long neck came to a dead stop, dropped his bayonet to the ground, put his hand insidethe waist of his trousers and groped around as if trying to catch a flea. "I've copped a packet this time," he said and lay down.
The flanks of the marching line converged on the centre despite the orders of the officers to the men. "Keep your distance!" "Spread out a bit there!" etc. But the men felt inclined to huddle together, like frightened children.... The machine guns seemed to intensify their fire, the bullets struck the earth in a steady and incessant stream. On the left a party of men advanced steadily. A shell dropped in the middle of them....
Captain Thorley, who was leading his platoon, turned round.
"Under cover," he shouted. "It's no good going ahead yet. It's murder."
The men disappeared into adjacent shell-holes, others brought in the wounded. The machine-guns swept the field with insistent vehemence.
Bowdy and Bubb joined themselves together in a deep crater.
"Couldn't 'ave a more swagger shell-'ole than this'n," said Spudhole. "We're in luck's way. Flanagan got 'it," he continued. "I saw 'im cop it. Right froo the 'ead. 'E didn't say nuffin', just fell and stiffened."
He placed his back against the sloping wall of the swagger shell-hole and drawing his cigarette from his mouth with a graceful swan-like motion of the arm, he turned to Bowdy Benners.
"Blimey, I don't feel 'arf a swell 'ere," he said. "Wouldn't mind stickin' it in this 'ere place for duration.... Eh, wot's that, Bowdy?"
A German shell came out from the unknown humming like a gigantic beetle. Nearer it came and nearer.
"It's going to fall wide," said Bowdy, although he instinctively guessed that it would fall very near.
It swept over the two men's heads with a vicious swish and dived into the opposite wall of the shell-hole. Bowdy went red in the face, Bubb's jaw dropped, his eyes protruded as if they were going to spring out of his head. The shock paralysed the two boys for a second; they were so unnerved that the feeling of fear was momentarily denied them. They stared blankly at the shell which had only entered about a foot into the ground. The base of the projectile was showing, it might explode at any moment. They were in a position similar to that of a patient towhose body a local anæsthetic is applied and who sees the surgeon at work but does not feel the knife. Bowdy was the first to recover his composure.
"Clear out of it, Spudhole!" he yelled, and both clambered across the rim of the crater into the open.
They lay out there for a few minutes and as the shell did not go off they went back again. Outside the machine-gun bullets were ripping up the ground. The two men lay down quietly without speaking a word. Bubb put the stump of his cigarette back in his mouth and relit it.
"There! See the aeroplanes?" said Bowdy. "They're flying damned low over the enemy trench. Hear their horns going? Signalling to the artillery, I suppose."
"S'pose so," said Bubb, flattening out in the bottom of the shell-crater and drawing his cigarette from behind his ear. He put it in his mouth and lit it. "I knew it would be wanted," he said.
Ten minutes passed. The tanks were still stuck and showed no sign of movement. The English artillery opened on the High Wood again. All guns within range had apparently chosen it for their objective now. The oft-laceratedtree-stumps were broken like glass, they were dragged out by the roots and hurled broadcast; the wood was disgorging its entrails. The unfortunate wretches who held it were in a ghastly situation. To remain in their dug-outs was death. Their manner of dying was left to their choice. They could come out into the hurricane and be blown to bits, they could stay in their lairs and be buried alive. They were confronted by two evils, one as bad as the other. The machine-guns were silent now; probably they were all out of action.
Bowdy put up his head and looked across towards the German lines.
"God, they're getting it!" he said. "And the tanks are still stuck.... There! There're hundreds of the Germans coming across with their hands up.... One batch is unlucky; a shell has dropped in the middle of them."
"Far as I can see, we'll 'ave nuffink to do when this strafin' is over, bar go over an' take the trenches," said Bubb, who was looking at the nerve-shaken Germans as they came rushing towards the craters. "I 'ope we get relieved to-night after we've finished."
"'Course we'll get relieved," said Bowdy."We've been in four days now.... Here, what the devil's wrong with you?"
A wild-eyed German, armed with a rifle and bayonet, came to the rim of the crater and lunged at Bubb. The Cockney, elusive as an eel, slipped out of reach, seized his own rifle and fired at the man. The German fell forward, dead, the bullet had gone through his neck and pierced the jugular vein.
"Funny bloke, that feller," said Bubb.
"I think he had gone mad," said Bowdy, changing his position and getting clear of the prostrate form which had fallen into the crater.
At this moment the artillery fire ceased ravaging the German front line, the range was lengthened and the guns devoted their attention to the enemy's support trenches.
A whistle was blown....
The men went forward, Captain Thorley leading. The bandage on his hand was very dirty now.... The enemy trenches were very quiet, not a rifle spoke. Parties of Germans came out with their hands in air, muttering "Kamerad! Kamerad!" They were taken prisoners.
"It's a damned tame endin'," said Bubb. "After all that strafing."
"It's like a grand overture without a performance following," said Captain Thorley who overheard Bubb's remark.
"Yes, sir," Bubb replied. "'Ave yer a match to spare, sir. I forgot mine. Left them in the last dug-out, sir."
Every move augmented the number of prisoners, they rose from the ground and from shell-holes and gave themselves up. Now and again an apparently dead German was tickled with the point of a bayonet and he came to life with startling suddenness. Bubb discovered a helmet, put it on and put up his hands in imitation of the Germans who were surrendering.... Bowdy discovered a box of cigars somewhere and lit up, then he handed the box round.
"Have a smoke, boys," said Captain Thorley. "Just to celebrate the taking of the High Wood...."
At that moment a shrapnel shell burst over the captain's head and he fell to the ground mortally wounded. A bullet had hit him on the temple. A few men rushed in to his assistance, Bubb leading. But nothing could be done. His brains were oozing out.... Consciousness was lost, death would come in a few moments. A stretcher-bearer appeared, then another, andthey carried the captain away. He died before reaching the dressing-station.
The London Irish now set about consolidating their position and spent long hours of spade-work on the job. Next night the men were relieved.
CHAPTER XXBACK FROM BATTLE
And as we left the trench to-night,Each weary 'neath his load,Grey silent ghosts as light as airCame with us down the road.And as we sat us down to drink,They sat beside us too,And drank red wine at Nouex les Mines,As once they used to do.(From "Soldier Songs.")
And as we left the trench to-night,Each weary 'neath his load,Grey silent ghosts as light as airCame with us down the road.
And as we sat us down to drink,They sat beside us too,And drank red wine at Nouex les Mines,As once they used to do.
(From "Soldier Songs.")
A soft rain was falling; a low wind swept across the levels, and the leaves of a near birch copse rustled in the breeze, faltering timidly as they shook the rain from their shining fringes. A soft, bluish haze surrounded the tops of the birches, the trunks were engirt with a pale mist which gave an eerie atmosphere to the whole wood.
The London Irish had just left the trenches and were following a sunken road on their way back to billets and a month's rest. The men were in a gay good humour, "Charlotte the Harlot," the Rabelaisian song was sung with greatgusto. The faces of sweet French maidens, almost forgotten, were recalled again. The men's fancies rushed hither and thither, painting rosy pictures of snug farmhouses and good cafés. A month's rest away from the ructions of war; how splendid!
Where the wood grew thinner a brushwood screen had been improvised so as to hide the road. In front lay an unlucky red brick village, one which had suffered much from the guns of war. Every third house had been hit by shell fire and many of the homes were levelled to the ground. A heavy wall of cloud, ragged of front crawled across the sky; the sun was overcast, but far up, shooting through the advancing layers of black, a long, golden ray of sunshine streamed out and lit up the firing line.
Save for the crunch of marching feet there was quiet. The shower went by and the soft rustle of the rain falling on the grass by the roadside had ceased. All around the country lay in ruins, the self-sown crops in the wide meadows drooped abjectly to earth as if in mourning for the reaper who visited the place no more. The men passed a house which stood in the fields, a little red-brick cottage with its chimney thrown down, its doors latchless and its windows broken.Once a home of thrifty, toiling people; now the clear sun, which succeeded the shower, saw no housewife at work, no children playing, no man out in the fields storing up the harvest crops. Nothing there now save the guns which lurked privily and kept for the moment a decorous silence. A big shell was following the men along, bursting at intervals some five hundred yards behind. The Germans were sweeping the road, trusting that the projectile would drop on any troops who might be marching along there. The shell followed steadily, keeping its distance and doing no harm. But the range might be lengthened at any moment and then trouble would ensue. The men marched rapidly, hardly daring to breathe.
"Gawd, I don't like that 'ere coal-box," said Bubb, as he heard an explosion behind. "That blurry one was nearer, I fink."
"Further off, I should say," Bowdy Benners replied. "Light a fag, Spudhole, it will do you all the good in the world."
He burst into song:—
"Give me a lucifer to light my fag,And laugh, boys, that's the style,Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag,And smile, boys, smile."
"Give me a lucifer to light my fag,And laugh, boys, that's the style,Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag,And smile, boys, smile."
"Come, boys, sing up," he called. "Come on, let go!"
The chorus was repeated and the men joined in singing, roaring at the tops of their voices. Bubb straightened his back, expanded his chest and looked at his mate. Bowdy, with his cigarette in his mouth, was bellowing out the chorus, the cigarette moving up and down as if keeping time with the measure.
Spudhole swept into a fresh song, a well-known favourite. The men joined in the singing:—
"There's a soldier out on picketOver there,There's a soldier out on picketOver there,There's a soldier out on picket,And 'e wants 'is bloomin' ticket,But the beggar's got to stick itOver there.'E don't mind the dug-outs' stenchesAnd the God-forsaken trenchesWhen 'e's thinkin' o' the wenchesOver there."
"There's a soldier out on picketOver there,There's a soldier out on picketOver there,There's a soldier out on picket,And 'e wants 'is bloomin' ticket,But the beggar's got to stick itOver there.'E don't mind the dug-outs' stenchesAnd the God-forsaken trenchesWhen 'e's thinkin' o' the wenchesOver there."
The voices died away as a shell burst in the road very close at hand.
"Nearer that time," said Bubb. "I wish we were in the trenches."
They sighted the village to find the shells bursting all through the place and the buildingsflying about the streets. The children were in hiding, not a civilian was to be seen save a pale, thin woman of forty who stood at the door of a ruined estaminet. This had no doubt been her home; probably she was still living in the cellar.
The men stared at the woman, saw her bowed head, her ragged clothes, her queer, weedy form. In her eyes was a look such as the men had seldom seen. The poor creature reminded Bowdy of a dog which he once had seen prowling round a pond in which its young had been drowned.
"Wot's she doin' standin' out in the street like that?" said Bubb. "She'll stop a packet if she's not careful."
"Eyes right," came an order from an officer in front, and the men turned their eyes towards the woman at the door.
"Salutin' 'er. I wonder wot for," said Bubb.
"'Er four children were killed yesterday by a shell," said somebody in the ranks.
The woman raised her head and looked stolidly at the soldiers. Her expression did not change; perhaps feeling was dead within her.
At the other end of the village stood a ruined convent from which the nuns had not yet departed. They educated the village children.The little ones went to school daily, their books and respirators under their arms. The classroom was in the cellar of the Convent. As the men passed the Convent, they saw a nun, dressed in blue homespun, white frontlet and black veil, standing at the door throwing crumbs to the doves which fluttered about her feet. In one hand she held a rosary; no doubt she was saying her prayers. There was France personified, France great and fearless, a martyr unsubdued! The sight was a tonic to the men. Unable to resist the impulse, they gave vent to a rousing cheer. A look of perplexity overspread the woman's face, she gazed at the soldiers for a moment, then throwing the remaining crumbs to the birds she retreated hurriedly into the Convent.
"Wot a fine woman that one is," said Spudhole. "Gawd, there's somefin' in 'em, you know. An' they don't do it for show, neither. Well, we'll 'ave another song now, one respectable like. Not one that we wouldn't want good people to 'ear. 'Ow about 'Little Grey 'Ome in the West'?"
In the late afternoon the men arrived at the village in which they were to billet. The battalion marched down the main street dog-tired andglad that the march was at an end. The wineshops were open and soldiers could be seen sitting on the wine barrels, smoking and drinking. At the corner of one side street, a cook was washing his face at a pump and half-a-dozen merry little children were flinging pebbles at him. When a pebble hit him, he would bend down, raise a mess-tin of water and fling it at the mischievous rascals. A party of soldiers came out from an alley, bearing between them three dixies of hot, steaming tea. They were indulging in idle banter and seemed very pleased with themselves—their eyes glowed with happiness.
At the door of an estaminet stood the patronne gossiping with a neighbour and laughing heartily over something. Another party of children were hopping over lines marked with chalk on the pavement and chanting in unison a song of which Bowdy could catch a few lines:—