ACTION FRONT

BY

BOYD CABLE

1916

TO

MR. J. A. SPENDER

_to whose recognition and appreciation of my work, and to whose instantand eager hospitality in the "Westminster Gazette" so much of these warwritings is due, this book is very gratefully dedicated by_

THE AUTHOR

FOREWORD

I make no apology for having followed in this book the same plan as inmy other one, "Between the Lines, " of taking extracts from the officialdespatches as "texts" and endeavoring to show something of what thesebrief messages cover, because so many of my own friends, and so manymore unknown friends amongst the reviewers, expressed themselves sopleased with the plan that I feel its repetition is justified. 

There were some who complained that my last book was in parts too grimand too terrible, and no doubt the same complaint may lie against thisone. To that I can only reply that I have found it impossible to writewith any truth of the Front without the writing being grim, and inwriting my other book I felt it would be no bad thing if Home realizedthe grimness a little better. 

But now there are so many at Home whose nearest and dearest are in thetrenches, and who require no telling of the horrors of the war, that Ihave tried here to show there is a lighter side to war, to let themknow that we have our relaxations, and even find occasion for jests, inthe course of our business. 

I believe, or at least hope, that in showing both sides of the pictureI am doing what the Front would wish me to do. And I don't ask for anygreater satisfaction than that. 

BOYD CABLE. 

_May_, 1916. 

CONTENTS

IN ENEMY HANDSA BENEVOLENT NEUTRALDRILLA NIGHT PATROLAS OTHERS SEETHE FEAR OF FEARANTI-AIRCRAFTA FRAGMENTAN OPEN TOWNTHE SIGNALERSCONSCRIPT COURAGESMASHING THE COUNTER-ATTACKA GENERAL ACTIONAT LAST

IN ENEMY HANDS

The last conscious thought in the mind of Private Jock Macalister as hereached the German trench was to get down into it; his next consciousthought to get out of it. Up there on the level there wereuncomfortably many bullets, and even as he leaped on the low parapetone of these struck the top of his forehead, ran deflecting over thecrown of his head, and away. He dropped limp as a pole-axed bullock, slid and rolled helplessly down into the trench. 

When he came to his senses he found himself huddled in a corner againstthe traverse, his head smarting and a bruised elbow aching abominably. He lifted his head and groaned, and as the mists cleared from his dazedeyes he found himself looking into a fat and very dirty face and thering of a rifle muzzle about a foot from his head. The German saidsomething which Macalister could not understand, but which he rightlyinterpreted as a command not to move. But he could hear no sound ofScottish voices or of the uproar of hand-to-hand fighting in thetrench. When he saw the Germans duck down hastily and squeeze close upagainst the wall of the trench, while overhead a string of shellscrashed angrily and the shrapnel beat down in gusts across the trench, he diagnosed correctly that the assault had failed, and that theBritish gunners were again searching the German trench with shrapnel. His German guard said something to the other men, and while one of themremained at the loophole and fired an occasional shot, the others drewclose to their prisoner. The first thing they did was to search him, toturn each pocket outside-in, and when they had emptied these, carefullyfeel all over his body for any concealed article. Macalister bore itall with great philosophy, mildly satisfied that he had no money tolose and no personal property of any value. 

Their search concluded, the Germans held a short consultation, then oneof them slipped round the corner of the traverse, and, returning amoment later, pointed the direction to Macalister and signed to him togo. 

The trench was boxed into small compartments by the traverses, and inthe next section Macalister found three Germans waiting for him. One ofthem asked him something in German, and on Macalister shaking his headto show that he did not understand, he was signaled to approach, and aGerman ran deftly through his pockets, fingering his waist, and, searching for a money-belt, made a short exclamation of disgust, andsigned to the prisoner to move on round the next traverse, at the sametime shouting to the Germans there, and passing Macalister on at thebayonet point. This performance was repeated exactly in all its detailsthrough the next half-dozen traverses, the only exception being that inone an excitable German, making violent motions with a bayonet as heappeared round the corner, insisted on his holding his hands over hishead. 

At about the sixth traverse a German spoke to him in fairly good, although strongly accented, English. He asked Macalister his rank andregiment, and Macalister, knowing that the name on his shoulder-strapswould expose any attempt at deceit, gave these. Another man askedsomething in German, which apparently he requested the English speakerto translate. 

"He say, " interpreted the other, "Why you English war have made?"Macalister stared at him. "I'm no English, " he returned composedly. "I'm a Scot. "

"That the worse is, " said the interpreter angrily. "Why have it yourbusiness of the Scot?"

Macalister knitted his brows over this. "You mean, I suppose, whatbusiness is it of ours! Well, it's just Scotland's a bit of Britain, sowhen Britain's at war, we are at war. "

A demand for an interpretation of this delayed the proceedings alittle, and then the English speaker returned to the attack. 

"For why haf Britain this war made!" he demanded. 

"We didna' make it, " returned Macalister. "Germany began it. " Excitedcomment on the translation. 

"If you'll just listen to me a minute, " said Macalister deliberately, "I can prove I am right. Sir Edward Grey----" Bursts of exclamationgreeted the name, and Macalister grinned slightly. 

"You'll no be likin' him, " he said. "An' I can weel understan' it. "

The questioner went off on a different line. "Haf your soldiers know, "he asked, "that the German fleet every day a town of England bombard?"

Macalister stared at him. "Havers!" he said abruptly. 

The German went on to impart a great deal of astonishinginformation--of the German advance on Petrograd, the invasion of Egypt, the extermination of the Balkan Expedition, the complete blockade ofEngland, the decimation of the British fleet by submarines. 

After some vain attempts to argue the matter and disprove thestatements, Macalister resigned himself to contemptuous silence, onlyrousing when the German spoke of England and English, to correct him toBritain and British. 

When at last their interest flagged, the Germans ordered him to moveon. Macalister asked where he was going and what was to be done withhim, and received the scant comfort that he was being sent along to anofficer who would send him back as a prisoner, if he did not have himkilled--as German prisoners were killed by the English. 

"British, you mean, " Macalister corrected again. "And, besides that, it's a lie. "

He was told to go on; but as he moved be saw a foot-long piece ofbarbed wire lying in the trench bottom. He asked gravely whether hewould be allowed to take it, and, receiving a somewhat puzzled andgrudging assent, picked it up, carefully rolled it in a small coil, andplaced it in a side jacket pocket. He derived immense gratification andenjoyment at the ensuing searches he had to undergo, and the explosiveGerman that followed the diving of a hand into the barbed-wire pocket. 

He arrived at last at an officer and at a point where a communicationtrench entered the firing trench. The officer in very mangled Englishwas attempting to extract some information, when he was interrupted bythe arrival from the communication trench of a small party led by anofficer, a person evidently of some importance, since the other officersprang to attention, clicked his heels, saluted stiffly, and spoke in atone of respectful humility. The new arrival was a young man in asurprisingly clean and beautifully fitting uniform, and wearing ahelmet instead of the cloth cap commonly worn in the trenches. His facewas not a particularly pleasant one, the eyes close set, hard, andcruel, the jaw thin and sharp, the mouth thin-lipped and shrewish. Hespoke to Macalister in the most perfect English. 

"Well, swine-hound, " he said, "have you any reason to give why I shouldnot shoot you?" Macalister made no reply. He disliked exceedingly thelook of the new-comer, and had no wish to give an excuse for thepunishment he suspected would result from the officer's displeasure. But his silence did not save him. 

"Sulky, eh, my swine-hound!" said the officer. "But I think we canimprove those manners. "

He gave an order in German, and a couple of men stepped forward andplaced their bayonets with the points touching Macalister's chest. 

"If you do not answer next time I speak, " he said smoothly, "I willgive one word that will pin you to the trench wall and leave you there. Do you understand!" he snapped suddenly and savagely. "You Englishdog. "

"I understand, " said Macalister. "But I'm no English. I'm a Scot"

The crashing of a shell and the whistling of the bullets overhead movedthe officer, as it had the others, to a more sheltered place. He seatedhimself upon an ammunition-box, and pointed to the wall of the trenchopposite him. 

"You, " he said to Macalister, "will stand there, where you can get thebenefit of any bullets that come over. I suppose you would just as soonbe killed by an English bullet as by a German one. "

Macalister moved to the place indicated. 

"I'm no anxious, " he said calmly, "to be killed by either a _British_or a German bullet. "

"Say 'sir' when you speak to me, " roared the officer. "Say 'sir. '"

Macalister looked at him and said "Sir"--no more and no less. 

"Have you no discipline in your English army?" he demanded, andMacalister's lips silently formed the words "British Army. " "Are younot taught to say 'sir' to an officer?"

"Yes--sir; we say 'sir' to any officer and any gentleman. "

"So, " said the officer, an evil smile upon his thin lips. "You hint, Isuppose, that I am not a gentleman? We shall see. But first, as youappear to be an insubordinate dog, we had better tie your hands up. "

He gave an order, and after some little trouble to find a cord, Macalister's hands were lashed behind his back with the bandage from afield-dressing. The officer inspected the tying when it was completed, spoke angrily to the cringing men, and made them unfasten and re-tiethe lashing as tightly as they could draw it. 

"And now, " said the officer, "we shall continue our littleconversation; but first you shall beg my pardon for that hint about agentleman. Do you hear me--beg, " he snarled, as Macalister made noreply. 

"If I've said anything you're no likin' and that I'm sorry for masel', I apologize, " he said. 

The officer glared at him with narrowed eyes. "That'll not do, " he saidcoldly. "When I say 'beg' you'll beg, and you will go on your knees tobeg. Do you hear? Kneel!"

Macalister stood rigid. At a word, two of the soldiers placedthemselves in position again, with their bayonets at the prisoner'sbreast. The officer spoke to the men, and then to Macalister. 

"Now, " he said, "you will kneel, or they will thrust you through. "

Macalister stood without a sign of movement; but behind his back hishands were straining furiously at the lashings upon his wrist. Theystretched and gave ever so little, and he worked on at them with adesperate hope dawning in his heart. 

"Still obstinate, " sneered the officer. "Well, it is rather early tokill you yet, so we must find some other way. "

At a sentence from him one of the men threw his weight on theprisoner's shoulders, while the other struck him savagely across thetendons behind the knees. Whether he would or no, his knees had togive, and Macalister dropped to them. But he was not beaten yet. Hesimply allowed himself to collapse, and fell over on his side. Theofficer cursed angrily, commanding him to rise to his knees again; themen kicked him and pricked him with their bayonet points, hauled him atlast to his knees, and held him there by main force. 

"And now you will beg my pardon, " the officer continued. Macalistersaid nothing, but continued to stretch at his bonds and twist gentlywith his hands and wrists. 

The officer spent the next ten minutes trying to force his prisoner tobeg his pardon. They were long and humiliating and painful minutes forMacalister, but he endured them doggedly and in silence. The officer'stemper rose minute by minute. The forward wall of the firing trench wasbuilt up with wicker-work facings and the officer drew out a thickswitch. 

"You will speak, " he said, "or I shall flay you in strips and thenshoot you. "

Macalister said nothing, and was slashed so heavily across the facethat the stick broke in the striker's hands. The blood rose to hishead, and deep in his heart he prayed, prayed only for ten seconds withhis hands loose; but still he did not speak. 

At the end of ten minutes the officer's patience was exhausted. Macalister was thrust back against the trench wall, and the officerdrew out a pistol. 

"In five minutes from now, " he gritted, "I'm going to shoot you. I giveyou the five minutes that you may enjoy some pleasant thoughts in theinterval. "

Macalister made no answer, but worked industriously at the lashings onhis wrists. The bandage stretched and loosened, and at last, at longlast, he succeeded in slipping one turn off his hand. He had no hopenow for anything but death, and the only wish left to him in life wasto get his hands free to wreak vengeance on the dapper little monsteropposite him, to die with his hands free and fighting. 

The minutes slipped one by one, and one by one the loosened turns ofthe bandage were uncoiled. The trenches at this point were apparentlyvery close, for Macalister could hear the crack of the British rifles, the clack-clack-clack of a machine gun at close range, and the thoughtflitted through his mind that over there in his own trenches his ownfellows would hear presently the crack of the officer's pistol with nounderstanding of what it meant. But with luck and his loosened hands hewould give them a squeal or two to listen to as well. 

Then the officer spoke. "One minute, " he said, "and then I fire. " Helifted his pistol and pointed it straight at Macalister's face. "I amnot bandaging your eyes, " went on the officer, "because I want you tolook into this little round, round hole, and wait to see the fire spoutout of it at you. Your minute is almost up . . . You can watch my fingerpressing on the trigger. "

The last coil slipped off Macalister's wrist; he was free, but with acurse he knew it to be too late. A movement of his hands from behindhis back would finish the pressure of that finger, and finish him. Desperately he sought for a fighting chance. 

"I would like to ask, " he muttered hoarsely, licking his dry lips, "will ye no kill me if I say what ye wanted?"

Keenly he watched that finger about the trigger, breathed silent reliefas he saw it slacken, and watched the muzzle drop slowly from level ofhis eyes. But it was still held pointed at him, and that barely gavehim the chance he longed for. Only let the muzzle leave him for aninstant, and he would ask no more. The officer was a small and slightlymade man, Macalister, tall and broadly built, big almost to hugenessand strong as a Highland bull. 

"So, " said the officer softly, "your Scottish courage flinches then, from dying?"

While he spoke, and in the interval before answering him, Macalister'smind was running feverishly over the quickest and surest plan ofaction. If he could get one hand on the officer's wrist, and the otheron his pistol, he could finish the officer and perhaps get off anotherround or two before he was done himself. But the pistol hand mightevade his grasp, and there would be brief time to struggle for it withthose bayonets within arm's length. A straight blow from the shoulderwould stun, but it might not kill. Plan after plan flashed through hismind, and was in turn set aside in search of a better. But he had tospeak. 

"It's no just that I'm afraid, " he said very slowly. "But it was justsomethin' I thought I might tell ye. "

The pistol muzzle dropped another inch or two, with Macalister's eyewatching its every quiver. His words brought to the officer's mindsomething that in his rage he had quite overlooked. 

"If there is anything you can tell me, " he said, "any usefulinformation you can give of where your regiment's headquarters are inthe trenches, or where there are any batteries placed, I might stillspare your life. But you must be quick, " he added "for it sounds as ifanother attack is coming. "

It was true that the fire of the British artillery had increasedheavily during the last few minutes. It was booming and bellowing nowin a deep, thunderous roar, the shells were streaming and rushingoverhead, and shrapnel was crashing and hailing and pattering downalong the parapet of the forward trench; the heavy boom of big shellsbursting somewhere behind the forward line and the roaring explosion oftrench mortar bombs about the forward trench set the ground quiveringand shaking. A shell burst close overhead, and involuntarily Macalisterglanced up, only to curse himself next moment for missing a chance thathis captor offered by a similar momentary lifting of his eyes. Macalister set his eyes on the other, determined that no such chanceshould be missed again. 

But now, above the thunder of the artillery and of the bursting shells, they could hear the sound of rising rifle-fire. The officer must haveglimpsed the hope in Macalister's face, and, with an oath, he broughtthe pistol up level again. 

"Do not cheat yourself, " he said. "You cannot escape. If a charge comesI shall shoot you first. "

With a sinking heart Macalister saw that his last slender hope wasgone. He could only pray that for the moment no attack was to belaunched; but then, just when it seemed that the tide of hope was atits lowest ebb, the fates flung him another chance--a chance that forthe moment looked like no chance; looked, indeed, like a certainty ofsudden death. A soft, whistling hiss sounded in the air above them, anote different from the shrill whine and buzz of bullets, the harshrush and shriek of the shells. The next instant a dark object fell witha swoosh and thump in the bottom of the trench, rolled a little and laystill, spitting a jet of fizzing sparks and wreathing smoke. 

When a live bomb falls in a narrow trench it is almost certain thateveryone in that immediate section will at the worst die suddenly, atthe best be badly wounded. Sometimes a bomb may be picked up and thrownclear before it can burst, but the man who picks it up is throwing awaysuch chance as he has of being only wounded for the smaller chance ofhaving time to pitch the bomb clear. The first instinct of every man isto remove himself from that particular traverse; the teaching ofexperience ought to make him throw himself flat on the ground, since byfar the greater part of the force and fragments from the explosionclear the ground by a foot or two. Of the Germans in this particularsection of trench some followed one plan, some the other. Of the twomen guarding the prisoner the one who was near the corner of thetraverse leapt round it, the other whirled himself round behindMacalister and crouched sheltering behind his body. Two men near thecorner of the other traverse disappeared round it, two more flungthemselves violently on their faces, and another leapt into the openingof the communication trench. The officer, without hesitation, droppedon his face, his head pressed close behind the sandbag on which he hadbeen sitting. 

The whole of these movements happened, of course, in the twinkling ofan eye. Macalister's thoughts had been so full of his plans for thedestruction of the officer that the advent of the bomb merely switchedthese plans in a new direction. His first realized thought was of theman crouching beside and clinging to him, the quick following instinctto free himself of this check to his movements. He was still on hisknees, with the man on his left side; without attempting to rise hetwisted round and backwards, and drove his fist full force in theother's face; the man's head crashed back against the trench wall, andhis limp body collapsed and rolled sideways. His mind still running inthe groove of his set purpose, before his captor's relaxed fingers hadwell loosed their grip, Macalister hurled himself across the trench andfastened his ferocious grip on the body of the officer. He rose to hisfeet, lifting the man with a jerking wrench, and swung him round. Theswift idea had come to him that by hurling the officer's body on top ofthe bomb, and holding him there, he would at least make sure of hisvengeance, might even escape himself the fragments and full force ofthe shock. Even in the midst of the swing he checked, glanced once atthe spitting fuse, and with a stoop and a heave flung the officer outover the front parapet, leaped on the firing step, and hurled himselfover after him. 

It must be remembered that the burning fuse of a bomb gives noindication of the length that remains to burn before it explodes thecharge. The fuse looks like a short length of thin black rope, itsouter cover does not burn and the same stream of sparks and smoke poursfrom its end in the burning of the first inch and of the last. Therewas nothing, then, to show Macalister whether the explosion would comebefore his quick muscles could complete their movement, or whether longseconds would elapse before the bomb burst. It was an even chanceeither way, so he took the one that gave him most. Fortune favored him, and the roar of the explosion followed his flying heels over theparapet. 

The officer, dazed, shaken, and not yet realizing what had happened, had gathered neither his wits nor his limbs to rise when Macalisterleaped down almost on top of him. The officer's hand still clung to thepistol he had held, but Macalister's grasp swooped and clutched andwrenched the weapon away. 

"Get up, my man, " he said grimly. "Get up, or I'll blow a hole in ye asye lie. "

He added emphasis with the point of the pistol in the other's ribs, andthe officer staggered to his feet. 

"Now, " said Macalister, "you'll quick mairch--that way. " He waved thepistol towards the British trench. 

The officer hesitated. 

"It is no good, " he said sullenly. "I should be killed a dozen timesbefore I got across. "

"That's as may be, " said Macalister coolly. 

"But if you don't go you'll get your first killing here, and saynaething o' the rest o' the dizen. "

A shell cracked overhead, and the shrapnel ripped down along the trenchbehind them with a storm of bullets thudding into the ground abouttheir feet. 

"I will make you an offer, " said the officer hurriedly. "You can goyour way and leave me to go mine. "

"You'll mak' an offer!" said Macalister contemptuously. "Here"--and hewaved the pistol across the open again. "Get along there. "

"I will give you--" the officer began, when Macalister broke inabruptly. 

"This is no a debatin' society, " he said. "But ye'll no walk ye maunjust drive. "

Without further words he thrust the pistol in his pocket, grabbed andtook one handful of coat at the back of the officer's neck and anotherat the skirt, and commenced to thrust him before him across the openground. But the officer refused to walk, and would have thrown himselfdown if Macalister's grasp had not prevented it. 

"Ye would, would ye?" growled the Scot, and seized his captive by theshoulders and shook him till his teeth rattled. "Now, " he said angrily, "ye'll come wi' me or--" he broke off to fling a gigantic arm about theofficer's neck--"or I'll pull the heid aff ye. "

So it was that the occupants of the British trench viewed presently thefigure of a huge Highlander appearing through the drifting haze andsmoke at a trot, a head clutched close to his side by a circling arm, astruggling German half-running, half-dragging behind his captor. 

Arrived at the parapet, "Here, " shouted Macalister. "Catch, some o'ye. " He jerked his prisoner forward and thrust him over and into thetrench, and leaped in after him. 

It was purely on impulse that Private Macalister flung his prisoner outof the German trench, but it was a set and reasoned purpose that madehim drag his struggling captive back over the open to the Britishtrench. He knew that the British line would not shoot at an obviouskilted Highlander, and he supposed that the Germans would hesitate tofire on one dragging an equally obvious German officer behind him. Either his reasoning or his blind luck held true, and both he and hiscaptive tumbled over into the British trench unhurt. An officerappeared, and Macalister explained briefly to him what had happened. 

"You'd better take him back with you, " said the officer when he hadfinished, and glanced at the German. "He's not likely to make trouble, I suppose, but there are plenty of spare rifles, and you had bettertake one. What's left of your battalion has withdrawn to the supporttrench. "

"I am an officer, " said the German suddenly to the British subaltern?"I surrender myself to you, and demand to be treated as an honorableprisoner of war. I do not wish to be left in this man's hands. "

"Wish this and wish that, " said Macalister, "and much good may yourwishing do. Ye've heard what this officer said, so rise and mairch, unless ye wad raither I took ye further like I brocht ye here. " And hemoved as if to scoop the German's head under his arm again. 

"I will not, " said the German furiously, and turned again to thesubaltern. "I tell you I surrender----"

"There's no need for you to surrender, " said the subaltern quietly. "Imight remind you that you are already a prisoner; and I am not here tolook after prisoners. "

The German yielded with a very bad grace, and moved ahead of Macalisterand his threatening bayonet, along the line and down the communicationtrench to the support trench. Here the Scot found his fellows, andintroduced his prisoner, made his report to an officer, and asked andreceived permission to remain on guard over his captive. Then hereturned to the corner of the trench where the remains of his owncompany were. He told them how he had fallen into the German trench andwhat had happened up to the moment the German officer came into theproceedings. 

"This is the man, " he said, nodding his head towards the officer, "andI wad just like to tell you carefully and exactly what happened betweenhim an' me. Ye'll understaun' better if a' show ye as weel as tell ye. Weel, now, he made twa men tie ma' hands behind ma' back first--if onyo' ye will lend me a first field dressing I'll show ye how they didit. "

A field dressing was promptly forthcoming, and Macalister bound theGerman's hands behind his back, overcoming a slight attempt atresistance by a warning word and an accompanying sharp twist on hisarms. 

"It's maybe no just as tight as mine was, " said Macalister when he hadfinished, and stood the prisoner back against the wall. "But it'll dae. Then he made twa men stand wi' fixed bayonets against ma' breast, andwhen I hinted what was true, that he was no gentleman, he said I was tokneel and beg his pardon. And now you, " he said, nodding to theprisoner, "will go down on your marrow-bones and beg mine. "

"That is sufficient of this fooling, " said the officer, with an attemptat bravado. "It's your turn, I'll admit; but I will pay you well--"

Macalister interrupted him-"Ye'll maybe think it's a bit mair thanfooling ere I'm done wi' ye, " he said. "But speakin' o' pay. . . Andthank ye for reminding me. Ower there they riped ma pooches, an' tooka'thing I had. "

He stepped over to the prisoner, went expeditiously through hispockets, removed the contents, and transferred them to his own. 

"I'm no saying but what I've got mair than I lost, " he admitted to theothers, who stood round gravely watching and thoroughly enjoying theproceedings. "But then they took all I had, an' I'm only taking all hehas. "

He pulled a couple of sandbags off the parapet and seated himself onthem. 

"To go on wi' this begging pardon business, " he said, "If a couple o'ye will just stand ower him wi' your fixed bayonets. . . . Thank ye. Iwouldna' kneel, " he continued, "so one o' them put his weight on myshoulders----" He looked at one of the guards, who, entering promptlyinto the spirit of the play, put his massive weight on the German'sshoulders, and looked to Macalister for further instructions. 

"Then, " said Macalister, "the ither guard gave me a swipe across theback o' the knees. "

The "swipe" followed quickly and neatly, and the German went down witha jerk. 

"That's it exactly, " said Macalister, with a pleasantly reminiscentsmile. The German's temper broke, and he spat forth a torrent of abusein mixed English and German. 

Macalister listened a moment. "I said nothing; so I think he shouldna'be allowed to say anything, " he remarked judicially. His comment metwith emphatic approval from his listeners. 

"I think I could gag him, " said one of his guards; "or if ye preferredit I could just throttle his windpipe a wee bit, just enough to stophis tongue and no to hurt him much. "

With an effort the German regained his control. "There is no need, " hesaid sullenly; "I shall be silent. "

"Weel, " resumed Macalister, "there was a bit o' chaff back and forritbetween us, and next thing he did was to slap me across the face wi'his hand. Do ye think, " he appealed to his audience, "it would brak'his jaw if I gave him a bit lick across it?"

He advanced a huge hand for inspection, and listened to the free advicegiven to try it, and the earnest assurances that it did not matter muchif the jaw did break. 

"Ye'll feenish him off presently onyway, I suppose?" said one, andwinked at Macalister. 

"Just bide a wee, " answered Macalister, "I'm coming to that. I thinkmaybe I'll no brak his jaw, for fair's fair, and I want to give as nearas I can to what I got. "

He leant forward and dealt a mild but tingling slap on the German'scheek. 

"I think, " he went on, "the next thing I got was a slash wi' a bitswitch he pulled out from the trench wall. We've no sticks like ithere, so I maun just do the best I can instead. "

He leant forward and fastened a huge hand on the prisoner'scoat-collar, jerked him to him, and, despite his frantic struggles andraging tongue, placed him face down across his knees and administeredpunishment. 

"I think that's about enough, " he said, and returned the choking andspluttering prisoner to his place between the guards. 

"He kept me, " he said, "on my knees, so I think he ought . . . Thank ye, "as the German went down again none too gently. "After that he went onsaying some things it would be waste o' time to repeat. Swine dog wasabout the prettiest name he had any use for. But there was anotherthing he did; ye'll see some muck on my face and on my jacket. It camethere like this; he took hold o' me by the hair--this way. " AndMacalister proceeded to demonstrate as he explained. 

"Then--my hands being tied behind my back you will remember, likethis--it was easy enough for him to pull me over on my face--likethis. . . And rub my face in the mud. . . . The bottom o' this trench is inno such a state a' filth as theirs, but it'll just have to do. " Hehoisted the German back to his knees. "Then I think it was after thatthe pistol and the killing bit came in. " And Macalister put his hand tohis pocket and drew out the officer's pistol which he had thrust there. 

"He gave me five minutes, so I'll give him the same. Has ony o' ye awatch?"

A timekeeper stepped forward out of the little knot of spectators thatcrowded the trench, and Macalister requested him to notify them whenonly one minute of the five was left. 

"My manny here was good enough, " said Macalister, "to tell me hewouldna' bandage my eyes, because he wanted me to look down the muzzleof his pistol; so now, " turning to the prisoner, "you can watch myfinger pulling the trigger. "

As the four minutes ebbed, the German's courage ran out with them. Thejokes and laughter about him had ceased. Macalister's face was set andsavage, and there was a cold, hard look in his eye, a stern ferocity onhis mud and bloodstained face that convinced the German the end of thefive minutes would also surely see his end. 

"One minute to go, " said the timekeeper. A sigh of indrawn breaths ranround the circle, and then tense silence. Outside the trench they werein the roar of the guns boomed unceasingly, the shells whooped andscrewed overhead, and from oat in front came the crackle and roar ofrifle-fire; and yet, despite the noise, the trench appeared still andsilent. Macalister noted that, as he had noted it over there in theGerman trench. 

"Time's up, " said the man with the watch. The German, looking straightat the pistol muzzle and the cold eye behind the sights, gasped andclosed his eyes. The silence held, and after a dragging minute theGerman opened his eyes, to find the pistol lowered but still pointingat him. 

"To make it right and fair, " said Macalister, "his hands should beloose, because I had managed to loose mine. Will one o' ye . . . Thankye. It's no easy, " continued Macalister, "to just fit the rest o' theprogram in, seeing that it was here a bomb fell in the trench, an' hismen bein' weel occupied gettin' oot o' its way, I threw him ower theparapet and dragged him across to oor lines. Maybe ye'd like to try andthrow me out the same way. "

The German was perhaps a brave enough man, but the ordeal of those lastfive minutes especially had brought his nerve to near its breakingstrain. His lips twitched and quivered, his jaw hung slack, and atMacalister's invitation he tittered hysterically. There was a stir anda movement at the back of the spectators that by now thronged thetrench, and an officer pushed his way through. 

"What's this?" he said. "Oh, yes! the prisoner. Well, you fellows mighthave more sense than heap yourselves up in a crowd like this. Onesolitary Krupp dropping in here, and we'd have a pretty-looking mess. Open out along the trench there, and keep low down. You can be ready tomove in a few minutes now; we are being relieved here and are goingfurther back. Now what about this prisoner? Who is looking after him?"

"I am, sir, " said Macalister. "The Captain said I was to take himback. "

"Right, " said the subaltern. "You can take him with you when you go. They've got some more prisoners up the line, and you can join them. "

It was here that the episode ended so far as Macalister was concerned, and his relations with the German officer thereafter were of the purelyofficial nature of a prisoner's guard. There were some otherindignities, but in these Macalister had no hand. They were probablydue to the circulation of the tale Macalister had told anddemonstrated, and were altogether above and beyond anything thatusually happens to a German prisoner. They need not be detailed, butapparently the most serious of them was the removal of a portion of theblack mud which masked the German's face, so as to leave adiamond-shaped patch, of staring cleanness over one eye, after thestyle of a music-hall star known to fame as the White-eyed Kaffir;the ripping of a small portion of that garment which permitted of theextraction of a dangling shirt into a ridiculous wagging tail about afoot and a half long, and a pressing invitation, accompanied by a hintfrom the bayonet point, to give an exposition of the goose-step at thehead of the other prisoners whenever they and their escort were passinga sufficient number of troops to form a properly appreciative audience. Probably a Cockney-born Highlander was responsible for thesepleasantries, as he certainly was for the explanation he gave tocurious inquirers. 

"He's mad, " he explained. "Mad as a coot; thinks he's the devil, andinsists on wagging his little tail. I have to keep him marching withhis hands up this way, because he might try to grab my rifle. Now, it'sno use you gritting your teeth and mumbling German swear words, cherrybim. Keep your 'ands well up, and proceed with the goose-step. "

But with all this Macalister had nothing to do. When he had returned asnearly as he could the exact sufferings he had endured, he was quitesatisfied to let the matter drop. "I suppose, " he said reflectively, when the officer had gone, after giving him orders to see the prisonerback, "as that finishes this play, we'll just need to treat ma lad herelike an ordinary preesoner. Has ony o' ye got a wee bit biscuit an'bully beef an' a mouthful o' water t' gie the puir shiverin' crater!"

A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL

" . . . _the enemy temporarily gained a footing in a portion of ourtrench, but in our counter-attack we retook this and a part of enemytrench beyond_. "--EXTRACT FROM OFFICIAL DESPATCH. 

A wet night, a greasy road, and a side-slipping motor-bike provided themeans of an introduction between Second Lieutenant Courtenay of the 1stFootsloggers and Sergeant Willard K. Rawbon of the Mechanical Transportbranch of the A. S. C. The Mechanical Transport as a rule extend a blandcontempt to motor-cycles running on the road, ignoring all theirfrantic toots of entreaty for room to pass, and leaving them to scrapeas best they may along the narrow margin between a deep and muddy ditchand the undeviating wheels of a Juggernaut Mechanical Transport lorry. But a broken-down motor-cycle meets with a very different reception. Itinvariably excites some feeling compounded apparently of compassion andprofessional interest to the cycle, and an unlimited hospitality to thestranded cyclist. 

This being well known to Second Lieutenant Courtenay, he, aftercollecting himself, his cycle, and his scattered wits from the ditchand conscientiously cursing the road, the dark, and the wet, dulyturned to bless the luck that had brought about an accident right atthe doorstep of a section of the Motor Transport. There were about tenmassive lorries drawn up close to the side of the road under thepoplars, and Courtenay made a direct line for one from which a chink oflight showed under the tarpaulin and sounds of revelry issued from amelodeon and a rasping file. Courtenay pulled aside the flap, poked hishead in and found himself blinking in the bright glare of an acetylenelamp suspended in the middle of a Mechanical Transport travelingworkshop. The walls--tarpaulin over a wooden frame--were closely packedwith an array of tools, and the floor was still more closely packedwith a work-bench, vice and lathe, spare motor parts, boxes, and half adozen men. The men were reading newspapers and magazines; one wasmanipulating the melodeon, and another at the vice was busy with thefile. The various occupations ceased abruptly as Courtenay poked hishead in and explained briefly who he was and what his troubles were. 

"Thought you might be able to do something for me, " he concluded, andbefore he had finished speaking the man at the vice had laid down hisfile and was reaching down a mackintosh from its hook. Courtenaynoticed a sergeant's stripes on his sleeve, and a thick and mostunsoldierly crop of hair on his head plastered back from the brow. 

"Why sure, " the sergeant said. "If she's anyways fixable, you reckonher as fixed. Whereabouts is she ditched?"

Ten minutes later Courtenay was listening disconsolately to the list ofdamages discovered by the glare of an electric torch and the sergeant'ssearching examination. 

"It'll take 'most a couple of hours to make any sort of a job, " saidthe sergeant. "That bust up fork alone--but we'll put her to rights foryou. Let's yank 'er over to the shop. "

Courtenay was a good deal put out by this announcement. 

"I suppose there's no help for it, " he said resignedly, "but it'sdashed awkward. I'm due back at the billets now really, and another twoor three hours late--whew!"

"Carryin' a message, I s'pose, " said the sergeant, as together theyseized the cycle and pushed it towards the repair lorry. 

"No, " said Courtenay, "I was over seeing another officer out this way. "He had an idea from the sergeant's free and easy style of address thatthe mackintosh, without any visible badges and with a very visiblespattering of mud, had concealed the fact that he was an officer, andwhen he reached the light he casually opened his coat to show his beltsand tunic. But the sergeant made not the slightest difference in hismanner. 

"Guess you'd better pull that wet coat right off, " he said casually, "and set down while I get busy. You boys, pike out, hit it for thedowny, an' get any sleep you all can snatch. That break-down will beambling along in about three hours an' shoutin' for quick repairs, soyou'll have to hustle some. That three hours is about all the sleepcomin' to you to-night; so, beat it. "

The damaged cycle was lifted into the lorry and propped up on its standand before the men had donned their mackintoshes and "beat it, " thesergeant was busy dismembering the damaged fork. Courtenay pulled offhis wet coat and settled himself comfortably on a box after offeringhis assistance and being assured it was not required. The sergeantconversed affably as he worked. 

At first he addressed Courtenay as "mister, " but suddenly--"Say, " heremarked, "what ought I to be calling you? I never can remember justwhat those different stars-an'-stripes fixin's mean. "

"My name is Courtenay and I'm second lieutenant, " said the other. Hewas a good deal surprised, for naturally, a man does not usually reachthe rank of sergeant without learning the meaning of the badges of rankon an officer's sleeve. 

"My name's Rawbon--Willard K. Rawbon, " said the sergeant easily. "Sonow we know where we are. Will you have a cigar, Loo-tenant?" he wenton, slipping a case from his pocket and extending it. Courtenay noticedthe solidly expensive get-up and the gold initials on the leather andwas still more puzzled. He reassured himself by another look at thesergeant's stripes and the regulation soldier's khaki jacket. "No, thanks, " he said politely, and struggling with an inclination to laugh, "I'll smoke a cigarette, " and took one from his own case and lightedit. He was a good deal interested and probed gently. 

"You're Canadian, I suppose?" he said. "But this isn't CanadianTransport, is it?"

"Not, " said the sergeant "Neither it nor me. No Canuck in mine, Loo-tenant. I'm good United States. "

"I see, " said Courtenay. "Just joined up to get a finger in thefighting?"

"Yes an' no, " said the sergeant, going on with his work in a mannerthat showed plainly he was a thoroughly competent workman. "It was amatter of business in the first place, a private business deal that--"

"I beg your pardon, " said Courtenay hastily, reddening to his ear-tips. "Please don't think I meant to question you. I say, are you sure Ican't help with that? It's too bad my sitting here watching you do allthe work. "

The sergeant straightened himself slowly from the bench and looked atCourtenay, a quizzical smile dawning on his thin lips. "Why now, Loo-tenant, " he said, "there's no need to get het up none. I know youBritishers hate to be thought inquisitive--'bad form, ' ain't it!--but Ididn't figure it thataway, not any. I'd forgot for a minute thedifference 'tween--" He broke off and looked down at his sleeve, nodding to the stripes and then to the lieutenant's star. "An' if youdon't mind I'll keep on forgetting it meantime. 'Twon't hurtdiscipline, seeing nobody's here anyway. Y' see, " he went on, stoopingto his work again, "I'm not used to military manners an' customs. Ayear ago if you'd told me I'd be a soldier, _and_ in the British Army, I'd ha' thought you clean loco. "

Courtenay laughed. "There's a good many in the same British Army cansay the same as you, " he said. 

"I was in London when the flare-up came, an' bein' interested inbusiness I didn't ball up my intellect with politics an' newspaper wartalk. So a cable I had from the firm hit me wallop, an' plumb dazed me. It said, 'Try secure war contract. One hundred full-powered availablenow. Two hundred delivery within month. ' Then I began to sit up an'take notice. Y' see, I'm in with a big firm of auto builders--mebbe youknow 'em--Rawbon an' Spedding, the Rawbon bein' my dad? No? Well, anyhow, I got the contract, got it so quick it made my head swim. Gee, that fellow in the War Office was buyin' up autos like I'd buypipe-lights. The hundred lorries was shipped over, an' I saw 'em safethrough the specified tests an' handed 'em over. Same with the next twohundred, an' this"--tapping his toe on the floor--"is one of 'em righthere. "

"I see how the lorry got here, " said Courtenay, hugely interested, "butI don't see how you've managed to be aboard. You and a suit of khakiand a sergeant's stripes weren't all in the contract, I suppose?"

"Nope, " said the sergeant, "not in the written one, mebbe. But I took afancy to seein' how the engines made out under war conditions, an'figured I might get some useful notes on it for the firm, so I fixed itto come right along. "

"But how?" asked Courtenay--"if that's not a secret. "

"Why, that guy in the testin' sheds was plump tickled when I told himmy notion. He fixed it all, and me suddenly discoverin' I was mistookfor a Canadian I just said 'M-m-m' when anybody asked me. I had toenlist though, to put the deal through, an' after that there wasn'ttrouble enough to clog the works of a lady's watch. But there wastrouble enough at the other end. My dad fair riz up an' screechedcablegrams at me when I hinted at goin' to the Front. He made out itwas on the business side he was kickin', with the attitude of theU-nited States toward the squabble thrown in as extra. Neutrals, hesaid we was, benevolent neutrals, an' he wasn't goin' to have a son o'his steppin' outside the ring-fence o' the U-nited States Constitution, to say nothing of mebbe losin' good business we'd been do in' with theHoggheimers, an' Schmidt Brothers, an' Fritz Schneckluk, an' a heapmore buyers o' his that would rear up an' rip-snort an' refuse to doanother cent's worth of dealing with a firm that was sellin' 'em autoswi' one hand an' shootin' holes in their brothers and cousins andKaisers wi' the other. I soothed the old man down by pointing out I wasto go working these lorries, and the British Army don't shoot Germanswith motor-lorries; and I'd be able to keep him posted in any weakpoints, if, and as, and when they developed, so he could keep ahead o'the crowd in improvements and hooking in more fat contracts; andlastly, that the Schmidt customer crowd didn't need to know a thingabout me being here unless he was dub enough to tell 'em. So I signedon to serve King George an' his missus an' kids for ever an' ever, orduration of war, Amen, with a mental footnote, which last was the onlypart I mentioned in mailing my dad, that I was a Benevolent Neutral. An' here I am. "

"Good egg, " laughed Courtenay. "Hope you're liking the job. "

"Waal, I'll amit I'm some disappointed, Loo-tenant, " drawled thesergeant. "Y' see I did expect I'd have a look in at some of thefightin'. I'm no ragin' blood-drinker an' bone-buster by profession, up-bringin', or liking. But it does seem sorter poor play that a manshould be plumb center of the biggest war in history an' never see asingle solitary corpse. An' that's me. I been trailin' around with thisconvoy for months, and never got near enough to a shell burst to tellit from a kid's firework. It ain't in the program of this trenchwarfare to have motor transport under fire, and the program is bein'strictly attended to. It's some sight too, they tell me, when a goodmix-up is goin' on up front. I've got a camera here that I boughtspecial, thinking it would be fun later to show round my album in theStates an' point out this man being skewered on a bayonet an' that onebeing disrupted by a bomb an' the next lot charging a trench. But willyou believe me, Loo-tenant, I haven't as much as set eye or foot on thetrenches. I did once take a run up on the captain's 'Douglas, ' thinkingI'd just have a walk around an' see the sights and get some snaps. ButI might as well have tried to break into Heaven an' steal the choir'sharps. I was turned back about ten ways I tried, and wound up by beingarrested as a spy an' darn near gettin' shot. I got mad at last and Itold some fellows, stuck all over with red tabs and cap-bands andarmlets, that they could keep their old trenches, and I didn't believethey were worth looking at anyway. "

Courtenay was laughing again. "I fancy I see the faces of the staff, "he choked. 

"Oh, they ante-d up all right later on, " admitted the sergeant, "whenthey'd discovered this column and roped in my captain to identify me. One old leather-face, 'specially--they told me after he was aGeneral--was as nice as pie, an' had me in an' fed me a fresh meat andcanned asparagus lunch and near chuckled himself into a choking fitwhen I told him about dad, an' my being booked up as a BenevolentNeutral. He was so mighty pleasant that I told him I'd like to have mydad make him a present of as dandy an auto as rolls in France. I wouldhave, too, but he simply wouldn't listen to me; told me he'd send itback freight if I did; and I had to believe him, though, it seemedunnatural. But they wouldn't let me go look at their blame trenches. Itried to get this General joker to pass me in, but he wouldn't fall forit. 'No, no, ' he gurgles and splutters. 'A Benevolent Neutral in thetrenches! Never do, never do. We'll have to put some new initials onthe Mechanical Transport, ' he says, 'B. N. M. T. Benevolent Neutral! Imust tell Dallas of the Transport that. ' And he shooed me off withthat. "

The sergeant had worked busily as he talked, and now, as he commencedto replace the repaired fork, he was thoughtfully silent a moment. 

"I suppose there's some dandy sna-aps up in those trenches, Loo-tenant?" he said at last. 

"Oh, well, I dunno, " said Courtenay. "Sort of thing you see in thepicture papers, of course. "

"Them!" said the sergeant contemptuously. "I could make better sna-apsposin' some of the transport crowd in these emergency trenches dugtwenty miles back from the front. I mean real pictures of the realthing--fellows knee-deep in mud, and a shell lobbing in, and suchlike--real dandy snaps. It makes my mouth water to think of 'em. But Isuppose I'll go through this darn war and never see enough to let mehold up my head when I get back home and they ask me what was the warreally like and to tell 'em about the trenches. I could have made outif I'd even seen those blame trenches and got some good snaps of 'em. "

Courtenay was moved to a rash compassion and a still more rash promise. 

"Look here, sergeant, " he said, "I'm dashed if I don't have a try toget you a look at the trenches. We go in again in two days and it mightbe managed. "

 * * * * *

Three days later Sergeant Rawbon, mounted on the motor-cycle which hehad repaired and which had been sent over to him, found all hisobstacles to the trenches melt and vanish before a couple of passeswith which he was provided--one readily granted by his captain onhearing the reason for its request, and one signed by Second LieutenantCourtenay to pass the bearer, Sergeant Rawbon, on his way to theheadquarters of the 1st Footsloggers with motor-cycle belonging to thatbattalion. The last quarter mile of the run to the headquartersintroduced Sergeant Rawbon to the sensation of being under fire, and, as he afterwards informed Courtenay, he did not find the sensation inany way pleasant. 

"Loo-tenant, " he said gravely, "I've had some of this under fireperformance already, and I tell you I finds it no ways nice. Comingalong that last bit of road I heard something whistling every now an'then like the top note of a tin whistle, and something else goin'_whisk_ like a cane switched past your ear, and another lot saying_smack_ like a whip-lash snapping. I was riding slow and careful, because that road ain't exactly--well, it would take a lot ofsandpapering to make it really smooth. But when I realized that thosesounds spelt bullets with a capital B, I decided that road wasn't asbad as I'd thought, and that anything up to thirty knots wasn't outsideits limits. "

"Oh, you were all right, " said Courtenay carelessly, "bullets can'ttouch you there, except a few long-distance ones that fall in enfiladeover the village. From the front they go over your head, or hit thatparapet along the side of the road. "

"Which is comforting, so far, " said the sergeant, "though, personally, I've just about as much objection to be hit by a bullet that comes overa village as any other kind. "

They were outside the remains of a house in the cellar of which washeadquarters, Courtenay having timed the sergeant to arrive at an hourwhen he, Courtenay, could arrange to be waiting at headquarters. 

"Now we'll shove along down and round the trenches. I spoke to the O. C. And explained the situation--partly. He didn't raise any trouble sojust follow me, and leave me to do any talking there is to do. You mustkeep your eyes open and ask any questions about things after. It wouldlook a bit odd and raise remarks if the men saw me showing you roundand doing the Cook's Tour guide business. And if you've brought thatcamera, keep it out of sight till I give you the word. When we getalong to my own company's bit of trench I'll tell you, and you can takesome snaps--when I'm not looking at you. Just tip the wink to any menabout and they'll be quite pleased to pose or anything you like. "

"Loo-tenant, " said Sergeant Rawbon earnestly, "you're doin' this thingreal handsome, and I won't forget it. If ever you hit the U-nitedStates----"

"Oh, that's all right, " said Courtenay, "come along now. "

"When we find your bunch, " said Rawbon as they moved off, "if you couldmake some sort of excuse out loud, and fade from the scene a minute andleave me there with the men, I'll sure get some of the dandiest snapsI'd wish. I reckon it'll satisfy the crowd if I promise to send 'emcopies. It will if they're anything like my lot in the MechanicalTransport. "

They slid down into a deep and narrow and very muddy ditch that rantwistingly through the wrecked village. Courtenay explained thatusually they could walk this part above ground, sheltered from bulletsby the broken-down houses and walls, but that a good few shells hadbeen coming over all day, and that in the communication trench theywere safe from all shells but those which burst directly over or in thepart they were in. 

"You want to run across this bit, " he said presently. "A high explosivebroke that in this morning, and it can't be repaired properly tilldark. You go first and wait the other side for me. Now--jump lively!"

Rawbon took one quick jumping stride to the middle of the gap, andanother and very much quicker one beyond it, as a bullet smackedvenomously into the broken side of the trench. Another threw a spurt ofmud at Courtenay's heels as he made the rush. "A sniper watches the gapand pots at anyone passing, " he explained to Rawbon. "It's fairly safe, because at the range he's firing a bullet takes just a shade longer toreach here than you take to run across. But it doesn't do to walk. "

"No, " said Rawbon, "and going back somehow I don't think I will walk. Ican see without any more explainin' that it's no spot for a pleasant, easy little saunter. " He stopped suddenly as a succession of whoopingrushes passed overhead. "Gee! What's that?"

"Shells from our own guns, " said Courtenay, and took the lead again. Inhis turn he stopped and crouched, calling to Rawbon to keek down. Theyheard a long screaming whistle rising to a tempestuous roar andbreaking off in a crash which made the ground shake. Next moment ashower of mud and earth and stones fell rattling and thumping about andinto the trench. 

"Coal-box, " said Courtenay hurriedly. "Come on. They're apt to dropsome more about the same spot. "

"I'm with you, " said Rawbon. "The same spot is a good one to quit, Ireckon. "

They hurried, slipping and floundering, along the wet trench, andturned at last into another zig-zag one where a step ran along oneside, and men muffled in wet coats stood behind a loopholed parapet. Along the trench was a series of tiny shelters scooped out of the bank, built up with sand-bags, covered ineffectually with wet, shiny, waterproof ground-sheets. In these, men were crouched over scantilyfilled braziers, or huddled, curled up like homeless dogs on adoorstep. At intervals along the parapet men watched through periscopeshoisted over the top edge, and every now and then one fired through aloophole. The trench bottom where they walked was anything from ankle- toknee-deep in evil-looking watery mud of the consistency of very thinporridge. The whole scene, the picture of wet misery, the dirt andsqualor and discomfort made Rawbon shiver as much from disgust as fromthe raw cold that clung about the oozing clay walls and began to bitethrough to his soaking feet and legs. Courtenay stopped near a group ofmen, and telling the sergeant to wait there a moment, moved on and lefthim. A puff of cold wet wind blew over the parapet, and the sergeantwrinkled his nose disgustedly. "Some odorous, " he commented to amud-caked private hunkered down on his heels on the fire-step with hisback against the trench wall. "Does, the Boche run a glue factory or afertilizer works around here?"

"The last about fits it, " said the private grimly. "They made an attackhere about a week back, and there's a tidy few fertilizin' out therenow--to say nothin' of some of ours we can't get in. "

Rawbon squirmed uneasily to think he should, however unwittingly, havejested about their dead, but nobody there seemed in any way shocked orresentful. The sergeant suddenly remembered his camera, and had thrusthis hand under his coat to his pocket when the warning screech of anapproaching shell and the example of the other men in the traverse senthim crouching low in the trench bottom. The trench there was almostknee-deep in thin mud, but everyone apparently took that as a matter ofcourse. The shell burst well behind them, but it was followedimmediately by about a dozen rounds from a light gun. They cameuncomfortably close, crashing overhead and just in front of theparapet. A splinter from one lifted a man's cap from his head and sentit flying. The splinter's whirr and the man's sharp exclamation broughtall eyes in his direction. His look of comical surprise and thehalf-dazed fashion of his lifting a hand to fumble cautiously at hishead raised some laughter and a good deal of chaff. 

"Orright, " he said angrily. "Orright, go on; laugh, dash yer. Fat lott' laugh at, seein' a man's good cap pitched in the mud. "

"No use you feelin' that 'ead o' yours, " said his neighbor, grinning. "You can't even raise a sick 'eadache out o' that squeak. 'Arf an inchlower now an' you might 'ave 'ad a nice little trip 'ome in an'orspital ship. "

"You're wrong there, Jack, " said another solemnly. "That splinter hitfair on top of his nut, an' glanced off. You don't think a pifflin'little Pip-Squeak shell could go through _his_ head?" He stepped up onthe firing-step as he spoke, and on the instant, with a rush and crash, another "Pip-Squeak" struck the parapet immediately in front of him, blowing the top edge off it, filling the air with a volcano of mud, dirt, smoke, and shrieking splinters, and, either from the shock of theexplosion or in an attempt to escape it, throwing the man off hisbalance on the ledge of the firing-step to sprawl full length in themud. In the swirl of noise and smoke and flying earth Rawbon justglimpsed the plunging fall of a man's body, and felt a curious sicklyfeeling at the pit of his stomach. He was relieved beyond words to seethe figure rise to his knees and stagger to his feet, dripping mud andfilth, and swearing at the pitch of his voice. He paid no attention tothe stutter of laughter round him as he retrieved his mud-encrustedrifle, and looked about him for his cap. The laughter rose as he gropedin the thin mud for it, still cursing wildly; and then the sergeantnoticed that the man who had lost his cap a minute before had quietlysnatched up the other one from the firing-step, clapped it on his ownhead and pretended to help the loser to search. 

"It was blame funny, I suppose, " Rawbon told the lieutenant a fewminutes after, as they moved from the spot. "Him chasin' round in themud cussin' all blue about his 'blarsted cap'; and t'other fellow wi'the cap on his head and pretending to hunt for it, and callin' the restto come help. I dessay I'll laugh some myself, if I remember it whenI'm safe back about ten mile from here. Just at the moment my funnybone hasn't got goin' right after me expectin' to see that fellerblowed to ribbons an' remnants. But them others--say, I've seen mensittin' comfortable in an armchair seat at a roof-garden vaudevillethat couldn't raise as hearty a laugh at the prize antics of thethousand dollar star comedian, as them fellers riz on that capepisode. "

"Well, it was rather funny, you know, " said Courtenay, grinning alittle himself. 

"Mebbe, mebbe, " said Rawbon. "But me--well, if you'll excuse it, I'llkeep that laugh in pickle till I feel more like usin' it. "

"You wanted to come, you know, " said Courtenay. "But I won't blame youif you say you've had enough and head for home. As I told you before, this 'joy-riding' game is rather silly. It's bad enough us taking riskswe have to, but----"

"Yes, you spoke that piece, Loo-tenant, " said Rawbon, "but I want tosee all there is on show now I'm here. Only don't expect me to shriekwith hilarious mirth every time a shell busts six inches off my nose. "

They had halted for a moment, and now another crackling string of lightshells burst along the trench. 

"There's another bunch o' humor arriving, " said Rawbon. "But I don'tfeel yet like encoring the turn any;"

They moved on to a steady accompaniment of shell bursts and Courtenaylooked round uneasily. 

"I don't half like this, " he said. "They don't usually shell us so atthis time of day. Hope there's no attack coming. "

"I agree with all you say, Loo-tenant, and then some. Especially aboutnot liking it. "

"I'm beginning to think you'd be better off these premises, " saidCourtenay. "I ought to be with my company if any trouble is coming off. And it might lead to questions and unpleasantness if you were foundhere--especially if you're a casualty, or I am. "

"Nuff sed, Loo-tenant, " said Rawbon promptly. "I don't want that sorto' trouble for various reasons. I'd have an everlastin' job explainingto my dad what I was doin' in the front seats o' the firing line. Itwouldn't just fit wi' my bein' a Benevolent Neutral, not anyhow. "

"We're only about thirty or forty yards from the Germ trench in thisbit, " said Courtenay. "Here, carry my periscope, and when I'm talkingto some of the men just take a look quietly. "

But Rawbon was not able to see much when, a little later, he had achance to use the periscope. For one thing the short winter day wasfading and the light was already poor; for another any attempt to keepthe periscope above the parapet for more than a few seconds brought aseries of bullets hissing and zipping over, and periscope glasses inthose days were too precious to risk for mere curiosity's sake. 

"We'll just have a look at the Frying Pan, " said Courtenay, "and thenyou'll have seen about the lot. We hold a bit of the trench running outbeyond the Pan and the Germs are holding the same trench a littlefurther along. We've both got the trench plugged up with sandbagbarricades. "

They floundered along the twisting trench till it turned sharply to theright and ran out into the shallow hollow of the Frying Pan. It wasswimming in greasy mud, and across the far side from where they stoodRawbon could see a breastwork of sandbags. 

"We call this entrance trench the Handle, and the trench that runs outfrom behind that barricade the Leak. There's always more or lessbombing going on in the Leak, and I don't know if it's very wise of youto go up there. We call this the Frying Pan because--well, 'into thefire, ' you know. Will you chance it?"

"Why, sure; if you don't mind, Loo-tenant, " said Rawbon, "I might aswell see--" He was interrupted by a sudden crash and roar, runningbursts of flaring light, hoarse yells and shouts, and a few rifle shotsfrom somewhere beyond the barricade across the Leak. The work of thenext minute was too fast and furious for Rawbon to follow orunderstand. The uproar beyond the barricade swelled and clamored, andthe earth shook to the roar of bursting bombs. In the Frying Pan therewas a sudden vision of confused figures, dimly seen through theswirling smoke, swaying and struggling, threshing and splashing in theliquid mud. He was just conscious of Courtenay shouting something about"Get back, " of his being thrust violently back into the wide trench, oftwo or three figures crowding in after him, cursing and staggering andshooting back into the Frying Pan, of Courtenay's voice shouting againto "Stand clear, " of a knot of men scrambling and heaving at something, and then of a deafening "Rat-tat-tat-tat, " and the streaming flashes ofa machine-gun. It stopped firing after a minute, and Rawbon, flattenedback against a corner of the trench wall, heard an explanation given bya gasping private to Courtenay and another mud-bedaubed officer whoappeared mysteriously from somewhere. 

"Flung a shower o' bombs an' rushed us, sir, " said the private. "Theywas over a-top o' us 'fore you could say 'knife. ' Only two or three o'us that wasn't downed and was able to get back out o' the Leak an'across the Pan to here. "

"We stopped them with the maxim, " said Courtenay, "but I supposethey'll rush again in a minute. "

He and the other officer conferred hastily. Rawbon caught a few wordsabout "counterattack" and "quicker the better" and "all the men I canfind, " and then the other officer moved hurriedly down the trench andmen came jostling and crowding to the end of the Handle, just clear ofthe corner where it turned into the Pan. A few sandbags were pulleddown off the parapet and heaped across the end of the trench, themachine-gun was run close up to them and a couple of men posted, one towatch with a periscope, and the other to keep Verey pistol lightsflaring into the Frying Pan. 

Two minutes later the other officer returned, spoke hastily toCourtenay, and then calling to the men to follow, jumped the lowbarricade and ran splashing out into the open hollow with the menstreaming after him. A burst of rifle fire and the shattering crash ofbombs met them, and continued fiercely for a few minutes after the lastof the counter-attacking party had swarmed out. But the attack brokedown, never reached the barricade beyond the Pan, was, in fact, cutdown almost as fast as it emerged into the open. A handful of men camelimping and floundering back, and Courtenay, waiting by the machine-gunin case of another German rush, caught sight of the face of the lastman in. 

"Rawbon!" he said sharply. "Good Lord, man! I'd forgotten--What tookyou out there?"

"Say, Loo-tenant, " said Rawbon, panting hard. "There's no crossin' thatmud puddle Fry-Pan. They're holding the barricade 'cross there; gotloopholes an' shootin' through 'em. Can't we climb out an' over theopen an' on top of 'em?"

"No good, " said Courtenay. "They're sweeping it with maxims. Listen!"

Up to then Rawbon had heeded nothing above the level of the trench andthe hollow but now he could hear the steady roar of rifle and maximfire, and the constant whistle of bullets streaming overhead. 

"I must rally another crowd and try'n' rush it, " said Courtenay. "Standready with that maxim there. I won't be long. "

"I've got a box of bombs here, sir, " said a man behind him. 

Courtenay turned sharply. "Good, " he said. "But no--it's too far tothrow them. "

"I think I could just about fetch it, sir, " said the man. 

"All right, " said Courtenay. "Try it while I get some men together. "

"Here y' are, chum, " said the man, "you light 'em an' I'll chuck 'em. This way for the milky coco-nuts!"

Rawbon watched curiously. The bomb was round shaped and rather largerthan a cricket ball. A black tube affair an inch or two long projectedfrom it and emitted, when lit, a jet of hissing, spitting sparks. Thebomb-thrower seized the missile quickly, stepped clear of thesheltering corner of the trench, threw the bomb, and jumped back undercover. A couple of bullets slapped into the wall of the trench, andnext moment the bomb burst. 

"Just short, " said the thrower, who had peeped out at sound of thereport. "Let's 'ave another go. "

This time a shower of bullets greeted him as he stepped out, but hehurled his bomb and stepped back in safety. A third he threw, but thistime a bullet caught him and he reeled back with blood staining theshoulder of his tunic. 

"You'll 'ave to excuse me, " he remarked gravely to the man with thematch. "Can't stay now. I 'ave an urgent appointment in_Blighty_. [Footnote: England. A soldier's corruption of the Hindustaniword "Belati. "] But I'll drink your 'ealth when I gets to Lunnon. "

Rawbon had watched the throwing impatiently. "Look here, " he saidsuddenly. "Just lemme have a whale at this pitching. I'll show 'em somecurves that'll dazzle 'em. "

The wounded man peered at him and then at his cap badge. "Now 'oo theblank is this?" he demanded. "Blimey, Joe, if 'ere ain't a bloomingUniversal Plum-an'-Apple Provider. 'Ere, 'oo stole the strawberry jam?"

"You let me in on this ball game, " said Rawbon. "Light 'em and pass 'emquick, and see me put the Indian sign on that bunch. "

A minute later Courtenay came back and stared in amazement at thescene. Two men were lighting and passing up bombs to the sergeant, who, standing clear out in the opening, grabbed and hurled the balls with anextraordinary prancing and dancing and arm-swinging series ofcontortions, while the crowded trench laughed and applauded. 

"Some pitchin', Loo-tenant, " he panted beamingly, stepping back intoshelter. "Hark at 'em. And every darn one right over the plate. Say, step out here an' watch this next lot. "

"No time now, " said Courtenay hurriedly. 

"They're strengthening their defense every minute. Are you all readythere, lads?"

"I don't know who this man is, sir, " said a sergeant quickly. "But he'sdoing great work. Every bomb has gone in behind the parado there. Hemight try a few more to shake them before we advance. "

"Behind the parakeet, " snorted Rawbon. "I should smile. You watch! I'llput some through the darn loopholes for you. Didn't know I was pitcherto the Purple Socks, the year we whipped the League, did you? Gimmethirty seconds, Loo-tenant, and I'll put thirty o' these balls rightwhere they live. "

As he spoke he picked up two of the bombs from a fresh box and heldthem to the lighter. As he plunged out a shower of bullets spatteredthe trench wall about him, but without heeding these he began to throw. As the roar of the bursting bombs began, the bullets slowed down andceased. "Keep the lights blazing, " Rawbon paused to shout to the manwith the pistol flares. "You slide out for the home base, Loo-tenant, and I'll keep 'em too busy to shoot their nasty little guns. " Hecommenced to hurl the bombs again. Courtenay stepped out and watched amoment. Bomb after bomb whizzed true and hard across the hollow, justskimmed the breastwork, struck on the trench wall that showed beyondand a foot above it, and fell behind the barricade. Billowingsmoke-clouds and gusts of flame leaped and flashed above the parapet. Courtenay saw the chance and took it. He plunged out into the lake ofmud and plowed through it towards the barricade, the men swarmingbehind him, and the sergeant's bombs hurtling with trailing streams ofsparks over their heads. 

"Come on, son, " said the sergeant. "You carry that box and gimme theslow match. I pitch better with a little run. "

Courtenay reached the barricade and led his men over and roundit without a casualty. The space behind the barricade wasdeserted--deserted, that is, except by the dead, and by someunutterable things that would have been better dead. 

The lost portion of trench was recaptured, and more, the defense, demoralized by that tornado of explosions, was pushed a good fiftyyards further back before the counter-attack was stayed. 

At daybreak next morning Courtenay and the sergeant stood together onthe road leading to the communication trench. Both were crusted to theshoulders in thick mud; Rawbon's cap was gone, and his hair hungplastered in a wet mop over his ears and forehead, and Courtenay showeda red-stained bandage under his cap. 

"Rawbon, " he said, "I feel rotten over this business. Here you've donesome real good work--I don't believe we'd ever have got across withoutyour bombing--and you won't let me say a word about it. I'm dashed if Ilike it. Dash it, you ought to get a V. C. , or a D. C. M. At least, forit. "

"Now lookahere, Loo-tenant, " said Rawbon soothingly. "There's no needfor you to feel peaked--not any. It was darn good of you to let me inon these sacred no-admittance-'cept-on-business trenches, and I'm plumbglad I landed in the mix-up. It would probably raise trouble for you ifyour boss knew you'd slipped me in; and it sure would raise everlastingtrouble for me at home if my name was flourishin' in the papers gettin'an A. B. C. Or D. A. M. N. Or whatever the fixin' is. And I'd sooner havethis"--slapping the German helmet that dangled at his belt--"than yourwhole darn alphabet o' initials. Don't forget what I told you about thedad an' those Schwartzeheimer friends o' his, the cousins o' which samefriends I've been blowin' off the earth with bomb base-balls. Let it goat that, and never forget it, friend--I'm a Benevolent Neutral. "

"I won't forget it, " said Courtenay, laughing and shaking hands. Hewatched the sergeant as he bestrode the motor-cycle, pushed off, andswung off warily down the wet road into the morning mist. 

"What was it that despatch said a while back!" he mused. "Somethingabout 'There are few who appreciate or even understand the value of thevaried work of the Army Service Corps. ' Well, this lot was a bit morevaried than usual, and I fancy it might astonish even the fellow whowrote that line. "

DRILL

"_Yesterday one of the enemy's heavy guns was put out of action by ourartillery. _"--EXTRACT FROM DESPATCH. 

"Stand fast!" the instructor bellowed, and while the detachmentstiffened to immobility he went on, without stopping to draw breath, bellowing other and less printable remarks. After he had finished thesehe ordered "Detachment rear!" and taking more time and adding even morepoint to his remarks, he repeated some of them and added others, addressing abruptly and virulently the "Number" whose bungling hadaroused his wrath. 

"You've learnt your gun drill, " he said, "learned it like asulphur-crested cockatoo learns to gabble 'Pretty Polly scratch apoll'; why in the name of Moses you can't make your hands do what yourtongue says 'as me beat. You, Donovan, that's Number Three, let me hearyou repeat the drill for Action Front. "

Donovan, standing strictly to attention, and with his eyes fixedstraight to his front, drew a deep breath and rattled off:

"At the order or signal from the battery leader or section commander, 'Halt action front!' One orders 'Halt action front!'--At the order fromOne, the detachment dismounts, Three unkeys, and with Two lifts thetrail; when the trail is clear of the hook, Three orders 'Limber driveon. '"

The instructor interrupted explosively. 

"You see, " he growled, "you know it. Three orders 'Limber drive on. 'You're Three! but did you order limber drive on, or limber drive off, or drive anywhere at all? Did you expect drivers that would be sittingup there on their horses, with their backs turned to you, to have eyesin the backs of their heads to see when you had the trail lifted, ordid you be expectin' them to thought-read that you wanted them to driveon!"

Three, goaded at last to a sufficiency of daring, ventured to muttersomething about "was going to order it. "

The instructor caught up the phrase and flayed him again with it. "'Wasgoing to, '" he repeated, "'was going to order it. ' Perhaps some day, when a bullet comes along and drills a hole in your thick head, youwill want to tell it you 'was going to' get out of the way. You maybeexpect the detachment to halt and stand easy, and light a cigarette, and have a chat while you wait to make up your mind what you're goingto say, and when you're going to say it! And if ever you get pastrecruit drill in the barracks square, my lad, and smell powder burnt inaction, you'll learn that there's no such thing as 'going to' in yourgun drill. If you're slow at it, if you fumble your fingers, and tieknots in your tongue, and stop to think about your 'going to, ' you'llfind maybe that 'going to' has gone before you make up your mind, andthe only thing 'going to' will be you and your detachment; and itsKingdom Come you'll be 'going to' at that. And now we'll try it again, and if I find any more 'going to' about it this time it's an hour'sextra drill a day you'll be 'going to' for the next week. "

He kept the detachment grilling and grinding for another hour before helet them go, and at the end of it he spent another five minutespointing out the manifold faults and failings of each individual in thedetachment, reminding them that they belonged to the Royal Regiment ofArtillery that is "The right of the line, the terror of the world, andthe pride of the British Army, " and that any man who wasn't a shiningcredit to the Royal Regiment was no less than a black disgrace to it. 

When the detachment dismissed, and for the most part gravitated to thecanteen, they passed some remarks upon their instructor almost pungentenough to have been worthy of his utterance. "Him an' his everlastin''Cut the Time!'"

"I'm just about fed up with him, " said Gunner Donovan bitterly, "andI'd like to know where's all the sense doing this drill against astop-watch. You'd think from the way he talks that a man's life washanging on the whiskers of a half-second. Blanky rot, I call it. "

"I wouldn't mind so much, " said another gunner, "if ever he thought tosay we done it good, but not 'im. The better we does it and the faster, the better and the faster he wants it done. It's my belief that if hehad a gun detachment picked from the angels above he'd tell 'em theirbuttons and their gold crowns was a disgrace to Heaven, that they wastoo slow to catch worms or catch a cold, and that they'd 'ave to cutthe time it took 'em to fly into column o' route from the right downthe Golden Stairs, or to bring their 'arps to the 'Alt action front. "

These were the mildest of the remarks that passed between the smartingNumbers of the gun detachment, but they would have been astonishedbeyond words if they could have heard what their instructor Sergeant"Cut-the-Time" was saying at that moment to a fellow-sergeant in thesergeants' mess. 

"They're good lads, " he said, "and it's me, that in my time has seenthe making and the breaking and the handling and the hammering of gundetachments enough to man every gun in the Army, that's saying it. Ihad them on the 'Halt action front' this morning, and I tell youthey've come on amazing since I took 'em in hand. We cut three solidseconds this morning off the time we have been taking to get the guninto action, and a second a round off the firing of ten rounds. They'llmake gunners yet if they keep at it. "

"Three seconds is good enough, " said the other mildly. 

"It isn't good enough, " returned the instructor, "if they can make itfour, and four's not good enough if they can make it five. It's whenthey can't cut the time down by another split fraction of a second thatI'll be calling them good enough. They won't be blessing me for it now, but come the day maybe they will. "

 * * * * *

The battery was moving slowly down a muddy road that ran along the edgeof a thick wood. It had been marching most of the night, and, since thenight had been wet and dark, the battery was splashed and muddy to thegun-muzzles and the tops of the drivers' caps. It was early morning, and very cold. Gunners and drivers were muffled in coats and woolenscarves, and sat half-asleep on their horses and wagons. A thick andchilly mist had delayed the coming of light, but now the mist hadlifted suddenly, blown clear by a quickly risen chill wind. When themist had been swept away sufficiently for something to be seen of thesurrounding country, the Major, riding at the head of the battery, passed the word to halt and dismount, and proceeded to "find himself onthe map. " Glancing about him, he picked out a church steeple in thedistance, a wayside shrine, and a cross-road near at hand, a curve ofthe wood beside the road, and by locating these on the squared map, which he took from its mud-splashed leather case, he was enabled toplace his finger on the exact spot on the map where his battery stoodat that moment. Satisfied on this, he was just about to give the orderto mount when he heard the sound of breaking brushwood and saw aninfantry officer emerge from the trees close at hand. 

The officer was a young man, and was evidently on an errand of haste. He slithered down the steep bank at the edge of the wood, leaped theroadside ditch, asked a question of the nearest man, and, getting ananswer from him, came at the double past the guns and teams towards theMajor. He saluted hastily, said "Mornin', sir, " and went onbreathlessly: "My colonel sent me across to catch you. We are in aditch along the edge of the far side of this wood, and could just seeenough of you between the trees to make out your battery. From where weare we can see a German gun, one of their big brutes, with a team ofabout twenty horses pulling it, plain and fair out in the open. TheColonel thinks you could knock 'em to glory before they could reachcover. "

"Where can I see them from!" said the Major quickly. 

"I'll show you, " said the subaltern, "if you'll leave your horse andcome with me through this wood. It's only a narrow belt of trees here. "

The Major turned to one of his subalterns who was with him at the headof the battery. 

"Send back word to the captain to come up here and wait for me!" hesaid rapidly. "Tell him what you have just heard this officer say, andtell him to give the word, 'Prepare for action. ' And now, " he said, turning to the infantryman, "go ahead. "

The two of them jumped the ditch, scrambled up the bank, anddisappeared amongst the trees. 

A message back to the captain who was at the rear of the batterybrought him up at a canter. The subaltern explained briefly what he hadheard, and the captain, after interrupting him to shout an order to"Prepare for action, " heard the finish of the story, pulled out hismap, and pointing out on it a road shown as running through the trees, sent the subaltern off to reconnoiter it. 

The men were stripping off their coats, rolling them and strapping themto the saddles and the wagon seats; the Numbers One, the sergeants incharge of each gun, bustling their gunners, and seeing everything aboutthe guns made ready: the gunners examining the mechanism and gears ofthe gun, opening and closing the hinged flaps of the wagons, andtearing the thin metal cover off the fuses. 

It was all done smartly and handily, and one after another thesergeants reported their subsections as ready. Immediately the captaingave the order to mount, drivers swung themselves to their saddles, andthe gunners to their seats on the wagons, and all sat quietly waitingfor whatever order might come next. 

The lifting of the mist had shown a target to the gunners on both sidesapparently, and the roar and boom of near and distant guns beat andthrobbed quicker and at closer intervals. 

In three minutes the Major came running back through the wood, and thecaptain moved to meet him. 

"We've got a fair chance!" said the Major exultingly. "One of their bigguns clear in the open, and moving at a crawl. I want you to take thebattery along the road here, sharp to the right at the cross-road, andthrough the wood. The Inf. Tell me there is just a passable roadthrough. Take guns and firing battery wagons only; leave the othershere. When you get through the wood, turn to the right again, and alongits edge until you come to where I'll be waiting for you. I'll take therange-taker with me. The order will be 'open sights'; it's the onlyway--not time to hunt a covered position! Now, is all that clear?"

"Quite clear, " said the captain tersely. 

"Off you go, then, " said the Major; "remember, it's quick work. Trumpeter, come with me, and the range-taker. Sergeant-major, leave thebattery staff under cover with the first line. "

He swung into the saddle, set his horse at the ditch, and with a leapand scramble was over and up the bank and crashing into theundergrowth, followed by his trumpeter and a man with the six-foot tubeof a range-finder strapped to the saddle. 

Before he was well off the road the captain shouted the order to walkmarch, and as the battery did so the subaltern who had been sent out toreconnoiter the road came back at a canter. 

"We can just do it, " he reported; "it's greasy going, and the road isnarrow and rather twisty, but we can do it all right. "

The captain sent back word to section commanders, and the other twosubalterns spurred forward and joined him. 

"We go through the wood, " he explained, "and come into action on theother side. The order is 'open sights, ' so I expect we'll be in anexposed position. You know what that means. There's a gun to knock out, and if we can do it and get back quick before they get our range we mayget off light. If we can't----" and he broke off significantly. "Getback and tell your Numbers One, and be ready for quick moving. "

Immediately they had fallen back the order was given to trot, and thebattery commenced to bump and rumble rapidly over the rough road. Asthey neared the cross-roads they were halted a moment, and then theguns and their attendant ammunition wagons only went on, turned intothe wood, and recommenced to trot. 

They jolted and swayed and slid over the rough, wet road, the gunnersclinging fiercely to the handrails, the drivers picking a way as bestthey could over bowlders and between ruts. They emerged on the far sideof the wood, found themselves in an open field, turned sharply to theright, and kept on at a fast trot. A line of infantry were entrenchedamongst the trees on the edge of the wood, but their shouted remarkswere drowned in the clatter and rattle and jingle of wheels andharness. Out on their left the ground rose very gently, and far beyonda low crest could be seen clumps of trees, patches of fields, and a fewscattered farm? houses. At several points on this distant slope theWhite smoke-clouds of bursting shells were puffing and breaking, but sofar there was no sign to be seen of any man or of any gun. When theycame to where the Major was waiting he rode out from the trees, blewsharply on a whistle, and made a rapid signal with hand and arm. Theguns and wagons had been moving along the edge of the wood in singlefile, but now at the shouted order each team swung abruptly to its leftand commenced to move in a long line out from the wood towards the lowcrest, the whole movement being performed neatly and cleanly and stillat a trot. The Major rode to his place in the center of the line, andthe battery, keeping its place close on his heels, steadily increasedits pace almost to a canter. The Major's whistle screamed again, and atanother signal and the shouted orders the battery dropped to a walk. Every man could see now over the crest and into the shallow valley thatfell away from it and rose again in gentle folds and slopes. At firstthey could see nothing of the gun against which they had expected to bebrought into action, but presently some one discovered a string of tinyblack dots that told of the long team and heavy gun it drew. Anothersharp whistle and the Major's signal brought the battery up with ajerk. 

"Halt! action front!" The shouted order rang hoarsely along the line. For a moment there was wild commotion; a seething chaos, a swirl ofbobbing heads and plunging horses. But in the apparent chaos there wasnothing but the most smooth and ordered movement, the quick but mostexact following of a routine drill so well ground in that its motionswere almost mechanical. The gunners were off their seats before thewheels had stopped turning, the key snatched clear, and the trail ofthe gun lifted, the wheels seized, and the gun whirled round in ahalf-circle and dropped pointing to the enemy. The ammunition wagonpulled up into place beside the gun, the traces flung clear, and theteams hauled round and trotted off. As Gunner Donovan's trail waslifted clear his yell of "Limber, drive on, " started the team forwardwith a jerk, and a moment later, as he and the Number Two slipped intotheir seats on the gun the Number Two grinned at him. "Sharp's theword, " he said: "d'you mind the time----" He was interrupted roughly bythe sergeant, who had just had the target pointed out to him, jerkingup the trail to throw the gun roughly into line. 

"Shut yer head, and get on to it, Donovan. You see that target there, don't you?"

"See it a fair treat!" said Donovan joyfully; "I'll bet I plunk a bullin the first three shots. "

Back in the wood the infantry colonel, from a vantage-point half-way upa tall tree, watched the ensuing duel with the keenest excitement. 

The battery's first two ranging shots dropped in a neat bracket, oneover and one short; in the next two the bracket closed, the shortershot being almost on top of the target. This evidently gave the rangeclosely enough, and the whole battery burst into a roar of fire, theblazing flashes running up and down the line of guns like the reportsof a gigantic Chinese cracker. Over the long team of the German gun athick cloud of white smoke hung heavily, burst following upon burst andhail after hail of shrapnel sweeping the men and horses below. Thenthrough the crashing reports of the guns and the whimpering rush oftheir shells' passage, there came a long whistling scream that rose androse and broke off abruptly in a deep rolling cr-r-r-rump. A spout ofbrown earth and thick black smoke showed where the enemy shell hadburst far out in front of the battery. 

The infantry colonel watched anxiously. He knew that out theresomewhere another heavy German gun had come into action; he knew thatit was a good deal slower in its rate of fire, but that once it hadsecured its line and range it could practically obliterate the lightfield guns of the battery. The battery was fighting against time andthe German gunners to complete their task before they could besilenced. The first team was crippled and destroyed, and another team, rushed out from the cover of the trees, was fallen upon by the shrapneltornado, and likewise swept out of existence. 

Then another shell from the German gun roared over, to burst this timewell in the rear of the battery. 

The colonel knew what this meant. The German gun had got its bracket. The battery had ceased to fire shrapnel, and was pouring high-explosiveabout the derelict gun. The white bursts of shrapnel had given place toa series of spouting volcanoes that leaped from the ground about thegun itself. Another German shell fell in front of the battery and agood 200 yards nearer to it. A movement below attracted the colonel'sattention, and he saw the huddled teams straighten out and canter hardtowards the guns. He turned his glasses on the German gun again, andcould not restrain a cry of delight as he saw it collapsed and lying onits side, while high-explosive shells still pelted about it. 

The teams came up at a gallop, swept round the guns, and halted. Instantly they were hooked in, the buried spades of the guns wrenchedfree, the wheels manned, the trails dropped clashing on the limberhooks. And as they dropped, another heavy shell soared over burstbehind the battery, so close this time that the pieces shrieked andspun about the guns, wounding three horses and a couple of men. TheMajor, mounted and waiting, cast quick glances from gun to gun. Theinstant he saw they were ready he signaled an order, the drivers' spursclapped home, and the whips rose and fell whistling and snapping. Thebattery jerked forward at a walk that broke immediately into a trot, and from that to a hard canter. 

Even above the clatter and roll of the wheels and the hammeringhoof-beats the whistle and rush of another heavy shell could be heard. Gunner Donovan, twisted sideways and clinging close to the joltingseat, heard the sound growing louder and louder, until it sounded soclose that it seemed the shell was going to drop on top of them. But itfell behind them, and exactly on the position where the battery hadstood. Donovan's eye caught the blinding flash of the burst, thespringing of a thick cloud of black smoke. A second later somethingshrieked hurtling down and past his gun team, and struck with a viciousthump into the ground. 

"That was near enough, " shouted Mick, on the seat beside him. Donovancraned over as they passed, and saw, half-buried in the soft ground, the battered brass of one of their own shell cartridges. The heavyshell had landed fairly on top of the spot where their gun had stood, where the empty cartridge cases had been flung in a heap from thebreech. If they had been ten or twenty seconds later in getting clear, if they had taken a few seconds longer over the coming into action orlimbering up, a few seconds more to the firing of their rounds, thewhole gun and detachment . . . 

Gunner Donovan leaned across to Mick and shouted loudly. 

But his remark was so apparently irrelevant that Mick failed tounderstand. A sudden skidding swerve as the team wheeled nearly jerkedhim off his seat, the crackling bursts of half a dozen light shellsover the plain behind him distracted his attention for a momentfurther. Then he leaned in towards Donovan, "What was that?" he yelled. "What didjer say?"

Donovan repeated his remark. "Gawd--bless--old 'Cut-the-Time. '"

The battery plunged in amongst the trees, and into safety. 

A NIGHT PATROL

"_During the night, only patrol and reconnoitering engagements of smallconsequence are reported. "_--EXTRACT FROM DESPATCH. 

"Straff the Germans and all their works, particularly their mineworks!" said Lieutenant Ainsley disgustedly. 

"Seeing that's exactly what you're told off to do, " said the otheroccupant of the dug-out, "why grouse about it?"

Lieutenant Ainsley laughed. "That's true enough, " he admitted;"although I fancy going out on patrol in this weather and on this partof the line would be enough to make Mark Tapley himself grouse. However, it's all in the course of a lifetime, I suppose. "

He completed the fastening of his mackintosh, felt that the revolver onhis belt moved freely from its holster, and that the wire nippers werein place, pulled his soft cap well down on his head, grunted a"Good-night, " and dropped on his hands and knees to crawl out of thedug-out. 

He made his way along the forward firing trench to where his littlepatrol party awaited his coming, and having seen that they wereproperly equipped and fully laden with bombs, and securing a number ofthese for his own use, he issued careful instructions to the men tocrawl over the parapet one at a time, being cautious to do so only inthe intervals of darkness between the flaring lights. 

He was a little ahead of the appointed time; and because the trenchgenerally had been warned not to fire at anyone moving out in front ata certain hour, it was necessary to wait until then exactly. He toldthe men to wait, and spent the interval in smoking a cigarette. As helit it the thought came to him that perhaps it was the last cigarettehe would ever smoke. He tried to dismiss the thought, but it persisteduncomfortably. He argued with himself and told himself that he mustn'tget jumpy, that the surest way to get shot was to be nervous aboutbeing shot, that the job was bad enough but was only made worse byworrying about it. As a relief and distraction to his own thoughts, helistened to catch the low remarks that were passing between the men ofhis party. 

"When I get home after this job's done, " one of them was saying, "I'mgoing to look for a billet as stoker in the gas works, or sign on inone o' them factories that roll red-hot steel plates and you 'ave towear an asbestos sack to keep yourself from firing. After this I wantsomething as hot and as dry as I can find it. "

"I think, " said another, "my job's going to be barman in a nice snuglittle public with a fire in the bar parlor and red blinds on thewindow. "

"Why don't you pick a job that'll be easy to get?" said the third, withdeep sarcasm--"say Prime Minister, or King of England. You've about asmuch chance of getting them as the other. "

Lieutenant Ainsley grinned to himself in the darkness. At least, hethought, these men have no doubts about their coming back in safetyfrom this patrol; but then of course it was easier for them becausethey did not know the full detail of the risk they ran. But it was nouse thinking of that again, he told himself. 

He took his place in readiness, waited until one flare had burned outand there was no immediate sign of another being thrown up, slippedover the parapet and dropped flat in the mud on the other side. One byone the men crawled over and dropped beside him, and then slowly andcautiously, with the officer leading, they began to wend their way outunder their own entanglements. 

There may be some who will wonder that an officer should feel suchqualms as Ainsley had over the simple job of a night patrol over theopen ground in front of the German trench; but, then, there are patrolsand patrols, or as the inattentive recruit at the gunnery class saidwhen he was asked to describe the varieties of shells he had been toldof: "There are some sorts of one kind, and some of another. "

There are plenty of parts on the Western Front where affairs atintervals settled down into such a peaceful state that there wasnothing more than a fair sporting risk attaching to the performance ofa patrol which leaves the shelter of our own lines at night to crawlout amongst the barbed wire entanglements in the darkness. There havebeen times when you might listen at night by the hour together andhardly hear a rifle-shot, and when the burst of artillery fire was athing to be commented on. But at other times, and in some parts of theline especially, business was run on very different lines. Then everyman in the forward firing-trench had a certain number of rounds to fireeach night, even although he had no definite target to fire at. Magnesium flares and pistol lights were kept going almost withoutceasing, while the artillery made a regular practice of loosing off astated number of rounds per night. The Germans worked on fairly similarlines, and as a result it can easily be imagined that any patrol orreconnoitering work between the lines was apt to be exceedinglyunhealthy. Actually there were parts on the line where no feet hadpressed the ground of No Man's Land for weeks on end, unless in openattack or counter-attack, and of these feet there were a good many thatnever returned to the trench, and a good many others that did returnonly to walk straight to the nearest aid-post and hospital. 

The neutral ground at this period of Ainsley's patrol was a sea of mud, broken by heaped earth and yawning shell-craters; strung about withbarbed wire entanglements, littered with equipments and with packswhich had been cut from or slipped from the shoulders of the wounded;dotted more or less thickly with the bodies of British or German whohad fallen there and could not be reached alive by any stretcher-bearerparties. Unpleasant as was the coming in contact with these bodies, Ainsley knew that their being there was of considerable service to him. He and his men crawled in a scattered line, and whenever the upwardtrail of sparks showed that a flare was about to burst into light, thewhole party dropped and lay still until the light had burned itselfout. Any Germans looking out could only see their huddled forms lyingas still as the thickly scattered dead; could not know but what theparty was of their number. 

It was necessary to move with the most extreme caution, because theslightest motion might eaten the attention of a look-out, and wouldcertainly draw the fire of a score of rifles and probably of amachine-gun. The first part of the journey was the worst, because theyhad to cover a perfectly open piece of ground on their way to theslight depression which Ainsley knew ran curling across the neutralground. Wide and shallow at the end nearest the British trench, thisdepression narrowed and deepened as it ran slantingly towards theGerman; halfway across, it turned abruptly and continued towards theGerman side on another slant, and at a point about halfway between theelbow and the German trench, came very close to an explodedmine-crater, which was the objective of this night's patrol. 

It was supposed, or at least suspected, that the mine-crater was beingmade the starting-point of a tunnel to run under the British trench, and Ainsley had been told off to find out if possible whether thissuspicion was correct, and if so to do what damage he could to the mineentrance and the miners by bombing. 

When his party reached the shallow depression, they moved cautiouslyalong it, and to Ainsley's relief reached the elbow in safety. Herethey were a good deal more protected from the German fire than theycould be at any point, because from here the depression was fully acouple of feet deep and had its highest bank next the German trench. Ainsley led his men at a fairly rapid crawl along the ditch, until hehad passed the point nearest to the mine-crater. Here he halted hismen, and with infinite caution crawled out to reconnoiter. The men, whohad been carefully instructed in the part they were to play, waitedhuddling in silence under the bank for his return, or for the fusilladeof fire that would tell he was discovered. Immediately in front of thecrater was a patch of open ground without a single body lying in it;and Ainsley knew that if he were seen lying there where no body hadbeen a minute before, the German who saw him would unhesitatingly placea bullet in him. A bank of earth several feet high had been thrown upby the mine explosion in a ring round the crater, and although thiscovered him from the observation of the trench immediately behind themine, he knew that he could be seen from very little distance out onthe flank, and decided to abandon his crawling progress for once andrisk a quick dash across the open. For long he waited what seemed afavorable moment, watched carefully in an endeavor to locate the nearerpositions in the German trench from which lights were being thrown up, and to time the periods between them. 

At last three lights were thrown and burned almost simultaneouslywithin the area over which he calculated the illumination would exposehim. The instant the last flicker of the third light died out, heleaped to his feet, and made a rush. The lights had shown him a scantyfew rows of barbed wire between him and the crater; he had reckonedroughly the number of steps to it and counted as he ran, then morecautiously pushed on, feeling for the wire, found it, threw himselfdown, and began to wriggle desperately underneath. When he thought hewas through the last, he rose; but he had miscalculated, and the firststep brought his thighs in scratching contact with another wire. Hisheart was in his mouth, for some seconds had passed since the lastlight had died and he knew that another one must flare up at anyinstant. Sweeping his arm downward and forward, he could feel no wirehigher than the one-which had pricked his legs. There was no time nowto fiddle about avoiding tears and scratches. He swung over the wire, first one leg, then another, felt his mackintosh catch, dragged it freewith a screech of ripping cloth that brought his heart to his mouth, turned and rushed again for the crater. As he ran, first one light, then another, soared upwards and broke out into balls of vivid whitelight that showed the crater within a dozen steps. It was no time forcaution, and everything depended on the blind luck of whether a Germanlookout had his eyes on that spot at that moment. Without hesitation, he continued his rush to the foot of the mound on the crater's edge, hurled himself down on it and lay panting and straining his ears forthe sounds of shots and whistling bullets that would tell him he wasdiscovered. But the lights flared and burned out, leaped afresh anddied out again, and there was no sign that he had been seen. For themoment he felt reasonably secure. The earth on the crater's rim wasbroken and irregular, the surface an eye-deceiving patchwork of brokenlight and black heavy shadow under the glare of the flying lights. Themackintosh he wore was caked and plastered with mud, and blended wellwith the background on which he lay. He took care to keep his arms in, to sink his head well into his rounded shoulders, to curl his feet andlegs up under the skirt of his mackintosh, knowing well from his ownexperience that where the outline of a body is vague and easily escapesnotice, a head or an arm, or especially and particularly a booted footand leg, will stand out glaringly distinct. As he lay, he placed hisear to the muddy ground, but could hear no sound of mining operationsbeneath him. Foot by foot he hitched himself upward to the rim of thecrater's edge, and again lay and listened for thrilling long-drawnminute after minute. 

Suddenly his heart jumped and his flesh went cold. Unmistakingly heheard the scuffle and swish of footsteps on the wet ground, the murmurof voices apparently within a yard or two of his head. There were menin the mine-crater, and, from the sound of their movements, they werecreeping out on a patrol similar to his own, perhaps, and, as near ashe could judge, on a line that would bring them directly on top of him. The scuffing passed slowly in front of him and for a few yards alongthe inside of the crater. The sound of the murmuring voices passedsuddenly from confused dullness to a sharp clearer-edged speech, telling Ainsley, as plainly as if he could see, that the speaker hadrisen from behind the sound-deadening ridge of earth and was lookingclear over its top, Ainsley lay as still as one of the clods of earthabout him, lay scarcely daring to breathe, and with his skin pringling. There was a pause that may have been seconds, but that felt like hours. He did not dare move his head to look; he could only wait in an agonyof apprehension with his flesh shrinking from the blow of a bullet thathe knew would be the first announcement of his discovery. But thestillness was unbroken, and presently, to his infinite relief, he heardagain the guttural voices and the sliding footsteps pass back acrosshis front, and gradually diminish. But he would not let his impatiencerisk the success of his enterprise; he lay without moving a muscle formany long and nervous minutes. At last he began to hitch himselfslowly, an inch at a time, along the edge of the crater away from thepoint to which the German lookout had moved. He halted and lay stillagain when his ear caught a fresh murmur of guttural voices, thetrampling of many footsteps, and once or twice the low but clear clinkof an iron tool in the crater beneath him. 

It seemed fairly certain that the Germans were occupying the crater, were either making it the starting-point of a mine tunnel, or werefortifying it as a defensive point. But it was not enough to surmisethese things; he must make sure, and, if possible, bomb the workingparty or the entrance to the mine tunnel. He continued to work his wayalong the rim of the crater's edge. Arrived at a position where heexpected to be able to see the likeliest point of the crater for a mineworking to commence, he took the final and greatest chance. Moving onlyin the intervals of darkness between the lights, he dragged themackintosh up on his shoulders until the edge of its deep collar cameabove the top of his head, opened the throat and spread it wide todisguise any outline of his head and neck, found a suitable hollow onthe edge of the ridge, and boldly thrust his head over to lookdownwards into the hole. 

When the next light flared, he found that he could see the oppositewall and perhaps a third of the bottom of the hole, with the head andshoulders of two or three men moving about it. When the light died, hehitched forward and again lay still. This time the light showed himwhat he had come to seek: the black opening of a tunnel mouth in thewall of the crater nearest the British line, a dozen men busily engageddragging sacks-full of earth from the opening, and emptying themoutside the shaft. He waited while several lights burned, marking ascarefully as possible the outline of the ridge immediately above themine shaft, endeavoring to pick a mark that would locate its positionfrom above it. It had begun to rain in a thin drizzling mist, andalthough this obscured the outline of the crater to some extent, itsedge stood out well against the glow of such lights as were thrown upfrom the British side. 

It was now well after midnight, and the firing on both sides hadslackened considerably, although there was still an irregular rattle ofrifle fire, the distant boom of a gun and the scream of its shellpassing overhead. A good deal emboldened by his freedom from discoveryand by the misty rain, Ainsley slid backwards, moved round the crater, crept back to the barbed wire and under it, ran across the opening onthe other side and dropped into the hole where he had left his men. Hefound them waiting patiently, stretched full length in the wetdiscomfort of the soaking ground, but enduring it philosophically andconcerned, apparently, only for his welfare. 

His sergeant puffed a huge sigh of relief at his return. "I was justabout beginning to think you had 'gone west, ' sir, " he said, "andwondering whether I oughtn't to come and 'ave a look for you. "

Ainsley explained what had happened and what he had seen. "I'm goingback, and I want you all to come with me, " he said. "I'm going to shoveevery bomb we've got down that mine shaft. If we meet with any luck, weshould wreck it up pretty well. "

"I suppose, sir, " said the sergeant, "if we can plant a bomb or two inthe right spot, it will bottle up any Germans working inside?"

"Sure to!" said Ainsley. "It will cave in the entrance completely; andthen as soon as we get back, we'll give the gunners the tip, and leavethem to keep on lobbing some shells in and breaking up any attempt toreopen the shaft and dig out the mining party. "

"Billy!" said one of the men, in an audible aside, "don't you wish youwas a merry little German down that blinkin' tunnel, to-night!"

"Imphim, " answered Billy, "I don't think!"

Ainsley explained his plan of campaign, saw that everything was inreadiness, and led his party out. The misty rain was still falling, and, counting on this to hide them sufficiently from observation ifthey lay still while any lights were burning, they crawled rapidlyacross the open, wriggled underneath the wires, cut one or two ofthem--especially any which were low enough to interfere with freemovement under them--and crawled along to the crater. 

Ainsley left the party sprawling flat at the foot of the rim, while hecrept up to locate the position over the mine shaft. Each man hadbrought about a dozen small bombs and one large one packed with highexplosive. Before leaving the ditch, on Ainsley's directions, each mantied his own lot in one bundle, bringing the ends of the fuses togetherand tying them securely with their ends as nearly as possible level, sothat they could be lit at the same time. Each man had with him one ofthose tinder pipe-lighters which are ignited by the sparks of a littletwirled wheel. When Ainsley had placed the men on the edge of thecrater, he gave the word, and each man lit his tinder, holding it so asto be sheltered from sight from the German trench, behind the flap ofhis mackintosh. Then each took a separate piece of fuse about a footlong, and, at a whispered word from Ainsley, pressed the end into theglowing tinder. Almost at the same instant the four fuses began toburn, throwing out a fizzing jet of sparks. Each man knew that, shelterthem as they would from observation, the sparks were almost certain tobetray them; but although some rifles began at once to crackspasmodically and the bullets to whistle overhead, each man went onwith the allotted program steadily, without haste and without fluster, devoting all their attention to the proper igniting of the bomb-fuses, and leaving what might follow to take care of itself. As his length offuse caught, each man said "Ready" in a low tone; Ainsley immediatelysaid "Light!" and each instantly directed the jet of sparks as from atiny hose into the tied bundle of the bomb-fuses' ends. The instanteach man saw his own bundle well ignited, he reported "Lit!" and thrustthe fuse ends well into the soft mud. Being so waterproofed as to burnif necessary completely under water, this made no difference to thefuses, except that it smothered the sparks and showed only a curlingsmoke-wreath. But the first sparks had evidently been seen, for thebomb party heard shoutings and a rapidly increasing fire from theGerman lines. A light flamed upward near the mine-crater. Ainsley said, "Now!--, and take good aim. " The men scrambled to their knees and, leaning well over until they could see the black entrance of the mineshaft, tossed their bundles of bombs as nearly as they could into andaround it. In the pit below, Ainsley had a momentary glimpse of half adozen faces, gleaming white in the strong light, upturned, and staringat him; from somewhere down there a pistol snapped twice, and thebullets hissed past over their heads. The party ducked back below theridge of earth, and as a rattle of rifle fire commenced to break outalong the whole length of the German line, they lit from their tinderthe fuses of a couple of bombs specially reserved for the purpose, andtossed them as nearly as they could into the German trench, a score ofpaces away. Their fuses being cut much shorter than the others, thebombs exploded almost instantly, and Ainsley and his party leapt downto the level ground and raced across to the wire. 

By now the whole line had caught the alarm; the rifle fire had swelledto a crackling roar, the bullets were whistling and storming across theopen. In desperate haste they threw themselves down and wriggled underthe wire, and as they did so they felt the earth beneath them jar andquiver, heard a double and triple roar from behind them, saw the wetground in front of them and the wires overhead glow for an instant withrosy light as the fire of the explosion flamed upwards from the crater. 

At the crashing blast of the discharge, the rifle fire was hushed for amoment; Ainsley saw the chance and shouted to his men, and, as theyscrambled clear of the wire, they jumped to their feet, rushed backover the flat, and dropped panting in the shelter of the ditch. Therifle fire opened again more heavily than ever, and the bullets werehailing and splashing and thudding into the wet earth around them, butthe bank protected them well, and they took the fullest advantage ofits cover. Because the depression they were in shallowed and affordedless cover as it ran towards the British lines, it was safer for theparty to stay where they were until the fire slackened enough to givethem a fair sporting chance of crawling back in safety. 

They lay there for fully two hours before Ainsley considered it safeenough to move. They were, of course, long since wet through, and bynow were chilled and numbed to the bone. Two of the men had beenwounded, but only very slightly in clean flesh wounds: one through thearm and one in the flesh over the upper ribs. Ainsley himself bandagedboth men as well as he could in the darkness and the cramped positionnecessary to keep below the level of the flying ballets, and both men, when he had finished, assured him that they were quite comfortable andentirely free from pain. Ainsley doubted this, and because of it wasthe more impatient to get back to their own lines; but he restrainedhis impatience, lest it should result in any of his party sufferinganother and more serious wound. At last the rifle fire had died down toabout the normal night rate, had indeed dropped at the finish sorapidly in the space of two or three minutes that Ainsley concludedfresh orders for the slower rate must have been passed along the Germanlines. He gave the word, and they began to creep slowly back, movingagain only when no lights were burning. 

There were some gaspings and groanings as the men commenced to movetheir stiffened limbs. 

"I never knew, " gasped one, "as I'd so many joints in my backbone, andthat each one of them could hold so many aches. "

"Same like!" said another. "If you'll listen, you can hear my knees andhips creaking like the rusty hinges of an old barn-door. "

Although the men spoke in low tones, Ainsley whispered a stern commandfor silence. 

"We're not so far away, " he said, "but that a voice might carry; andyou can bet they're jumpy enough for the rest of the night to shoot atthe shadow of a whisper. Now come along, and keep low, and drop theinstant a light flares. "

They crawled back a score or so of yards that brought them to theelbow-turn of the depression. The bank of the turn was practically thelast cover they could count upon, because here the ditch shallowed andwidened and was, in addition, more or less open to enfilading fire fromthe German side. 

Ainsley halted the men and whispered to them that as soon as theycleared the ditch they were to crawl out into open order, starting assoon as darkness fell after the next light. Next moment they commencedto move, and as they did so Ainsley fancied he heard a stealthyrustling in the grass immediately in front of him. It occurred to himthat their long delay might have led to the sending out of a searchparty, and he was on the point of whispering an order back to the mento halt, while he investigated, when a couple of pistol lights flaredupwards, lighting the ground immediately about them. To hissurprise--surprise was his only feeling for the moment--he foundhimself staring into a bearded face not six feet from his own, andabove the face was the little round flat cap that marked the man aGerman. 

Both he and the German saw each other at the same instant; but becausethe same imminent peril was over each, each instinctively dropped flatto the wet ground. Ainsley had just time to glimpse the movement ofother three or four gray-coated figures as they also fell flat. Nextinstant, he heard his sergeant's voice, hurried and sharp with warning, but still low toned. 

"Look out, sir! There's a big Boche just in front of you. "

Ainsley "sh-sh-shed" him to silence, and at the same time was a littleamused and a great deal relieved to hear the German in front of himsimilarly hush down the few low exclamations of his party. The flarewas still burning, and Ainsley, twisting his head, was able to lookacross the muddy grass at the German eyes staring anxiously into hisown. 

"Do not move!" said Ainsley, wondering to himself if the man understoodEnglish, and fumbling in vain in his mind for the German phrase thatwould express his meaning. 

"Kamarade--eh?" grunted the German, with a note of interrogation thatleft no doubt as to his meaning. 

"Nein, nein!" answered Ainsley. "You kamarade--sie kamarade. "

The other, in somewhat voluble gutturals, insisted that Ainsley must"kamarade, " otherwise surrender. He spoke too fast for Ainsley's verylimited knowledge of German to follow, but at least, to Ainsley'srelief, there was for the moment no motion towards hostilities oneither side. The Germans recognized, no doubt as he did, that the firstsign of a shot, the first wink of a rifle flash out there in the open, would bring upon them a blaze of light and a storm of rifle and maximbullets. Even although his party had slightly the advantage of positionin the scanty cover of the ditch, he was not at all inclined to bringabout another burst of firing, particularly as he was not sure thatsome excitable individuals in his own trench would not forget about hisparty being in the open and hail indiscriminate bullets in thedirection of a rifle flash, or even the sound of indiscreetly loudtalking. 

Painfully, in very broken German, and a word or two at a time, he triedto make his enemy understand that it was his, the German party, thatmust surrender, pointing out as an argument that they were nearer tothe British than to the German lines. The German, however, discountedthis argument by stating that he had one more man in his party thanAinsley had, and must therefore claim the privilege of being captor. 

The voice of his own sergeant close behind him spoke in a hoarseundertone: "Shall I blow a blinkin' 'ole in 'im, sir? I could do 'im inacrost your shoulder, as easy as kiss my 'and. "

"No, no!" said Ainsley hurriedly; "a shot here would raise themischief. "

At the same time he heard some of the other Germans speak to the man infront of him and discovered that they were addressing him as"Sergeant. "

"Sie ein sergeant?" he questioned, and on the German admitting that hewas a sergeant, Ainsley, with more fumbling after German words andphrases, explained that he was an officer, and that therefore his, anofficer's patrol, took precedence over that of a mere sergeant. He hada good deal of difficulty in making this clear to the German--eitherbecause the sergeant was particularly thick-witted or possibly becauseAinsley's German was particularly bad. Ainsley inclined to put it downto the German's stupidity, and he began to grow exceedingly wroth overthe business. Naturally it never occurred to him that he shouldsurrender to the German, but it annoyed him exceedingly that the Germanshould have any similar feelings about surrendering to him. Once morehe bent his persuasive powers and indifferent German to the task ofover-persuading the sergeant, and in return had to wait and slowlyunravel some meaning from the odd words he could catch here and therein the sergeant's endeavor to over-persuade him. 

He began to think at last that there was no way out of it but thatsuggested by his own sergeant--namely, to "blow a blinkin' 'ole in'im, " and his sergeant spoke again with the rattle of his chatteringteeth playing a castanet accompaniment to his words. 

"If you don't mind, sir, we'd all like to fight it out and make a runfor it. We're all about froze stiff. "

"I'm just about fed up with this fool, too, " said Ainsley disgustedly. "Look here, all of you! Watch me when the next light goes up. If yousee me grab my pistol, pick your man and shoot. "

The voice of the German sergeant broke in:--

"Nein, nein!" and then in English: "You no shoot! You shoot, and unsshoot alzo!"

Ainsley listened to the stammering English in an amazement that gaveway to overwhelming anger. "Here, " he said angrily, "can you speakEnglish?"

"Ein leetle, just ein leetle, " replied the German. 

But at that and at the memory of the long minutes spent there lying inthe mud with chilled and frozen limbs trying to talk in German, at thetime wasted, at his own stumbling German and the probable amusement hisgrammatical mistakes had given the others--the last, the Englishman'sdislike to being laughed at, being perhaps the strongestfactor--Ainsley's anger overcame him. 

"You miserable blighter!" he said wrathfully. "You have the blazingcheek to keep me lying here in this filthy muck, mumbling and bunglingover your beastly German, and then calmly tell me that you understandEnglish all the time. 

"Why couldn't you _say_ you spoke English? What! D'you think I'venothing better to do than lie out here in a puddle of mud listening toyou jabbering your beastly lingo? Silly ass! You saw that I didn't knowGerman properly, to begin with--why couldn't you say you spokeEnglish?"

But in his anger he had raised his voice a good deal above the safetylimit, and the quick crackle of rifle fire and the soaring lights toldthat his voice had been heard, that the party or parties werediscovered or suspected. 

The rest followed so quickly, the action was so rapid andunpremeditated, that Ainsley never quite remembered its sequence. Hehas a confused memory of seeing the wet ground illumined by manylights, of drumming rifle fire and hissing bullets, and then, immediately after, the rush and crash of a couple of German "Fizz-Bang"shells. Probably it was the wet _plop_ of some of the backward-flungbullets about him, possibly it was the movement of the German sergeantthat wiped out the instinctive desire to flatten himself close toground that drove him to instant action. The sergeant half lurched tohis knees, thrusting forward the muzzle of his rifle. Ainsley clutchedat the revolver in his holster, but before he could free it anothershell crashed, the German jerked forward as if struck by abattering-ram between the shoulders, lay with white fingers clawing andclutching at the muddy grass. A momentary darkness fell, and Ainsleyjust had a glimpse of a knot of struggling figures, of the knot'sfalling apart with a clash of steel, of a rifle spouting a long tongueof flame . . . And then a group of lights blazed again and disclosed thefigures of his own three men crouching and glancing about them. 

Of all these happenings Ainsley retains only a very jumbledrecollection, but he remembers very distinctly his savage satisfactionat seeing "that fool sergeant" downed and the unappeased anger he stillfelt with him. He carried that anger back to his own trench; it stillburned hot in him as they floundered and wallowed for interminableseconds over the greasy mud with the bullets slapping and smackingabout them, as they wrenched and struggled over their own wire--whereAinsley, as it happened, had to wait to help his sergeant, who for allthe advantage of their initiative in the attack and in the Germansbeing barely risen to meet it, had been caught by a bayonet-thrust inthe thigh--the scramble across the parapet and hurried roll over intothe waterlogged trench. 

He arrived there wet to the skin and chilled to the bone, with hisshoulder stinging abominably from the ragged tear of a ricochet bulletthat had caught him in the last second on the parapet, and, above all, still filled with a consuming anger against the German sergeant. Fiveminutes later, in the Battalion H. Q. Dugout, in making his report tothe O. C. While the Medical dressed his arm, he only gave the barest andbriefest account of his successful patrol and bombing work, butdescanted at full length and with lurid wrath on the incident of theGerman patrol. 

"When I think of that ignorant beast of a sergeant keeping me outthere, " he concluded disgustedly, "mumbling and spluttering over hisconfounded 'yaw, yaw' and 'nein, nein, ' trying to scrape up odd Germanwords--which I probably got all wrong--to make him understand, and himall the time quite well able to speak good enough English--that's whatbeats me--why couldn't he _say_ he spoke English?"

"Well, anyhow, " said the O. C. Consolingly, "from what you tell me, he'sdead now. "

"I hope so, " said Ainsley viciously, "and serve him jolly well right. But just think of the trouble it might have saved if he'd only said atfirst that he spoke English!" He sputtered wrathfully again: "Sillyass! Why couldn't he just _say_ so?"

AS OTHERS SEE

_"It may now be divulged that, some time ago, the British lines wereextended for a considerable distance to the South. "_--EXTRACT FROMOFFICIAL DISPATCH. 

The first notice that the men of the Tower Bridge Foot had that theywere to move outside the territory they had learned so well in manyweary marches and wanderings in networks and mazes of trenches, waswhen they crossed a road which had for long marked the boundary linebetween the grounds occupied by the British and French forces. 

"Do you suppose the O. C. Is drunk, or that the guide has lost his way?"said Private Robinson. "Somebody ought to tell him we're off our beatand that trespassers will be prosecuted. Not but what he don't knowthat, seeing he prosecuted me cruel six months ago for roving off intothe French lines--said if I did it again I might be took for a spy andshot. Anyhow, I'd be took for being where I was out o' bounds and get adose of Field Punishment. Wonder where we're bound for?"

"Don't see as it matters much, " said his next file. "I suppose one wetfield's as good as another to sleep in, so why worry?"

A little farther on, the battalion met a French Infantry Regiment onthe march. The French regiment's road discipline was rather more laxthan the British, and many tolerantly amused criticisms were passed onthe loose formation, the lack of keeping step, and the straggling linesof the French. The criticisms, curiously enough, came in a great manycases from the very men in the Towers' ranks who had often "groused"most at the silliness of themselves being kept up to the mark in thesematters. The marching Frenchmen were singing--but singing in a fashionquite novel to the British. Throughout their column there were anythingup to a dozen songs in progress, some as choruses and some as solos, and the effect was certainly rather weird. The Tower Bridge officers, knowing their own men's fondness for swinging march songs, expected, and, to tell truth, half hoped that they would give a display of theirharmonious powers. They did, but hardly in the expected fashion. Oneman demanded in a growling bass that the "Home Fires be kept Burning, "while another bade farewell to Leicester Square in a high falsetto. Thegiggling Towers caught the idea instantly, and a confused medley ofhymns, music-hall ditties, and patriotic songs in every key, from thedeepest bellowing bass to the shrillest wailing treble, arose from theTowers' ranks, mixed with whistles and cat-calls and CorporalFlannigan's famous imitation of "Life on a Farm. " The joke lasted theTowers for the rest of that march, and as sure as any Frenchman met orovertook them on the road he was treated to a vocal entertainment thatmust have left him forever convinced of the rumored potency of Britishrum. 

By now word had passed round the Towers that they were to take over aportion of the trenches hitherto occupied by the French. Many were thedoubts, and many were the arguments, as to whether this would or wouldnot be to the personal advantage and comfort of themselves; but atleast it made a change of scene and surroundings from those they hadlearned for months past, and since such a change is as the breath oflife to the British soldier, they were on the whole highly pleased withit. 

The morning was well advanced when they were met by guides andinterpreters from the French regiment which they were relieving, andcommenced to move into the new trenches. Although at first there weresome who were inclined to criticize, and reluctant to believe that aFrenchman, or any other foreigner, could do or make anything betterthan an Englishman, the Towers had to admit, even before they reachedthe forward firing trench, that the work of making communicationtrenches had been done in a manner beyond British praise. The trencheswere narrow and very deep, neatly paved throughout their length withbrick, spaced at regular intervals with sunk traps for draining offrain-water, and with bays and niches cut deep in the side to permit thepassing of any one meeting a line of pack-burdened men in theshoulder-wide alley-way. 

When they reached the forward firing trench, their admiration becameunbounded; they were as full of eager curiosity as children on a schoolpicnic. They fraternized instantly and warmly with the outgoingFrenchmen, and the Frenchmen for their part were equally eager toexpress friendship, to show the English the dugouts, the handy littlecontrivances for comfort and safety, to bequeath to their successorsall sorts of stoves and pots and cooking utensils, and generally togive an impression, which was put into words by Private Robinson:"Strike me if this ain't the most cordiawl bloomin' ongtongt I've evermet!"

The Towers had never realized, or regretted, their lack of the Frenchas deeply as they came to do now. Hitherto dealings in the language hadbeen entirely with the women in the villages and billets of the reservelines, where there was plenty of time to find means of expressing thetwo things that for the most part were all they had to express--theirwants and their thanks. And because by now they had no slightestdifficulty in making these billet inhabitants understand what theyrequired--a fire for cooking, stretching space on a floor, the locationof the nearest estaminets, whether eggs, butter, and bread wereobtainable, and how much was the price--they had fondly imagined intheir hearts, and boasted loudly in their home letters, that they werequite satisfactorily conversant with the French language. Now they wereto discover that their knowledge was not quite so extensive as they hadimagined, although it never occurred to them that the French women inthe billets were learning English a great deal more rapidly andefficiently than they were learning French, that it was not altogethertheir mastery of the language which instantly produced soap and water, for instance, when they made motions of washing their hands and saidslowly and loudly: "Soap--you compree, soap and l'eau; yousavvy--l'eau, wa-ter. " But now, when it came to the technicalities oftheir professional business, they found their command of the languagecompletely inadequate. There were many of them who could ask, "What isthe time?" but that helped them little to discover at what time theGermans made a practice of shelling the trenches; they could have askedwith ease, "Have you any eggs?" but they could not twist this into asentence to ask whether there were any egg-selling farms in thevicinity; could have asked "how much" was the bread, but not how manyyards it was to the German trench. 

A few Frenchmen, who spoke more or less English, found themselves inenormous French and English demand, while Private 'Enery Irving, whohad hitherto borne some reputation as a French speaker--a reputation, it may be mentioned, largely due to his artful knack of helping outspoken words by imitation and explanatory acting--found his bubblereputation suddenly and disastrously pricked. He made some attempt toclutch at its remains by listening to the remarks addressed to him by aFrenchman, with a most potently intelligent and understandingexpression, by ejaculating "Nong, nong!" and a profoundly understanding"Ah, wee!" at intervals in the one-sided conversation. He tried thismethod when called upon by a puzzled private to interpret thetorrential speech of a Frenchman, who wished to know whether the Towershad any jam to spare, or whether they would exchange a rum ration forsome French wine. 'Enery interjected a few "Ah, wee's!" and then at thefinish explained to the private. 

"He speaks a bit fast, " he said, "but he's trying to tell me somethingabout him coming from a place called Conserve, and that we can have his'room' here--meaning, I suppose, his dug-out. " He turned to theFrenchman, spread out his hands, shrugged his shoulders, andgesticulated after the most approved fashion of the stage Frenchman, bowed deeply, and said, _"Merci, Monsieur, "_ many times. The Frenchmannaturally looked a good deal puzzled, but bowed politely in reply andrepeated his question at length. This producing no effect exceptfurther stage shrugs, he seized upon one of the interpreters who waspassing and explained rapidly. "He asks, " said the interpreter, turningto 'Enery and the other men, "whether you have any _conserve etrhum_--jam and rum--you wish to exchange for his wine. " After that'Enery Irving collapsed in the public estimation as a French speaker. 

When the Towers were properly installed, and the French regimentcommenced to move out, a Tower Bridge officer came along and told hismen that they were to be careful to keep out of sight, as the orderswere to deceive the Germans opposite and to keep them ignorant as longas possible of the British-French exchange. Private Robinson promptlyimproved upon this idea. He found a discarded French képi, put it onhis head, and looked over the parapet. He only stayed up for a secondor two and ducked again, just as a bullet whizzed over the parapet. Herepeated the performance at intervals from different parts of thetrench, but finding that his challenge drew quicker and quicker replieswas obliged at last to lift the cap no more than into sight on thepoint of a bayonet. He was rather pleased with the applause of hisfellows and the half-dozen prompt bullets which each appearance of thecap at last drew, until one bullet, piercing the cap and striking thepoint of the bayonet, jarred his fingers unpleasantly and deflected thebullet dangerously and noisily close to his ear. Some of the Frenchmenwho were filing out had paused to watch this performance, laughing andbravo-ing at its finish. Robinson bowed with a magnificent flourish, then replaced the képi on the point of the bayonet, raised the képi, and made the bayonet bow to the audience. A French officer camebustling along the trench urging his men to move on. He stood there tokeep the file passing along without check, and Robinson turnedpresently to some of the others and asked if they knew what was themeaning of this "Mays ongfong" that the officer kept repeating to hismen. "Ongfong, " said 'Enery Irving briskly, seizing the opportunity toreëstablish himself as a French speaker, "means 'children'; spellede-n-f-a-n-t-s, pronounced _ongfong_. "

"Children!" said Robinson. "Infants, eh? 'ealthy lookin' lot o'infants. There's one now--that six-foot chap with the Father Christmaswhiskers; 'ow's that for a' infant?"

As the Frenchmen filed out some of them smiled and nodded and calledcheery good-bys to our men, and 'Enery Irving turned to a man besidehim. "This, " he said, "is about where some appropriate music shouldcome in the book. Exit to triumphant strains of martial music Buck up, Snapper! Can't you mouth-organ 'em the Mar-shall-aise?"

Snapper promptly produced his instrument and mouth-organed the openingbars, and the Towers joined in and sang the tune with vociferous"la-la-las. " When they had finished, two or three of the Frenchmen, after a quick word together struck up "God Save the King. " Instantlythe others commenced to pick it up, but before they had sung threewords 'Enery Irving, in tones of horror, demanded "The Mar-shall-aiseagain; quick, you idiot!" from Snapper, and himself swung off into afalsetto rendering of "Three Blind Mice. " In a moment the Towers had infull swing their medley caricature of the French march singing, underwhich "God Save the King" was very completely drowned. 

"What the devil d'you mean? Are you all mad?" demanded a wrathfulsubaltern, plunging round the traverse to where Snapper mouth-organedthe "Marseillaise, " 'Enery Irving lustily intoned his anthem of theBlind Mice, and Corporal Flannigan passed from the deep lowing of a cowto the clarion calls of the farmyard rooster. 

"Beg pardon, sir, " said 'Enery Irving with lofty dignity, "but if I'adn't started this row the 'ole trenchful o' Frenchies would 'ave been'owling our 'Gawd Save. ' I saw that 'ud be a clean give-away, an' theorder bein' to act so as to deceive----"

"Quite right, " said the officer, "and a smart idea of yours to blockit. But who was the crazy ass who started it by singing the'Marseillaise'?" On this point, however, 'Enery was discreetly silent. 

Before the French had cleared the trench the Germans opened a leisurelybombardment with a trench mortar. This delayed the proceeding somewhat, because it was reckoned wiser to halt the men and clear them from thecrowded trench into the dug-outs. "With the double company of Frenchand British, there was rather a tight squeeze in the shelters, wonderfully commodious as they were. 

"Now this, " said Corporal Flannigan, "is what I call something like adug-out. " He looked appreciatively round the square, smooth-walledchamber and up the steps to the small opening which gave admittance toit. "Good dodge, too, this sinking it deep underground. Even if a bombdropped in the trench just outside, and pieces blew in the door, they'donly go over our heads. Something like, this is. "

"I wonder, " said another reflectively, "why we don't have dug-outs likethis in our line?" He spoke in a slightly aggrieved tone, as if dugoutswere things that were issued from the Quarter-Master's store, andtherefore a legitimate cause for free complaint. He and his fellowswould certainly have felt a good deal more aggrieved, however, if theyhad been set the labor of making such dug-outs. 

Up above, such of the French and British as had been left in the trenchwere having quite a busy time with the bombs. The Frenchmen had rathera unique way of dodging these, which the Towers were quick to adopt. The whole length of the trench was divided up into compartments bystrong traverses running back at right angles from the forward parapet, and in each of these compartments there were anything from four or fiveto a dozen men, all crowded to the backward end of the traverse, waiting and watching there to see the bomb come twirling slowly andclumsily over. As it reached the highest point of its curve and beganto fall down towards the trench, it was as a rule fairly easy to saywhether it would fall to right or left of the traverse. If it fell inthe trench to the right, the men hurriedly plunged round the corner ofthe traverse to the left, and waited there till the bomb exploded. Thecrushing together at the angle of the traverse, the confused cries ofwarning or advice, or speculation as to which side a bomb would fall, the scuffling, tumbling rush to one side or the other, the cries ofderision which greeted the ineffective explosion--all made up a sort ofgame. The Towers had had a good many unhappy experiences with bombs, and at first played the unknown game carefully and anxiously, and withsome doubts as to its results. But they soon picked it up, andpresently made quite merry at it, laughing and shouting noisily, tumbling and picking themselves up and laughing again like children. 

They lost three men, who were wounded through their slowness inescaping from the compartment where the bomb exploded, and this ratherput the Towers on their mettle. As Private Robinson remarked, it wasn'tthe cheese that a Frenchman should beat an Englishman at any bloominggame. 

"If we could only get a little bit of a stake on it, " he saidwistfully, "we could take 'em on, the winners being them that losesleast men. "

It being impossible, however, to convey to the Frenchmen that interestwould be added by the addition of a little bet, the Towers had tocontent themselves with playing platoon against platoon amongstthemselves, the losing platoon pay, what they could convenientlyafford, the day's rations of the men who were casualtied. Thesubsequent task of dividing one and a quarter pots of jam, fiveportions of cheese, bacon and a meat-and-potato stew was only settledeventually by resource to a set of dice. 

As the bombing continued methodically, the French artillery, who werestill covering this portion of the trench, set to work to silence themortar, and the Towers thoroughly enjoyed the ensuing performance, andthe generous, not to say extravagant, fashion in which the Frenchbattery, after the usual custom of French batteries, lavished itsshells upon the task. For five minutes the battery spoke infour-tongued emphatic tones, and the shells screamed over the forwardtrench, crackled and crashed above the German line, dotted the Germanparapet along its length, played up and down it in long bursts of fire, and deluged the suspected hiding-place of the mortar with a torrent ofhigh explosive. When it stopped, the bombing also had stopped for thatday. 

The French infantry did not wait for the ceasing of the artillery fire. They gathered themselves and their belongings and recommenced to moveas soon as the guns began to speak. 

"Feenish!" as one of them said, placing a finger on the ground, liftingit in a long curve, twirling it over and over and downward again inimitation of a falling bomb. "Ze soixante-quinze speak, bang-bang-bang!" and his fist jerked out four blows in a row. "Feenish!" he concluded, holding a hand out towards the German linesand making a motion of rubbing something off the slate. Plainly theywere very proud of their artillery, and the Towers caught that word"soixante-quinze" in every tone of pleasure, pride, and satisfaction. But as Private Robinson said, "I don't wonder at it. Cans is a goodname, but can-an'-does would be a better. "

When the last of the Frenchmen had gone, the Towers completed theirsettling in and making themselves comfortable in the vacated quarters. The greatest care was taken to avoid any man showing a British cap oruniform. "Snapper" Brown, urged by the public-spirited 'Enery Irving, exhausted himself in playing the "Marseillaise" at the fullest pitch ofhis lungs and mouth-organ. His artistic soul revolted at last at therepetition, but since the only other French tune that was suggested wasthe Blue Danube Waltz, and there appeared to be divergent opinions asto its nationality, "Snapper" at last struck, and refused to play the"Marseillaise" a single time more. 'Enery Irving enthusiastically tookup this matter of "acting so as to deceive the Germans. "

"Act!" he said. "If I'd a make-up box and a false mustache 'ere, I'dact so as to cheat the French President 'imself, much less a parcel ofbeer-swilling Germs. "

The German trenches were too far away to allow of any conversation, but'Enery secured a board, wrote on it in large letters "Veev la France, "and displayed it over the parapet. After the Germans had signifiedtheir notice of the sentiment by firing a dozen shots at it, 'Eneryreplaced it by a fresh one, "A baa la Bosh. " This notice was leftstanding, but to 'Enery's annoyance the Germans displayed in return aboard which said in plain English, "Good morning. " "Ain't that a knockout, " said 'Enery disgustedly. "Much use me acting to deceive theGermans if some silly blighter in another bit o' the line goes andgives the game away. "

Throughout the rest of the day he endeavored to confuse the German'sevident information by the display of the French cap and of Frenchsentences on the board like "Bong jewr, " "Bong nwee, " and "Mercridi, "which he told the others was the French for a day of the week, thespelling being correct as he knew because he had seen it written down, and the day indicated, he believed, being Wednesday--or Thursday. "Andthat's near enough, " he said, "because to-day is Wednesday, and ifMercridi means Wednesday, they'll think I'm signaling 'to-day'; and ifit means Thursday, they'll think I'm talking about to-morrow. " Alldoubts of the German's knowledge appeared to be removed, however, bytheir next notice, which stated plainly, "You are Englander. " To that'Enery, his French having failed him, could only retort by a drawing ofoutstretched fingers and a thumb placed against a prominent nose on anobviously French face, with pointed mustache and imperial, and a Frenchcap. But clearly even this failed, and the German's next message read, "WELL DONE, WALES!" The Towers were annoyed, intensely annoyed, becauseshortly before that time the strikes of the Welsh miners had beenprominent in the English papers, and as the Towers guessed from thisnotice at least equally prominent in the German journals. 

"And I only 'opes, " said Robinson, "they sticks that notice up in frontof some of the Taffy regiments. "

"I don't see that a bit, " said 'Enery Irving. "The Taffys out 'ere 'avedone their bit along with the best, and they're just as mad as us, andmaybe madder, at these ha'penny-grabbing loafers on strike. "

"True enough, " said Robinson, "but maybe they'll write 'ome and telltheir pals 'ow pleased the Bosche is with them, and 'ave a kind word inpassing to say when any of them goes 'ome casualtied or on leave, 'Welldone, Wales!' Well, I 'ope Wales likes that smack in the eye, " and hespat contemptuously. Presently he had the pleasure of expressing hismind more freely to a French signaler of artillery who was on duty atan observing post in this forward fire trench. The Frenchman had asufficient smattering of English to ask awkward questions as to why menwere allowed to strike in England in war time, but unfortunately notenough to follow Robinson's lengthy and agonized explanations thatthese men were not English but--a very different thing--Welsh, and, more than that, unpatriotic swine, who ought to be shot. He was reducedat last to turning the unpleasant subject aside by asking what theFrenchman was doing there now the British had taken over. And presentlythe matter was shelved by a French observing officer, who was on dutythere, calling his signalers to attention. The German guns had opened aslow and casual fire about half an hour before on the forward Britishtrench, and now they quickened their fire and commenced methodically tobombard the trench. At his captain's order a signaler called up abattery by telephone. The telephone instrument was in a tall narrow boxwith a handle at the side, and the signaler ground the handlevigorously for a minute and shouted a long string of hello's into theinstrument, rapidly twirled the handle again and shouted, twirled andshouted. 

The Towers watched him in some amusement. "'Ere, chum, " said Robinson, "you 'aven't put your tuppence in the slot, " and 'Enery Irving in afalsetto imitation of a telephone girl's metallic voice drawled: "Puttwo pennies in, please, and turn the handle after each--one--two--thankyou! You're through. " The signaler revolved the handle again. "You'remistook, 'Enery, " said Robinson, "'e ain't through. Chum, you ought toget your tuppence back. "

"Ask to be put through to the inquiry office, " said another. "Make acomplaint and tell 'em to come and take the blanky thing away if itcan't be kept in order. That's what I used to 'ear my governor sayevery other day. "

From his lookout corner the captain called down in rapid French to hissignaler. 

"D 'ye 'ear that, " said Robinson. "Garsong he called him. He's abloomin' waiter! Well, well, and me thought he was a signaler. "

The captain at last was forced to descend from his place, and with thesignaler endeavored to rectify the faulty instrument. They got throughat last, and the captain spoke to his battery. 

"'Ear that, " said Robinson. "'Mes on-fong, ' he says. He's got a lot o'bloomin' infants too. "

"Queer crowd!" said Flannigan. "What with infants for soldiers and awaiter for a signaler, and a butcher or a baker or candlestick-makerfor a President, as I'm told they have, they're a rum crushaltogether. "

The captain ascended to his place again. A German shell, soaring over, burst with a loud _crump_ behind the trench. The French signalerlaughed and waved derisively towards the shell. He leaned his head andbody far to one side, straightened slowly, bent his head on a curve tothe other side, and brought it up with a jerk, imitating, as he did so, the sound of the falling and bursting shell, "_sss-eee-aaa-ahah-aow-Wump_. " Another shell fell, and "_aow-Wump_, " hecried again, shuffling his feet and laughing gayly. The Towers laughedwith him, and when the next shell fell there was a general chorus ofimitation. 

The captain called again, the signaler ground the handle and spoke intothe telephone. "Fire!" he said, nodding delightedly to the Towers;"boom-boom-boom-boom. " Immediately after they heard the loud, harsh, crackling reports of the battery to their rear, and the shells rushedwhistling overhead. 

The signaler mimicked the whistling sound, and clicked his heelstogether. "Ha!" he said, "soixante-quinze--good, eh?" The captaincalled to him, and again he revolved the handle and called to thebattery. 

"Garsong, " said Robinson, "a plate of swa-song-canned beans, si vooplay--and serve 'em hot"

A German shell dropped again, and again the chorused howls and laughterof the Towers marked its fall. The captain called for high explosive, and the signaler shouted on the order. 

"Exploseef, " repeated 'Enery Irving, again airing his French. "That'shigh explosive. "

"Garsong, twopennorth of exploseef soup, " chanted Robinson. 

Then the order was sent down for rapid fire, and a moment later thebattery burst out in running quadruple reports, and the shells streamedwhistling overhead. The Towers peered through periscopes and over theparapet to watch the tossing plumes of smoke and dust that leaped andtwisted in the German lines. "Good old cans!" said Robinsonappreciatively. 

When the fire stopped, the captain came to the telephone and spoke tothe battery in praise of their shooting. The Towers listened carefullyto catch a word here and there. "There he goes again, " said Robinson, "with 'is bloomin' infants, " and later he asked the signaler themeaning of "_mes braves_" that was so often in the captain's mouth. 

"'Ear that, " he said to the other Towers when the signaler explained itmeant "my braves. " "Bloomin' braves he's calling his battery now. Infants was bad enough, but 'braves' is about the limit. I'm open toadmit they're brave enough; that bombing didn't seem to worry them, andshell-fire pleases them like a call for dinner; and you remember thattime we was in action one side of the La Bassée road and they was in iton the other? Strewth! When I remember the wiping they got crossing theopen, and the way they stuck it and plugged through that mud, and torethe barbed wire up by the roots, and sailed over into the Germantrench, I'm not going to contradict anybody that calls 'em brave. Butit sounds rum to 'ear 'em call each other it. "

Robinson was busy surveying in a periscope the ground between thetrenches. "I dunno if I'm seein' things, " he remarked suddenly, "but Icould 've swore a man's 'and waved out o' the grass over there. " Withthe utmost caution half a dozen men peered out through loopholes andwith periscopes in the direction indicated, and presently a chorus ofexclamations told that the hand had again been seen. Robinson was justabout to wave in reply when 'Enery grabbed his arm. 

"You're a nice one to 'act so as to deceive, ' you are, " he said warmly. "I s'pose a khaki sleeve is likely to make the 'Uns believe we'reFrench. Now, you watch me. "

He pulled back his tunic sleeve, held his shirtsleeved arm up themoment the next wave came, and motioned a reply. 

"He's in a hole o' some sort, " said 'Enery. "Now I wonder who it is. AFrenchie by his tunic sleeve. "

"Yes; there's 'is cap, " said Robinson suddenly. "Just up--and gone. "

"Make the same motion wi' this cap on a bayonet, " said 'Enery; "thenknock off, case the Boshies spot 'im. "

The matter was reported, and presently a couple of officers came along, made a careful examination, and waved the cap. A cautious reply, and acouple of bullets whistling past their cap came at the same moment. 

Later, 'Enery sought the sergeant. "Mind you this, sergeant, " he said, "if there's any volunteerin' for the job o' fetchin' that chap in, hebelongs to me. I found 'im. " The sergeant grinned. 

"Robinson was here two minutes ago wi' the same tale, " he said. "Seemsyou're all in a great hurry to get shot. "

"Like his bloomin' cheek!" said the indignant 'Enery. "I know why hewants to go out; he's after those German helmets the interpreter toldus was lyin' out there. "

The difficulty was solved presently by the announcement that an officerwas going out and would take two volunteers--B Company to have firstoffer. 'Enery and Robinson secured the post, and 'Enery immediatelysought the officer. Reminding him of the order to "act so as todeceive, " he unfolded a plan which was favorably considered. 

"Those Boshies thought they was bloomin' clever to twig we wasEnglish, " he told the others of B Company; "but you wait till thelime-light's on me. I'll puzzle 'em. "

The two French artillery signalers were sleeping in the forward trench, and after some explanation readily lent their long-skirted coats. Theofficer and Robinson donned one each, and 'Enery carefully arrayedhimself in a torn and discarded pair of old French baggy red breechesand the damaged French cap, and discarded his own jacket. His grayshirt might have been of any nationality, so that on the whole he madequite a passable Frenchman. While they waited for darkness he paradedthe trench, shrugging his shoulders, and gesticulating. "Bon joor, maysong-fong, " he remarked with a careless hand-wave. "Hey, gar-song!Donney-moi du pang eh du beurre, si voo play--and donnay-moi swoy-songcans--rapeed--exploseef! Merci, mes braves, mes bloomin' 'eroes . . . Mesnoble warriors, merci. Snapper, strike up the 'Conkerin' 'Ero, ' if youplease. "

Before the time came to go he added to his make-up by marking on hisface with a burnt stick huge black mustachios and an imperial, andalthough the officer stared a little when he came along he ended bylaughing, and leaving 'Enery his "make-up" disguise. 

An hour after dark the three slipped quietly over the parapet and outthrough the barbed wire, dragging a stretcher after them. It was afairly quiet night, with only an occasional rifle cracking and noartillery fire. A bright moon floated behind scudding clouds, andperhaps helped the adventure by the alternate minutes of light and darkand the difficulty of focusing eyes to the differences of moonlight anddark and the blaze of an occasional flare when the moon was obscured. Behind the parapet the Towers waited with rifles ready, and stared outthrough the loopholes; and behind them the French artillery officer, and his signalers standing by their telephone, also waited with theloaded guns and ready gunners at the other end of the wire. Thewatchers saw the dark blot of men and stretcher slip under the wires, and slowly, very slowly, creep on through the long grass. Half-wayacross, the watchers lost them amidst the other black blots andshadows, and it was a full half-hour after when a private exclaimedsuddenly: "I see them, " he said. "There, close where we saw the hand. "

The moon vanished a moment, then sailed clear, throwing a strongsilvery light across the open ground, and showing plainly the Germanwire entanglements and the black-and-white patchwork of theirbarricade. There were no visible signs of the rescue party, for thegood reason that they had slipped into and lay prone in the wide shellcrater that held the wounded Frenchman. Far spent the man was when theyfound him, for he had lain there three nights and two days with abullet-smashed thigh and the scrape across his skull that had led therest of his night patrol to count him dead and so abandon him. 

Now the moon slid again behind the racing clouds, and patches of lightand shadow in turn chased across the open ground. 

"Here they come, " said the captain of B Company a few minutes later. "At least I think it's them, altho' I can only see two men and nostretcher. "

"Do you see them?" said an eager voice in French at his ear, and whenhe turned and found the gunner captain and explained to him, thecaptain made a gesture of despair. "Perhaps it is that they cannot movehim, " he said. "Or would they, do you think, return for more help? Ishould go myself but that I may be needed to talk with the battery. Perhaps one of my signalers----"

But the Englishman assured him it was better to wait; they could not bereturning for help; that the three could do all a dozen could. 

Again they waited and watched in eager suspense, glimpsing the crawlingfigures now and then, losing them again, in doubts and certainty inswift turns as to the whereabouts and identity of the crawling figures. 

"There is one of them, " said the captain quickly; "there, by himself, in those cursed red breeches. They show up in the flarelight like ablood-spot on a clean collar. Dashed idiot! And I was a fool, too, tolet him go like that. "

But it was plain now that 'Enery Irving was dragging his red breecheswell clear of the others, although it was not plain, what the othershad done with the stretcher. There were two of them at the length of astretcher apart, and yet no visible stretcher lay between them. It wasthe sergeant who solved the mystery. 

"I'm blowed!" he said, in admiring wonder; "they've covered thestretcher over with cut grass. They've got their man too--see his headthis end. "

Now that they knew it, all could see the outline of the man's bodycovered over with grass, the thick tufts waving upright from his handsand nodding between his legs. 

They were three-quarters of the way across now, but still with adangerous slope to cross. It was ever so slight, but, tilted as it wastowards the enemy's line, it was enough to show much more plainlyanything that moved or lay upon its face. They crawled on with aslowness that was an agony to watch, crawled an inch at a time, lyingdead and still when a light flared, hitching themselves and thedragging stretcher onwards as the dullness of hazed moonlight fell. 

The French captain was consumed with impatience, muttering exhortationsto caution, whispering excited urgings to move, as if his lips were atthe creepers' ears, his fingers twitching and jerking, his bodyhitching and holding still, exactly as if he too crawled out there anddragged at the stretcher. 

And then when it seemed that the worst was over, when there was no morethan a score of feet to cover to the barbed wire, when they wereactually crawling over the brow of the gentle rise, discovery came. There were quick shots from one spot of the German parapet, confusedshouting, the upward soaring of half a dozen blazing flares. 

And then before the two dragging the stretcher could move in a lastdesperate rush for safety, before they could rise from their proneposition, they heard the rattle of fire increase swiftly to a tremblingstaccato roar. But, miraculously, no bullets came near them, nowhistling was about their ears, no ping and smack of impacting leadhailed about them--except, yes, just the fire of one rifle or two thatsent aimed bullet after bullet hissing over them. They could notunderstand it, but without waiting to understand they half rose, thrustand hauled at the stretcher, dragged it under the wires, heaved it overto where eager hands tore down the sandbags to gap a passage for them. A handful of bullets whipped and rapped about them as they tumbledover, and the stretcher was hoisted in, but nothing worth mention, nothing certainly of that volume of fire that drammed and rolled outover there. They did not understand; but the others in the trenchunderstood, and laughed a little and swore a deal, then shut theirteeth and set themselves to pump bullets in a covering fire upon theGerman parapet. 

The stretcher party drew little or no fire, simply and solely becausejust one second after those first shots and loud shouts had declaredthe game up, a figure sprang from the grass fifty yards along thetrench and twice as far out in the open, sprang up and ran out, andstood in the glare of light, the baggy scarlet breeches and gray shirtmaking a flaring mark that no eye, called suddenly to see, could miss, that no rifle brought sliding through the loophole and searching for atarget could fail to mark. The bullets began to patter about 'EneryIrving's feet, to whine and whimper and buzz about his ears. And'Enery--this was where the trench, despite themselves, laughed--'Eneryplaced his hand on his heart, swept off his cap in a magnificent arm'slength gesture, and bowed low; then swiftly he rose upright, struck anattitude that would have graced the hero of the highest class Adelphidrama, and in a shrill voice that rang clear above the hammering tumultof the rifles, screamed "Veev la France! A baa la Bosh!" The rifles bythis time were pelting a storm of lead at him, and now that the hasteand flurry of the urgent call had passed and the shooters had steadiedto their task, the storm was perilously close. 'Enery stayed a momenteven then to spread his hands and raise his shoulders ear-high in amagnificent stage shrug; but a bullet snatched the cap from his head, and 'Enery ducked hastily, turned, and ran his hardest, with thebullets snapping at his heels. 

Back in the trench a frantic French captain was raving at thetelephone, whirling the handle round, screaming for "Fire, fire, fire!"

Private Flannigan looked over his shoulder at him, "Mong capitaine, " hesaid, "you ought, you reely ought, to ring up your telephone; turn thehandle round an' say something. "

"Drop two pennies in, " mocked another as the captain birr-r-red thehandle and yelled again. 

Whether he got through, or whether the burst of rifle fire reached thelistening ears at the guns, nobody knew; but just as 'Enery did hisear-embracing shoulder-shrug the first shells screamed over, burst andleaped down along the German parapet. After that there was no complaintabout the guns. They scourged the parapet from end to end, up and down, and up again; they shook it with the blast of high explosive, rippedand flayed it with, driving blasts of shrapnel, smothered it with atempest of fire and lead, blotted it out behind a veil of writhingsmoke. 

At the sound of the first shot the gunner captain had leaped back tothe trench. "Is he in? Is he arrived?" he shouted in the ear of the BCompany captain who leaned anxiously over the parapet. The captain drewback and down. "He's in--bless him--I mean dash his impudent hide!"

The Frenchman turned and called to his signaler, and the next momentthe guns ceased. But the captain waited, watching with narrowed eyesthe German parapet. The storm of his shells had obliterated the riflefire, but after a few minutes it opened up again in straggling shots. 

The captain snapped back a few orders, and prompt to his word theshells leaped and struck down again on the parapet. A dozen rounds andthey ceased, and again the captain waited and watched. The rifles weresilent now, and presently the captain relaxed his scowling glare andhis tightened lips. "Vermin!" he said. He used just the tone a mangives to a ferocious dog he has beaten and cowed to a sullensubmission. 

But he caught sight of 'Enery making his way along the trench past hislaughing and chaffing mates, and leaped down and ran to him. "Bravo!"he beamed, and threw his arms round the astonished soldier, and beforehe could dodge, as the disgusted 'Enery said afterwards, "planted twoquick-fire kisses, smack, smack, " on his two cheeks. 

"_Mon brave_!" he said, stepping back and regarding 'Enery with shiningeyes, "_Mon brave, mon beau Anglais, mon_----"

But 'Enery's own captain arrived here and interrupted the flow ofadmiration, cursing the grinning and sheepish private for a this, that, and the other crazy, play-acting idiot, and winding up abruptly byshaking hands with him and saying gruffly, "Good work, though. BCompany's proud of you, and so'm I. "

"An' I admit I felt easier after that rough-tonguin', " 'Enery told BCompany that night over a mess-tin of tea. "It was sort ofnatural-like, an' what a man looks for, and it broke up about asunpleasant a sit-u-ation as I've seen staged. I could see you allgrinnin', and I don't wonder at it. That slobberin' an' kissin'business, an' the Mong Brav Conkerin' 'Ero may be all right for a loto' bloomin' Frenchies that don't know better--"

He took a long swig of tea. 

"Though, mind you, " he resumed, "I haven't a bad word to fit to aFrenchman. They're real good fighting stuff, an' they ain't arf thelight-'earted an' light-'eaded grinnin' giddy goats I used to take 'emfor. "

"There wasn't much o' the light 'eart look about the Mong Cappytaineto-night, " said Robinson. "'Is eyes was snappin' like two ends o' alive wire, and 'e 'andled them guns as business-like as a butchercutting chops. "

"That's it, " said 'Enery, "business-like is the word for 'em. I noticedthem 'airy-faces shootin' to-day. They did it like they was sent thereto kill somebody, and they meant doin' their job thorough an'competent. Afore I come this trip on the Continong I used to think aFrenchman was good for nothing but fiddlin' an' dancin' an' makin'love. But since I've seen 'em settin' to Bosh partners an' dancin'across the neutral ground an' love-makin' wi' Rosalie, [Footnote:_Rosalie_--the French nickname for the bayonet. ] I've learned better. 'Ere's luck to 'im, " and he drained the mess-tin. 

And the French, if one might judge from the story _mon capitaine_ hadto tell his major, had also revised some ancient opinions of theirAllies. 

"Cold!" he said scornfully; "never again tell me these English arecold. Children--perhaps. Foolish--but yes, a little. They try to kill aman between jests; they laugh if a bullet wounds a comrade so that hegrimaces with pain--it is true; I saw it. " It _was_ true, and hadreference to a sight scrape of a bullet across the tip of the nose of aTowers private, and the ribald jests and laughter thereat. "They makejokes, and say a man 'stopped one, ' meaning a shell had been stopped inits flight by exploding on him--this the interpreter has explained tome. But cold--no, no, no! If you had seen this man--ah, sublime, magnificent! With the whistling balls all round him he stands, sobrave, so noble, so fine, stands--so! '_Vive la France_!' he criedaloud, with a tongue of trumpets; '_Vive la France! A bas lesBoches_!'"

The captain, as he declaimed "with a tongue of trumpets, " leaped to hisfeet and struck an attitude that was really quite a good imitation of'Enery's own mock-tragedian one. But the officers listening breathedawe and admiration; they did not, as the Towers did, laugh, becausehere, unlike the Towers, they saw nothing to laugh at. 

The captain dropped to his chair amid a murmur of applause. "Sublime!"he said. "That posture, that cry! Indeed, it was worthy of a Frenchman. But certainly we must recommend him for a Cross of France, eh, mymajor?"

'Enery Irving got the Cross of the Legion of Honor. But I doubt if itever gave him such pure and legitimate joy as did a notice stuck up inthe German trench next day. Certainly it insulted the English bystating that their workers stayed at home and went on strike whileFrenchmen fought and died. _But_ it was headed "Frenchman!" _and it waswritten in French. _

THE FEAR OF FEAR

_"At ---- we recaptured the portion of front line trench lost by ussome days ago. "_--EXTRACT FROM DISPATCH. 

"In a charge, " said the Sergeant, "the 'Hotwater Guards' don't thinkabout going back till there's none of them left to go back; and you canalways remember this: if you go forward you _may_ die, if you go backyou _will_ die. "

The memory of that phrase came back to Private Everton, tramping downthe dark road to the firing-line. Just because he had no knowledge ofhow he himself would behave in this his baptism of fire, just becausehe was in deadly fear that he would feel fear, or, still worse, showit, he strove to fix that phrase firmly in front of his mind. "If I canremember that, " he thought, "it will stop me going back, anyway, " andhe repeated: "If you go back you _will_ die, if you go back you _will_die, " over and over. 

It is true that, for all his repetition, when a field battery, hiddenclose by the side of the road on which they marched, roared in a suddenand ear-splitting salvo of six guns, for the instant he thought he wasunder fire and that a huge shell had burst somewhere desperately closeto them. He had jumped, his comrades assured him afterwards, a clearfoot and a half off the ground, and he himself remembered that hisfirst involuntary glance and thought flashed to the deep ditch that ranalongside the road. 

When he came to the trenches, at last, and filed down the narrowcommunication-trench and into his Company's appointed position in thedeep ditch with a narrow platform along its front that was the forwardfire-trench, he remembered with unpleasant clearness that instinctivestart and thought of taking cover. By that time he had actually beenunder fire, had heard the shells rush over him and the shattering noiseof their burst; had heard the bullets piping and humming and hissingover the communication- and firing-trenches. He took a little comfortfrom the fact that he had not felt any great fear then, but he had totemper that by the admission that there was little to be afraid ofthere in the shelter of the deep trench. It was what he would do andfeel when he climbed out of cover on to the exposed and bullet-sweptflat before the trench that he was in doubt about; for the Hotwatershad been told that at nine o'clock there was to be a brief but intensebombardment on a section of trench in front of them which had beencaptured from us the day before, and which, after severalcounter-attacks had failed, was to be taken that morning by thisbattalion of Hotwaters. 

At half-past eight, nobody entering their trench would have dreamedthat the Hotwaters were going into a serious action in half an hour. The men were lounging about, squatting on the firing-step, chaffing andtalking--laughing even--quite easily and naturally; some were smoking, and others had produced biscuits and bully beef from their haversacksand were calmly eating their breakfast. 

Everton felt a glow of pride as he looked at them. These men were hisfriends, his fellows, his comrades: they were of the HotwaterGuards--his regiment, and his battalion. He had heard often enough thatthe Guards Brigades were the finest brigades in the Army, that thisparticular brigade was the best of all the Guards, that his battalionwas the best of the Brigade. Hitherto he had rather deprecated theseremarks as savoring of pride and self-conceit, but now he began tobelieve that they must be true; and so believing, if he had but knownit, he had taken another long step on the way to becoming the perfectsoldier, who firmly believes his regiment the finest in the world andis ready to die in proof of the belief. 

"Dusty Miller, " the next file on his left, who was eating bread andcheese, spoke to him. 

"Why don't you eat some grab, Toffee?" he mumbled cheerfully, with hismouth full. "In a game like this you never know when you'll get thenext chance of a bite. "

"Don't feel particularly hungry, " answered Toffee with an attempt toappear as off-handed and casual and at ease as his questioner. "So Ithink I'd better save my ration until I'm hungry. "

Dusty Miller sliced off a wedge of bread with the knife edge againsthis thumb, popped it in his mouth, and followed it with a corner ofcheese. 

"A-ah!" he said profoundly, and still munching; "there's no sense insaving rations when you're going into action. I'd a chum once thatalways did that; said he got more satisfaction out of a meal when thejob was over and he was real hungry, and had a chance to eat incomfort--more or less comfort. And one day we was for it he saved a tino' sardines and a big chunk of cake and a bottle of pickled onions thathad just come to him from home the day before; said he was lookingforward to a good feed that night after the show was over. And--and hewas killed that day!"

Dusty Miller halted there with the inborn artistry that left his climaxto speak for itself. 

"Hard luck!" said Toffee sympathetically. "So his feed was wasted!"

"Not to say wasted exactly, " said Dusty, resuming bread and cheese. "Because I remembers to this day how good them onions was. Still it waswasted, far as he was concerned--and he was particular fond o' pickledonions. "

But even the prospect of wasting his rations did nothing to induceToffee to eat a meal. The man on Toffee's right was crouched back onthe firing-step apparently asleep or near it. Dusty Miller had turnedand opened a low-toned conversation with the next man, the frequentrepetition of "I says" and "she says" affording some clew to the threadof his story and inclining Toffee to believe it not meant for him tohear. He felt he must speak to some one, and it was with relief that hesaw Halliday, the man on his other side, rouse himself and look up. Something about Toffee's face caught his attention. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked, leaning forward and speaking quietly. "This is your first charge, isn't it!"

"Yes, " said Toffee, "I'm all right. I--I think I'm all right. "

The other moved slightly on the firing-step, leaving a little room, andToffee took this as an invitation to sit down. Halliday continued tospeak in low tones that were not likely to pass beyond his listener'sear. 

"Don't you get scared, " he said. "You've nothing much to be scaredabout. "

He threw a little emphasis, and Toffee fancied a little envy, into the"you. "

"I'm not scared exactly, " said Toffee. "I'm sort of wondering what itwill be like. "

"I know, " said Halliday, "I know; and who should, if I didn't? But Ican tell you this--you don't need to be afraid of shells, you don'tneed to be afraid of bullets, and least of all is there any need to beafraid of the cold iron when the Hotwaters get into the trench. Youdon't need to be afraid of being wounded, because that only means homeand a hospital and a warm dry bed; you don't need to be afraid ofdying, because you've got to die some day, anyhow. There's only onething in this game to be afraid of, and there isn't many finds that intheir first engagement. It's the ones like me that get it. "

Toffee glanced at him curiously and in some amazement. Now that helooked closely, he could see that, despite his easy loungeful attitudeand steady voice, and apparently indifferent look, there was somethingodd and unexplainable about Halliday: some faintest twitching of hislips, a shade of pallor on his cheek, a hunted look deep at the back ofhis eyes. Everton tried to speak lightly. 

"And what is it, then, that the likes o' you get?"

Halliday's voice sank to little more than a whisper. "It's the fear o'fear, " he said steadily. "Maybe, you think you know what that is, thatyou feel it yourself. You know what I mean, I suppose?"

Toffee nodded. "I think so, " he said. "What I fear myself is that I'llbe afraid and show that I'm afraid, that I'll do something rotten whenwe get out up there. "

He jerked his head up and back towards the open where the riflessputtered and the bullets whistled querulously. 

"There's plenty fear that, " admitted Halliday, "before their firstaction; but mostly it passes the second they leave cover and can'tprotect themselves and have to trust to whatever there is outside, themselves to bring them through. You don't know the beginning of howbad the fear o' fear can be till you have seen dozens of your mateskilled, till you've had death no more than touch you scores of times, like I have. "

"But you don't mean to tell me, " said Toffee incredulously, "that youare afraid of yourself, that you can't trust yourself now? Why, I'veheard said often that you're one of the coolest under fire, and thatyou don't know what fear is!"

"It's a good reputation to have if you can keep it, " said Halliday. "But it makes it worse if you can't. "

"I wish, " said Toffee enviously, "I was as sure of keeping it as youare to-day. "

Halliday pulled his hand from his pocket and held it beside him whereonly Toffee could see it. It was quivering like a flag-halliard in astiff breeze. He thrust it back in his pocket. 

"Doesn't look too sure, does it?" he said grimly. "And my heart isshaking a sight worse than my hand. "

He was interrupted by the arrival of a group of German shells on andabout the section of trench they were in. One burst on the rear lip ofthe trench, spattering earth and bullets about them and leaving achoking reek swirling and eddying along the trench. There was silencefor an instant, and then an officer's voice called from the neartraverse. "Is anybody hit there!" A sergeant shouted back "No, sir, "and was immediately remonstrated with by an indignant private busilyengaged in scraping the remains of a mud clod from his eye. 

"You might wait a minute, Sergeant, " he said, "afore you reports nocasualties, just to give us time to look round and count if all ourlimbs is left on. And I've serious doubts at this minute whether my eyeis in its right place or bulging out the back o' my head; anyway, itfeels as if an eight-inch Krupp had bumped fair into it. "

When the explosion came, Toffee Everton had instinctively ducked andcrouched, but he noticed that Halliday never moved or gave a sign ofthe nearness of any danger. Toffee remarked this to him. 

"And I don't see, " he confessed, "where that fits in with thishand- and heart-shaking o' yours. "

Halliday looked at him curiously. 

"If that was the worst, " he said, "I could stand it. It isn't. It isn'tthe beginning of the least of the worst. If it had fell in the trench, now, and mucked up half a dozen men, there'd have been something tosqueal about. That's the sort o' thing that breaks a man up--your ownmates that was talking to you a minute afore, ripped to bits and tornto ribbons. I've seen nothing left of a whole live man but a pair o'burnt boots. I've seen--" He stopped abruptly and shivered a little. "I'm not going to talk about it, " he said. "I think about it and see ittoo often in my dreams as it is. And, besides, " he went on, "I didn'tduck that time, because I've learnt enough to know it's too late toduck when the shell bursts a dozen yards from you. I'm not so muchafraid of dying, either. I've got to die, I've little doubt, beforethis war is out; I don't think there's a dozen men in this battalionthat came out with it in the beginning and haven't been home sick orwounded since. I've seen one-half the battalion wiped out in oneengagement and built up with drafts, and the other half wiped out inthe next scrap. We've lost fifty and sixty and seventy per cent. Of ourstrength at different times, and I've come through it all without ascratch. Do you suppose I don't know it's against reason for me to lastout much longer? But I'm not afraid o' that. I'm not afraid of theworst death I've seen a man die--and that's something pretty bad, believe me. What I'm afraid of is myself, of my nerve cracking, of mydoing something that will disgrace the Regiment. "

The man's nerves were working now; there was a quiver of excitement inhis voice, a grayer shade on his cheek, a narrowing and a restlessmovement of his eyes, a stronger twitching of his lips. More shellscrashed sharply; a little along the line a gust of rifle-bullets sweptover and into the parapet; a Maxim rap-rap-rapped and its bullets spathailing along the parapet above their heads. 

Halliday caught his breath and shivered again. 

"That, " he said--"that is one of the devils we've got to facepresently. " His eyes glanced furtively about him. "God!" he muttered, "if I could only get out of this! 'Tisn't fair, I tell ye, it isn'tfair to ask a man that's been through what I have to take it on again, knowing that if I do come through, 'twill be the same thing to gothrough over and over until they get me; or until my own sergeantshoots me for refusing to face it. "

Everton had listened in amazed silence--an understanding utterly beyondhim. He knew the name that Halliday bore in the regiment, knew that hewas seeing and hearing more than Halliday perhaps had ever shown ortold to anyone. Shamefacedly and self-consciously, he tried to saysomething to console and hearten the other man, but Hallidayinterrupted him roughly. 

"That's it!" he said bitterly. "Go on! Pat me on the back and tell meto be a good boy and not to be frightened. I'm coming to it at last:old Bob Halliday that's been through it from the beginning, one o' theOld Contemptibles, come down to be mothered and hushaby-baby'd by ablanky recruit, with the first polish hardly off his new buttons. "

He broke off and into bitter cursing, reviling the Germans, the war, himself and Everton, his sergeant and platoon commander, the O. C. , andat last the regiment itself. But at that the torrent of his oaths brokeoff, and he sat silent and shaking for a minute. He glanced sideways atlast at the embarrassed Everton. 

"Don't take no notice o' me, chum, " he said. "I wasn't speaking tooloud, was I? The others haven't noticed, do you think? I don't want tolook round for a minute. "

Everton assured him that he had not spoken too loud, that nobodyappeared to have noticed anything, and that none were looking theirway. He added a feeble question as to whether Halliday, if he felt sobad, could not report himself as sick or something and escape having toleave the trench. 

Halliday's lips twisted in a bitter grin. 

"That would be a pretty tale, " he said. "No, boy, I'll try and pullthrough once more, and if my heart fails me--look here, I've oftenthought o' this, and some day, maybe, it will come to it. "

He lifted his rifle and put the butt down in the trench bottom, slippedhis bayonet out, and holding the rifle near the muzzle with one hand, with the other placed the point of the bayonet to the trigger of therifle. He removed it instantly and returned it to its place. 

"There's always that, " he said. "It can be done in a second, and nomatter how a man's hand shakes, he can steady the point of the bayonetagainst the trigger-guard, push it down till the point pushes thetrigger home. "

"Do you mean, " stammered Everton in amazement--"do you mean--shootyourself?"

"Ssh! not so loud, " cautioned Halliday. "Yes, it's better than beingshot by my own officer, isn't it?"

Everton's mind was floundering hopelessly round this strange problem. He could understand a man being afraid; he was not sure that he wasn'tafraid himself; but that a man afraid that he could not face deathcould yet contemplate certain death by his own hand, was completelybeyond him. 

Halliday drew his breath in a deep sigh. 

"We'll say no more about it, " he said. "I feel better now; it'ssomething to know I always have that to fall back on at the worst. I'llbe all right now--until it comes the minute to climb over the parapet. "

It was nearly nine o'clock, and word was passed down the line for everyman to get down as low as he could in the bottom of the trench. Thetrench they were about to attack was only forty or fifty yards away, and since the Heavies as well as the Field guns were to bombard, therewas quite a large possibility of splinters and fragments being thrownby the lyddite back as far as the British trench. At nine, sharp to thetick of the clock, the _rush, rush, rush_ of a field battery's shellspassed overhead. Because the target was so close, the passing shellsseemed desperately near to the British parapet, as indeed they actuallywere. The rush of shells and the crash of their explosion sounded inthe forward trench before the boom of the guns which fired themtraveled to the British trench. Before the first round of this openingbattery had finished, another and another joined in, and then, in adeluge of noise, the intense bombardment commenced. 

Crouching low in the bottom of the trench, half deafened by the uproar, the men waited for the word to move. The concentrated fire on thisportion of front indicated clearly to the Germans that an attack wascoming, and where it was to be expected. The obviously correctprocedure for the gunners was of course to have bombarded many sectionsof front so that no certain clew would be given as to the point of thecoming attack. But this was in the days when shells were very, veryprecious things, and gunners had to grit their teeth helplessly, dolingout round by round, while the German gun- and rifle-fire did its worst. The Germans, then, could see now where the attack was concentrated, andpromptly proceeded to break it up before it was launched. Shells beganto sweep the trench where the Hotwater Guards lay, to batter at theirparapet, and to prepare a curtain of fire along their front. 

Everton lay and listened to the appalling clamor; but when the word waspassed round to get ready, he rose to his feet and climbed to thefiring-step without any overpowering sense of fear. A sentence from theman on his left had done a good deal to hearten him. 

"Gostrewth! 'ark at our guns!" he said. "They ain't 'arf pitchin' itin. W'y, this ain't goin' to be no charge; it's going to be a sort ofmerry picnic, a game of ''Ere we go gatherin' nuts in May. ' There won'tbe any Germans left in them trenches, and we'll 'ave nothin' to do butcollect the 'elmets and sooveneers and make ourselves at 'ome. "

"Did you hear that!" Everton asked Halliday. "Is it anyways true, doyou think?"

"A good bit, " said Halliday. "I've never seen a bit of German frontsmothered up by our guns the way this seems to be now, though I'veoften enough seen it the other way. The trench in front should besmashed past any shape for stopping our charge if the gunners aremaking any straight shooting at all. "

It was evident that the whole trench shared his opinion, andexpressions of amazed delight ran up and down the length of theHotwaters. When the order came to leave the trench, the men were up andout of it with a bound. 

Everton was too busy with his own scramble put to pay much heed toHalliday; but as they worked out through their own barbed wire, he wasrelieved to find him at his side. He caught Everton's look, andalthough his teeth were gripped tight, he nodded cheerfully. Presently, when they were forming into line again beyond the wire, Halliday spoke. 

"Not too bad, " he said. "The guns has done it for us this time. Comeon, now, and keep your wits when you get across. "

In the ensuing rush across the open, Everton was conscious of nosensation of fear. The guns had lifted their fire farther back as theHotwaters emerged from their trench, and the rush and rumble of theirshells was still passing overhead as the line advanced. The Germanartillery hardly dared drop their range to sweep the advance, becauseof its proximity to their own trench. A fairly heavy rifle-fire wascoming from the flanks, but to a certain extent that was kept down bysome of our batteries spreading their fire over those portions of theGerman trench which were not being attacked, and by a heavy rifle- andmachine-gun fire which was pelted across from the opposite parts of theBritish line. 

From the immediate front, which was the Hotwaters' objective, there waspractically no attempt at resistance until the advance was half-wayacross the short distance between the trenches, and even then it was nomore than a spasmodic attempt and the feeble resistance of a few riflesand a machine-gun. The Hotwaters reached the trench with comparativelyslight loss, pushed into it, and over it, and pressed on to the nextline, the object being to threaten the continuance of the attack, totake the next trench if the resistance was not too severe, and so togive time for the reorganization of the first captured trench to resistthe German counter-attack. 

Everton was one of the first to reach the forward trench. It had beenroughly handled by the artillery fire, and the men in it made littleshow of resistance. The Hotwaters swarmed into the broken ditch, shooting and stabbing the few who fought back, disarming the prisonerswho had surrendered with hands over their heads and quavering cries of"Kamerad. " Everton rushed one man who appeared to be in two mindswhether to surrender or not, fingering and half lifting his rifle andlowering it again, looking round over his shoulder, once more raisinghis rifle muzzle. Everton killed him with the bayonet. Afterwards heclimbed out and ran on, after the line had pushed forward to the nexttrench. There was an awe, and a thrill of satisfaction in his heart ashe looked at his stained bayonet, but, as he suddenly recognized with atremendous joy, not the faintest sensation of being afraid. He lookedround grinning to the man next him, and was on the point of shoutingsome jest to him, when he saw the man stumble and pitch heavily on hisface. It flashed into Everton's mind that he had tripped over a hiddenwire, and he was about to shout some chaffing remark, when he saw theback of the man's head as he lay face down. But even that unpleasantsight brought no fear to him. 

There was a stout barricade of wire in front of the next trench, and anorder was shouted along to halt and lie down in front of it. The linedropped, and while some lay prone and fired as fast as they could atany loophole or bobbing head they could see, others lit bombs andtossed them into the trench. This trench also had been badly mauled bythe shells, and the fire from it was feeble. Everton lay firing for afew minutes, casting side glances on an officer close in front of him, and on two or three men along the line who were coolly cutting throughthe barbed wire with heavy nippers. Everton saw the officer spin roundand drop to his knees, his left hand nursing his hanging right arm. Everton jumped up and went over to him. 

"Let me go on with it, sir, " he said eagerly, and without waiting forany consent stooped and picked up the fallen wire-cutters and set towork. He and the others, standing erect and working on the wire, naturally drew a heavy proportion of the aimed fire; but Everton wasonly conscious of an uplifting exhilaration, a delight that he shouldhave had the chance at such a prominent position. Many bullets camevery close to him, but none touched him, and he went on cutting wireafter wire, quickly and methodically, grasping the strand well in thejaws of the nippers, gripping till the wire parted and the severed endssprang loose, calmly fitting the nippers to the next strand. 

Even when he had cut a clear path through, he went on working, wideningthe breach, cutting more wires, dragging the trailing ends clear. Thenhe ran back to the line and to the officer who had lain watching him. 

"Your wire-nippers, sir, " he said. "Shall I put them in your case foryou?"

"Stick them in your pocket, Everton, " said the youngster; "you've donegood work with them. Now lie down here. "

All this was a matter of no more than three or four minutes' work. Whenthe other gaps were completed--the men in them being less fortunatethan Everton and having several wounded during the task--the line rose, rushed streaming through the gaps and down into the trench. Ifanything, the damage done by the shells was greater there than in thefirst line, mainly perhaps because the heavier guns had not hesitatedto fire on the second line where the closeness of the first line to theBritish would have made risky shooting. There were a good many dead andwounded Germans in this second trench, and of the remainder many werehidden away in their dug-outs, their nerves shaken beyond thesticking-point of courage by the artillery fire first, and later by theclose-quarter bombing and the rush of the cold steel. 

The Hotwaters held that trench for some fifteen minutes. Then a weakcounter-attack attempted to emerge from another line of trenches a goodtwo hundred yards back, but was instantly fallen upon by our artilleryand scourged by the accurate fire of the Hotwaters. The attack brokebefore it was well under way, and scrambled back under cover. 

Shortly afterwards the first captured trench having been put into someshape for defense, the advance line of the Hotwaters retired. A smallcovering party stayed and kept up a rapid fire till most of the othershad gone, and then climbed through the trench and doubled back afterthem. 

The officer, whose wire-cutters Everton had used, had been hit ratherbadly in the arm. He had made light of the wound, and remained in thetrench with the covering party; but when he came to retire, he foundthat the pain and loss of blood had left him shaky and dizzy. Evertonhelped him to climb from the trench; but as they ran back he saw fromthe corner of his eye that the officer had slowed to a walk. He turnedback and, ignoring the officer's advice to push on, urged him to leanon him. It ended up by Everton and the officer being the last men in, Everton half supporting, half carrying the other. Once more he felt achildish pleasure at this opportunity to distinguish himself. He washalf intoxicated with the heady wine of excitement and success, heasked only for other and greater and riskier opportunities. "Risk, " hethought contemptuously, "is only a pleasant excitement, danger thespice to the risk. " He asked his sergeant to be allowed to go out andhelp the stretcher-bearers who were clearing the wounded from theground over which the first advance had been made. 

"No, " said the Sergeant shortly. "The stretcher-bearers have their job, and they've got to do it. Your job is here, and you can stop and dothat. You've done enough for one day. " Then, conscious perhaps that hehad spoken with unnecessary sharpness, he added a word. "You've made agood beginning, lad, and done good work for your first show; don'tspoil it with rank gallery play. "

But now that the German gunners knew the British line had advanced andheld the captured trench, they pelted it, the open ground behind it, and the trench that had been the British front line, with a storm ofshell-fire. The rifle-fire was hotter, too, and the rallied defense waspouring in whistling stream of bullets. But the captured trench, whichit will be remembered was a recaptured British one, ran back and joinedup with the British lines. It was possible therefore to bring up plentyof ammunition, sandbags, and reinforcements, and by now the defense hadbeen sufficiently made good to have every prospect of resisting anycounter-attack and of withstanding the bombardment to which it wasbeing subjected. But the heavy fire drove the stretcher-bearers off theopen ground, while there still remained some dead and wounded to bebrought in. 

Everton had missed Halliday, and his anxious inquiries failed to findhim or any word of him, until at last one man said he believed Hallidayhad been dropped in the rush on the first trench. Everton stood up andpeered back over the ground behind them. Thirty yards away he saw a manlying prone and busily at work with his trenching-tool, endeavoring tobuild up a scanty cover. Everton shouted at the pitch of his voice, "Halliday!" The digging figure paused, lifted the trenching-tool andwaved it, and then fell to work again. Everton pressed along thecrowded trench to the sergeant. 

"Sergeant, " he said breathlessly, "Halliday's lying out there wounded, he's a good pal o' mine and I'd like to fetch him in. "

The Sergeant was rather doubtful. He made Everton point out the diggingfigure, and was calculating the distance from the nearest point of thetrench, and the bullets that drummed between. 

"It's almost a cert you get hit, " he said, "even if you crawl out. He'sgot a bit of cover and he's making more, fast. I think--"

A voice behind interrupted, and Everton and the Sergeant turned to findthe Captain looking up at them. 

"What's this?" he repeated, and the Sergeant explained the position. 

"Go ahead!" said the Captain. "Get him in if you can, and good luck toyou. "

Everton wanted no more. Two minutes later he was out of the trench andracing back across the open. 

"Come on, Halliday, " he said. "I'll give you a hoist in. Where are youhit?"

"Leg and arm, " said Halliday briefly; and then, rather ungraciously, "You're a fool to be out here; but I suppose now you're here, you mightas well give me a hand in. "

But he spoke differently after Everton had given him a hand, had liftedhim and carried him, and so brought him back to the trench and loweredhim into waiting hands. His wounds were bandaged and, before he wascarried off, he spoke to Everton. 

"Good-by, Toffee, " he said and held out his left hand, "I owe you aheap. And look here---" He hesitated a moment and then spoke in tonesso low that Everton had to bend over the stretcher to hear him. "Myleg's smashed bad, and I'm done for the Front and the old Hotwaters. Iwouldn't like it to get about--I don't want the others to think--toknow about me feeling--well, like I told you back there before thecharge. "

Toffee grabbed the uninjured-hand hard. "You old frost!" he said gayly, "there's no need to keep it up any longer now; but I don't mind tellingyou, old man, you fairly hoaxed me that time, and actually I believedwhat you were saying. 'Course, I know better now; but I'll punch thehead off any man that ever whispers a word against you. "

Halliday looked at him queerly. "Good-by, Toffee, " he said again, "andthank ye. "

ANTI-AIRCRAFT

"_Enemy airmen appearing over our lines have been turned hack or drivenoff by shell fire. "_--EXTRACT FROM DESPATCH. 

Gardening is a hobby which does not exist under very favorableconditions at the front, its greatest drawback being that when thegardener's unit is moved from one place to another his garden cannotaccompany him. Its devotees appear to derive a certain amount ofsatisfaction from the mere making of a garden, the laying-out anddigging and planting; but it can be imagined that the most enthusiasticgardener would in time become discouraged by a long series ofbeginnings without any endings to his labors, to a frequent sowing andan entire absence of reaping. 

There are, however, some units which, from the nature of theirbusiness, are stationary in one place for months on end, and here thegardener as a rule has an opportunity for the indulgence of hispursuit. In clearing-hospitals, ammunition-parks, and Army ServiceCorps supply points, there are, I believe, many such fixed abodes; butthe manners and customs of the inhabitants of such happy resting-placesare practically unknown to the men who live month in month out in anarrow territory, bounded on the east by the forward firing line and onthe west by the line of the battery positions, or at farthest thevillages of the reserve billets. In any case these places are ratheroutside the scope of tales dealing with what may be called the "UnderFire Front, " and it was this front which I had in mind when I said thatgardening did not receive much encouragement at the front. But duringthe first spring of the War I know of at least one enthusiast who didhis utmost, metaphorically speaking, to beat his sword into aplowshare, and to turn aside at every opportunity from the duty ofkilling Germans to the pleasures of growing potatoes. He was a gunnerin the detachment of the Blue Marines, which ran a couple of armoredmotor-cars carrying anti-aircraft guns. 

It is one of the advantages of this branch of the air-war that when asuitable position is fixed on for defense of any other position, thedetachment may stay there for some considerable time. There are otheradvantages which will unfold themselves to those initiated in the waysof the trench zone, although those outside of it may miss them; buteveryone will see that prolonged stays in the one position give thegardener his opportunity. In this particular unit of the Blue Marineswas a gunner who intensely loved the potting and planting, the turningover of yielding earth, the bedding-out and transplanting, the wateringand weeding and tending of a garden, possibly because the greater partof his life had been lived at sea in touch with nothing more yieldingthan a steel plate or a hard plank. 

The gunner was known throughout the unit by no other name than Mary, fittingly taken from the nursery rhyme which inquires, "Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?" The similarity between Maryof the Blue Marines and Mary of the nursery rhyme ends, however, withthe first line, since Blue Marine Mary made no attempt to rear "silverbells and cockle shells" (whatever they may be) all in a row. His wholeenergies were devoted to the raising of much more practical things, like lettuces, radishes, carrots, spring onions, and any othervegetable which has the commendable reputation of arriving reasonablyearly at maturity. 

Twice that spring Mary's labors had been wasted because the section hadmoved before the time was ripe from a gardener's point of view, andalthough Mary strove to transplant his garden by uprooting thevegetables, packing them away in a box in the motor, and planting themout in the new position, the vegetables failed to survive the breakingof their home ties, and languished and died in spite of Mary's tendercare. After the first failure he tried to lay out a portable garden, enlisting the aid of "Chips" the carpenter in the manufacture of anumber of boxes, in which he placed earth and his new seedlings. Thisattempt, however, failed even more disastrously than the first, theO. C. Having made a most unpleasant fuss on the discovery of two largeboxes of mustard and cress "cluttering up, " as he called it, thegun-mountings on one of the armored cars, and, when the section movedsuddenly in the dead of night, refusing point-blank to allow anyavailable space to be loaded up with Mary's budding garden. Mary'splaintive inquiry as to what he was to do with the boxes was met by thebrutal order to "chuck the lot overboard, " and the counter-inquiry asto whether he thought this show was a perambulating botanical gardens. 

So Mary lost his second garden complete, even unto the box of springonions which were the apple of his gardening eye. But he brisked upwhen the new position was established and he learned through theofficer's servant that the selected spot was considered an excellentone, and offered every prospect of being held by the section for aconsiderable time. He selected a favorable spot and proceeded once moreto lay out a garden and to plant out a new lot of vegetables. 

The section's new position was only some fifteen hundred yards from theforward trench; but, being at the bottom of a gently sloping ridgewhich ran between the position and the German lines, it was coveredfrom all except air observation. The two armored cars, containing guns, were hidden away amongst the shattered ruins of a little hamlet; theirarmor-plated bodies, already rendered as inconspicuous as possible byerratic daubs of bright colors laid on after the most approved Futuriststyle, were further hidden by untidy wisps of straw, a few casualbeams, and any other of the broken rubbish which had once been avillage. The men had their quarters in the cellars of one of the brokenhouses, and the two officers inhabited the corner of a house with amore or less remaining roof. 

Mary's garden was in a sunny corner of what had been in happier daysthe back garden of one of the cottages. The selection, as it turnedout, was not altogether a happy one, because the garden, when abandonedby its former owner, had run to seed most liberally, and the whole ofits area appeared to be impregnated with a variety of those seeds whichgive the most trouble to the new possessor of an old garden. Anyonewith the real gardening instinct appears to have no difficulty indistinguishing between weeds and otherwise, even on their firstappearance in shape of a microscopic green shoot; but flowers are notweeds, and Mary had a good deal of trouble to distinguish between theself-planted growths of nasturtiums, foxgloves, marigolds, forget-me-nots, and other flowers, and the more prosaic but usefulcarrots and spring onions which Mary had introduced. Probably a goodmany onions suffered the penalty of bad company, and were sacrificed inthe belief that they were flowers; but on the whole the new garden didwell, and began to show the trim rows of green shoots which afford suchjoy to the gardening soul. The shoots grew rapidly, and as time passeduneventfully and the section remained unmoved, the garden flourishedand the vegetables drew near to the day when they would be fit forconsumption. 

Mary gloated over that garden; he went to a world of trouble with it, he bent over it and weeded it for hours on end; he watered itreligiously every night, he even erected miniature forcing frames oversome of the vegetable rows, ransacking the remains of the broken-downhamlet for squares of glass or for any pieces large enough for hispurpose. He built these cunningly with frameworks of wood and untwistedstrands of barbed wire, and there is no doubt they helped the growth ofhis garden immensely. 

Although they have not been torched upon, it must not be supposed thatMary had no other duties. Despite our frequently announced "Supremacyof the Air, " the anti-aircraft guns were in action rather frequently. The German aeroplanes in this part of the line appeared to ignore therepeated assurances in our Press that the German 'plane invariablymakes off on the appearance of a British one; and although it is truethat in almost every case the German was "turned back, " he veryfrequently postponed the turning until he had sailed up and down theline a few times and seen, it may be supposed, all that there was tosee. 

At such times--and they happened as a rule at least once a day andoccasionally two, three, or four times a day--Mary had to run from hisgardening and help man the guns. 

In the course of a month the section shot away many thousands ofshells, and, it is to be hoped, severely frightened many German pilots, although at that time they could only claim to have brought down one'plane, and that in a descent so far behind the German lines that itsfate was uncertain. 

It must be admitted that the gunners on the whole made excellentshooting, and if they did not destroy their target, or even make himturn back, they fulfilled the almost equally useful object of makinghim keep so high that he could do little useful observing. But theshort periods of time spent by the section in shooting were no morethan enough to add a pleasant flavor of sport to life, and on thewhole, since the weather was good and the German gunnery was not--or atleast not good enough to be troublesome to the section--life duringthat month moved very pleasantly. 

But at last there came a day when it looked as if some of theinconveniences of war were due to arrive. The German aeroplane appearedas usual one morning just after the section had completed breakfast. The methodical regularity of hours kept by the German pilots addedconsiderably to the comfort and convenience of the section by allowingthem to time their hours of sleep, their meals, or an afternoon run bythe O. C. On the motor into the near-by town, so as to fit in nicelywith the duty of anti-aircraft guns. 

On this morning at the usual hour the aeroplane appeared, and thegunners, who were waiting in handy proximity to the cars, jumped totheir stations. The muzzles of the two-pounder pom-poms moved slowlyafter their target, and when the range-indicator told that it waswithin reach of their shells the first gun opened with a trial beltful. "Bang--bang--bang--bang!" it shouted, a string of shells singingand sighing on their way into silence. In a few seconds, "Puff--puff--puff--puff!" four pretty little white balls broke out andfloated solid against the sky. They appeared well below their target, and both the muzzles tilted a little and barked off another flight ofshells. This time they appeared to burst in beautiful proximity to theracing aeroplane, and immediately the two-pounders opened a steady andaccurate bombardment. The shells were evidently dangerously close tothe 'plane, for it tilted sharply and commenced to climb steadily; butit still held on its way over the British lines, and the course it wastaking it was evident would bring it almost directly over the BlueMarines and their guns. The pom-poms continued their steady yap-yap, jerking and springing between each, round, like eager terriers jumpingthe length of their chain, recoiling and jumping, and yelping at everyjump. But although the shells were dead in line the range was toogreat, and the guns slowed down their rate of fire, merely rapping offan occasional few rounds to keep the observer at a respectful distance, without an unnecessary waste of ammunition. 

Arrived above them, the aeroplane banked steeply and swung round in acomplete circle. 

"Dash his impudence, " growled the captain. "Slap at him again, just forluck. " The only effect the resulting slap at him had, however, was toshow the 'plane pilot that he was well out of range and to bring himspiraling steeply down a good thousand feet. This brought him withinreach of the shells again, and both guns opened rapidly, dotting thesky thickly with beautiful white puffs of smoke, through which theenemy sailed swiftly. Then suddenly another shape and color of smokeappeared beneath him, and a red light burst from it flaring andfloating slowly downwards. Another followed, and then another, and the'plane straightened out its course, swerved, and flashed swiftly offdown-wind, pursued to the limit of their range by the raving pom-poms. "Which it seems to me, " said the Blue Marine sergeant reflectively, "that our Tauby had us spotted and was signaling his guns to call andleave a card on us. "

That afternoon showed some proof of the correctness of the sergeant'ssupposition; a heavy shell soared over and dropped with a crash in anopen field some two hundred yards beyond the outermost house of thehamlet. In five minutes another followed, and in the same field blewout a hole about twenty yards from the first. A third made another holeanother twenty yards off, and a fourth again at the same interval. 

When the performance ceased, the captain and his lieutenant held aconference over the matter. "It looks as if we'd have to shift, " saidthe captain. "That fellow has got us marked down right enough. "

"If he doesn't come any nearer, " said the lieutenant, "we're all right. We won't need to take cover when the shelling starts, and even if theguns are shooting when the German is shelling, the armor-plate willeasily stand off splinters from that distance. "

"Yes, " said the captain. "But do you suppose our friend the Flighty Hunwon't have a peep at us to-morrow morning to see where those shellslanded? If he does, or if he takes a photograph, those holes will showup like a chalk-mark on a blackboard; then he has only to tell his gunto step this way a couple of hundred yards and we get it in the neck. I'm inclined to think we'd better up anchor and away. "

"We're pretty comfortable here, you know, " urged the lieutenant, "andit's a pity to get out. It might be that those shots were blind chance. I vote for waiting another day, anyhow, and seeing what happens. At theworst we can pack up and stand by with steam up; then if the shellspitch too near we can slip the cable and run for it"

"Right-oh!" said the captain. 

Next morning the enemy aeroplane appeared again at its appointed hourand sailed overhead, leaving behind it a long wake of smoke-puffs; andat the same hour in the afternoon as the previous shelling the Germangun opened fire, dropping its first shell neatly fifty yards furtherfrom the shell-holes of the day before. The aeroplane, of course, hadreported, or its photograph had shown, the previous day's shells tohave dropped apparently fifty yards to the left of the hamlet. The gunaccordingly corrected its aim and opened fire on a spot fifty yardsmore to the right. For hours it bombarded that suffering fieldenergetically, and at the end of that time, when they were satisfiedthe shelling was over, the Blue Marines climbed from their cellar. Nextmorning the aeroplane appeared again, and the Blue Marines allowed itthis time to approach unattacked. Convinced probably by this and theappearance of the numerous shell-pits scattered round the gun position, the aeroplane swooped lower to verify its observations. Unfortunatelyanother anti-aircraft gun a mile further along the line thought thistoo good an opportunity to miss, and opened rapid fire. The 'planeleaped upward and away, and the Blue Marines sped on its way with astream of following shells. 

"If the Huns' minds work on the fixed and appointed path, one wouldexpect the same old field will get a strafing this afternoon, " said thecaptain afterwards. "The airman will have seen the village knockedabout, and if he knew that those last shells came from here he'll justconclude that yesterday's shooting missed us, and the gunners will haveanother whale at us this afternoon. "

He was right; the gun had "another whale" at them, and again dug manyholes in the old field. 

But next morning the Germans played a new and disconcerting game. Theaeroplane hovered high above and dropped a light, and a minute laterthe Blue Marines heard a shrill whistle, that grew and changed to awhoop, and ended with the same old crash in the same old field. 

"Now, " said the captain. "Stand by for trouble. That brute is spottingfor his gun. "

The aeroplane dropped a light, turned, and circled round to the left. Five minutes later another shell screamed over, and this time fellcrashing into the hamlet. The hit was palpable and unmistakable; a hugedense cloud of smoke and mortar-, lime-, and red brick-dust leapt andbillowed and hung heavily over the village. 

"This, " said the captain rapidly, "is where we do the rabbit act. Getto cover, all of you, and lie low. "

They did the rabbit act, scuttling amongst the broken houses to theshelter of their cellar and diving hastily into it. Another shellarrived, shrieking wrathfully, smashed into another broken house, andscattered its ruins in a whirlwind of flying fragments. 

Now Mary, of course, was in the cellar with the rest, and Mary's gardenwas in full view from the cellar entrance, and twenty or twenty-fiveyards from it. The rest of the party were surprised to see Mary, as theloud clatter of falling stones subsided, leap for the cellar steps, runup them, and disappear out into the open. He was back in a couple ofminutes. "I just wondered, " he said breathlessly, "if those blightershad done any damage to my vegetables. " When another shell came hepopped up again for another look, and this time he dodged back and saidmany unprintable things until the next shell landed. He looked a littlerelieved when he came back this time. "This one was farther away, " hesaid, "but that one afore dropped somebody's hearth-stone inside adozen paces from my onion bed. " For the next half-hour the big shellspounded the village, tearing the ruins apart, battering down the walls, blasting huge holes in the road and between the houses, re-destroyingall that had already been destroyed, and completing the destruction ofsome of the few parts that had hitherto escaped. 

Between rounds Mary ran up and looked out. Once he rushed across to hisgarden and came back cursing impotently, to report a shell fallen closeto the garden, his carefully erected forcing frames shattered tosplinters by the shock, and a hail of small stones and the ruins of aniron stove dropped obliteratingly across his carrots. 

"If only they'd left this crazy shooting for another week, " said Mary, "a whole lot of those things would have been ready for pulling up. Theonions is pretty near big enough to eat now, and I've half a mind topull some o' them before that cock-eyed Hun lands a shell in me gardenand blows it to glory. "

Later he ran out, pulled an onion, a carrot, and a lettuce, broughtthem back to the cellar, proudly passed them round, and anxiouslydemanded an opinion as to whether they were ready for pulling, andcounsel as to whether he ought to strip his garden. 

"Now look here!" said the sergeant at last; "you let your bloomin'garden alone; I'm not going to have you running out there pluckingcarrot and onion nosegays under fire. If a shell blows your gardenhalf-way through to Australia, I can't help it, and neither can you. I'll be quite happy to split a dish of spuds with you if so be yourgarden offers them up; but I'm not going to have you casualtiedrescuing your perishing radishes under fire. Nothing'll be said to meif your garden is strafed off the earth; but there's a whole lot goingto be said if you are strafed along with it, and I have to report thatyou had disobeyed orders and not kept under cover, and that I hadlooked on while you broke ship and was blown to blazes with a boo-kayof onions in your hand. So just you anchor down there till the ownerpipes to carry on. "

Mary had no choice but to obey, and when at last the shelling was overhe rushed to the garden and examined it with anxious care. He was in amore cheerful mood when he rejoined the others. "It ain't so bad, " hesaid. "Total casualties, half the carrots killed, the radish-bedseverely wounded (half a chimney-pot did that), and some o' the onionsslightly wounded by bits of gravel. But what do you reckon the owner'sgoing to do now? Has he given any orders yet?"

No orders had been given, but the betting amongst the Blue Marines wasabout ninety-seven to one in favor of their moving. Sure enough, orderswere given to pack up and prepare to move as soon as it was dark, andthe captain went off with a working party to reconnoiter a new positionand prepare places for the cars. Mary was sent off in "the shore boat"(otherwise the light runabout which carried them on duty or pleasure toand from the ten-mile-distant town) with orders to draw the day'srations, collect the day's mail, buy the day's papers, and return tothe village, being back not later than five o'clock. 

It was made known that the position to which the captain contemplatedmoving was one in a clump of trees within half a mile of the positionthey were leaving. Mary was hugely satisfied. "That ain't half bad, " hesaid when he heard. "I can walk over and water the garden at night, andpop across any time between the Tauby's usual promenade hours and do abit o' weeding, and just keep an eye on things generally. And inside aweek we're going to have carrots for dinner every day, _and_ springonions. Hey, my lads! what about bread and cheese and spring onions, wot?"

He climbed aboard the run-about, drove out of the yard, and rattled offdown the road. He executed his commissions, and was sailing happilyback to the village, when about a mile short of it a sitting figurerose from the roadside, stepped forward, and waved an arresting hand. To his surprise, Mary saw that it was one of the Blue Marines. 

"What's up?" he said, as the Marine came round to the side andproceeded to step on board. 

"Orders, " said the Marine briefly. "I was looking out for you. Changecourse and direction and steer for the new anchorage. "

"The idea being wot!" asked Mary. 

"We've been in action again, " said the Marine gloomily. "Only twoshells this time, but they did more damage than all the rest puttogether this morning. "

"More damage?" gasped Mary. "Wot--wot have they damaged?"

The Marine ticked off the damages on his fingers one by one. 

"Car hit, badly damaged, and down by the stern; gun out ofaction--mounting smashed; the sergeant hit, piece of his starboard legcarried away; and five men slightly wounded. "

He dropped his hands, which Mary took as a sign that the tally wasfinished. "Is that all?" he said, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Strewth! I thought you was going to tell me that my garden had beengott-straffed. "

A FRAGMENT

This is not a story, it is rather a fragment, beginning where usually abattle story ends, with a man being "casualtied, " showing the principalcharacter only in a passive part--a very passive part--and ending, I amafraid, with a lot of unsatisfactory loose ends ungathered up. I onlytell it because I fancy that at the back of it you may find some hintof the spirit that has helped the British Army in many a tight corner. 

Private Wally Ruthven was knocked out by the bursting of a couple ofbombs in his battalion's charge on the front line German trenches. Anyaccount of the charge need not be given here, except that it failed, and the battalion making it, or what was left of them, beaten back. Private Wally knew nothing of this, knew nothing of the renewed Britishbombardment, the renewed British attack half a dozen hours later, andagain its renewed failure. All this time he was lying where the forceof the bomb's explosion had thrown him, in a hole blasted out of theground by a bursting shell. During all that time he was unconscious ofanything except pain, although certainly he had enough of that to keephis mind very fully occupied. He was brought back to an agonizingconsciousness by the hurried grip of strong hands and a wrenching liftthat poured liquid flames of pain through every nerve in his mangledbody. To say that he was badly wounded hardly describes the case; anR. A. M. C. Orderly afterwards described his appearance with painfulpicturesqueness as "raw meat on a butcher's block, " and indeed it isdoubtful if the stretcher-bearers who lifted him from the shell-holewould not rather have left him lying there and given their brief timeand badly needed services to a casualty more promising of recovery, ifthey had seen at first Private Ruthven's serious condition. As it was, one stretcher-bearer thought and said the man was dead, and was fortipping him off the stretcher again. Ruthven heard that and opened hiseyes to look at the speaker, although at the moment it would not havetroubled him much if he had been tipped off again. But the otherstretcher-bearer said there was still life in him; and partly becausethe ground about them was pattering with bullets, and the air aboutthem clamant and reverberating with the rush and roar of passing andexploding shells and bombs, and that particular spot, therefore, noplace or time for argument; partly because stretcher-bearers have astubborn conviction and fundamental belief--which, by the way, hassaved many a life even against their own momentary judgment--that whilethere is life there is hope, that a man "isn't dead till he's buried, "and finally that a stretcher must always be brought in with a load, alive one if possible, and the nearest thing to alive if not, theybrought him in. 

The stretcher-bearers carried their burden into the front trench andthere attempted to set about the first bandaging of their casualty. Thejob, however, was quite beyond them, but one of them succeeded infinding a doctor, who in all the uproar of a desperate battle wasplaying Mahomet to the mountain of such cases as could not come to himin the field dressing station. The orderly requested the doctor to cometo the casualty, who was so badly wounded that "he near came to bitswhen we lifted him. " The doctor, who had several urgent cases withinarm's length of him as he worked at the moment, said that he would comeas soon as he could, and told the orderly in the meantime to go andbandage any minor wounds his casualty might have. The bearer repliedthat there were no minor wounds, that the man was "just nothing but onebig wound all over"; and as for bandaging, that he "might as well tryto do first aid on a pound of meat that had run through a mincingmachine. " The doctor at last, hobbling painfully and leaning on thestretcher-bearer--for he himself had been twice wounded, once in thefoot by a piece of shrapnel, and once through the tip of the shoulderby a rifle bullet--came to Private Ruthven. He spent a good deal oftime and innumerable yards of bandages on him, so that when thestretcher-bearers brought him into the dressing station there waslittle but bandages to be seen of him. The stretcher-bearer delivered amessage from the doctor that there was very little hope, so thatRuthven for the time being was merely given an injection of morphia andput aside. 

The approaches to the dressing station and the station itself wereunder so severe a fire for some hours afterwards that it was impossiblefor any ambulance to be brought near it. Such casualties as could walkback walked, others were carried slowly and painfully to a point whichthe ambulances had a fair sporting chance of reaching intact. One wayand another a good many hours passed before Ruthven's turn came to beremoved. The doctor who had bandaged him in the firing-line had by thenreturned to the dressing station, mainly because his foot had becometoo painful to allow him to use it at all. Merely as an aside, andalthough it has nothing to do with Private Ruthven's case, it may beworth mentioning that the same doctor, having cleaned, sterilized, andbandaged his wounds, remained in the dressing station for anothertwelve hours, doing such work as could be accomplished sitting in achair and with one sound and one unsound arm. He saw Private Ruthvenfor a moment as he was being started on his journey to the ambulance;he remembered the case, as indeed everyone who handled or saw that caseremembered it for many days, and, moved by professional interest andsome amazement that the man was still alive, he hobbled from his chairto look at him. He found Private Ruthven returning his look; for thepassing of time and the excess of pain had by now overcome the effectsof the morphia injection. There was a hauntingly appealing look in theeyes that looked up at him, and the doctor tried to answer the questionhe imagined those eyes would have conveyed. 

"I don't know, my boy, " he said, "whether you'll pull through, butwe'll do the best we can for you. And now we have you here we'll haveyou back in hospital in no time, and there you'll get every chancethere is. "

He imagined the question remained in those eyes still unsatisfied, andthat Ruthven gave just the suggestion of a slow head-shake. 

"Don't give up, my boy, " he said briskly. "We might save you yet. NowI'm going to take away the pain for you, " and he called an orderly tobring a hypodermic injection. While he was finding a place among thebandages to make the injection, the orderly who was waiting spoke: "Ibelieve, sir, he's trying to ask something or say something. "

It has to be told here that Private Ruthven could say nothing in theterms of ordinary speech, and would never be able to do so again. Without going into details it will be enough to say that the wholelower part of--well, his face--was tightly bound about with bandages, leaving little more than his nostrils, part of his cheeks, and his eyesclear. He was frowning now and again, just shaking his head to denote anegative, and his left hand, bound to the bigness of a football inbandages, moved slowly in an endeavor to push aside the doctor's hands. 

"It's all right, my lad, " the doctor said soothingly. "I'm not going tohurt you. "

The frown cleared for an instant and the eloquent eyes appeared tosmile, as indeed the lad might well have smiled at the thought thatanyone could "hurt" such a bundle of pain. But although it appearedquite evident that Ruthven did not want morphia, the doctor in hiswisdom decreed otherwise, and the jolting journey down the roughshell-torn road, and the longer but smoother journey in thesweetly-sprung motor ambulance, were accomplished in sleep. 

When he wakened again to consciousness he lay for some time lookingabout him, moving only his eyes and very slowly his head. He took inthe canvas walls and roof of the big hospital marquee, thescarlet-blanketed beds, the flitting figures of a couple ofsilent-footed Sisters, the screens about two of the beds; the littleclump of figures, doctor, orderlies, and Sister, stooped over anotherbed. Presently he caught the eye of a Sister as she passed swiftly thefoot of his bed, and she, seeing the appealing look, the barelyperceptible upward twitch of his head that was all he could do tobeckon, stopped and turned, and moved quickly to his side. She smoothedthe pillow about his head and the sheets across his shoulders, andspoke softly. 

"I wonder if there is anything you want?" she said. "You can't tell me, can you? just close your eyes a minute if there is anything I can do. Shut them for yes--keep them open for no. "

The eyes closed instantly, opened, and stared upward at her. 

"Is it the pain?" she said. "Is it very dreadful?"

The eyes held steady and unflickering upon hers. She knew well thatthere they did not speak truth, and that the pain must indeed be verydreadful. 

"We can stop the pain, you know, " she said "Is that what you want?"

The steady unwinking eyes answered "No" again, and to add emphasis toit the bandaged head shook slowly from side to side on the pillow. 

The Sister was puzzled; she could find out what he wanted, of course, she was confident of that; but it might take some time and manyquestions, and time just then was something that she or no one else inthe big clearing hospital could find enough of for the work in theirhands. Even then urgent work was calling her; so she left him, promising to come again as soon as she could. 

She spoke to the doctor, and presently he came back with her to thebedside. "It's marvelous, " he said in a low tone to the Sister, "thathe has held on to life so long. "

Private Ruthven's wounds had been dressed there on arrival, before hewoke out of the morphia sleep, and the doctor had seen and knew. 

"There is nothing we can do for him, " he said, "except morphia again, to ease him out of his pain. "

But again the boy, his brow wrinkling with the effort, attempted withhis bandaged hand to stay the needle in the doctor's fingers. 

"I'm sure, " said the Sister, "he doesn't want the morphia; he told meso, didn't you?" appealing to the boy. 

The eyes shut and gripped tight in an emphatic answer, and the Sisterexplained their code. 

"Listen!" she said gently. "The doctor will only give you enough tomake you sleep for two or three hours, and then I shall have time tocome and talk to you. Will that do!"

The unmoving eyes answered "No" again, and the doctor stood up. 

"If he can bear it, Sister, " he said, "we may as well leave him. Ican't understand it, though. I know how those wounds must hurt. "

They left him then, and he lay for another couple of hours, his eyesset on the canvas roof above his head, dropped for an instant to anypassing figure, lifting again to their fixed position. The eyes and themute appeal in them haunted the Sister, and half a dozen times, as shemoved about the beds, she flitted over to him, just to drop a word thatshe had not forgotten and she was coming presently. 

"You want me to talk to you, don't you?" she said. "There is somethingyou want me to find out?"

"Yes--yes--yes, " said the quickly flickering eyelids. 

The Sister read the label that was tied to him when he was brought in. She asked questions round the ward of those who were able to answerthem, and sent an orderly to make inquiries in the other tents. He cameback presently and reported the finding of another man who belonged toRuthven's regiment and who knew him. So presently, when she wasrelieved from duty--the first relief for thirty-six solid hours ofphysical stress and heart-tearing strain--she went straight to theother tent and questioned the man who knew Private Ruthven. He had ahopelessly shattered arm, but appeared mightily content and amazinglycheerful. He knew Wally, he said, was in the same platoon with him;didn't know much about him except that he was a very decent sort; no, knew nothing about his people or his home, although he remembered--yes, there was a girl. Wally had shown him her photograph once, "and a realripper she is too. " Didn't know if Wally was engaged to her, oranything more about her, and certainly not her name. 

The Sister went back to Wally. His wrinkled brow cleared at the sightof her, but she could see that the eyes were sunk more deeply in hishead, that they were dulled, no doubt with his suffering. 

"I'm going to ask you a lot of questions, " she said, "and you'll justclose your eyes again if I speak of what you want to tell me. You dowant to tell me something, don't you?"

To her surprise, the "Yes" was not signaled back to her. She waspuzzled a moment. "You want to ask me something?" she said. 

"Yes, " the eyelids flicked back. 

"Is it about a girl?" she asked. ("No. ")

"Is it about money of any sort?" ("No. ")

"Is it about your mother, or your people, or your home? Is it aboutyourself?"

She had paused after each question and went on to the next, but seeingno sign of answering "Yes" she was baffled for a moment. But she feltthat she could not go to her own bed to which she had been dismissed, could not go to the sleep she so badly needed, until she had found andanswered the question in those pitiful eyes. She tried again. 

"Is it about your regiment?" she asked, and the eyes snapped "Yes, " and"Yes, " and "Yes" again. She puzzled over that, and then went back tothe doctor in charge of the other ward and brought back with her theman who "knew Wally. " Mentally she clapped her hands at the light thatleaped to the boy's eyes. She had told the man that it was somethingabout the regiment he wanted to know; told him, too, his method ofanswering "Yes" and "No, " and to put his questions in such, a form thatthey could be so answered. 

The friend advanced to the bedside with clumsy caution. 

"Hello, Wally!" he said cheerfully. "They've pretty well chewed you upand spit you out again, 'aven't they? But you're all right, old son, you're going to pull through, 'cause the O. C. O' the LinseedLancers[Footnote: Medical Service. ] here told me so. But Sister heretells me you want to ask something about someone in the old crush. " Hehesitated a moment. "I can't think who it would be, " he confessed. "Itcan't be his own chum, 'cause he 'stopped one, ' and Wally saw it andknew he was dead hours before. But look 'ere, " he said determinedly, "I'll go through the whole bloomin' regiment, from the O. C. Down to thecook, by name and one at a time, and you'll tip me a wink and stop meat the right one. I'll start off with our own platoon first; that oughtto do it, " he said to the Sister. 

"Perhaps, " she said quickly, "he wants to ask about one of hisofficers. Is that it?" And she turned to him. 

The eyes looked at her long and steadily, and then closed flutteringlyand hesitatingly. 

"We're coming near it, " she said, "although he didn't seem sure aboutthat 'Yes. '"

"Look 'ere, " said the other, with a sudden inspiration, "there's nogood o' this 'Yes' and 'No' guessin' game; Wally and me was both in theflag-wagging class, and we knows enough to--there you are. " He brokeoff in triumph and nodded to Wally's flickering eyelids, that dancedrapidly in the long and short of the Morse code. 

"Y-e-s. Ac-ac-ac. "[Footnote: Ac-ac-ac: three A's, denoting a full stop. In "Signalese" similar-sounding letters are given names to avoidconfusion. A is Ac; T, Toe; D, Don; P, Pip; M, Emma, etc. ]

"Yes, " he said. "If you'll get a bit of paper, Sister, you can writedown the message while I spells it off. That's what you want, ain't it, chum?"

The Sister took paper and pencil and wrote the letters one by one asthe code ticked them off and the reader called them to her. 

"Ready. Begins!" Go on, Miss, write it down, " as she hesitated. "Don-I-Don--Did; W-E--we; Toc-ac-K-E--take; Toc-H-E--the;Toc-R-E-N-C-H--trench; ac-ac-ac. Did we take the trench?"

The signaler being a very unimaginative man, possibly it might neverhave occurred to him to lie, to have told anything but the blunt truththat they did not take the trench; that the regiment had been cut topieces in the attempt to take it; that the further attempt of anotherregiment on the same trench had been beaten back with horrible loss;that the lines on both sides, when he was sent to the rear late atnight, were held exactly as they had been held before the attack; thatthe whole result of the action was _nil_--except for the casualty list. But he caught just in time the softly sighing whispered "Yes" from theunmoving lips of the Sister, and he lied promptly and swiftly, efficiently and at full length. 

"Yes, " he said. "We took it. I thought you knew that, and that you waswounded the other side of it; we took it all right. Got a hammering ofcourse, but what was left of us cleared it with the bayonet. You should'ave 'eard 'em squeal when the bayonet took 'em. There was one bigbrute----"

He was proceeding with a cheerful imagination, colored by pastexperiences, when the Sister stopped him. Wally's eyes were closed. 

"I think, " she said quietly, "that's all that Wally wants to know. Isn't it, Wally?"

The lids lifted slowly and the Sister could have cried at the glory andsatisfaction that shone in them. They closed once softly, liftedslowly, and closed again tiredly and gently. That is all. Wally died anhour afterwards. 

AN OPEN TOWN

_"Yesterday hostile artillery shelled the town of_ ---- _some milesbehind our lines, without military result. Several civilians werekilled_. "--EXTRACT FROM DESPATCH. 

Two officers were cashing checks in the Bank of France and chattingwith the cashier, who was telling them about a bombardment of the townthe day before. The bank had removed itself and its business to theunderground vaults, and the large room on the ground floor, with itspolished mahogany counters, brass grills and desks, loomed dim andindistinct in the light which filtered past the sandbags piled outside. The walls bore notices with a black hand pointing downwards to thecellar steps, and the big room echoed eerily to the footsteps ofcustomers, who tramped across the tiled floor and disappeareddownstairs to the vaults. 

"One shell, " the cashier was saying, "fell close outside there, " wavinga hand up the cellar steps. "_Bang! crash!_ we feel the buildingshake--so. " His hands left their task of counting notes, seized animaginary person by the lapels of an imaginary coat and shook himviolently. 

"The noise, the great c-r-rash, the shoutings, the little squeals, andthen the peoples running, the glasses breaking--tinkle--tinkle--youhave seen the smoke, thick black smoke, and smelling--pah!"

He wrinkled his nose with disgust. "At first--for one second--I thinkthe bank is hit; but no, it is the street outside. Little stones--yes, and splinters, through the windows; they come and hit all round, inside--rap, rap, rap!" His darting hand played the splinters' part, indicating with little pointing stabs the ceiling and the walls. "Mademoiselle there, you see? yes! one little piece of shell, " and heheld finger and thumb to illustrate an inch-long fragment. 

The two officers looked at Mademoiselle, an exceedingly pretty younggirl, sitting composedly at a typewriter. There was a strip of plastermarring the smooth cheek, and at the cashier's words she looked roundat the young officers, flashed them a cheerful smile, and returned toher hammering on the key-board. 

"My word, Mademoiselle, " said one of the officers. "Near thing, eh? Iwonder you are not scared to carry on. "

The girl turned a slightly puzzled glance on them. 

"Monsieur means, " explained the cashier friendlily to her, "is it thatyou have no fear--_peur_, to continue the affairs?"

Mademoiselle smiled brightly and shook her head. "But no, " she saidcheerfully, "it is nossings, " and went back to her work. 

"Jolly plucky girl, I think, " said the officer. "Nearly as plucky asshe is pretty. I say, old man, my French isn't up to handling acompliment like that; see if you can--"

He did not finish the sentence, for at that moment there was a faintfar-off _bang_, and they sensed rather than felt a faint quiver in thesolid earth beneath their feet. The cashier held up one hand and stoodwith head turned sideways in an attitude of listening. 

"You hear?" he said, arching his eyebrows. 

"What was it?" said the officer. "Sounded like a door bangingupstairs. "

"No, no, " said the cashier. "They have commenced again. It is the samehour as last time, and the time before. "

Mademoiselle had stopped typing, and the ledger clerk at the deskbehind her had also ceased work and sat listening; but after a momentMademoiselle threw a little smile towards them--a half-pleased, half-deprecating little smile, as of one who shows a visitor somethinginteresting, something one is glad to show, and then resumed herclicking on the typewriter. The ledger clerk, too, went back to work, and the cashier said off-handedly: "It is not near--the stationperhaps--yes!" as if the station were a few hundred miles off, insteadof a few hundred yards. He finished rapidly counting his bundle ofnotes and handed them to the officer. 

When the two emerged from the bank they found the street a good dealquieter than when they had entered it. They walked along towards themain square, noticing that some of the shopkeepers were calmly puttingup their shutters, while others quietly continued serving the fewcustomers who were hurriedly completing their purchases. As the twowalked along the narrow street they heard the thin savage whistle of anapproaching shell and a moment later a tremendous _bang_! They andeverybody else near them stopped and looked round, up and down thestreet, and up over the roofs of the houses. They could see nothing, and had turned to walk on when something crashed sharply on a roofabove them, bounced off, and fell with a rap on the cobble-stones inthe street. A child, an eager-faced youngster, ran from an archedgateway and pounced on the little object, rose, and held up a piece ofstone, with intense annoyance and disgust plainly written on his face, threw it from him with an exclamation of disappointment. 

The two walked on chuckling. "Little bounder!" said one. "Thought he'dgot a souvenir; rather a sell for him--what?"

In the main square, they found a number of market women packing uptheir little stalls and moving off, others debating volubly and lookingup at the sky, pointing in the direction of the last sound, and clearlyarguing with each other as to whether they should stay or move. Acouple of Army Transport wagons clattered across the square. Onedriver, with the reins bunched up in his hand and the whip under hisarm, was busily engaged striking matches and trying to light acigarette; the other, allowing his horses to follow the first wagon, and with his mouth open, gazed up into the sky as if he expected to seethe next shell coming. A few civilians scattered about the square werewalking briskly; a woman, clutching the arm of a little boy, ran, dragging him, with his little legs going at a rapid trot. Morecivilians, a few men in khaki, and some in French uniform, werestanding in archways or in shop-doors. 

There was another long whistle, louder and harsher this time, andfollowed by a splintering crash and rattle. The groups in the doorwaysflicked out of sight; the people in the open half halted and turned tohurry on, or in some cases, without looking round, ran hurriedly tocover. Stones and little fragments of débris clacked down one by one, and then in a little pattering shower on the stones of the square. Thelast of the market women, hesitating no longer, hurriedly bundled uptheir belongings and hastened off. The two officers turned into a caféwith a wide front window, seated themselves near this at a littlemarble table, and ordered beer. There were about a score of officers inthe room, talking or reading the English papers. All of them had veryclean and very close-shaven faces, and very dirty and weather-stained, mud-marked clothes. For the most part they seemed a great deal moreinterested in each other, in their conversations, and in their papers, than in any notice of the bombardment. The two who were seated near thewindow had a good view from it, and extracted plenty of interest fromwatching the people outside. 

Another shell whistled and roared down, burst with a deep angry bellow, a clattering and rending and splintering sound of breaking stone andwood. This time bigger fragments of stone, a shower of broken tiles andslates rattled down into the square; a thick cloud of dirty blacksmoke, gray and red tinged with mortar and brick-dust, appeared upabove the roofs on the other side of the square, spread slowly andthickly, and hung long, dissolving very gradually and thinning off intrailing wisps. 

In the café there was silence for a moment, and many remarks about"coming rather close" and "getting a bit unhealthy, " and a jestinginquiry of the proprietor as to the shelter available in the cellarwith the beer barrels. A few rose and moved over to the window; one ortwo opened the door, to stand there and look round. 

"Look at that old girl in the doorway across there, " said one. "Youwould think she was frightened she was going to get her best bonnetwet. "

The woman's motions had, in fact, a curious resemblance to those of onewho hesitated about venturing out in a heavy rainstorm. She stood inthe doorway and looked round, drew back and spoke to someone inside, picked up a heavy basket, set it down, stepped into the door, glancedcarefully and calculatingly up at the sky and across the square in thedirection she meant to take, moved back again and picked up her basket, set it firmly on her arm, stepped out and commenced to hobble at anungainly cumbersome trot across the square. She was no more thanhalf-way across when the shriek of another shell was heard approaching. She stopped and cast a terrified glance about her, dumped the basketdown on the cobbles, and resumed the shambling trot at increased speed. A soldier in khaki crossing the square also commenced to run for coveras his ear caught the sound of the shell; passing near the woman'sbasket, he stooped and grabbed it and doubled on with it after itspanting owner. 

A group of soldiers standing in the archway shouted laughter andencouragement, pretending they were watching a race, urging on therunners. 

"Go on, Khaki! go on!--two to one on the fat girl; two to one--I laythe fie-ald. " Their cries and clapping shut off, and they disappearedlike diving ducks as the shell roared down, struck with a horriblecrash one of the buildings in a side-street just off the square, burstit open, and flung upward and outward a flash of blinding light, aspurt of smoke, a torrent of flying bricks and broken stones. Throughthe rattle and clatter of falling masonry and flying rubbish therecame, piercing and shrill, the sound of a woman's screams. They chokedoff suddenly, and for some seconds there were no sounds but those offalling fragments, jarring and hailing on the cobble-stones, of brokenglass crashing and tinkling from dozens of windows round the square. 

As the noises of the explosion died away, figures crowded out anxiouslyinto the doorways again, and stood there and about the pavements, looking round, pointing and gesticulating, and plainly prepared to runback under cover at the first sign of warning. The half-dozen men whohad cheered the race across the square emerged from the archway, lookedaround, and then set off running, keeping close under the shelter ofthe houses, and disappearing into the thick smoke and dust that stillhung a thick and writhing curtain about the street-end in the corner ofthe square. 

The two officers who had sat at the café window looked at one another. 

"You heard that squeal?" said one. 

"Yes, " said the other; "I think we might trot over. You knowing alittle bit about surgery might be useful. "

"Oh, I dunno, " said the first. "But, anyhow, let's go. "

They paid their bill and went out, and as they crossed the square theymet a couple of the soldiers who had disappeared into the smoke. Theywere moving at the double, but at a word from the officers they halted. Both wore the Red Cross badge of the Army Medical Corps on their arms, and one explained hurriedly that they were going for an ambulance, thatthere was a woman killed, one man and a woman and two children badlywounded. They ran on, and the two officers moved hastily towards theshell-struck house. The smoke was clearing now, and it was possible tosee something of the damage that had been done. 

The shell apparently had struck the roof, had ripped and torn it off, burst downwards and outwards, blowing out the whole face of the upperstory, the connecting-wall and corner of the houses next to it, part ofthe top-floor, and a jagged gap in the face of the lower story. Thestreet was piled with broken bricks and tiles, with splinters of stone, with uprooted cobbles, with fragments and beams, bits of furniture, ragged-edged planks, fragments of smoldering cloth. As the two walked, their feet crunched on a layer of splintered glass and broken crockery. The air they breathed reeked with a sharp chemical odor and the stenchof burning rags. 

The R. A. M. C. Men had collected the casualties, and were doing what theycould for them, and the officer who was "a bit of a surgeon" gave themwhat help he could. The casualties were mangled cruelly, and one ofthem, a child, died before the ambulance came. 

The shells began to come fast now. One after another they poured in, the last noise of their approach before they struck sounding like therush and roar of an express train passing through a tunnel. No morefell near the square; but the two officers, returning across it, withthe terrifying rush of its projectiles in their ears, moved hastily andpuffed sighs of relief as they reached the door of the café again. 

"I just about want a drink, " said the one who was "a bit of a surgeon. ""Thank Heaven I didn't decide to go into the Medical. The more I see ofthat job the less I like it. "

The other shuddered. "How these surgeons do it at all, " he said, "beatsme. I had to go outside when you started to handle that kiddie. Sorry Icouldn't stay to help you. "

"It didn't matter, " said the first. "Those Medical fellows did all Iwanted, and anyhow you were better employed giving a hand to stop thatbuilding catching light. "

The two had their drink and prepared to move again. 

"Time we were off, I suppose, " said the first. "Our lot must be gettingready to take the road presently, and we ought to be there. "

So they moved and dodged through the quiet streets, with the shellsstill whooping overhead and bursting noisily in different parts of thetown. On their way they entered a shop to buy some slabs of chocolate. The shop was empty when they entered, but a few stout raps on thecounter brought a woman, pale-faced but volubly chattering, up a ladderand through a trapdoor in the shop-floor. She served them while theshells still moaned overhead, talking rapidly, apologizing for keepingthem waiting, and explaining that for the children's sake she alwayswent down into the cellar when the shelling commenced, wishing them, asthey gathered up their parcels and left, "bonne chance, " and making forthe trap-door and the ladder as they closed the shop-door. 

About the main streets there were few signs of the shells' work, excepthere and there a litter of fragments tossed over the roofs and sprayedacross the road. But, passing through a small side square, the twoofficers saw something more of the effect of "direct hits. " In thesquare was parked a number of ambulance wagons, and over a building atthe side floated a huge Red Cross flag. Eight or nine shells had beendropped in and around the square. Where they had fallen were huge roundholes, each with a scattered fringe of earth and cobble-stones andbroken pavement. The trees lining the square showed big white patcheson their trunks where the bark had been sliced by flying fragments, branches broken, hanging and dangling, or holding out jagged whitestumps. Leaves and twigs and branches were littered about the squareand heaped thick under the trees. The brick walls of many of the housesround were pitted and pocked and scarred by the shell fragments. Theface of one house was marked by a huge splash, with solid center and aragged-edged outline of radiating jerky rays, reminding one immediatelyof a famous ink-maker's advertisement. The bricks had taken theimpression of the explosion's splash exactly as paper would take theink's. Practically every window in the square had been broken, and inthe case of the splash-marked house, blown in, sash and frame complete. One ambulance wagon lay a torn and splintered wreck, and pieces of itwere flung wide to the four corners of the square. Another wasoverturned, with broken wheels collapsed under it, and in the Red Crosscanvas tilts of others gaped huge tears and rents. 

At one spot a pool of blood spread wide across the pavement, and stilldripping and running sluggishly and thickly into and along the stonegutter, showed where at least one shell had caught more than brick andstone and tree, although now the square was deserted and empty of life. 

And even as the two hurriedly skirted the place another shell hurtledover, tripped on the top edge of a roof across the square and explodedwith an appalling clatter and burst of noise. The roof vanished in awhirlwind of smoke and dust, and the officers jumped from the doorwaywhere they had flung themselves crouching, and finished their passageof the square at a run. 

"Hottish corner, " said one, as they slowed to a walk some distanceaway. 

"Silly fools, " growled the other. "What do they want to hoist that hugeRed Cross flag up there for, where any airman can see it? Fairly askingfor it, I call it. "

When they came to the outskirts of the town they found rather moresigns of life. People were hanging about their doorways and the shops, fewer windows were shuttered, fewer faces peeped from the tiny gratedwindows of the cellars. And up the center of the road, with lordlycalm, marched three Highlanders. The smooth swing of their kilts, theireven, unhurried step, the shoulders well back, and the elbows a shadeoutturned, the bonnets cocked to a precisely same angle on the upheldheads, all bespoke either an amazing ignorance of, or a blandindifference to, the bombardment. Their march was stopped by a sentry, who shouted to them and moved out from the pavement. Some sort ofargument was going on as the officers approached, and in passing theyheard the finish of it. 

"You were pit there tae warn folk, " a Highlander was saying. "Weel, ye've dune that, so we'll awa on oor road. We're nae fonder o' shellsthan y'are yersel. But we'd look bonnie, wouldn't we, t' be tellin' theCameron lads we promised to meet, that we were feared for a bitshellin'. . . . "

And after they had passed, the officers looked back and saw the threeScots swinging their kilts and swaggering imperturbably on to the town, and their meeting with the "Cameron lads. "

There were no more shells, but that afternoon a Taube paid another ofits frequent visits and vigorously bombed the railway station again, driving the inhabitants back once more to the inadequate shelter oftheir cellars and basements. And yet, as the same two officers marchedwith their battalion through the town towards the firing-line thatevening, they found the streets quite normally bustling and astir, andthere seemed to be no lack of light in the shops and houses and aboutthe streets. Here and there as they passed, children stood stiffly toattention and gravely saluted the battalion, young women and old turnedto call a cheery "Bonne Chance" to the soldiers, to smile bravely andwave farewells to them. 

"Plucky bloomin' lot, ain't they, Bill?" said one man, and blew a kissto three girls waving from a window. 

"I takes off my 'at to them, " said his mate. "What wi' Jack Johnsonsand airyplane bombs, you might expec' the population to have emigratedin a bunch. The Frenchmen is a plucky enough crowd, but the women--MyLord. "

"Airyplanes every other day, " said the first man. "But I don't noticeany darkened streets and white-painted kerbs; and we don't 'ear theinhabitants shrieking about protection from air raids, or 'Where's theanti-aircraft guns?' or 'Who's responsible for air defense?' or 'A baathe Government that don't a baa the air raids!' 'say la gerr, ' saysthey, and shrugs their shoulders, and leaves it go at that. "

They were in a darker side-street now, and the glare of the burninghouse shone red in the sky over the roof tops. "Somebody's 'appy 'omegone west, " remarked one man, and a mouth-organ in the ranks answered, with cheerful sarcasm, "Keep the Home Fires Burning!"

THE SIGNALERS

_"It is reported that_ . . . "--EXTRACT FROM OFFICIAL DESPATCH. 

The "it" and the "that" which were reported, and which the despatchrelated in another three or four lines, concerned the position of aforward line of battle, but have really nothing to do with thisaccount, which aims only at relating something of the method by which"it was reported" and the men whose particular work was concerned onlywith the report as a report, a string of words, a jumble of letters, ahuddle of Morse dots and dashes. 

The Signaling Company in the forward lines was situated in a very dampand very cold cellar of a half-destroyed house. In it were two or threetables commandeered from upstairs or from some houses around. That onewas a rough deal kitchen table, and that another was of polished wood, with beautiful inlaid work and artistic curved and carven legs, thespoils of some drawing-room apparently, was a matter without thefaintest interest to the signalers who used them. To them a table was atable, no more and no less, a thing to hold a litter of papers, messageforms, telephone gear, and a candle stuck in a bottle. If they hadstopped to consider the matter, and had been asked, they would probablyhave given a dozen of the delicate inlaid tables for one of the roughstrong kitchen ones. There were three or four chairs about the place, just as miscellaneous in their appearance as the tables. But beyond thetables and chairs there was no furniture whatever, unless a scanty heapof wet straw in one corner counts as furniture, which indeed it mightwell do since it counted as a bed. 

There were fully a dozen men in the room, most of them orderlies forthe carrying of messages to and from the telephonists. These men cameand went continually. Outside it had been raining hard for the greaterpart of the day, and now, getting on towards midnight, the drizzlestill held and the trenches and fields about the signalers' quarterswere running wet, churned into a mass of gluey chalk-and-clay mud. Theorderlies coming in with messages were daubed thick with the wet mudfrom boot-soles to shoulders, often with their puttees and knees andthighs dripping and running water as if they had just waded through astream. Those who by the carrying of a message had just completed aturn of duty, reported themselves, handed over a message perhaps, slouched wearily over to the wall farthest from the door, dropped onthe stone floor, bundled up a pack or a haversack, or anything elseconvenient for a pillow, lay down and spread a wet mackintosh overthem, wriggled and composed their bodies into the most comfortable, orrather the least uncomfortable possible position, and in a few minuteswere dead asleep. 

It was nothing to them that every now and again the house above themshook and quivered to the shock of a heavy shell exploding somewhere onthe ground round the house, that the rattle of rifle fire dwindled awayat times to separate and scattered shots, brisked up again and rose toa long roll, the devil's tattoo of the machine guns rattling through itwith exactly the sound a boy makes running a stick rapidly along arailing. The bursting shells and scourging rifle fire, sweeping machineguns, banging grenades and bombs were all affairs with which theSignaling Company in the cellar had no connection. For the time beingthe men in a row along the wall were as unconcerned in the progress ofthe battle as if they were safely and comfortably asleep in London. Presently any or all of them might be waked and sent out into theflying death and dangers of the battlefield, but in the meantime theirimmediate and only interest was in getting what sleep they could. Everyonce in a while the signalers' sergeant would shout for a man, goacross to the line and rouse one of the sleepers; then the awakened manwould sit up and blink, rise and listen to his instructions, nod andsay, "Yes, Sergeant! All right, Sergeant!" when these were completed, pouch his message, hitch his damp mackintosh about him and button itclose, drag heavily across the stone floor and vanish into the darknessof the stone-staired passage. 

His journey might be a long or a short one, he might only have to finda company commander in the trenches one or two hundred yards away, hemight on the other hand have a several hours' long trudge ahead of him, a bewildering way to pick through the darkness across a maze of fieldsand a net-work of trenches, over and between the rubble heaps thatrepresented the remains of a village, along roads pitted with all sortsof blind traps in the way of shell holes, strings of barbed wire, overturned carts, broken branches of trees, flung stones and beams; andalways, whether his journey was a short one or a long, he would move inan atmosphere of risk, with sudden death or searing pain passing him byat every step, and waiting for him, as he well knew, at the next stepand the next and every other one to his journey's end. 

Each man who took his instructions and pocketed his message and walkedup the cellar steps knew that he might never walk down them again, thathe might not take a dozen paces from them before the bullet found him. He knew that its finding might come in black dark and in the middle ofan open field, that it might drop him there and leave him for thestretcher-bearers to find some time, or for the burying party to liftany time. Each man who carried out a message was aware that he mightnever deliver it, that when some other hand did so, and the message wasbeing read, he might be past all messages, lying stark and cold in themud and filth with the rain beating on his gray unheeding face; or, onthe other hand, that he might be lying warm and comfortable in thesoothing ease of a bed in the hospital train, swaying gently and lulledby the song of the flying wheels, the rock and roll of the longcompartment, swinging at top speed down the line to the base and thehospital ship and home. An infinity of possibilities lay between thetwo extremes. They were undoubtedly the two extremes: the death thateach man hoped to evade, the wound whose painful prospect held noslightest terror but only rather the deep satisfaction of a taskperformed, of an escape from death at the cheap price of a few days' orweeks' pain, or even a crippled limb or a broken body. 

A man forgot all these things when he came down the cellar steps andcrept to a corner to snatch what sleep he could, but remembered themagain only when he was wakened and sent out into their midst, and intoall the toils and terrors the others had passed, or were to go into oreven then were meeting. 

The signalers at the instruments, the sergeants who gathered them inand sent them forth, gave little or no thought to the orderlies. Thesemen were hardly more than shadows, things which brought them longscreeds to be translated to the tapping keys, hands which would stretchinto the candle-light and lift the messages that had just "buzzed" inover their wires. The sergeant thought of them mostly as a list ofnames to be ticked off one by one in a careful roster as each man didhis turn of duty, went out, or came back and reported in. And the manwho sent messages these men bore may never have given a thought to thehands that would carry them, unless perhaps to wonder vaguely whetherthe message could get through from so and so to such and such, fromthis map square to that, and if the chance of the messages gettingthrough--the message you will note, not the messenger--seemed extradoubtful, orders might be given to send it in duplicate or triplicate, to double or treble the chances of its arriving. 

The night wore on, the orderlies slept and woke, stumbled in and out;the telephonists droned out in monotonous voices to the telephone, or"buzzed" even more monotonous strings of longs and shorts on the"buzzer. " And in the open about them, and all unheeded by them, menfought, and suffered wounds and died, or fought on in the scarce lessersuffering of cold and wet and hunger. 

In the signalers' room all the fluctuations of the fight weretranslated from the pulsing fever, the human living tragedies andheroisms, the violent hopes and fears and anxieties of the battle line, to curt cold words, to scribbled letters on a message form. At timesthese messages were almost meaningless to them, or at least their redtragedy was unheeded. Their first thought when a message was handed infor transmission, usually their first question when the signaler at theother end called to take a message, was whether the message was a longone or a short one. One telephonist was handed an urgent message tosend off, saying that bombs were running short in the forward line andthat further supplies were required at the earliest possible moment, that the line was being severely bombed and unless they had the meansto reply must be driven out or destroyed. The signaler took thatmessage and sent it through; but his instrument was not working veryclearly, and he was a good deal more concerned and his mind was muchmore fully taken up with the exasperating difficulty of making thesignaler at the other end catch word or letter correctly, than it waswith all the close packed volume of meaning it contained. It was notthat he did not understand the meaning; he himself had known a linebombed out before now, the trenches rent and torn apart, the shatteredlimbs and broken bodies of the defenders, the horrible ripping crash ofthe bombs, the blinding flame, the numbing shock, the smoke and reekand noise of the explosions; but though all these things were known tohim, the words "bombed out" meant no more now than nine letters of thealphabet and the maddening stupidity of the man at the other end, whowould misunderstand the sound and meaning of "bombed" and had to haveit in time-consuming letter-by-letter spelling. 

When he had sent that message, he took off and wrote down one or twoothers from the signaling station he was in touch with. His ownstation, it will be remembered, was close up to the forward firingline, a new firing line which marked the limits of the advance madethat morning. The station he was connected with was back in rear ofwhat, previous to the attack, had been the British forward line. Between the two the thin insignificant thread of the telephone wire rantwisting across the jumble of the trenches of our old firing line, theneutral ground that had lain between the trenches, and the other mazeof trench, dug-out, and bomb-proof shelter pits that had been capturedfrom the enemy. Then in the middle of sending a message, the wire wentdead, gave no answer to repeated calls on the "buzzer. " The sergeant, called to consultation, helped to overlook and examine the instrument. Nothing could be found wrong with it, but to make quite sure the faultwas not there, a spare instrument was coupled on to a short length ofwire between it and the old one. They carried the message perfectly, sowith curses of angry disgust the wire was pronounced disconnected, or"disc, " as the signaler called it. 

This meant that a man or men had to be sent out along the line to findand repair the break, and that until this was done, no telephonemessage could pass between that portion of the forward line and theheadquarters in the rear. The situation was the more serious, inasmuchas this was the only connecting line for a considerable distance alongthe new front. A corporal and two men took a spare instrument and acoil of wire, and set out on their dangerous journey. 

The break of course had been reported to the O. C. , and after that therewas nothing more for the signaler at the dead instrument to do, exceptto listen for the buzz that would come back from the repair party asthey progressed along the line, tapping in occasionally to make surethat they still had connection with the forward station, their gettingno reply at the same time from the rear station being of coursesufficient proof that they had not passed the break. 

Twice the signaler got a message, the second one being from the forwardside of the old neutral ground in what had been the German front linetrench; the report said also that fairly heavy fire was beingmaintained on the open ground. After that there was silence. 

When the signaler had time to look about him, to light a cigarette andto listen to the uproar of battle that filtered down the cellar stepsand through the closed door, he spoke to the sergeant about the noise, and the sergeant agreed with him that it was getting louder, whichmeant either that the fight was getting hotter or coming closer. Theanswer to their doubts came swiftly to their hands in the shape of anote from the O. C. , with a message borne by the orderly that it was tobe sent through anyhow or somehow, but at once. 

Now the O. C. , be it noted, had already had a report that the telephonewire was cut; but he still scribbled his note, sent his message, andthereafter put the matter out of his mind. He did not know how or inwhat fashion the message would be sent; but he did know the SignalingCompany, and that was sufficient for him. 

In this he was doing nothing out of the usual. There are manycommanders who do the same thing, and this, if you read it aright, is acompliment to the signaling companies beyond all the praise of GeneralOrders or the sweet flattery of the G. O. C. Despatch--the men who sentthe messages put them out of their mind as soon as they were writtenand handed to an orderly with a curt order, "Signaling company to sendthat. "

You at home who slip a letter into the pillar box, consider it, allowing due time for its journey, as good as delivered at the otherend; by so doing you pay an unconscious compliment to all manners andgrades of men, from high salaried managers down to humble porters andpostmen. But the somewhat similar compliment that is paid by the menwho send messages across the battlefield is paid in the bulk to onelittle select circle; to the animal brawn and blood, the spiritualcourage and devotion, the bodies and brains, the pluck andperseverance, the endurance, the grit and the determination of thesignaling companies. 

When the sergeant took his message and glanced through it, he pursedhis lips in a low whistle and asked the signaler to copy while he wentand roused three messengers. His quick glance through the note had toldhim, even without the O. C. 's message, that it was to the last degreeurgent that the message should go back and be delivered at once andwithout fail; therefore he sent three messengers, simply because threemen trebled the chances of the message getting through without delay. If one man dropped, there were two to go on; if two fell, the thirdwould still carry on; if he fell--well, after that the matter wasbeyond the sergeant's handling; he must leave it to the messenger tofind another man or means to carry on the message. 

The telephonist had scribbled a copy of the note to keep by him in casethe wire was mended and the message could be sent through after themessengers started and before they reached the other end. The threereceived their instructions, drew their wet coats about their shiveringshoulders, relieved their feelings in a few growled sentences about thedog's life a man led in that company, and departed into the wet night. 

The sergeant came back, re-read the message and discussed it with thesignaler. It said: "Heavy attack is developing and being pressedstrongly on our center a-a-a. [Footnote: Three a's indicate a fullstop. ] Our losses have been heavy and line is considerably weakeneda-a-a. Will hold on here to the last but urgently request that strongreinforcements be sent up if the line is to be maintained a-a-a. Additional artillery support would be useful a-a-a. "

"Sounds healthy, don't it?" said the sergeant reflectively. Thesignaler nodded gloomily and listened apprehensively to the growingsounds of battle. Now that his mind was free from first thoughts oftelephonic worries, he had time to consider outside matters. For nearlyten minutes the two men listened, and talked in short sentences, andlistened again. The rattle of rifle fire was sustained and unbroken, and punctuated liberally at short intervals by the boom of explodinggrenades and bombs. Decidedly the whole action was heavier--or comingback closer to them. 

The sergeant was moving across the door to open it and listen when ashell struck the house above them. The building shook violently, downto the very flags of the stone floor; from overhead, after the firstcrash, there came a rumble of falling masonry, the splintering cracksof breaking wood-work, the clatter and rattle of cascading bricks andtiles. A shower of plaster grit fell from the cellar roof and settledthick upon the papers littered over the table. The sergeant haltedabruptly with his hand on the cellar door, three or four of thesleepers stirred restlessly, one woke for a minute sufficiently togrumble curses and ask "what the blank was that"; the rest slept onserene and undisturbed. The sergeant stood there until the last soundsof falling rubbish had ceased. "A shell, " he said, and drew a deepbreath. "Plunk into upstairs somewhere. "

The signaler made no answer. He was quite busy at the momentrearranging his disturbed papers and blowing the dust and grit offthem. 

A telephonist at another table commenced to take and write down amessage. It came from the forward trench on the left, and merely saidbriefly that the attack on the center was spreading to them and thatthey were holding it with some difficulty. The message was sent up tothe O. C. "Whoever the O. C. May be, " as the sergeant said softly. "Ifthe Colonel was upstairs when that shell hit, there's another O. C. Now, most like. " But the Colonel had escaped that shell and sent a messageback to the left trench to hang on, and that he had asked forreënforcements. 

"He did ask, " said the sergeant grimly, "but when he's going to get 'emis a different pair o' shoes. It'll take those messengers most of anhour to get there, even if they dodge all the lead on the way. "

As the minutes passed, it became more and more plain that the need forreënforcements was growing more and more urgent. The sergeant wasstanding now at the open door of the cellar, and the noise of theconflict swept down and clamored and beat about them. 

"Think I'll just slip up and have a look round, " said the sergeant. "Ishan't be long. "

When he had gone, the signaler rose and closed the door; it was coldenough, as he very sensibly argued, and his being able to hear thefighting better would do nothing to affect its issue. Just after cameanother call on his instrument, and the repair party told him they hadcrossed the neutral ground, had one man wounded in the arm, that he wasgoing on with them, and they were still following up the wire. Themessage ceased, and the telephonist, leaning his elbows on the tableand his chin on his hands, was almost asleep before he realized it. Hewakened with a jerk, lit another cigarette, and stamped up and down theroom trying to warm his numbed feet. 

First one orderly and then another brought in messages to be sent tothe other trenches, and the signaler held them a minute and gatheredsome more particulars as to how the fight was progressing up there. Theparticulars were not encouraging. We must have lost a lot of men, sincethe whole place was clotted up with casualties that kept coming inquicker than the stretcher-bearers could move them. The rifle-fire washot, the bombing was still hotter, and the shelling was perhaps thehottest and most horrible of all. Of the last the signaler hardlyrequired an account; the growling thumps of heavy shells exploding, kept sending little shivers down the cellar walls, the shiver being, oddly enough, more emphatic when the wail of the falling shell ended ina muffled thump that proclaimed the missile "blind" or "a dud. " Anotherhurried messenger plunged down the steps with a note written by theadjutant to say the colonel was severely wounded and had sent for thesecond in command to take over. Ten more dragging minutes passed, andnow the separate little shivers and thrills that shook the cellar wallshad merged and run together. The rolling crash of the falling shellsand the bursting of bombs came close and fast one upon another, and atintervals the terrific detonation of an aerial torpedo dwarfed for themoment all the other sounds. 

By now the noise was so great that even the sleepers began to stir, andone or two of them to wake. One sat up and asked the telephonist, sitting idle over his instrument, what was happening. He was toldbriefly, and told also that the line was "disc. " He expressedconsiderable annoyance at this, grumbling that he knew what itmeant--more trips in the mud and under fire to take the messages thewire should have carried. 

"Do you think there's any chance of them pushing in the line andrushing this house?" he asked. The telephonist didn't know. "Well, "said the man and lay down again. "It's none o' my dashed business ifthey do anyway. I only hope we're tipped the wink in time to shunt outo' here; I've no particular fancy for sitting in a cellar with theBoche cock-shying their bombs down the steps at me. " Then he shut hiseyes and went to sleep again. 

The morsed key signal for his own company buzzed rapidly on thesignaler's telephone and he caught the voice of the corporal who hadtaken out the repair party. They had found the break, the corporalsaid, and were mending it. He should be through--he was through--couldhe hear the other end? The signaler could hear the other end callinghim and he promptly tapped off the answering signal and spoke into hisinstrument. He could hear the morse signals on the buzzer plain enough, but the voice was faint and indistinct. The signaler caught thecorporal before he withdrew his tap-in and implored him to search alongand find the leakage. 

"It's bad enough, " he said, "to get all these messages through byvoice. I haven't a dog's chance of doing it if I have to buzz eachone. "

The rear station spoke again and informed him that he had severalurgent messages waiting. The forward signaler replied that he also hadseveral messages, and one in particular was urgent above all others. 

"The blanky line is being pushed in, " he said. "No, it isn't pushed inyet--I didn't say it--I said being pushed in--being--being, looks likeit will be pushed in--got that? The O. C. Has' stopped one' and thesecond has taken command. This message I want you to take is shriekingfor reënforcements--what? I can't hear--no I didn't say anything abouthorses--I did _not_. Reënforcements I said; anyhow, take this messageand get it through quick. "

He was interrupted by another terrific crash, a fresh and louderoutburst of the din outside; running footsteps clattered and leapeddown the stairs, the door flung open and the sergeant rushed inslamming the door violently behind him. He ran straight across to therecumbent figures and began violently to shake and kick them intowakefulness. 

"Up with ye!" he said, "every man. If you don't wake quick now, you'llmaybe not have the chance to wake at all. "

The men rolled over and sat and stood up blinking stupidly at him andlistening in amazement to the noise outside. 

"Rouse yourselves, " he cried. "Get a move on. The Germans are almost ontop of us. The front line's falling back. They'll stand here. " Heseized one or two of them and pushed them towards the door. "You, " hesaid, "and you and you, get outside and round the back there. See ifyou can get a pickaxe, a trenching tool, anything, and break down thatgrating and knock a bigger hole in the window. We may have to crawl outthere presently. The rest o' ye come with me an' help block up thedoor. "

Through the din that followed, the telephonist fought to get hismessage through; he had to give up an attempt to speak it while ahatchet, a crowbar, and a pickaxe were noisily at work breaking out afresh exit from the back of the cellar, and even after that work hadbeen completed, it was difficult to make himself heard. He completedthe urgent message for reënforcements at last, listened to someconfused and confusing comments upon it, and then made ready to takesome messages from the other end. 

"You'll have to shout, " he said, "no, shout--speak loud, because Ican't 'ardly 'ear myself think--no, 'ear myself think. Oh, all sorts, but the shelling is the worst, and one o' them beastly airyaletorpedoes. All right, go ahead. "

The earpiece receiver strapped tightly over one ear, left his righthand free to use a pencil, and as he took the spoken message word byword, he wrote it on the pad of message forms under his hand. Under thecircumstances it is hardly surprising that the message took a good deallonger than a normal time to send through, and while he was taking it, the signaler's mind was altogether too occupied to pay any attention tothe progress of events above and around him. But now the sergeant cameback and warned him that he had better get his things ready and puttogether as far as he could, in case they had to make a quick andsudden move. 

"The game's up, I'm afraid, " he said gloomily, and took a note that wasbrought down by another orderly. "I thought so, " he commented, as heread it hastily and passed it to the other signaler. "It's a messagewarning the right and left flanks that we can't hold the center anylonger, and that they are to commence falling back to conform to ourretirement at 3. 20 _ac emma_, which is ten minutes from now. "

Over their heads the signalers could hear tramping scurrying feet, thehammering out of loopholes, the dragging thump and flinging down ofobstacles piled up as an additional defense to the rickety walls. Thenthere were more hurrying footsteps, and presently the jarring_rap-rap-rap_ of a machine gun immediately over their heads. 

"That's done it!" said the sergeant. "We've got no orders to move, butI'm going to chance it and establish an alternative signaling stationin one of the trenches somewhere behind here. This cellar roof is toothin to stop an ordinary Fizzbang, much less a good solid Crump, andthat machine gun upstairs is a certain invitation to sudden death andthe German gunners to down and out us. "

He moved towards the new opening that had been made in the wall of thecellar, scrambled up it and disappeared. All the signalers lifted theirattention from their instruments at the same moment and sat listeningto the fresh note that ran through the renewed and louder clamor andracket. The signaler who was in touch with the rear station called themand began to tell them what was happening. 

"We're about all in, I b'lieve, " he said. "Five minutes ago we passedword to the flanks to fall back in ten minutes. What? Yes, it's thick. I don't know how many men we've lost hanging on, and I suppose we'lllose as many again taking back the trench we're to give up. What'sthat? No. I don't see how reënforcements could be here yet. How longago you say you passed orders for them to move up? An hour ago! That'swrong, because the messengers can't have been back--telephone message?That's a lot less than an hour ago. I sent it myself no more than halfan hour since. Oo-oo! did you get that bump? Dunno, couple o' bigshells or something dropped just outside. I can 'ardly 'ear you. There's a most almighty row going on all round. They must be charging, I think, or our front line's fallen back, because the rifles is goingnineteen to the dozen, a-a-ah! They're getting stronger too, and itsounds like a lot more bombs going; hold on, there's that blightingmaxim again. "

He stopped speaking while upstairs the maxim clattered off belt afterbelt of cartridges. The other signalers were shuffling their feetanxiously and looking about them. 

"Are we going to stick it here?" said one. "Didn't the sergeant saysomething about 'opping it?"

"If he did, " said the other, "he hasn't given any orders that I'veheard. I suppose he'll come back and do that, and we've just got tocarry on till then. "

The men had to shout now to make themselves heard to each other abovethe constant clatter of the maxim and the roar of rifle fire. By nowthey could hear, too, shouts and cries and the trampling rush of manyfootsteps. The signaler spoke into his instrument again. 

"I think the line's fallen back, " he said. "I can hear a heap o' menrunning about there outside, and now I suppose us here is about due toget it in the neck. "

There was a scuffle, a rush, and a plunge, and the sergeant shot downthrough the rear opening and out into the cellar. 

"The flank trenches!" he shouted. "Quick! Get on to them--right andleft flank--tell them they're to stand fast. Quick, now, give them thatfirst. Stand fast; do not retire. "

The signalers leaped to their instruments, buzzed off the call, andgetting through, rattled their messages off. 

"Ask them, " said the sergeant anxiously. "Had they commenced toretire. " He breathed a sigh of relief when the answers came. "No, " thatthe message had just stopped them in time. 

"Then, " he said, "you can go ahead now and tell them the order toretire is cancelled, that the reënforcements have arrived, that they'reup in our forward line, and we can hold it good--oh!"

He paused and wiped his wet forehead; "you, " he said, turning to theother signaler, "tell them behind there the same thing. "

"How in thunder did they manage it, sergeant?" said the perplexedsignaler. "They haven't had time since they got my message through. "

"No, " said the sergeant, "but they've just had time since they gotmine. "

"Got yours?" said the bewildered signaler. 

"Yes, didn't I tell you?" said the sergeant. "When I went out for alook round that time, I found an artillery signaler laying out a newline, and I got him to let me tap in and send a message through hisbattery to headquarters. "

"You might have told me, " said the aggrieved signaler. "It would havesaved me a heap of sweat getting that message through. " After he hadfinished his message to the rear station he spoke reflectively: "Luckything you did get through, " he said. "'Twas a pretty close shave. TheO. C. Should have a 'thank you' for you over it. "

"I don't suppose, " answered the sergeant, "the O. C. Will ever know orever trouble about it; he sent a message to the signaling company tosend through--and it was sent through. There's the beginning and theend of it. "

And as he said, so it was; or rather the end of it was in those threewords that appeared later in the despatch: "It is reported. "

CONSCRIPT COURAGE

You must know plenty of people--if you yourself are not one ofthem--who hold out stoutly against any military compulsion orconscription in the belief that the "fetched" man can never be theequal in valor and fighting instinct of the volunteer, can only be asource of weakness in any platoon, company and regiment. This tale maythrow a new light on that argument. 

Gerald Bunthrop was not a conscript in the strict sense of the word, because when he enlisted no legal form of conscription existed in theUnited Kingdom; but he was, as many more have been, a moral conscript, a man utterly averse to any form of soldiering, much less fighting, very reluctantly driven into the Army by force of circumstance andpressure from without himself. Before the War the Army and its wayswere to him a sealed book. Of war he had the haziest ideas compoundedof novels he had read and dimly remembered and mental pictures in aconfused jumble of Charles O'Malley dragoons on spirited charges, half-forgotten illustrations in the papers of pith-helmeted infantry inthe Boer War, faint boyhood recollections of Magersfontein and theglumness of the "Black Week"--a much more realistic and vividimpression of Waterloo as described by Brigadier Gerard--and oddfigures of black Soudanese, of Light Brigade troopers, of Peninsulared-coats, of Sepoys and bonneted Highlanders in the Mutiny period, andof Life Guard sentries at Whitehall, lines of fixed bayonets on Cityprocession routes, and khaki-clad Terriers seen about railway stationsand on bus-tops with incongruous rifles on Saturday afternoons. Actually, it is not correct to include these living figures in hisvague idea of war. They had to him no connection with anything outsidenormal peaceful life, stirred his thoughts to war no more than seeing agasbracket would wake him to imaginings of a coalmine or a pitexplosion. His slight conceptions of war, then, were a mere matter ofprint and books and pictures, and the first months of this present warwere exactly the same, no more and no less--newspaper paragraphs andphotos and drawings in the weeklies hanging on the bookstalls. He readabout the Retreat and the Advance, skimmed the prophets' forecasts, gulped the communiques with interest a good deal fainter than he readthe accounts of the football matches or a boxing bout. He expected "ourside" to win of course, and was quite patriotic; was in fact a"supporter" of the British Army in exactly the sense of being a"supporter" or "follower" of Tottenham Hotspurs or Kent County. Anythoughts that he might shoulder a rifle and fight Germans would at thattime, if it had entered his head, have seemed just as ridiculous as athought that he should play in the Final at the Crystal Palace or stepinto the ring to fight Carpentier. It took a long time to move him fromthis attitude of aloofness. Recruiting posters failed utterly to touchhim. He looked at them, criticized them, even discussed their"goodness" or drawing power on recruits with complete detachment andwithout the vaguest idea that they were addressed to him. He boughtAllies' flag-buttons, and subscribed with his fellow-employees to a RedCross Fund, and joined them again in sending some sixpences to anewspaper Smokes Gift Fund; he always most scrupulously stood up anduncovered to "God Save the King, " and clapped and encored vociferouslyany patriotic songs or sentiments from the stage. He thought he wasdoing his full duty as a loyal Briton, and even--this was when hepromised a regular sixpence a week to the Smokes Fund--going perhaps alittle beyond it. First hints and suggestions that he should enlist hetreated as an excellent jest, and when at last they became too frequentand pointed for that, and began to come from complete strangers, hebecame justly indignant at such "impudence" and "interference, " andbegan long explainings to people he knew, that he wasn't the one to bebullied into anything, that fighting wasn't "his line, " that he "had noliking for soldiering, " that he would have gone like a shot, but hadhis own good and adequate reasons for not doing so. 

There is no need to tell of the stages by which he arrived at theconclusion that he must enlist: from the first dawning wonder at such apossibility, through qualms of doubt and fear and spasms of hopeand--almost--courage, to a dull apathy of resignation. No need to telleither the particular circumstances that "conscripted" him at last, because although his name is not real the man himself is, and one hasno wish to bring shame on him or his people. I have only described himso closely to make it very clear that he was driven to enlistment, thata less promising recruit never joined up, that he was a conscript inevery real sense of the word. We can pass over all his training, hisintroduction to the life of the trenches, his feelings of terror underconditions as little dangerous as the trenches could be. He managed, more or less, to hide this terror, as many a worse and many a betterman has done before him, until one day----

The Germans had made a fierce attack, had overborne a section of thedefense and taken a good deal of trenched ground, had beencounter-attacked and partly driven back, had scourged the lost partswith a fresh tempest of artillery fire and driven in again to closequarters, to hot bomb and bayonet work; were again checked and for themoment held. 

Private Gerald Bunthrop's battalion had been hurried up to support thebroken and breaking line, was thrust into a badly wrecked trench withcrumbling sides and broken traverses, with many dead and woundedcumbering the feet of the few defenders, with a reek of high-explosivefumes catching their throats and nostrils. The open ground beyond thetrench was scattered thick with great heaps of German dead, a few moresprawled on the broken parapet, another and lesser few were huddled inthe trench itself amongst the many khaki forms. The battalion holdingthe trench had been almost annihilated in the task, had in fact atfirst been driven out from part of the line and had only reoccupied itwith heavy losses. Bunthrop had with his battalion passed along somesmashed communication trenches and over the open ground this fightinghad covered, and the sights they saw in passing might easily haveshaken the stoutest hearts and nerves. They made the approach, too, under a destructive fire with high-explosive shells screaming andcrashing over, around, and amongst them, with bullets whistling andhissing about them and striking the ground with the sound of constantlyexploding Chinese crackers. 

Bunthrop himself, to state the fact baldly, was in an agony of fear. Hemight have been tempted to bolt, but was restrained by a complete lackof any idea where to bolt to, by a lingering remnant of self-respect, and by a firm conviction that he would be dealt with mercilessly if heopenly ran. But when he reached the comparative shelter of the brokentrench all these safeguards of his decent behavior vanished. He flunghimself into the trench, cowered in its deepest part, made not theslightest attempt to look over the parapet, much less to use his rifle. There is this much of excuse for him, that on the very instant thatthey reached the cover of the trench a bursting high-explosive hadcaught the four men next in line to him. The excuse may be insufficientfor those who have never witnessed at very close hand the instant andterrible destruction of four companions with whom they have eaten andslept and talked and moved and had their intimate being for manymonths; but those who have known such happenings will understand. Bunthrop's sergeant understood, and because he was a good sergeant andhad the instinct for the right handling of men--it must have been aninstinct, because, up to a year before, he had been ledger clerk in aCity office and had handled nothing more alive than columns of figuresin a book--he issued exactly the order that appealed exactly toBunthrop's terror and roused him from a shivering embodiment of fear toa live thinking and order-obeying private. "Get up and sling some ofthose sandbags back on the parapet, Bunthrop!" he said, "and see if youcan't make some decent cover for yourself. You've nothing there thatwould stop a half-crippled Hun jumping in on top of you. " When he cameback along the trench five minutes later he found Bunthrop feverishlybusy re-piling sandbags and strengthening the parapet, ducking hastilyand crouching low when a shell roared past overhead, but hurriedlyresuming work the instant it had passed. Then came the fresh Germanattack, preceded by five minutes' intense artillery fire, concentratedon the half-wrecked trench. The inferno of noise, the rush and roar ofthe approaching shells, the crash and earth-shaking thunder of theirexplosions, the ear-splitting cracks overhead of high-explosiveshrapnel, the drone and whirr and thump of their flying fragments--thewhole racking, roaring, deafening, sense-destroying tempest of noisewas too much for Bunthrop's nerve. He flung down and flattened himselfto the trench bottom again, squeezing himself close to the earth, submerged and drowned in a sweeping wave of panic fear. He gave no heedto the orders of his platoon commander, the shouting of his sergeant, the stir that ran along the trench, the flat spitting reports of therifles that began to crack rapidly in a swiftly increasing volume offire. A huge fragment of shell came down and struck the trench bottomwith a suggestively violent thud a foot from his head. Half sick withthe instant thought, "If it had been a foot this way!. . . " half crazedwith the sense of openness to such a missile, Bunthrop rose to hisknees, pressing close to the forward parapet, and looking wildly abouthim. His sergeant saw him. "You, Bunthrop, " he shouted, "are you hit?Get up, you fool, and shoot! If we can't stop 'em before they reachhere we're done in. " Bunthrop hardly heeded him. Along the trench themen were shooting at top speed over the parapet; a dozen paces away twoof the battalion machine-guns were clattering and racketing in rapidgusts of fire; a little farther along a third one had jambed and wasbeing jerked and hammered at by a couple of sweating men and a wildlycursing boy officer. So much Bunthrop saw, and then with a hideousscreeching roar a high explosive fell and burst in a shattering crash, a spouting hurricane of noise and smoke and flung earth and fragments. Bunthrop found himself half buried in a landslide of crumbling trench, struggled desperately clear, gasping and choking in the black cloud ofsmoke and fumes, saw presently, as the smoke thinned and dissolved, achaos of broken earth and sandbags where the machine-guns had stood;saw one man and an officer dragging their gun from the débris, settingit up again on the broken edge of the trench. Another man staggered upthe crumbling earth bank to help, and presently amongst them they gotthe gun into action again. The officer left it and ran to where he sawthe other gun half buried in loose earth. He dragged it clear, found itundamaged, looked round, shouted at Bunthrop crouching flat against thetrench wall; shouted again, came down the earth bank to him with arush. "Come and help!" he yelled, grabbing at Bunthrop's arm. Bunthropmumbled stupidly in reply. "What?" shouted the officer. "Come and help, will you? Never mind if you are hurt, " as he noticed a smear of bloodon the private's face. "You'll be hurt worse if they get into thistrench with the bayonet. Come on and help!" Bunthrop, hardlyunderstanding, obeyed the stronger will and followed him back to thegun. "Can you load?" demanded the officer. "Can you fill the cartridgesinto these drums while I shoot?" Bunthrop had had in a remote period ofhis training some machine-gun instruction. He nodded and mumbled again. "God!" said the officer. "Look at 'em! There's enough to eat us if theyget to bayonet distance! We _must_ stop 'em with the bullet. Hurry up, man; hurry, if you don't want to be skewered like a stuck pig!" Herattled off burst after burst of fire, clamoring at Bunthrop to hurry, hurry, hurry. A wounded machine-gunner joined them, and then someothers, and the gun began to spit a steady string of bullets again. Bythis time the full meaning of the officer's words--the meaning, too, ofremarks between the wounded helpers--had soaked into Bunthrop's brain. Their only hope, his only hope of life, lay in stopping the attackbefore it reached the trench; and the machine-guns were a main factorin the stopping. He lost interest in everything except cramming thecartridges into their place. When the officer was hit and rolledbackwards and lay groaning and swearing, Bunthrop's chief and agonizingthought was that they--he--had lost the assistance and protection ofthe gun. When one of the wounded gunners took the officer's place andreopened fire, Bunthrop's only concern again was to keep pace with theloading. The thoughts were repeated exactly when that gunner was hitand collapsed and his place was taken by another man. And by now theurgent need of keeping the gun going was so impressed on Bunthrop thatwhen the next gunner was struck down and the gun stood idle anddeserted it was Bunthrop who turned wildly urging the other loaders toget up and keep the gun going; babbled excitedly about the only hopebeing to stop the Germans before they "got in" with the bayonet, repeated again and again at them the officer's phrase about "skeweredlike stuck pigs. " The others hung back. They had seen man after manstruck down at the gun, they could hear the _hiss_ and _whitt_ of thebullets over their heads, the constant cracker-like smacks of othersthat hit the parapet, and--they hung back. "Why th' 'ell don't you doit yerself?" demanded one of them, angered by Bunthrop's goading and insome degree, no doubt, by the disagreeable knowledge that they wereflinching from a duty. 

And then Bunthrop, the "conscript, " the man who had held back from warto the last possible minute, who hated soldiering and shrank fromviolence and all fighting, who was known to his fellows as "a funk, "the source of much uneasiness to company and platoon commanders andsergeants as "a weak spot, " Bunthrop did what these others, theseaverage good men who had "joined up" freely, who had longed for the endof home training and the transfer "out Front, " dared not do. Bunthropscrambled up the broken bank, seized the gun, swung the sights full tothe broad gray target, and opened fire. He kept it going steadily, too, with a sleet of bullets whistling and whipping past him, kept on aftera bullet snatched the cap from his head, and others in quick successioncut away a shoulder strap, scored a red weal across his neck, stabbedthrough the point of his shoulder. And when a shell-fragment smashedthe gun under his hands, he left it only to plunge hastily to the othergun abandoned by all but dead and dying; pulled off a dead man whosprawled across it and recommenced shooting. He stopped firing onlywhen his last cartridge was gone; squatted a moment longer staring overthe sights, and then raised his head and peered out into the trailingfilm of smoke clouds from the bursting shells. Although it took him aminute to be sure of it he saw plainly at last that the attack wasbroken. Dimly he could see the heaped clusters of dead that lay out inthe open, the crawling and limping figures of the wounded who soughtsafety back in the cover of their own trench, and more than that hecould see men running with their heads stooped and their gray coatsflapping about their ankles. It was this last that roused him again toaction. He scrambled hurriedly back down the broken parapet into thetrench. "Come on, you fellows, " he shouted to two or three nearby menwho continued to fire their rifles over the parapet. "It's no usewaitin' here any longer. " A heavy shell whooped roaring over them andcrashed thunderously close behind the parapet. Bunthrop paid noslightest heed to it. His wide, staring eyes and white face, and bloodsmeared from the trickling wound in his neck, his capless head andtumbled hair, his clay and mud-caked and blood-stained uniform all gavehim a look of wildness, of desperation, of abandonment. His sergeant, the man who had seen his fear and set him to pile the sandbags, caughtsight of him again now, heard some word of his shoutings, and pushedhastily along the trench to where he fidgeted and called angrily to theothers to "chuck that silly shooting--I'm goin' anyhow . . . What's theuse. . . . "

The sergeant interrupted sharply. 

"Here, you shut up, Bunthrop, " he shouted. "Keep down in the trench. You're wounded, aren't you? Well, you'll get back presently. "

"That be damn, " said Bunthrop. "You don't understand. They're runnin'away, but we can't go out after 'em if these silly blighters here keepshootin'. Come on now, or they'll all be gone. " And Private Bunthrop, the despised "conscript, " slung his bayoneted rifle over his woundedshoulder and commenced to scramble up out over the front of the brokenparapet. And what is more he was really and genuinely annoyed when thesergeant catching him by the heel dragged him down again and orderedhim to stay there. 

"Don't you understand?" he stuttered excitedly, and gesticulatingfiercely towards the front. "They're runnin', I tell you; the blightersare runnin' away. Why can't we get out after 'em?"

SMASHING THE COUNTER-ATTACK

" . . . _a violent counter-attack was delivered but was successfullyrepulsed at every point with heavy losses to the enemy_. "--EXTRACT FROMOFFICIAL DESPATCH. 

There appears to be some doubt as to who rightly claims to have beenthe first to notice and report signs of the massing of heavy forces ofGermans for the counter-attack on our positions. The infantry say thata scouting patrol fumbling about in the darkness in front of theforward fire trench heard suspicious sounds--little clickings ofequipment and accouterments, stealthy rustlings, distant tramping--andreported on their return to the trench. An artillery observing officeris said to have seen flitting shadows of figures in the gray light ofthe dawn mists, and, later, an odd glimpse of cautious movement amongstthe trees of a wood some little distance behind the German lines, andan unbroken passing of gray-covered heads behind a portion of acommunication trench parapet. He also reported, and he may have beenresponsible for the dozen or so of shrapnel that were flung tentativelyinto and over the wood. An airman droning high over the lines, withfleecy white puffs of shrapnel smoke breaking about him, also saw andreported clearly "large force of Germans massing Map Square So-and-so. "

But whoever was responsible for the first report matters little. Thegreat point is that the movement was detected in good time, apparentlybefore the preparations for attack were complete, so that the finalarraying and disposal of the force for the launching of the attack washampered and checked, and made perforce under a demoralizing artilleryfire. 

What the results might have been if the full weight of the massedattack could have been prepared without detection and flung on ourlines without warning is hard to say; but there is every chance thatour first line at least might have been broken into and swamped by thesheer weight of numbers. That, clearly, is what the Germans hadintended, and from the number of men employed it is evident that theymeant to push to the full any chance our breaking line gave them toreoccupy and hold fast a considerable portion of the ground they hadlost. It is said that three to four full divisions were used. If thatis correct, it is certain that the German army was minus three to foureffective divisions when the attack withdrew, that a good half of themen in them would never fight again. The attack lost its first greatadvantage in losing the element of surprise. The bulk of the troopswould have been moved into position in the hours of darkness. Thatwood, in all probability, was filled with men by night. The onlydaylight movement attempted would have been the cautious filling of thetrenches, the pouring in of the long gray-coated lines along thecommunication trenches, all keeping well down and under cover. Underthe elaborate system of deep trenches, fire-, and support-, communication- and approach-trenches running back for miles to emergeonly behind houses or hill or wood, it is surprising how large a massof men can be pushed into the forward trenches without any disclosureof movement to the enemy. Scores of thousands of men may be packed awaywaiting motionless for the word, more thousands may be pouring slowlyup the communication ways, and still more thousands standing ready amile or two behind the lines; and yet to any eye looking from theenemy's side the country is empty and still, and bare of life as aswept barn. Even the all-seeing airmen can be cheated, and see nothingbut the usual quiet countryside, the tangled crisscross of trenches, looking from above like so many wriggling lines of thin white braidwith a black cord-center, the neat dolls' toy-houses and streets of thevillages, the straight, broad ribbon of the Route Nationale, all stilland lifeless, except for an odd cart or two on the high road, a fewdotted figures in the village streets. Below the flying-men the packedthousands are crouched still to earth. At the sound of the engine'sdrone, at sight of the wheeling shape, square miles of country stiffento immobility, men scurry under cover of wall or bush, the long, movinglines in the trenches halt and sink down and hang their heads (next tomovement the light dots of upturned, staring faces are the quickest andsurest betrayal of the earth-men to the air-men), the open roads areemptied of men into the ditches and under the trees. For civilized man, in his latest art of war, has gone back to be taught one more simplelesson by the beasts of the field and birds of the air; the armed hostsare hushed and stilled by the passing air-machine, exactly as thefinches and field-mice of hedgerow and ditch and field are frozen tostillness by the shadow of a hovering hawk, the beat of its passingwing. 

But this time some movement in the trenches, some delay in halting aregiment, some neglect to keep men under cover, some transport toosuspiciously close-spaced on the roads, betrayed the movement. Hissuspicions aroused, the airman would have risked the anti-aircraft gunsand dropped a few hundred feet and narrowly searched each hillside andwood for the telltale gray against the green. Then the wireless wouldcommence to talk, or the 'plane swoop round and drive headlong for hometo report. 

And then, picture the bustle at the different headquarters, the stiramongst the signalers, the frantic pipings of the telephone "buzzers, "the sharp calls. "Take a message. Ready? Brigade H. Q. To O. C. Such-and-such Battery, " or "to O. C. So-and-So Regiment"; imagine thefurtive scurry in the trenches to man the parapets, and prepare bombs, and lay out more ammunition; the rush at the batteries, the quickconsulting of squared maps, the bellowed string of orders in a jargonof angles of sight, correctors, ranges, figures and measures of degreesand yards, the first scramble about the guns dropping to the smoothwork of ordered movement, the peering gun muzzles jerking and twitchingto their ordained angles, the click and slam of the closingbreech-blocks, the tense stillness as each gun reports "Ready!" andwaits the word to fire. 

And all the while imagine the Germans out there, creeping through thetrees, crowding along the trenches, sifting out and settling down intothe old favorite formation, making all ready for one more desperatetrial of it, stacking the cards for yet another deep gambling plunge onthe great German game--the massed attack in solid lines at closeinterval. The plan no doubt was the same old plan--a quick andoverwhelming torrent of shell fire, a sudden hurricane of highexplosive on the forward trench, and then, before the supports could behurried up and brought in any weight through the reeking, shakinginferno of the shell-smitten communication trenches, the surge forwardof line upon line, wave upon wave, of close-locked infantry. 

But the density of mass, the solid breadth, the depth, bulk, and weightof men so irresistible at close-quarter work, is an invitation to utterdestruction if it is caught by the guns before it can move. And so thistime it was caught. Given their target, given the word "Go, " the gunswasted no moment. The first battery ready burst a quick couple ofranging shots over the wood. A spray of torn leaves whirling from thetree tops, the toss of a broken branch, showed the range correct; andbefore the first rounds' solid white cotton-wooly balls of smoke hadthinned and disappeared, puff-puff-puff the shrapnel commenced to burstin clouds over the wood. That was the beginning. Gun after gun, batteryafter battery, picked up the range and poured shells over and into thewood, went searching every hollow and hole, rending and destroyingtrench and dug-out, parapet and parados. The trenches, clean whitestreaks and zig-zags of chalk on a green slope, made perfect targets onwhich the guns made perfect shooting; the wood was a mark that no guncould miss, and surely no gun missed. What the scene in that wood musthave been is beyond imagining and beyond telling. It was quicklyshrouded in a pall of drifting smoke, and dimly through this theobserving officers directing the fire of their guns could see clouds ofleaves and twigs whirling and leaping under the lashing shrapnel, couldsee branches and smashed tree-trunks and great clods of earth and stoneflying upward and outward from the blast of the lyddite shells. Thewood was slashed to ribbons, rent and riddled to tatters, deluged fromabove with tearing blizzards of shrapnel bullets, scorched and rivenwith high-explosive shells. In the trenches our men cowered at first, listening in awe to the rushing whirlwinds of the shells' passage overtheir heads, the roar of the cannonade behind them, the crash and boomof the bursting shells in front, the shriek and whirr of flyingsplinters, the splintering crash of the shattering trees. 

The German artillery strove to pick up the plan of the attack, to beatdown the torrent of our batteries' fire, to smash in the forwardtrenches, shake the defense, open the way for the massed attack. Butthe contest was too unequal, the devastation amongst the crowded massof German infantry too awful to be allowed to continue. Plainly theattack, ready or not ready, had to be launched at speed, or perishwhere it stood. 

And so it was that our New Armies had a glimpse of what the old"Contemptible Little Army" has seen and faced so often, the huge graybulk looming through the drifting smoke, the packed mass of the oldGerman infantry attack. There were some of these "Old Contemptibles, "as they proudly style themselves now, who said when it was all over, and they had time to think of anything but loading and firing a red-hotrifle, that this attack did not compare favorably with the Germanattacks of the Mons-Marne days, that it lacked something of thesteadiness, the rolling majesty of power, the swinging stride of theold attacks; that it did not come so far or so fast, that beaten backit took longer to rally and come again, that coming again it was easierthan ever to bring to a stand. But against that these "OldContemptibles" admit that they never in the old days fought under suchfavorable conditions, that here in this fight they were in betterconstructed and deeper trenches, that they were far better providedwith machine-guns, and, above all, that they had never, never, neverhad such a magnificent backing from our guns, such a tremendous streamof shells helping to smash the attack. 

And smashed, hopelessly and horribly smashed, the attack assuredly was. The woods in and behind which the German hordes were massed lay fromthree to four hundred yards from the muzzles of our rifles. Imagine it, you men who were not there, you men of the New Armies still training athome, you riflemen practicing and striving to work up the number ofaimed rounds fired in "the mad minute, " you machine-gunners riddlingholes in a target or a row of posts. Imagine it, oh you Artillery, imagine the target lavishly displayed in solid blocks in the open, witha good four hundred yards of ground to go under your streaminggun-muzzles. The gunners who were there that day will tell you how theyused that target, will tell you how they stretched themselves to thecall for "gun-fire" (which is an order for each gun to actindependently, to fire and keep on firing as fast as it can be served), how the guns grew hotter and hotter, till the paint bubbled andblistered and flaked off them in patches, till the breech burned theincautious hand laid on it, till spurts of oil had to be sluiced intothe breech from a can between rounds and sizzled and boiled like fat ina frying-pan as it fell on the hot steel, how the whole gun smoked andreeked with heated oil, and how the gun-detachments were half-deaf fordays after. 

It was such a target as gunners in their fondest dreams dare hardlyhope for; and such a target as war may never see again, for surely thefate of such massed attacks will be a warning to all infantrycommanders for all time. 

The guns took their toll, and where death from above missed, death fromthe level came in an unbroken torrent of bullets sleeting across theopen from rifles and machine-guns. On our trenches shells were stillbursting, maxim and rifle bullets were still pelting from somewhere inhalf enfilade at long range. But our men had no time to pay heed tothese. They hitched themselves well up on the parapet to get the fullerview of their mark; their officers for the most part had no need tobother about directing or controlling the fire--what need, indeed, todirect with such a target bulking big before the sights? What need tocontrol when the only speed limit was a man's capacity to aim and fire?So the officers, for the most part, took rifle themselves and helpedpelt lead into the slaughter-pit. 

There are few, if any, who can give details of how or when the attackperished. A thick haze of smoke from the bursting shells blurred thepicture. To the eyes of the defenders there was only a picture of thatsmoke-fog, with a gray wall of men looming through it, moving, walking, running towards them, falling and rolling, and looming up again andcoming on, melting away into tangled heaps that disappeared againbehind advancing men, who in turn became more falling and fallen piles. It was like watching those chariot races in a theater where the horsesgallop on a stage revolving under their feet, and for all their fury ofmotion always remain in the same place. So it was with the Germanline--it was pressing furiously forward, but always appeared to remainstationary or to advance so slowly that it gave no impression ofadvancing, but merely of growing bigger. Once, or perhaps twice, theadvancing line disappeared altogether, melted away behind the driftingsmoke, leaving only the mass of dark blotches sprawled on the grass. Atthese times the fire died away along a part of our front, and the menpaused to gulp a drink from a water-bottle, to look round and tilttheir caps back and wipe the sweat from their brows, to gasp joyfulremarks to one another about "gettin' a bit of our own back, " and "thispays for the ninth o' May, " and then listen to the full, deep roar ofrifle-fire that rolled out from further down the line, and try to peerthrough the shifting smoke to see how "the lot next door" was faring. But these respites were short. A call and a crackle of fire at theirelbows brought them back to business, to the grim business ofpurposeful and methodical killing, of wiping out that moving wall thatwas coming steadily at them again through the smoke and flame of thebursting shells. The great bulk of the line came no nearer than ahundred yards from our line; part pressed in another twenty or thirtyyards, and odd bunches of the dead were found still closer. But nonecame to grips--none, indeed, were found within forty yards of ourrifles' wall of fire. A scattered remnant of the attackers ran back, some whole and some hurt, thousands crawled away wounded, to reach thesafe shelter of their support trenches, some to be struck down by theshells that still kept pounding down upon the death-swept field. Thecounter-attack was smashed--hopelessly and horribly smashed. 

A GENERAL ACTION

"_At some points our lines have been slightly advanced and theirposition improved_. "--EXTRACT FROM DESPATCH

It has to be admitted by all who know him that the average Britishsoldier has a deep-rooted and emphatic objection to "fatigues, " alltrench-digging and pick-and-shovel work being included under thattitle. This applies to the New Armies as well as the Old, and when oneremembers the safety conferred by a good deep trench and the fact thatfew men are anxious to be killed sooner than is strictly necessary, theobjection is regrettable and very surprising. Still there it is, andany officer will tell you that his men look on trench-digging withdistaste, have to be constantly persuaded and chivvied into doinganything like their best at it, and on the whole would apparently muchrather take their chance in a shallow or poorly-constructed trench thanbe at the labor of making it deep and safe. 

But one piece of trench-digging performed by the Tearaway Rifles mustcome pretty near a record for speed. 

When the Rifles moved in for their regular spell in the forward line, their O. C. Was instructed that his battalion had to construct a sectionof new trench in ground in front of the forward trench. 

It was particularly unfortunate that just about this time the winterissue of a regular rum ration had ceased, and that, immediately beforethey moved in, a number of the Tearaways had been put under stoppagesof pay for an escapade with which this story need have no concern. 

Without pay the men, of course, were cut off from even the sour andwatery delights of the beer sold in the local estaminets, which aboundin the villages where the troops are billeted in reserve some milesbehind the firing line. As Sergeant Clancy feelingly remarked:

"They stopped the pay, and that stops the beer; and then they stoppedthe rum. It's no pleasure in life they leave us at all, at all. They'llbe afther stopping the fighting next. "

Of that last, however, there was comparatively little fear at themoment. A brisk action had opened some days before the Tearaways werebrought up from the reserve, and the forward line which they were nowsent in to occupy had been a German trench less than a week before. 

The main fighting had died down, but because the British weresuspicious of counter-attacks, and the Germans afraid of a continuedBritish movement, the opposing lines were very fully on the alert; theartillery on both sides were indulging in constant dueling, and theinfantry were doing everything possible to prevent any sudden advantagebeing snatched by the other side. 

As soon as the Tearaways were established in the new position, the O. C. And the adjutant made a tour of their lines, carefully reconnoiteringthrough their periscopes the open ground which had been pointed out tothem on the map as the line of the new trench which they were tocommence digging. At this point the forward trench was curved sharplyinward, and the new trench was designed to run across and outwards fromthe ends of the curve, meeting in a wide angle at a point where a holehad been dug and a listening-post established. 

It was only possible to reach this listening-post by night, and thehalf-dozen men in it had to remain there throughout the day, since itwas impossible to move across the open between the post and thetrenches by daylight. The right-hand portion of the new trench runningfrom the listening-post back to the forward trench had already beensketched out with entrenching tools, but it formed no cover because itwas enfiladed by a portion of the German trench. 

It was the day when the Tearaways moved into the new position, and theO. C. Had been instructed that he was expected to commence diggingoperations as soon as it was dark that night, the method and manner ofdigging being left entirely in his own hand. The Major, the Adjutant, and a couple of Captains conferred gloomily over the prospective task. That reputation of a dislike for digging stood in the way of a quickjob being made. The stoppage of the rum ration prevented even aninducement in the shape of an "extra tot" being promised for extra goodwork, and it was well known to all the officers that the stoppage ofpay had put the men in a sulky humor, which made them a little hard tohandle, and harder to drive than the proverbial pigs. It was decidedthat nothing should be said to the men of the task ahead of them untilit was time to tell off the fatigue party and start them on the work. 

"It's no good, " said the Captain, "leaving them all the afternoon tochew it over. They'd only be talking themselves into a state that isfirst cousin to insubordination. "

"I wish, " said the other Captain, "they had asked us to go across andtake another slice of the German trench. The men would do it a lotquicker and surer, and a lot more willing, than they'd dig a new one. "

"The men, " said the Colonel tartly, "are not going to be asked whatthey'd like any more than I've been. I want you each to go down quietlyand have a look over at the new ground, tell the company commanderswhat the job is, and have a talk with me after as to what you think isthe best way of setting about it. "

That afternoon Lieutenant Riley and Lieutenant Brock took turns inpeering through a periscope at the line of the new trench, anddiscussed the problem presented. 

"It's all very fine, " grumbled Riley, "for the O. C. To say the men mustdig because he says so. You can take a horse to the water where youcan't make it drink, and by the same token you can put a spade in aman's hand where you can't make him dig, or if he does dig he'll onlydo it as slow and gingerly as if it were his own grave and he was to beburied in it as soon as it was ready. "

"Don't talk about burying, " retorted Brock. "It isn't a pleasantsubject with so many candidates for a funeral scattered around thefront door. "

He sniffed the air, and made an exclamation of disgust:

"They haven't even been chloride-of-limed, " he said. "A lot of lazy, untidy brutes that battalion must have been we have just relieved. "

Riley stared again into the periscope: "It's German the most of themare, anyway, " he said, "that's one consolation, although it's smallcomfort to a sense of smell. I say, have a look at that man lying overthere, out to the left of the listening-post. His head is towards us, and his hair is white as driven snow. They must be getting hard up formen to be using up the grandfathers of that age. "

Brock examined the white head carefully. "He's a pretty old stager, " hesaid, "unless he's a young 'un whose hair has turned white in a nightlike they do in novels; or, maybe he's a General. "

"A General!" said Riley, and stopped abruptly. "Man, now, wait aminute. A General!" he continued musingly, and then suddenly burst intochuckles, and nudged Brock in the ribs. "I have a great notion, " hesaid, "gr-r-reat notion, Brockie. What'll you bet I don't get the mencoming to us before night with a petition to be allowed to do somedigging?"

Brock stared at him. "You're out of your senses, " he said. "I'd as soonexpect them to come with a petition to be allowed to sign the pledge. "

"Well, now listen, " said Riley, "and we'll try it, anyway. "

He explained swiftly, while over Brock's face a gentle smile beamed andwidened into subdued chucklings. 

"Here's Sergeant Clancy coming along the trench, " said Riley. "You havethe notion now, so play up to me, and make sure Clancy hears every wordyou say. "

"I want to see that General of theirs the Bosche prisoner spoke about, "said Riley, as Clancy came well within earshot. "An old man, the Boschesaid he was, with a head of hair as white and shining as a gull'swing. "

"I'm not so interested in his shining head, " said Brock, "as I am inthe shining gold he carries on him. Doesn't it seem sinful waste forall that good money to be lying out there?"

Out of the tail of his eye Riley saw the sergeant halt and stiffen intoan attitude of listening. He turned round. 

"Was it me you wanted to see, Clancy?" he said. 

"No, sorr--yes, sorr, " said Clancy hurriedly, and then more slowly, inneat adoption of the remarks he had just heard: "Leastways, sorr, I wasjust afther wondering if you had heard anything of this tale of aGerman Gineral lying out there on the ground beyanst. "

"You mean the one that was shot last week?" said Riley. 

"Him with the five thousand francs in his breeches pocket, and thediamond-studded gold watch on his wrist?" said Brock. 

"The same, sorr, the same!" said Clancy eagerly, and with his eyesglistening. "And have you made out which of them he is, sorr?"

"No, " said Riley shortly. "And remember, Sergeant, there are to be nomen going over the parapet this night without orders. The lastbattalion in here lost a big handful of men trying to get hold of thatGeneral, but the Germans were watching too close, and they've got amachine-gun trained to cover him. See to it, Clancy! That's all now. "

Sergeant Clancy moved off, but he went reluctantly. 

"Why didn't you give him a bit more?" asked Brock. 

"Because I know Clancy, " said Riley, whispering. "If we had said morenow, he might have suspected a plant. As it is, he's got enough totickle his curiosity, and you can be sure it won't be long before agentle pumping performance is in operation. "

Sergeant Clancy came in sight round the traverse again, moving briskly, but obviously slowing down as he passed them, and very obviouslystraining to hear anything they were saying. But they both kept silent, and when he had disappeared round the next traverse, Riley grinned andwinked at his companion. 

"He's hooked, Brockie, " he said exultantly. 

"Now you wait and--" He stopped as a rifle-man moved round the cornerand took up a position on the firing step near them. 

"I'll bet, " said Riley delightedly, "Clancy has put him there to listento anything he can catch us saying. "

He turned to the man, who was clipping a tiny mirror on to his bayonetand hoisting it to use as a periscope. 

"Are you on the look-out?" he asked. "And who posted you there?"

"It was Sergeant Clancy, sir, " answered the man. "He said I could hearbetter--I mean, see better, " he corrected himself, "from here. "

Riley abruptly turned to their own periscope and apparently resumed theconversation. 

"I'm almost sure that's him with the white head, " said Riley. "Outthere, about forty or fifty yards from the German parapet, and about ahundred yards ten o'clock from our listening-post. Have a look. "

He handed the periscope over to Brock, and at the same time noticed howeagerly the sentry was also having a look into his own periscope. 

"I've got him, " said Brock. "Yes, I believe that's the man. "

"What makes it more certain, " said Riley, "is that hen's scratch of atrench the other battalion started to dig out to the listening-post. They couldn't crawl out in the open to get to the General, and it's mybelief they meant to drive a sap out to the listening-post, and thenout to the General, and yank him in, so they could go through hispockets. "

"It's a good bit of work to get at a dead man, " said Brockreflectively. 

"It is, " said Riley, "but it isn't often you can drive a sap with fivethousand francs at the end of it. "

"To say nothing of a diamond-studded gold watch, " said Brock. 

"Well, well, " said Riley, "I suppose the Germans won't be leaving himlying out there much longer. I hear the last battalion bagged quite abunch that tried to creep out at night to get him in; but I suppose ourfellows, not knowing about it, won't watch him so carefully. "

They turned the conversation to other and more casual things, andshortly afterwards moved off. 

The first-fruits of their sowing showed within the hour, when some ofthe officers were having tea together in a corner of a ruined cottage, which had been converted into a keep. 

The servant who was preparing tea had placed a battered pot on the halfof a broken door, which served for a mess table; had laid out a loaf ofbread, tin pots of jam, a cake, and a flattened box of flattenedchocolates, and these offices having been fully performed he shouldhave retired. Instead, however, he fidgeted to and fro, offered to pourthe tea from the dented coffee-pot, asked if anything more was wanted, pushed the loaf over to the Captain, apologizing at length for theimpossibility of getting a scrape of butter these days; hovered roundthe table, and generally made it plain that he had something he wishedto say, or that he supposed they had something to say he wished tohear. 

"What are you dodging about there for, man?" the Captain askedirritably at last. "Is it anything you want?"

"Nothing, sorr, " said the man, "only I was just wondering if you hadheard annything of a Gineral with fifty thousand francs in his pocket, lying out there beyond the trench. "

"Five thousand francs, " corrected Riley gently. 

"'Twas fifty thousand I heard, sorr, " said the man eagerly; "but yehave heard, then, sorr?"

"What's this about a General?" demanded the Captain. 

"Yes!" said Riley quickly. "What is it? We have heard nothing of theGeneral. "

"Ah!" said the messman, eyeing him thoughtfully, "I thought maybe yehad heard. "

"We have heard nothing, " said Riley. "What is it you are talkingabout?"

"About them fifty thousand francs, sorr, " said the messman, cunningly, "or five thousand, was it?"

"What's this?" said the Captain, and the others making no attempt toanswer his question, left the messman to tell a voluble tale of aGerman General ("though 'twas a Field-Marshal some said it was, andothers went the length of Von Kluck himself") who had been killed somedays before, and lay out in the open with five thousand, or fiftythousand, francs in his breeches pocket, a diamond-studded gold watchon his wrist, diamond rings on his fingers, and his breast covered withIron Crosses and jeweled Orders. 

That both Riley and Brock, as well as the Captain, professed theirprofound ignorance of the tale only served, as they well knew, tostrengthen the Tearaways Rifles' belief in it, and after the man hadgone they imparted their plan with huge delight and joyful anticipationto the Captain. 

When they had finished tea and left the keep to return to their ownposts, they were met by Sergeant Clancy. 

"I just wanted to speak wid you a moment, sorr, " he said. "I have beenlooking at that listening-post, and thinking to myself wouldn't it beas well if we ran a sap out to it; it would save the crawling outacross the open at night, and keeping the men--and some wounded amongthem maybe--cooped up the whole day. "

"There's something in that, " said the Captain, pretending to reflect. "And I see the last battalion had made something of a beginning to diga trench out to the post. "

"And they must have been thinking with their boots when they dug itthere, " said Riley. "A trench on that side is open to enfilade fire. Itshould have been dug out from the left corner of that curve instead ofthe right. "

"If you would speak to the O. C. About it, sorr, " said Clancy, "he mightbe willing to let us dig it. The men is fresh, too, and won't harm fora bit of exercise. "

"Very well, " said the Captain carelessly, "we'll see about itto-morrow. "

"Begging your pardon, sorr, " said Clancy, "I was thinking it would be agood night tonight, seein' there's a strong wind blowing that woulddeaden the sound of the digging. "

"That's true enough, " the Captain said slowly. "I think it's anexcellent idea, Clancy, and I'll speak to the O. C. , and tell him yousuggested it. "

A few minutes after, an orderly brought a message that the O. C. Wascoming round the trenches to see the company commanders. The companycommanders found him with rather a sharp edge to his temper, andCaptain Conroy, to whom Riley and Brock had confided the secret oftheir plans, concluded the moment was not a happy one for explainingthe ruse to the O. C. He, therefore, merely took his instructions forthe detailing of a working party from his company, and the hour atwhich they were to commence. 

"And remember, " said the O. C. Sharply, "you will stand no nonsense overthis work. If you think any man is loafing or not doing his full share, make him a prisoner, or do anything else you think fit. I'll back youin it, whatever it is. "

Conroy murmured a "Very good, sir, " and left it at that. When hereturned to his company he made arrangements for the working party, implying subtly to Sergeant Clancy that the trench was to be started asthe result of his, the sergeant's, arguments. 

Clancy went back to the men in high feather:

"I suppose now, " he said complacently, "there's some would be like tolaugh if they were told that a blessed sergeant could be saying whereand when he'd be having this trench or that trench dug or not dug; butthere's more ways of killing a cat than choking it with butter, andOuld Prickles can take a hint as good as the next man when it's put tohim right. "

"Prickles, " be it noted, being the fitting, if somewhat disrespectful, name which the O. C. Carried in the Rifles. 

"It's yourself has the tongue on ye, " admitted Rifleman McRoryadmiringly, "though I'm wonnering how'll you be schamin' to get anothertrench dug from the listening-post out to the Gineral. "

"'Twill take some scheming, " agreed another rifleman, "but maybe we canget round the officer that's in the listening-post to-night to let usdrive a sap out. "

"It's not him ye'll be getting round, " said McRory, "for it's theLittle Lad himself that's in it. But sure the Little Lad will be thatglad to see me offer to take a pick in my hand that I believe he'd bewilling to let me dig up his own grandfather's grave. "

"We'll find some way when the time comes, never fear, " said SergeantClancy, and the men willingly agreed to leave the matter in his capablehands. 

Immediately after dark, the Little Lad, otherwise Lieutenant Riley, ledhis party at a careful crawl and in wide-spaced single file out to thelistening-post, while Brock and the Captain crawled out with a coupleof men, a white tape, and a handful of pegs apiece to mark out the lineof the new trenches converging from the outside ends of the curved maintrench to the listening-post. 

When they returned and reported their job complete, the working partiescrawled cautiously out. There were plenty of flares being thrown upfrom the German lines and a more or less erratic rifle fire wascrackling up and down the trenches on both sides, the Tearaways takingcare to keep their bullets clear of the working party, to fire no morethan enough to allay any German suspicions of a job being in hand, andnot to provoke any extra hostility. 

The working party crept out one by one, carrying their rifles and theirtrenching tools, dropping flat and still in the long grass every time alight flared, rising and crawling rapidly forward in the intervals ofdarkness. When at last they were strung out at distances of less than aman's length, they stealthily commenced operations. A line of filledsandbags was handed out from the main trench and passed along the chainof men until each had been provided with one. 

Making the sand-bag a foundation for head cover, the men begancautiously to cut and scoop the soft ground and pile it up in front ofthem. The grass was long and rank, and in the shifting light the workwent on unobserved for over an hour. The men, cramped anduncomfortable, with every muscle aching from head to foot, workeddoggedly, knowing each five minutes' work, each handful of earthscooped out and thrown up, meant an extra point off the odds on abullet reaching them when the Germans discovered their operations andopened fire on the working party. 

They still worked only in the dark intervals between the flares, and, of course, in as deep a silence as they possibly could. Brock and theCaptain crawled at intervals up and down the line with a word of praiseor a reproach dropped here and there as it was needed. At the end ofone trip, Brock crept into the listening-post and conversed in whisperswith Riley, his fellow-conspirator. 

"They're working like beavers, " he said, "and, if the Boche doesn'ttwig the game for another half-hour, we'll have enough cover scoopedout to go on without losing too many men from their fire. "

Riley chuckled. "It's working fine, " he said. "I'm only hoping thatsome ruffian doesn't spoil the game by crawling out and finding ourGeneral is no more than a false alarm. "

"That would queer the pitch, " agreed Brock, "but I don't fancy any onewill try it. They all know the working party is liable to be discoveredat any minute, and any one out in the open when that comes off, isgoing to be in a tight corner. "

"There's a good many here, " said Riley, "that would chance a few tightcorners if they knew five thousand francs was at the other side of it;but I took the precaution to hint gently to Clancy that our machine gunwas going to keep on spraying lead round the General all night, todiscourage any private enterprise. "

"Anyhow, " said Brock, "I suppose the whole regiment's in it, andflatter themselves this trifle of digging is for the special benefit oftheir pockets. But what are those fellows of ours supposed to bedigging at in the corner there!"

"That, " whispered the Little Lad, grinning, "is merely an improving ofthe amenities of the listening-post and the beginning of a dugoutshelter from bombs; at least, that's Clancy's suggestion, though I havea suspicion there will be no hurry to roof-in the dug-out and that itsback-door will travel an unusual length out. "

"Well, so long, " said Brock; "I must sneak along again and have a lookat the digging. "

It was when he was half-way back to the main trench that it becameapparent the German suspicions were aroused, and that something--amovement after a light flared, perhaps, or the line of a parapetbeginning to show above the grass--had drawn their attention to thework. 

Light after light commenced to toss in an unbroken stream from theirparapet in the direction of the working party, and a score of bullets, obviously aimed at them, hissed close overhead. 

"Glory be!" said Rifleman McRory, flattening himself to the ground. "It's a good foot and a half I have of head-cover, and I'm thinkingit's soon we will be needing it, and all the rest we can get. "

The flaring lights ceased again for a moment, and the men plied theirtools in feverish haste to strengthen their scanty shelter against thestorm they knew must soon fall upon them. 

It came within a couple of minutes; again the lights streamed upward, and flares burst and floated down in dazzling balls of fierce whitelight, while the rifle-fire from the German parapet grew heavier andheavier. Concealment was no longer possible, and the word was passed toget along with the work in light or dark; and so, still lying flat upontheir faces, and with the bullets hissing and whistling above them, slapping into the low parapet and into the bare ground beside them, theworking party scooped and buried and scraped, knowing that every inchthey could sink themselves or heighten their parapet added to theirchance of life. 

The work they had done gave them a certain amount of cover, at leastfor the vital parts of head and shoulders, but in the next half-hourthere were many casualties, and man after man worked on with bloodoozing through the hastily-applied bandage of a first field-dressing orcrawled in under the scanty parapet and crouched there helplessly. 

It was little use at that stage trying to bring in the wounded. To doso only meant exposing them to almost a certainty of another wound andof further casualties amongst the stretcher-bearers. One or two menwere killed. 

Lieutenant Riley, dragging himself along the line, found RiflemanMcRory hard at work behind the shelter of a body rolled up on top ofhis parapet. 

"It's killed he is, " said McRory in answer to a question--"killed tothe bone. He won't be feeling any more bullets that hit him, and it'shimself would be the one to have said to use him this way. "

Riley admitted the force of the argument and crept on. Work movedfaster now that there was no need to wait for the periods between thelights; but the German fire also grew faster, and a machine gun beganto pelt its bullets up and down the length of the growing parapet. 

By now, fortunately, the separate chain of pits dug by each man werepractically all connected up into a long, twisting, shallow trench. Down this trench the wounded were passed, and a fresh working partyrelieved the cramped and tired batch who had commenced the work. 

In the main trench men had been hard at work filling sand-bags, and nowthese were passed out, dragged along from man to man, and piled up onthe parapet, doubling the security of the workers and allowing them thegreater freedom of rising to their knees to dig. 

The rifles and maxims of the Tearaways had from the main trench kept upa steady volume of fire on the German parapet, in an endeavor to keepdown its fire. They shot from the main trench in comparative safety, because the German fire was directed almost exclusively on the newtrench. 

Now that the new parapet had been heightened and strengthened, thecasualties behind it had almost ceased, and the Tearaways were quitereasonably flattering themselves on the worst of the work being doneand the worst of the dangers over. It appeared to them that the trenchnow provided quite sufficient shelter to fulfill both its ostensibleobject of allowing relief parties to move to and from thelistening-post, and also their own private undertaking of attaining thedead General; but the O. C. And company commanders did not look on it inthat light. 

The order was to construct a firing trench, and that meant a good dealmore work than had been done, so reliefs were kept going and the workprogressed steadily all night, a good deal of impetus being given to itby some light German field-guns which commenced to scatterhigh-explosive shrapnel over the open ground. 

The shooting, fortunately, was not very accurate, no doubt because, bythe light of the flares, it was difficult for the German observers todirect their fire. But the hint was enough for the Tearaways, and theyknew that daybreak would bring more accurate and more constantartillery fire upon the new position. 

The British gunners had been warned not to open fire unless calledupon, because a working party was in the open; but now the batterieswere telephoned to with a request for shrapnel on the German parapetsto keep down some of the heavy rifle fire. 

Since the gunners had already registered the target of the Germantrench, their fire was just as accurate by night as it would be by day, and shell after shell burst over the German parapet, sweeping theirtrench with showers of shrapnel. 

While all this was going on the men at the listening-post had tackledthe job of driving their sap out to the German General. This work wasdone in a different fashion from the digging of the new trench. 

The listening-post was merely a pit in the ground, originally a largeshell crater, and deepened and widened until it was sufficiently largeto hold half-a-dozen men. At one side of the pit the men commenced withpick and spade to hack out an opening like a very narrow doorway. 

As the earth was broken down and shoveled back, the doorway graduallygrew to be a passage. In this two men at a time worked in turn, the oneon the right-hand side making a narrow cut that barely gave himshoulder-play, the second man on the left working a few paces in therear and widening the passage. 

Necessarily it was slow work, because only these two men could reachthe face of the cut, and because it had to be of sufficient depth toallow a man to work upright without his head showing above the ground. But because they worked in short reliefs and put every ounce of energyinto their task, they made surprising and unusual progress. 

Lieutenant Riley, who was in command of the listening-post for thatnight, left the workers to themselves, both because it was necessaryfor him to keep a sharp look-out in order to give warning of anyattempt to rush the working party, and because officially he was notsupposed to know anything of any sap to an officially unrecognized deadGerman General. 

When he was relieved after daybreak, Riley told the joke and explainedthe position to the subaltern who took over from him, and thatsubaltern in turn looked with a merely unofficial eye on the work ofthe sapping party. As the day and the work went on, it was quiteobvious that a good many more men were working on the new trench thanhad been told off to it. 

In the sap several fresh men were constantly awaiting their turn at theface with pick and shovel. The diggers did no more than five minutes'work, hacking and spading at top speed, yielding their tools to thenext comer and retiring, panting and blowing and mopping theirstreaming brows. 

A fairly constant fire was maintained by the artillery on both sides, the shells splashing and crashing on the open ground about the newtrench and the German parapet. There was little wind, and as a resultthe smoke of the shell-bursts hung heavily and trailed slowly over theopen space between the trenches, veiling to some extent the sappingoperations and the new trench. On the latter a tendency was quicklydisplayed to slacken work and to treat the job as being sufficientlycomplete, but when it came to Lieutenant Riley's turn to take charge ofa fresh relief of workers on the new trench, he very quickly succeededin brisking up operations. 

Arrived at the listening-post, he found Sergeant Clancy and spoke a fewwords to him. 

"Clancy, " he said gently, "the work along that new trench is going agreat deal too slow. "

"'Tis hard work, sorr, " replied Clancy excusingly, "and you'll beremembering the boys have been at it all night. "

"Quite so, Clancy, " said Riley smoothly, "and since it has to be dug agood six foot deep, I am just thinking the best thing to do will be totake this other party off the sap and turn 'em along to help on thetrench. I'm not denying, Clancy, that I've a notion what the sap isfor, although I'm supposed to know nothing of it; but I don't care ifthe sap is made, and I do care that the trench is. Now do you think Ihad better stop them on the sap, or can the party in the trench put abit more ginger into it?"

"I'll just step along the trench again, sorr, " said Clancy anxiously, "and I don't think you'll be having need to grumble again. "

He stepped along the trench, and he left an extraordinary increase ofenergy behind him as he went. 

"And what use might it be to make it any deeper?" grumbled McRory. "Sure it's deep enough for all we need it. "

"May be, " said Sergeant Clancy, with bitter sarcasm, "it's yourselfthat'll just be stepping up to the Colonel and saying friendly like tohim: 'Prickles, me lad, it's deep enough we've dug to lave us get outto our German Gineral. 'Tisn't for you we're digging this trench, 'you'll be saying, ''tis for our own pleasure entirely. ' You might justlet me know what the Colonel says to that. "

"There's some talk, " he said, a little further down the line, "of ourbeing relieved from here to-morrow afternoon. I've told you what theLittle Lad was saying about turning the sap party in to help here. It'spretty you'd look clearing out to-morrow and leaving another battalionto come in to take over your new trench and your new sap and yourGerman Gineral and the gold in his britches pocket together. " And withthat parting shaft he moved on. 

For the rest of that day and all that night work moved at speed, andwhen the O. C. Made his tour of inspection the following morning he wasas delighted as he was amazed at the work done--and that, as he toldthe Adjutant, was saying something. Up to now he had known nothing ofthe sap, merely expressing satisfaction--again mingled withamazement--when he saw the entrance to the sap, lightly roofed in withboards for a couple of yards and shut off beyond that by a curtain ofsacking, and was told that the men were amusing themselves making abomb-proof dug-out. 

But on this last morning, when the sap had approached to within twentyor thirty feet of the white head which was its objective, the Colonel'sattention was directed to the matter somewhat forcibly. He heard theroar of exploding heavy shells, and as the "_crump, crump, _" continuedsteadily, he telephoned from the headquarters dug-out in rear of thesupport line to ask the forward trenches what was happening. 

While he waited an answer, a message came from the Brigade saying thatthe artillery had reported heavy German shelling on a sap-head, anddemanding to know what, where, and why was the sap-head referred to. While the Colonel was puzzling over this mysterious message and vainlytrying to recall any sap-head within his sector of line, the regimentalPadre came into the dug-out. 

"I've just come from the dressing station, " he said, "and there's a boythere, McRory, that has me fair bewildered with his ravings. He'swounded in the head with a shrapnel splinter, and, although he seemssane and sensible enough in other ways, he's been begging me and thedoctor not to send him back to the hospital. Did ever ye hear the like, and him with a lump as big as the palm of my hand cut from his head tothe bare bone, and bleeding like a stuck pig in an apoplexy?"

The Colonel looked at him vacantly, his mind between this and the otherproblem of the Brigade's message. 

"And that's not all that's in it, " went on the Padre. "The doctor wastelling me that there's been a round dozen of the past two days'casualties begging that same thing--not to be sent away till we comeout of the trenches. And to beat all, McRory, when he was told he wasgoing just the minute the ambulance came, had a confab with thestretcher bearers, and I heard him arguing with them about 'his share, 'and 'when they got the Gineral, ' and 'my bit o' the fifty thousandfrancs. ' It has me beat completely. "

By now the Colonel was completely bewildered, and he began to wonderwhether he or his battalion were hopelessly mad. It was extraordinaryenough that the men should have dug so willingly and well, and withouta grumble being heard or a complaint made. 

It was still more extraordinary that more or less severely wounded menshould not be ardently desirous of the safety and comfort and feedingof the hospitals; and on the top of all was this mysterious message ofa sap apparently being made by his men voluntarily and without anysanction, much less the usual required pressure. 

A message came from Captain Conroy, in the forward trench, to say thatRiley was coming up to headquarters and would explain matters. 

Riley and the explanation duly arrived. "Ould Prickles, " inclined atfirst to be mightily wroth at the unauthorized digging of the sap, caught a twinkle in the Padre's eye; and a modest hint from the LittleLad reminding him of the speed and excellence of the new trenches, construction turned the scale. He burst into a roar of laughter, andthe Padre joined him heartily, while the Little Lad stood beaming andchuckling complacently. 

"I must tell the Brigadier this, " gasped the O. C. At last. "He mighthave had a cross word or two to say about a sap being dug withoutorders, but, thank heaven, he's an Irishman, and a poorer joke wouldexcuse a worse crime with him. But I'm wondering what's going to happenwhen they reach their General and find no francs, and no watch, and noteven a General; and mind you, Riley, the sap must be stopped at once. Ican't be having good men casualtied on an unofficial job. Will you seeto that right away?"

The Little Lad's chuckling rose to open giggling. 

"It's stopped now, sir, " he said--"just before I came up here. Andwhat's more, the General won't need explaining; the German gunnersspied our sap, and, trying to drop a heavy shell on it--well, theydropped one on to the General. So now there isn't a General, only ahole in the ground where he was. "

Ould Prickles' and the Padre's laughter bellowed again. 

"I must tell that to the Brigadier, too, " said the O. C. ; "that finishto the joke will completely satisfy him. "

"And I must go, " said the Padre, rising, "and tell McRory, though I'mnot just sure whether it will be after satisfying him quite socompletely. "

AT LAST

"WHEN WE BEGIN TO PUSH"

"Here we are, " said the Colonel, halting his horse. "Fine view one getsfrom here. "

"Rather a treat to be able to see over a bit of country again, after somany months of the flat, " said, the Adjutant, reining up beside theother. They were halted on the top of a hill, or, father, the corner ofan edge on a wide plateau. On two sides of them the ground fell awayabruptly, the road they were on dipping sharply over the edge andsweeping round and downward in a well-graded slope along the face ofthe hill to the wide flats below. Over these flats they could see formany miles, miles of cultivated fields, of little woods, of gentleslopes. They could count the buildings of many farms, the roofs of halfa dozen villages, the spires of twice as many churches, the tallchimneys and gaunt frame towers of scattered pit-heads. It had beenraining all day, but now in the late afternoon the clouds had brokenand the light of the low sun was tinging the landscape with a mellowgolden glow. 

"There's going to be a beautiful sunset presently, " said the Colonel, "with all those heavy broken clouds about. Let's dismount and wait fora bit. "

Both dismounted and handed their reins to the orderly, who, ridingbehind them, had halted when they did, but now at a sign came forward. 

"We'll just stroll to that rise on the left, " the Colonel said. "Thebest view should be from there. "

The Adjutant lingered a moment. "Take their bits out, Trumpeter, " hesaid, "and let them pick a mouthful of grass along the roadside. "

A rough country track ran to the left off the main road, and the twowalked along it a couple of hundred yards to where it plunged over thecrest and ran steeply down the hillside. Another main road ran alongthe flat parallel with the hill foot, and along this crawled a longkhaki column. 

"Look at the light on those hills over there, " said the Colonel. "Fine, isn't it?"

The Adjutant was busily engaged with the field-glasses he had takenfrom the case slung over his shoulder and was focusing them on the roadbelow. 

"I say, " he remarked suddenly, "those are the Canadians. I didn't knowthe ----th Division was so far south. Moving up front, too. " TheColonel dropped his gaze to the road a moment and then swept it slowlyover the country-side. "Yes, " he said, "and this area is pretty wellcrowded with troops when you look closely. "

The light on the distant hills was growing more golden and beautiful, the clouds were beginning to catch the first tints of the sunset, butneither men for the moment noticed these things, searching with theirgaze the landscape below, sifting it over and picking out a battery ofartillery camped in a big chalk-pit by the roadside, the slow-risingand drifting columns of blue smoke that curled up from a distant woodand told of the regiment encamped there, the long strings of horsesconverging on a big mine building for the afternoon watering, the linesof transport wagons parked on the outskirts of a village, the shiftingkhaki figures that stirred about every farm building in sight, the rowof gray-painted motor-omnibuses, drawn up in a long line on a sideroad. The countryside that under a first look slept peacefully in theafternoon sunlight, that drowsed calmly in the easy quiet of anuneventful field and farm existence, proved under the closer searchinglook to be a teeming hive of activity, a close-packed camp ofwell-armed fighting men, a widespread net and chain of men and guns andhorses. The peaceful countryside was overflowing with men and bristlingwith bayonets; every village was a crammed-full military cantonment, every barn stuffed with soldiers like an overfilled barracks. 

The Adjutant whistled softly. "This, " he said, and nodded again andagain to the plain below, "this looks like business--at last. "

"Yes, " said the Colonel, "at last. It's going to be a very differentstory this time, when we begin to push things. "

"Hark at the guns, " said the Adjutant, and both stood silent a momentlistening to the long, deep, rolling thunder that boomed steady andunbroken as surf on a distant beach. "And they're our guns too, mostly, " went on the Adjutant. "I suppose we're firing more shells inan ordinary trench-war-routine day now than we dared fire in a monththis time last year. Last year we were short of shells, the year beforewe were short of guns and shells and men. Now hear the guns and lookdown there at a few of the men. "

Through the still air rose from below them the shrill crow of afarmyard rooster, the placid mooing of a cow, the calls and laughter ofsome romping children. 

But the two on the hillside had no ear for these sounds of peace. Theyheard only that distant sullen boom of the rumbling guns, the throbbingfoot-beats of the marching battalions below them, the plop-ploppinghoofs and rattling wheels of wagons passing on their way up to thefiring line with food for the guns. 

"Our turn coming, " said the Adjutant--"at last. "

"Yes, " the Colonel said, and repeated grimly--"at last. "