Part 19 (1/2)

”In you go!” said that martinet.

Peter silently obeyed. It was the only time in his life that he ever felt mutinous.

A month later Brigade Training set in with customary severity. The life of company officers became a burden. They spent hours in thick woods with their followers, taking cover, ostensibly from the enemy, in reality from brigade-majors and staff officers. A subaltern never tied his platoon in a knot but a general came trotting round the corner. The wet weather had ceased, and a biting east wind reigned in its stead.

On one occasion an elaborate night operation was arranged. Four battalions were to a.s.semble at a given point five miles from camp, and then advance in column across country by the light of the stars to a position indicated on the map, where they were to deploy and dig themselves in! It sounded simple enough in operation orders; but when you try to move four thousand troops--even well-trained troops--across three miles of broken country on a pitch-dark night, there is always a possibility that some one will get mislaid. On this particular occasion a whole battalion lost itself without any delay or difficulty whatsoever. The other three were compelled to wait for two hours and a half, stamping their feet and blowing on their fingers, while overheated staff officers scoured the country for the truants. They were discovered at last waiting virtuously at the wrong rendezvous, three-quarters of a mile away. The brazen-hatted strategist who drew up the operation orders had given the point of a.s.sembly for the brigade as: ... _the field_ S.W. _of_ WELLINGTON WOOD _and due_ E.

_of_ HANGMAN'S COPSE, _immediately below the first_ O _in_ GHOSTLY BOTTOM,--but omitted to underline the O indicated. The result was that three battalion commanders a.s.sembled at the O in ”ghostly,” while the fourth, ignoring the adjective in favour of the noun, took up his station at the first O in ”bottom.”

The operations had been somewhat optimistically timed to end at 11 P.M., but by the time that the four battalions had effected a most unloverly tryst, it was close on ten, and beginning to rain. The consequence was that the men got home to bed, soaked to the skin, and asking the Powers Above rhetorical questions, at three o'clock in the morning.

Next day Brigade Orders announced that the movement would be continued at nightfall, by the occupation of the hastily-dug trenches, followed by a night attack upon the hill in front. The captured position would then be retrenched.

When the tidings went round, fourteen of the more quick-witted spirits of ”A” Company hurriedly paraded before the Medical Officer and announced that they were ”sick in the stomach.” Seven more discovered abrasions upon their feet, and proffered their sores for inspection, after the manner of Oriental mendicants. One skrimshanker, despairing of producing any bodily ailment, rather ingeniously a.s.saulted a comrade-in-arms, and was led away, deeply grateful, to the guard-room.

Wee Peter, who in the course of last night's operations had stumbled into an old trench half-filled with ice-cold water, and whose temperature to-day, had he known it, was a hundred and two, paraded with his company at the appointed time. The company, he reflected, would get a bad name if too many men reported sick at once.

Next day he was absent from parade. He was ”for Cambridge” at last.

Before he died, he sent for the officer who had befriended him, and supplemented, or rather corrected, some of the information contained in his attestation paper.

He lived in Dumbarton, not Renfrews.h.i.+re. He was just sixteen. He was not--this confession cost him a great effort--a full-blown ”holder-on”

at all; only an apprentice. His father was ”weel kent” in the town of Dumbarton, being a chief engineer, employed by a great firm of s.h.i.+pbuilders to extend new machinery on trial trips.

Needless to say, he made a great fight. But though his heart was big enough, his body was too frail. As they say on the sea, he was over-engined for his beam.

And so, three days later, the simple soul of Twenty-seven fifty-four Carmichael, ”A” Company, was transferred, on promotion, to another company--the great Company of Happy Warriors who walk the Elysian Fields.

III

”_Firing parrty, one round blank_--_load_!”

There is a rattle of bolts, and a dozen barrels are pointed heavenwards. The company stands rigid, except the buglers, who are beginning to finger their instruments.

”_Fire!_”

There is a crackling volley, and the pipes break into a brief, sobbing wail. Wayfarers upon the road below look up curiously. One or two young females with perambulators come hurrying across the gra.s.s, exhorting apathetic babies to sit up and admire the pretty funeral.

Twice more the rifles ring out. The pipes cease their wailing, and there is an expectant silence.

The drum-major crooks his little finger, and eight bugles come to the ”ready.” Then ”Last Post,” the requiem of every soldier of the King, swells out, sweet and true.

The echoes lose themselves among the dripping pines. The chaplain closes his book, takes off his spectacles, and departs.

Old Carmichael permits himself one brief look into his son's grave, resumes his c.r.a.pe-bound tall hat, and turns heavily away. He finds Captain Blaikie's hand waiting for him. He grips it, and says--

”Weel, the laddie has had a grand sojer's funeral. His mother will be pleased to hear that.”

He pa.s.ses on, and shakes hands with the platoon sergeant and one or two of Peter's cronies. He declines an invitation to the Sergeants'

Mess.