Part 11 (1/2)

”There'll be some fun when the Transport comes along,” said the Senior Subaltern, with unholy glee.

He was right: there probably would be a great deal of ”fun.” The Battery was not more than fifty yards from the road on the left, while on the right there was a drop, at an angle of at least sixty degrees, of twenty yards. He imagined the frightened horses careering madly down the slope, the carts and wagons b.u.mping and cras.h.i.+ng down upon them--the kicking, struggling heap below!

Then, just as it was growing dark, they reached the edge of the plateau, and the huge rolling valley of the Aisne swam before them in the purple twilight. The further heights were already wrapt up in darkness; and the ground, glowing green at their feet, merged in the distance to rich velvet patches of purple and brown. The river itself was hidden by the trees cl.u.s.tering round its banks, but they could guess its course, winding away for a score or so of miles to the east.

”What a beautiful scene,” he said reverently.

The Senior Subaltern may, or may not, have appreciated the beauty of the scene. His eye was on the further heights.

”This is where they will try to stand,” he said.

And, as usual, he was right.

They looked across to where the dark heights opposite were thrown out clearly against the pale sky, faintly yellow with the reflected glory of the sunset at their backs. Lights momentarily twinkled, now here, now there, intermittently along the whole line, as far as they could see. It was just as if matches were being struck, and instantly blown out again.

But all the time the low, booming noise floated across to them. It was the German heavy artillery, slinging over heavier projectiles than, so far, it had been their bad fortune to meet.

Just as they were entering a little village, nestling half-way down the slope, a tremendous explosion happened. There was a thunder-clap of noise, and a perfect cloud of earth and stones and wood was thrown high into the air. It was their introduction to the famous ”Jack Johnson.”

But, ”Jack Johnson” or no ”Jack Johnson,” they marched on into the village, and were allotted billets for the night. The men of the Company were very comfortably accommodated in a barn half filled with dry hay, which, of course, is a great deal more pleasant to sleep upon than straw. The Officers went into a little cottage by the barn, and, having intimated to the owner of it that they were willing to buy anything she could sell them to eat or drink, flung off their equipment and went out into the little farmyard.

The air was rosy with the sunset light; even the rising dust was golden.

The sky overhead was the palest of dusky whites. It was not a sky: it was just Eternity. Out of it, infinitely far, yet comparatively close, a few stars were beginning to wink.

The men in the yard were cooking their evening meal over a few little fires, squatting over them, eyeing anxiously the brewing tea or frizzling bacon. It was impossible to feel nervous or discontented. The very atmosphere was benign. It seemed as if ”G.o.d was in His Heaven,” and all was well with the World.

CHAPTER XXIV

SAt.u.r.dAY NIGHT

Every picture wakened in the mind of the reader by the preceding chapters should be bathed in the brightest of suns.h.i.+ne, under the bluest of skies, and the horizons should quiver with the blue heat. From now onwards he must imagine grey skies, often streaming rain, and always muddy roads and sodden gra.s.s.

That day saw the inauguration of a new kind of misery for our troops.

Dust, heat and thirst, their previous tormentors, retired in favour of mud, chill and an unappeasable hunger. Their overstrained nerves and worn bodies rendered them very susceptible even to the first breath of autumn.

The Subaltern had lost all his underwear except his s.h.i.+rt, and part of his socks. His breeches were torn at the knee, and he felt the chill of the wind very acutely. He could feel the damp mud through the flapping toes of his boot.

Then it began to rain--no mere light summer shower, that cooled one's face and clothes, and delightfully wet one's hands, but a real autumnal downpour. Hastily he undid the straps which tied his Burberry, and shuffled into it, as he marched along. It was caked with mud, and smelt of the earth that he had so often grovelled in, but as he fastened the hooks beneath his chin, he felt profoundly glad of it, elated that he had something to keep off the chill and wet. He b.u.t.toned it down to his knees and experienced the faint sensation of comfort that one feels when drawing one's blinds to shut out a stormy night.

Then the guns began to rattle by; always an ominous sign, for it meant that battle was imminent. It was a remarkable thing that neither infantry nor artillery took much notice of each other as they met. The guns and carriages would thunder and b.u.mp and clatter over the pave, the thickset horses straining at their harness, the drivers urging them on.

But the infantry would plod along just the same, regardless of the noise and bustle. The men would not even raise their eyes from the boots of the preceding four.

Very soon after the last gun-carriage had rattled past, sounds of a bombardment would be heard--the bangs and whizz of sh.e.l.ls. The Column would probably be halted, while a reconnaissance was made to ascertain in what force the enemy was holding his position. As a rule, deployments were not necessary, for the artillery generally succeeded in dislodging the enemy off their own bat. Such affairs as this happened no less than three times before it was dark, and in each case the Germans had had to leave their dead and wounded behind them.

One poor fellow lay with his head propped up against a heap of stones by the wayside. His chin and mouth had been torn from his face, and the ragged flesh hung in tatters, red and bleeding, as it had been torn.

Almost before their eyes the man was pa.s.sing away. It was awful.

”Poor devil, all this 'ere wasn't 'is fault, yer know,” a man muttered.