Part 12 (2/2)

In a few seconds the bank was reached. Here he made a temporary halt for the men to recover their breath. Men cannot be expected to shoot well if they cannot breathe.

Half a minute pa.s.sed, and he began to consider the advisability of sending out several scouts to reconnoitre, as the whole responsibility of command in that part seemed to rest with him.

”'Ere's the Captain a-comin' up,” said a man.

Sure enough, there he was, coming up behind the bank. The Subaltern heaved a sigh of relief.

”D'you know what this is all about, sir?”

”No,” said the Captain, as much as to say ”How should I?”

”We had better hold on here, and wait and see what is to be done,” he added.

Arm-chair strategists may not know it, but a man who has not learned how to ”wait and see” is not much use in tactical warfare. War is not, as some people seem to think, an excuse for a perfect orgy of recklessness.

But that is by the way.

”It would not be a bad idea if you went forward to see what is happening. I think I can see some people coming up between the trees on the left there.”

The Subaltern set out, without loss of time. Yes, there certainly were ”people” advancing cautiously up the hill, from round the corner, but there were not many of them. Still crouching, he began once more to mount the hill. As he neared the top, he dropped on his hands and knees in the long gra.s.s, as he feared that he might unwittingly appear over the enemy's skyline, and be shot down where he stood.

He peered cautiously about him. The summit of the hill was round and smooth. Not a particle of cover was offered, but about twenty yards down the other side he saw the edge of a dense wood, which appeared to roll, uninterrupted, half-way up the further slope. The top of this slope formed the skyline, and seemed to be about three-quarters of a mile away. Except for the men working their way up on his left, whom he had already noticed, there was not a man in sight; but the sh.e.l.ls were still sailing overhead.

At length the party came up, and amongst them was the Colonel of one of the Battalions in the Brigade. The Subaltern immediately asked him for orders.

”As far as I can see,” said the Colonel, ”this hill is a sort of salient in our line. The enemy are probably holding that ridge along there,” pointing to the skyline. ”Anyway, we will hold on to this hill until I have orders for a general attack.”

The Subaltern walked down the hill to report what he had found out.

”All right,” said the Captain; ”you had better take your Platoon and all these men round about here, and help to hold on to the hill.”

He called for his Section Commanders, explained what was to be done, and set off once more. As they were just about to cross the crest, he signalled to them to ”get down,” and at length they took up a sort of position along the edge of the wood on the other side.

The enemy had evidently not ”spotted” them, and they were left in peace for an hour. Then their troubles began.

It seemed as though the hill suddenly became a place of vast importance.

The Colonel arrived upon the scene, with reinforcements of over a hundred men, and they immediately set to work putting the hill into a state of defence. Then a battery of field guns were drawn up into position on the ”safe” side of the hill, and began without delay to sh.e.l.l the enemy. Their arrival, however, was decidedly a mixed blessing.

So far, the troops had held the hill quite successfully, and had been undisturbed by hostile artillery, for the simple reason that the enemy was unaware of their positions. Now the artillery had come and ”given the whole show away,” and no sooner did the enemy discover that the hill was held, than he began forthwith to bombard them.

It was obviously impossible to continue ”digging in.” The only thing to do was to squeeze one's self into the ground, and pray. It seemed as if the t.i.tanic thunderbolts, that had hitherto been hurled aimlessly about, were suddenly concentrated on that one spot. It seemed as if all the G.o.ds in Olympus were hurling their rage upon it, determined to obliterate it from the face of the earth. The most gigantic guns that had ever been used in war were concentrating their fire upon it, and the result was awful. Nothing they had experienced before was comparable to it. It seemed as if the ground were being thrashed with whips of a thousand leaden-loaded thongs. The smell of the lyddite was nauseating, the uproar stupefying. Dust rose in the air; trees crashed to the ground.

h.e.l.l was let loose: h.e.l.l and Death were das.h.i.+ng around, converting that normal sky and that sane earth into a Pandemonium. The wonder was that a human life was spared. The Subaltern had a fleeting feeling that every one except himself must be dead. When the storm seemed for a moment to have abated, he looked around him and was surprised to see that very little damage had been done to the men. An inexperienced eye would possibly not have detected any casualties at all. From a Kipling point of view, the scene was an artistic failure. Not a man was shrieking; not a man ”clawing up the ground.” Here and there men had rolled over on their sides, and were groaning quite softly to themselves. Here and there a purple patch in the dusty khaki....

The instinct of men, like animals, is to crawl quietly away from their fellows, and die in solitude.

The Colonel, very little perturbed by the bombardment, had sat throughout with his back resting against a tree, writing messages, or glaring at the map. Once, a large piece of sh.e.l.l casing had buried itself in the ground a few inches from his leg. The jagged piece was hot and heavy.

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