Part 14 (2/2)

so naturally the work could not be very elaborate. Moreover, the thought that such works would be wanted for longer than a day or two never entered their heads. Each man dug a shelter for himself, according to his skill, ingenuity and perseverance. There was little or no attempt at digging a long, consecutive trench. A series of holes had been dug, that was all.

The monotony of the night was broken by the arrival and distribution of rations. An hour or so after this had been accomplished the east began to grow grey, and they were soon able to take stock of their surroundings.

The trenches, or rather holes, were dug on the side of the road. Behind them the ground sloped straight down to the ca.n.a.l. They could not actually see the enemy trenches; and there was no attempt made by either side to ”snipe.”

The first day of trench life--if such it could be called--was not a very trying experience. There was nothing to do except a little improvement of the shelters. Their only duty was to ”wait and see.” It was not cold, and they had their rations. The Subaltern dug, and slept, and ate, and then dug again, and thus the day pa.s.sed. Indeed, he even began to write a long letter home in his notebook, but he lost the pages almost as soon as they were written.

They were sh.e.l.led twice during the day, but all one had to do was to lie comfortably in one's ”funk hole” and wait for the ”hate” to die down.

After many experiences in the open, without a particle of cover, being sh.e.l.led in deep holes had few terrors.

”Of course,” he said to himself, ”if they get a direct hit on this hole I'm done for, but otherwise I'm pretty safe.”

Nevertheless, in spite of the holes, several men were carried away.

The greatest inconvenience to the place was the stench of decaying horses. About twenty yards down the hill the horses belonging to a whole Battery had been struck by a sh.e.l.l. About a dozen of them lay dead where they had been standing. The story had been told of how one of the Subalterns of the other Company had left his hole, rifle in hand, in the middle of a bombardment, to put the wounded animals out of their agony.

He had succeeded in shooting them all, but on his way back had been struck in the foot with a piece of sh.e.l.l casing. It was an heroic, kindly act, typical of the brave man who did it. But it seemed a pity....

It was, of course, impossible to bury the dead animals, and to drag them further away was out of the question in the daylight. There was nothing else to do but to sit tight and endure in silence.

Their second night in the trenches was merely a repet.i.tion of the first.

After a lively sunset fusillade had died down, the Germans lay quiet until dawn. The German artillery were so regular in their habits that it almost seemed as though they must be working by a printed programme, which directed that at six o'clock precisely in the morning, every battery was to fire off a certain number of rounds, absolutely regardless of whatever targets they might have been offered, and, having fired the requisite number of rounds, the battery was to lie quiet until, say, eleven o'clock. Of course, the thing was ludicrous, but it seemed to be the only explanation.

A mail was included in the rations. He himself drew blank, but the Senior Subaltern was sent a box of chocolates. The sight of them, on Active Service, was a farce. They were not the usual sort of chocolates that one saw--”plain,” useful, nouris.h.i.+ng chocolates. They were frankly fancy chocolates, creams with sugared tops, filled with nuts, marzipan, or jellies, inseparable from a drawing-room, and therefore ten times more acceptable and delightful.

He got not a single letter from home, not from any one. Not that he minded much, at that time. Home, parents--any softness of any description--would have seemed unreal.

The happiness of the following day was very much impaired by rain, which fell intermittently throughout the whole day. After the first shower he got up and began to look about him for some sort of protection. Rather than have nothing, he picked up a waterproof sheet that had belonged to a wounded man. It was covered with blood, but the next shower soon washed all trace of it off, and it kept him dry.

The next night, just after rations had been distributed, an order came to march off. Haste, it seemed, was imperative. And so, leaving behind as few things as possible, he paraded his men, without knowing where they were to go, and saw them set off behind the front Platoon. Just as he was about to set off himself, he slipped down the side of one of the holes, and as he fled, his sword slid from its scabbard, and vanished.

He knew the chances of returning to that particular spot were five to one against, and he was determined to ”hang on” to his sword, come what might, so he let his Platoon go on, while he groped about in the darkness for it. It seemed incredible that a sword could hide itself so completely. He kicked about in the pitch-dark for what seemed to be endless minutes before his foot knocked against it. He ”pushed it home”

hurriedly, and started off in pursuit of the men.

But the darkness had swallowed them up. He followed the road right into Poussey, but still there was no sign of them. No troops, he learned, had pa.s.sed through since the previous morning. Evidently they had not gone that way. The only alternative was the ”awkward” road over the ca.n.a.l bridge which led into the next village on the line--Souvir.

CHAPTER XXVIII

IN RESERVE AT SOUVIR

He hurried on, for morning would break in half-an-hour, and he did not wish to be caught in that unwholesome hundred yards the other side of the ca.n.a.l bridge. He overtook his men sooner than he expected, and the open s.p.a.ce was pa.s.sed without any resistance.

”They're probably expecting a big attack at dawn, and they've brought us up in reserve again,” some one said.

Sure enough, the attack took place, but, like its predecessor, it failed, and they naturally expected to be sent back to the trenches at Poussey. In this, however, they were disappointed. Dawn having broken, it was apparently thought to be needlessly imprudent to make the Battalion run the gauntlet once again. So they were allowed to stay where they were, with the caution that they were to be ready to move within five minutes of the Colonel's receipt of the order. It may sound a long time, but only a smart and efficient Battalion can do it. The Adjutant has to open and acquaint the C.O. of the order. He has to rap out his own orders. Sleeping men have to be roused, equipment thrown on, arms taken up. The men have to ”fall in” in their right sections; have to be numbered, have to form fours. If there is any muddle whatever, a Battalion cannot move off in five minutes.

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