Part 11 (2/2)

He spoke to the sergeant who had given him a description of the first battle of Ypres some time before. The sergeant was comparatively cool; he had been through it before.

”It's nothing to you whether we are doing anything or not,” replied the sergeant, ”besides, don't be a fool; our guns are giving them as hot a time as their guns are giving us. Don't lose your head.”

”I wouldn't mind if I could do something,” said the poor boy, trembling.

”Do! Unless I'm mistaken there will be enough for us all to do very soon. There! firing has ceased! Look out!”

It was as the sergeant said; almost suddenly there was a calm, and a few seconds later Tom heard a command which made his knees knock together.

What happened after that Tom could never describe; even if he could, he would not have done so. As he has said to me more than once, ”It was not something to talk about, it was a matter of bayonet work; it was fighting face to face, steel to steel.”

Tom didn't feel fear now; all that was gone. His muscles were hard, his thoughts were tense, he saw red! Presently he had a conviction that we were gaining ground, and he suddenly became aware of the fact that we had gained the better of the situation and had returned to our trenches. A number of the enemy had been taken prisoners, and the plot which the Germans had hatched had come to nothing. Immediately afterwards something happened which Tom never forgot. A German officer lay wounded some little distance from the trench which the English had taken, and piteously cried for help.

”Which of you chaps will volunteer to go and fetch him in?” cried a young officer whose bravery that day had been the talk of all the men.

Each looked to the other as if for response; they were dazed and bewildered by all they had gone through.

”I say,” said another officer, ”you can't expect any of the chaps to do that. Directly the Huns see any one going to him they will shoot him.

Besides, he may be nearly dead; better put an end to him.”

”But hear how he groans!” cried the young fellow. ”There, I'll do it.”

He leapt from the trench and rushed along the intervening s.p.a.ce for perhaps about fifty yards; then lifting the German officer bodily, he brought him back to safety.

”I am parched--parched!” cried the German, as if in agony, ”give me water.” The young Englishman got a cup of water and held it to the German's lips, but even as he did so the German drew his revolver and shot him through the heart.[1]

What happened to the German after that I will not try to relate. Why am I describing this, and why have I mentioned this incident? Only that our people at home may realise what heroes our lads are; what they have to face in order to save our country, and what kind of an enemy they have to deal with. I am describing it to try if possible to raise a blush of shame on the faces of those s.h.i.+rkers at home who are a disgrace to the name of Englishman.

Tom pa.s.sed through this ordeal without a scratch, and by and by when his company was relieved, and he returned to a place of safety, the whole episode seemed but a ghastly dream. And yet it caused a great change to Tom's life. If he had been asked to describe it he would not have been able to do so; it was something subtle, elusive; but the change was there. He felt as though he had a new conception of life; and he realised its tremendousness as he had never realised it before.

He was by no means given to philosophising, but two things impressed him. One was the tremendous amount of heroism that lay latent in the commonplace lads who had come out with him. He knew many of them before they joined the Army; knew them just as they were. Humdrum workaday boys who did not seem capable of anything like heroism; but the war had brought out new qualities, fine qualities. He saw how those men were willing to sacrifice themselves for others; saw them doing all sorts of glorious deeds. One fellow impressed him tremendously. He himself was wounded, but not badly, for he could easily have crawled to a place of safety; and yet he remained with a comrade, holding his head on his knees and ministering to him as tenderly as a woman, in a spot where life could not be valued at a pin's purchase. Deeds like that are common at the Front.

The other thing which impressed him was the tremendous power of religion. Before he went up to the firing line he had heard one officer say to another, ”I wish the chaplains could be allowed to go up to the front line of trenches. You see, when men have no religion to support them, the constant bombardment and danger make them jumpy.”

Tom realised what this meant after the action I have just described.

He himself felt that he needed a Power greater than his own, to steady him.

Tom had just heard that he was to go on duty at the front trench again, when pa.s.sing along by the ca.n.a.l towards one of the officers' dug-outs he saw a staff officer talking with the major of his own battalion.

Tom lifted his hand to salute, when the staff officer turned and spoke to him.

”Ah, is that you, Pollard?”

”Yes, Mr. Waterman--that is, yes, sir,” stammered Tom.

”I hope you are doing well,” said Waterman.

”I am still alive, thank you, sir,” and then he pa.s.sed on.

”He's got a safe job anyhow,” thought Tom, ”he'll be at the Divisional Headquarters I expect; well, he's a clever fellow.”

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