Introductory material (continued 3)

The order to stand down had long since been given and the men were now busy preparing their breakfasts. Braziers were alight in the dug-outs and the red glow of flaming coke stood out in vivid contrast to the dark interiors. Little wreaths of pale smoke curled up over the trench and the air was full of the odour of frying bacon. Spudhole was frying his bread in the grease and to judge by the expression on his face he was very interested in his work. Nothing else seemed to trouble him. The sniper's bullet hit the sandbag again and a spurt of chalk was whisked into the frying-pan. The youth looked up, obviously annoyed, and swore whole-heartedly; then he bent to his work again.

Breakfast ready, Bubb, Bowdy and Flanagan sat on the fire-step and ate.

"I've an appetite like the war Casualty List," said Flanagan. "It's always crying for 'More! More!' and is never satisfied. It's almost as bad as Bubb when he came back from hospital."

"I'd ravver be 'ere than in the 'orsp," said Bubb. "This breakfast is not to be larfed at."

The fare was indeed excellent and every man did it justice. Each had a mess-tin of tea, a thick slice of buttered bread and a rasher of bacon. Tongues were loosened and the talk became general for there were so many things to talk about. The week-old papers which came by last night's post were read and comments passed on the contents. A full page advertisement in a leading daily came in for a fair share of sarcasm. This advertisement told of the virtues of a wonderful beauty cream just discovered. It gave a most delightfully delicate pink flush to the skin and took away the effects of twenty or thirty years' wear from a woman's face. It was the talk of London. All the society women were using it. Lady So-and-So said so-and-so about it; the celebrated actress A—— vowed that it was the one thing which England had waited for since the early part of the last century, etc.

"For my own part I wish they invented some-thin' to take away the crawlers off my clothes," Spudhole remarked as he finished his tea. "I'm goin' to 'ave a coot."

He got to his feet, took off his tunic and donned his equipment over his shirt. Bowdy went into the dug-out to have a few hours' sleep; Flanagan sat down on the fire-step and lit a cigarette.

"It's getting quite hot, Spudhole," he said.

"'Ot as 'ell," Spudhole replied.

At that moment a shell burst amidst the poppy flowers on the open in front of the sector and Spudhole, who was making his way towards the dug-out door clapped his hand to his neck and exclaimed: "I've copped one this time; it's givin' me gyp!"

Flanagan shouted "Stretcher bearers!" Then he turned to help his mate but even as he did so he felt a sudden penetrating pain pierce his own chin, and the wasp which was responsible for the sting flew off to a safe distance and poised itself in the air over the dug-out. Fitzgerald, knowing that it was contemplating another attack, prepared to retreat.

"It's wasps, Spudhole!" he yelled. "We'll clear off round the corner."

But before they moved Bowdy Benners rushed out of the dug-out, festooned with angry wasps.

"Good God!" he yelled, striking out with both hands. "I'm stung to death. My pillow was a nest of the swine! Git out, you vermin!... Got that one! Did I? He's stung my finger.... Oh! blast!..."

The three retreated at the double round the traverse and into the next bay. The occupants were just sitting down to breakfast, a good breakfast, for the post had come and parcels were bulky.

"Wot the blazes is this?" one of them exclaimed as the crush of men rounded the corner waving their arms about their heads. "These 'ere blokes are working their tickets, I suppose!"

He finished his remark with a yell, for an enterprising wasp had flown the rout and stung the speaker on the nose. Then the insect made the round of the breakfast party. A few fled instantly and escaped, others took to their heels at the first sting, but the man who waited to pick up the sultana cake and the tin of sardines had all the colours of a Board School map on his face for weeks afterwards.

A narrow, crooked trench infested by furious wasps is not a healthy locality. The insects outmanœuvred the soldiers at every turn. The men turned the third buttress feeling that they had escaped their persecutors only to find that the insects had crossed the top of the traverse and were in waiting round the corner. As a man runs a trench is a weary pathway, as a wasp flies it presents no difficulties.

The place was in an uproar. The wasps had attacked on both sides, some drove the men left, others flew after them on the right. In every bay their numbers seemed to have increased; at the traverse turning the soldiers eluded them for a moment only to encounter them in the next bay. A number of men sought safety in the dugouts; the wasps followed and drove them out into the perilous trench again. When the first officer was met he stood for a moment with one foot in the trench, one on the firestep, and stared in astonishment. His wonderment was short-lived. A wasp announced itself when it alighted on his ear, and immediately the subaltern became one with the rout.

Spudhole was now wounded in several places. The morning had been fine, and like the rest of his mates, he was in shirt-sleeves fighting order.

"I've copped a sting again," he yelled. "That's umpty eleven times. I always said that I didn't 'old with a war like this un. Bombs and bullets, whizz-bangs and pip-squeaks and now these 'ere God-forsaken wopses.... That's anuver one, a blurry Boche. 'E sniped me from the rim of me cap.... God! Platoons of 'em.... Oh! damn! That un took me at the rear where I should 'ave a patch on me trousers...."

Again a bay was entered where another merry party was sitting down to breakfast; a gargantuan spread of fried bacon, toast and trench tea. A platoon officer was sharing in the meal. He was a stout good-natured man with a bald head, baby-pink and shiny. The advance party of wasps could not miss the head; the pests came to a halt on it, and being nasty, they stung when they alighted. The officer yelled several words which the men had never noticed in his vocabulary before. Groping frantically for his hat, which, as often happens in a crisis, was nowhere to be found, he overturned the brazier, the toast-rack, and several canteens of tea, scalding the feet of a number of men who were seated on the firestep.... The soldiers were up in an instant and raced off along the trench. Rifles, equipment and ammunition were flung down on the floor and trampled into the clay and rubble.

At this point, Spudhole was seized with a happy thought. A newspaper had fallen on the fire and was bursting into flame. Spudhole, seizing the lighted paper, held it close to his face and kept the wasps away for a moment.

"But wot is the good of it," he grumbled as the flames died down. "I'm getting stung be'ind and burned in front. I'm off!" and, throwing the paper down, he fled.

Struggling, shoving and waving their arms about, the men hustled along the narrow alley. Two soldiers scrambled up over the top out into the open, but, being seen by the enemy, a brisk rifle fire was opened on them and they fled back into their wasp-infested shelter again.

At this point Sergeant Snogger was heard. Seeing two men rushing out into the open field waving their arms over their heads, he stared at them open-mouthed and rubbed his eyes with both hands. A hidden sniper had been potting at the parapet for days!... The action was not in keeping with trench discipline; in fact if the men did not return immediately they'd "be damned unlucky!"

"Back! Ye fools, come back!" he yelled. "Wot the blazes—was that!"

The wasp swept past his face like a spent bullet, swung back again and stung him on the forehead. A second caught him on the neck, a third on the arm. He turned and ran.

For Flanagan, he was unlucky enough to have his puttees off when the stampede started, and in a few moments a wasp had got up the leg of his trousers. It stung him half-a-dozen times before he squashed it to pulp....

What happened when the Irish rushed into a Highland regiment on the right must be left to the reader's imagination. Never before had the Gael been so conscious of the nakedness of his knees. He gave vent to his wrath in vehement words and it was found difficult to ascertain whether his anger was directed against the wasps or the men who were responsible for their coming.

Was it at the hundredth traverse or the thousandth that the effectives of the besetting force lost an appreciable amount of intensity? That was a matter for conjecture, but this alone is known. A jar of marmalade which got overthrown in a bay enticed the insects, and many stopped to feast on the disbanded treasure. But a few followed with unabated ardour; these were counter-attacked and destroyed, and afterwards the soldiers bombed the "Bay of the Broken Jar" with a certain amount of success.

The Irish strode back defiant and alert, ready for anything. But the wasps gave no further trouble; here and there one or two were seen poised in air over a line of sandbags, but these fled at the approach of the men.

The dug-out in which they had originally entrenched was left in complete seclusion for the rest of the day, and at night Bowdy and his two mates approached the place in slow, methodical order. They found the wasps' nest in a corner of the wall and poured two mess-tins of boiling water on it. A third mess-tin remained but it was not needed.

"We'll 'ave a drop of char now," said Bubb. "The evenin's gettin' cold now and we want somefing 'ot."

"Righto!" said Bowdy. "I'll light a fire in here now that the wasps are gone."

He lit a fire, boiled the water and made the tea. Outside a sniper was potting at the roof of the dug-out. He had been sniping all day, from where, none could determine.

"Wonder what he's doing it for," Bowdy asked as he sat down and reached for the mess-tin which was bubbling merrily on the brazier. "He'll never pot one of us."

Even as he touched the mess-tin a bullet ricochetted off the parapet outside, hissed into the dug-out and pierced the bottom of the mess-tin. The tea poured out and extinguished the fire.

"Well, that's past a joke," Bowdy muttered. "Blow me blind if I'm not going out to-night to let daylight through that boundering Boche."

CHAPTER XIV THE SNIPER

Having blackened his face with a burnt cork, Bowdy Benners fixed his sword on his rifle and clambered over the parapet into No Man's Land. The hour was midnight; the darkness had settled on the firing line and the starshells were rioting in the skies. Although the day had been hot and bright the sky was now covered with clouds, not a star was visible and objects quite near at hand could scarcely be distinguished. The air was warm and still and not a blade of grass was moving. The only sound which Bowdy Benners could hear was the dull rustle of his own clothes as he crawled across the level ground on all fours making his way towards the German lines.

Bowdy was out on a great project, an adventure after his own heart. For many days the German had been potting at Cologne sector, but none had been able to locate the position of the sniper. One thing, however, was evident: he was stationed somewhere in No Man's Land. The German trenches were hidden behind a hillock and the English trenches were immune from observation from that quarter.

Bowdy crawled carefully forward, his eyes alert and his ears strained for any untoward sound. Now and again a flash would light up the levels in front and he could hear a bullet sing past his ears towards the sector which he had just left. But the flash was deceptive and lights were very misleading in the darkness. The sniper took care to fire only when a starshell held the sky above him. In this way, the flash of the rifle, merging as it did into the flare of the starshell, could hardly lay claim to a separate existence.

"I'm not going to find him," muttered Bowdy Benners under his breath. "It's like looking for a needle in.... Blimey! That was a near go."

A bullet swept past Bowdy's head with such a vicious hiss that he put up his hand to feel if it had touched him. But he was unharmed.

"Blow me blind!" he muttered, and crawled forward hurriedly. "Blow me stone blind if that wasn't a near go. The bounder can't see me," he thought. "I haven't blackened my face for nothing."

He continued crawling stealthily on his stomach, dragging his rifle after him. Every movement was made softly, but to Benners the sound of his trousers rubbing on the grass seemed to carry out as far as the German trenches. Now and again, as he lay still and stared at the level in front, he thought he could discern something moving. Then he would remain absolutely motionless for a few minutes, listening and watching. But all was quiet; nothing to be heard save the wind rustling and a stray mouse running through a little clump of bracken ahead.

The sniper had become very quiet now; his rifle had not spoken for several minutes.

"He'll be having a kip," Bowdy thought, and got to his feet.

The long crawl had made his knees sore and his feet felt numb. Standing upright, he placed his rifle between his knees and stretched his arms. The light of the last starshell had died away, the circle of horizon had grown smaller and in the near distance objects stood out weirdly silhouetted with a blurred, though definite outline. It was then that several starshells went up together and the open was lit with the brilliance of day. In the glaring light Benners saw the sniper. He was standing barely a dozen yards away, his hand resting on his rifle. Benners could see that he had his sword fixed and the steel shone brightly.

"I'll make him a prisoner," Benners said in a loud voice, and made at the man as a hawk swoops on a lark.

The sniper heard Benners approach, turned his eyes and sprang up to a position of defence.

"Has he a round in the breech?" Benners asked himself. "Shall I fire at him or not?"

Even as he approached, Bowdy saw the German raise his rifle to his shoulder and a sharp report rang out. Bowdy blinked at the flash, but the bullet went wide.

"I'll settle you," he said in a loud voice, and, rushing up, he thrust his bayonet forward. The sniper parried it and for a moment there was a brisk duel, then Bowdy saw an opening for a left point, a favourite of his, which had never failed. Now, however, it did not work. The sniper stepped to the right; by a deft move brought his own bayonet point downwards to the ground and Bowdy tripped across it in the rush forward and went to earth.

"Blow me blind!" muttered Bowdy as he fell, and made a wild effort to secure his own rifle which had slipped out of his hands. But in this he was unsuccessful; the darkness had fallen and the weapon had disappeared. No doubt it was lying quite near, but there was little time at Bowdy's command to scrutinise the field around him.

One hope, however, remained. As Bowdy fell his legs had managed to close around the German's rifle and the barrel of the weapon was held in a vice-like grip. Bowdy was the strongest man in the regiment; he was a grand man on the march, and on the mat a wrestler second to none. On march or mat he had no equal. He held the rifle taut for a moment, and in war the moment is often of supreme importance. As the German endeavoured to pull the bayonet clear, Bowdy let go his hold, got to his feet and gripped the man by the shoulders. For a second both wrestled fiercely and as they panted and strained the weapon dropped to the ground. Neither bent to lift it. A starshell rose into the heavens and the Englishman had a clear view of the sniper. He could see that he was deep-chested, unshapely, bearded....

He glared at Benners with malignant eyes, and his lips twisted into a snarl that almost reached his heavy brows. "You haf no chance with me," he grunted. "I am wrestler on English music halls." Then, with a yell, he struck out with both fists for Benners' head, and Bowdy, wise with the wisdom born of a thousand aching contests, ducked and dodged, just in time to evade the blow to the head and the kick which the sniper aimed for his stomach. Followed a mad tussle of flying fists and swiftly moving bodies. Then came an instant's lull, and the fighters clutched one another in a tense embrace; Benners' hand resting on the sniper's face, the sniper's fist on Benners' stomach.

Breaking from the clinch, Benners stepped backwards only to return again with a heavy left-handed blow which took his opponent full on the jowl; the German never winced.

"A damned professional wrestler!" muttered Benners and instinctively he knew that he had met a man who would take any amount of beating.

Benners crouched, his left foot a trifle advanced; his head drawn down well between his shoulders and shielded by one of his hands. The other hand covered his stomach. The sniper paused irresolute for a moment, then, with tiger-like fury, he swung into his man, striking out rapidly with both fists. Guarding his body carefully, Benners waited, ready for an opening, and when he saw his way he drove heavily with both hands for the sniper's mouth. The two blows went home; the German stepped back several paces, his mouth dripping with blood. Both had now forgotten about their bayonets.... Rage took possession of the sniper, a terrible, murderous rage, and he was upon Benners, striking out with his knees, fists and boots. Benners crouched, holding his body compactly together and covered his face and stomach with his hands. For two minutes he struggled to endure. His enemy was well-nigh resistless, and all the rage and cunning of the tiger were loose in the man. Benners went to the ground and was twice kicked as he curled over in an endeavour to rise, but seizing a chance he gripped his opponent's ankle, and brought him heavily to the ground.

They fastened on to one another as they lay and still in embrace they got to their feet. As they stood Bowdy got his hand free and hit the sniper across the mouth. As if by mutual consent they broke apart and the sniper devoted the fraction of a second to wipe his mouth. Then he rushed in again and Benners backed round to save himself from a furious onslaught of stinging blows. The German, vital and overwhelming, seemed to be in his element. All the essence of passion, hate and elemental madness found expression in this onslaught. Thrice a twelve yard circle of ground was covered, Bowdy fighting gamely but ever giving backwards. His body and face were now covered with blood; and his hands went up, not in battle, but almost in mute protest against a crushing fatalism. The terrible charges of the sniper, the lightning thrusts of the man's fists were wearing Bowdy down. Suddenly the German, over-confident, struck out for his opponent's head, leaving his stomach unguarded, and Bowdy saw his chance and took it. A heavy swing of his left fist landed on the space between the ribs that fork outwards from the breastbone, and the sniper curled up and dropped like a wet rag to the ground. Bowdy fell beside him and the two men lay together, quiet as sleeping children.

Bowdy turned over on his back and breathed deeply for a space, then stumbled to his feet.

"I wish I had my bayonet," he muttered, rubbing his hand over his brow. "It's a fight between two of us, a fight to death.... By God! he can fight, too. But no wonder; he's a wrestler. And I feel done up."

Bowdy felt very weary. His head was spinning and he had great difficulty in standing upright. He had one consolation, however. The sniper was in as bad a state as he was. He looked down with vague eyes at the man and saw that he was recovering from his blow and the fighting devil was still strong within him. Groping his way to his feet, the sniper assumed an attitude of defence.

"Come on!" said Bowdy in an energetic tone. "I have no time to waste and I cannot strike ye when ye're sickly like that. Man! Ye should be ashamed of yerself. Fighter indeed!"

"English pig-dog" grunted the sniper and sweltering into a tornado of incoherent threats which the Englishman could not understand, he swept Bowdy round in a ring and landed lightning blows several times in quick succession. All the man's enormous vitality seemed to have been rekindled, a million beasts of prey were loose in his body. Benners, struggling fiercely in an endeavour to live through the tempest of his enemy's wrath, groped for a clinch and swept into its embrace. Here he was safe for a moment and hoped that the German would consume his strength. In this anticipated waste of the opponent's strength lay Benners' hope of success. Leaning his chin on the German's shoulder he had a moment to look round.

Unreality and ghostliness lay over No Man's Land and an uncanny atmosphere settled on the levels. Away down by Loos a bombardment had commenced and the red flashes of the guns lit up the restless salient. Near at hand could be seen a barbed wire entanglement, probably the enemy's.

Benners saw the flashes of the shells and asked himself what the time was. He felt that he had been fighting for hours and it appeared to him that he could never get the business to an end. The sniper seemed stronger than ever now; the man was surging with life and mad with hatred. He was a fiend, incarnate, terrible. Bowdy wondered vaguely as he snuggled his head over the sniper's shoulders if the man was tired, if he felt that the contest had lasted long enough.

As in answer to the unspoken thought, the German ducked and caught his man by the ankles and tried to raise him to his shoulders. Vaguely it drifted into Benners' mind that the German intended to throw him head foremost into the wires and he shuddered slightly and bent to resist the efforts which his opponent made to grip him.

For fully ten minutes both men swayed unsteadily as Benners disputed every inch of the ground on the way towards the entanglement. The sniper was irresistible, and step by step he urged his man nearer and nearer to the horrible barbs. Bowdy now knew what the man's intentions were and he summoned up all his strength. The blood from a gashed eyebrow was blinding him, but instinctively he did his utmost to press forward in an opposite way to that by which the sniper was taking him. Clutching and straining, he resisted gamely until suddenly he felt himself lifted clean from the ground and resting on the German's shoulders. There was a hurried rush towards the wires, the sniper holding on with all his strength and Bowdy struggling to break free. One of his hands stretched over the German's shoulders and Bowdy closed his fist and began to thump the man on the back. With a yell of rage, the sniper bent down, then straightened his back quickly and flung Bowdy from him. But he had miscalculated his throw and Bowdy, landing on his feet, had escaped from the danger that threatened him. But only for a moment. His man was upon him again and the Englishman was flung with a crash into the barbed contraption of war. Bowdy was up in a flash; his clothes torn and his body aching, and he was upon the sniper striking out fiercely for his stomach, landing four lightning blows. His opponent went down, falling like a log, and lay still.

Benners, maimed, sore and bleeding, fixed an imperturbable stare on a rising starshell and the stare slowly resolved itself into a weary smile. For fully two minutes he stood thus, silent, with one eye (the other had been bunged up) fixed on the scene in front, the barbed wire entanglements, and the enemy's trench which showed clearly, barely eighty yards away.

"God, it was a fight!" he muttered. "A damned hard fight. I suppose I must have a look around for my bayonet now. And a professional wrestler too."

At that moment half a dozen dark forms took shape on Bowdy's right. An enemy patrol probably! Bowdy lay down quietly, rubbed his eyes and listened. Nothing could be seen now and nothing could be heard save the deep breathing of the sniper. "I hope he doesn't come to and kick up a row," said Bowdy in a whisper. "I can't fight a dozen with my fists; one was enough."

Something rustled on the ground near him and a head appeared rising over the dark grass. Then a second head came into view and a third. The men were crawling towards Bowdy and were now very near.

Then a voice spoke in a low whisper.

"Blimey!" it said; "there's nuffink 'ere. I think there's the German wires."

"That you, Spudhole?" Benners whispered.

"Oo's that?" came the answer. "You, Bowdy?"

"That's right," said Benners, getting to his feet. "Don't make a noise. Where are you coming to?"

"We're looking for your body," said Spudhole, standing upright. "Gawd! We thought ye wor dead. Wot 'ave ye been doin'?"

"I've been fighting," said Bowdy. "Had a bit of a row with this man lying here."

"'E looks as if 'e's been in the wars," said Snogger, who was leading the search party. "By Gawd, ye 'ave been knockin' 'im about.... I suppose we'll 'ave to carry 'im back."

"Do whatever you like with him," said Bowdy. "I'll not be able to help. It'll be as much as I can do to carry myself in."

The party got back to the trench an hour later. The sniper was searched and in his pockets was found in addition to other things, his own photograph taken when he had appeared on the English music halls as a professional wrestler.

He was carried down to the dressing-station on a stretcher; Bowdy Benners walked down, and both men were treated by the same M.O.

A month later Bowdy got a clasp to his D.C.M.

CHAPTER XV TATERS AND VASELINE

In the village the houses were fractured by high explosive shells, the windows were paneless and the doors latchless, chimneys had been hurled to the ground and pounded to dust. Now in the Summer it was sad to see the fallen homes of the little people, especially in these days soft with sunshine, glorious days when men whispered to themselves secretly: "How good, how very good it is to be alive." The mad vitality of life exulted itself amidst scenes of demolition and decay; young blood pulsed warmly, the quick walked through the barren streets of the village, young men pleased with their vigour and their calling. Man values existence in haunts where he holds insecure purchase of life.

A solitary violet peeped coyly out from between two bricks which topped a heap of rubble by the roadway near the church. The heap of rubble had once been a home. The cataclysm of continents, the hatred of kings, the mustering of armies, the thunder of guns, were all needed in the making of this—a mean little nook on a rubble heap where a modest violet blossomed.

Like cats to their accustomed haunts the natives clung to their village and braved danger and death in preference to exile. But now in the day of big things the authorities removed the villagers and sent them back to localities further away from the firing line.

The villagers left the place without a moan; placid fatalists who had lived and died midst the thunder of a thousand guns; they accepted the change mutely and left in silence their native place when ordered to do so. They took away much of their portable property and left much of it behind. On the eve of Lammas Day Spudhole Bubb caught two homeless chickens fluttering despairing wings outside the estaminet La Concorde in the village.

"'Ow am I to kill these 'ere h'animals?" he asked Bowdy Benners, who accompanied him. Bowdy's face still bore the marks of his encounter with the German sniper.

"Put a bullet through them," answered Bowdy, looking at the chickens.

"That'll blow 'em to blazes," said Bubb.

"Then wring their necks."

"'Ow?"

"Like this," said Bowdy getting hold of a water-bottle by the neck and swinging it round his head.

"I've a better plan," said Bubb gazing at the door of the estaminet. "You open that there door and I'll 'old the neck of the 'en against the jamb. I'll say 'One! two! free!' And at the word 'free' you swings the door wiv a bang against the post an' you'll snick the neck of a 'en like winkin'."

The operation was performed with great success, the chickens were decapitated and Bubb's thumb was bashed into an ugly purple.

"That's a go," he muttered. "Not much of a gyme killin' chickens like this."

"Not much of a gyme indeed," said Bowdy. "But they'll make a good meal, these fowl."

"An' there's a bloomin' dawg too as was left behind," said Bubb, pointing his finger at the top window of the estaminet.

It was looking down at the two soldiers, a lean dog with plaintive eyes and a queer crooning cry which said as plainly as any doggie can say: "Take me away from this place."

"Why doesn't it come down the stairs?" asked Bowdy Benners.

"Why?" said Bubb. "'Cos there ain't no stairs; they've been blown away by a shell."

"Then we've got to get the poor thing down," said Bowdy.

"'Ow?" asked Bubb, then without giving Benners time to answer, he said: "Oh, I knows 'ow. There's a ladder round the corner. We put it up and take the beggar down."

Raising the ladder they placed it against the window sill, clambered up and rescued the dog which they placed on the street. Then Bowdy and Bubb went up the ladder again and entered the room.

"What's that thing under the bed?" asked Bowdy who had noticed a dark bundle on the ground.

Bubb peeped under and drew back his head as suddenly as if somebody had given him a blow on the face.

"It's a dead bloke," he said. "Let's get out."

They reached the street to find the dog lying on the pavement wagging its tail.

"It's so pleased with us," said Bowdy. "It might have died with hunger up there."

"Pleased!" echoed Bubb. "The damned ungrateful swine! Take that, and that!"

The two kicks were neatly delivered on the animal's hindquarters and it rushed off, howling.

"Ate our two blurry chickens and us rescuin' 'im. Anyway we've the taters. We'll get back to the trench and cook 'em."

"I'll be back as soon as you," said Bowdy. "But I'll run down to Rentoul and get a bottle of champagne. I've a few francs to spare."

On reaching the trenches Bubb found Flanagan just finishing a good dinner of fried potatoes and onions.

"Blimey, I've taters, lots of 'em and if you give me some h'onions I'll make myself a bit of a feed," said Bubb to Flanagan. "I do feel empty inside."

"Yes, I've got some onions to spare," said Flanagan. "Are you going to cook now?"

"I'm goin' to cook now," said Bubb, "but I want some lard or something greasy for fryin'."

"Good idea," said Flanagan.

"What did you fry the taters in?" asked Bubb.

"Oh, I fried them in—vaseline," was Flanagan's reply.

"Git out!"

"Yes, I did."

"Truth?"

"Oh, it's quite true," Flanagan lied, "you should try it."

"So I will," said the simple Bubb, and so he did. He used a whole box of vaseline, frying his taters on a mess-tin lid placed over a little fire at the base of a traverse. He ate his portion with great zest, vowing that he never had had a better repast in all his life. Part of the feed he kept for Bowdy.

Flanagan, delighted with the little joke, told Sergeant Snogger how Spudhole Bubb had used vaseline in frying potatoes. Snogger came up to Bubb as the latter sat smoking a Woodbine in the corner of the dug-out.

"Spudhole Bubb," he said, "what's wrong with ye?"

"Wiv me?" asked Bubb. "There's nuffink wrong wiv me."

"Ye're lookin' very pale," said Snogger. "I never saw a man look as bad. Have ye had no dinner?"

"No dinner!" exclaimed Bubb. "I 'ad the best meal ever I 'ad."

"It can't have agreed with you," said Snogger. "You look as white as a ghost."

The sergeant walked away and Flanagan poked his head through the door.

"Good God, Bubb!" he exclaimed, "what has happened to you?"

"'Appened to me!" said Bubb. "Nuffink, man. Wot gyme are yer up to?"

"No game at all," said Flanagan. "But you look bad. You should go and see the doctor this evening."

Bubb looked in the little mirror which he always carried about with him (he was really a devil for the girls), and he thought that he was looking white.

"But I don't feel bad," he said to Flanagan.

"You mayn't feel bad," said the Irishman, "but by heaven! you look bad. Is it yer nerves that are givin' way?"

"I've no nerves," said Bubb.

Bowdy, who had just returned, was the next to pass a remark on Bubb's condition.

"What has happened to you, matey?" he asked. "You look like a dead hen."

"I'm orl right," said Bubb, but there was a note of concern in his voice. "I 'ad the best dinner ever I 'ad a moment ago. There's some left for you."

"Has it disagreed with you?" asked Bowdy. "What kind of dinner was it?"

"Taters and h'onions fried in vaseline," was Bubb's reply. "The same taters that we got...."

"Vaseline!" Bowdy repeated, "Vaseline! Vaseline!"

"Wot's wrong wiv vaseline?" Bubb enquired.

"What's wrong with it, man," said Bowdy, "everything's wrong with it. Devil blow me blind, it's poison, pure poison. No wonder you're looking white."

Bubb cast an imploring look on Bowdy. He was now evidently frightened.

"I do feel something wrong with me inside," he said.

"I will see the M.O. this evening."

Bubb had a temperature that evening, whether due to fright or the ill effects of potatoes fried in vaseline it was impossible to say. The doctor sent him back to the hospital at ——, a shell-stricken town where the wounded were confined to cellars before going further back from the firing line.

Wrapped in blankets, Bubb went to sleep on the floor, and about one o'clock in the morning he woke up and looked around him. A candle stuck on the cold ground burned timidly and big black shadows lurked in the corners of the apartment. Opposite Bubb an R.A.M.C. orderly sat on a biscuit box dozing, the unlighted stump of a cigarette between his fingers. Near Bubb another patient lay asleep, his mouth wide open, and his knees hunched up so that they formed a little hill that dominated the cold clammy floor of the cellar.

Spudhole looked up at the roof where the light played in little ghostly ripples. As he watched, a spider slipped out of a hole directly overhead and dropped slowly down towards his face. In the half light the spider looked an immense size and its legs spread out as if endeavouring to clutch something. Fascinated Bubb watched it draw nearer, nearer, until it almost touched his face.

"Git out ye lobster!"

He raised his hand as he spoke and aimed a blow at the insect and missed. The spider clambered up again and disappeared.

"Blast the bloomin' thing!" he muttered and turned on his side. "Oh, blimey!... Good mornin'!"

A large toad was sitting on the corner of his blanket, a mere hand's breadth away, and looking at him with a pair of big glistening eyes. For a moment the man and the toad looked fixedly at one another, then the toad hopped away and disappeared round the corner of the bed.

"Well, blimey," said Bubb, cuddling up in the clothes and trying to sleep. He was unsuccessful for his mind followed the toad. "Where 'as it gone?" he muttered. "Spiders as big as lobsters, and toads as big as helephants. This 'ere place is 'aunted. Now where 'as that 'ere vermin gone?"

He turned round on his side and again his gaze fell on the toad. The thing had ascended the hill formed by the knees of Bubb's mate, and there on the eminence it sat, its eyes fixed on the open mouth of the sleeper.

"Blimey! It's goin' to jump in," said Bubb. "Raise the foresight a little you bounder and 'op!... Ten to one that you miss it."

Moodily contemplative, the toad sat silent, its big shining eyes fixed on the cavern in front.

"Jump, you beggar!" yelled Bubb, shouting at the top of his voice. "One good 'op and you'll score a bull."

He fell into a paroxysm of mirth; the R.A.M.C. orderly awoke, rubbed his eyes, lifted the cigarette end which had fallen to the floor, put it in his mouth, and came across to Bubb.

"What's amusin' you, chummy?" he asked.

"The spider and the toad," said Bubb. "A big lobster of a spider and then the toad. It's tryin' to jump into the man's mouth. Look there! Ten to one it misses!"

"That's all right," said the orderly with a bland smile of understanding. "You just lie down quietly and try and have a little sleep."

"But the toad," Bubb remonstrated. "It's just goin' to jump."

"I know, I know," said the orderly. "I see it myself. But try and compose yourself, chummy."

"But, man, it's real," said Bubb sitting up. "Look yourself and you'll see it. Don't think I'm off my napper."

"I don't think anything of the sort," said the orderly still smiling. "I often see things 'ere, myself. You lie down again and you'll be as right as rain in the morning."

He put his fingers on Bubb's pulse, held them there for a moment, then pressed the boy gently back into the blankets.

"I tell you there's a toad," said Bubb, struggling to get up again. "Look at that man lyin' there and see the toad on 'is knees. It's goin' to 'op into the bloke's mouth in a minute."

To humour the patient, the orderly looked as he was directed and sure enough there was the toad, a real one, not a phantom originating from the disordered imagination of a sick man, perched on the knees of the sleeping patient.

"So there is," said the orderly. "I thought you were delirious, matey. Well, we'll put the thing out," he said and shoved it off the blanket on to the floor.

"Ye're not a sport," said Bubb and his voice was charged with contempt. "Why didn't you let it 'op? I was bettin' on it. Now my bloomin' toad 'as gone. Bet yer it'll not come in again either," said Bubb sadly.

"I'll bet you it doesn't," said the orderly, but in a different tone.

Bubb returned to his regiment three days later, a healthy and wiser man. Afterwards he would never take part in a conversation wherein vaseline was mentioned, but the sight of a frog always brought memories of toads to his mind, and all conversation had to be cut dead until Bubb had narrated for the hundredth time the tale of a toad in a cellar.

CHAPTER XVI THE ROOKY

The stifling heat of the summer day had given place to the coolness of night and a big moon rode gallantly amidst the stars of the dark blue eastern sky. A searchlight felt the country with a long, pale arm, lighting up the road, village and wood for miles around; a galaxy of starshells stood over the firing line where the meteoric flashes of bursting shells rioted along the horizon of war.

Back in a village by La Bassée canal lights shone in the windows of houses and through the chinks of shutters. The poplars which lined the village streets showed black and solitary against the red-brick cottages, their shadows stretched straight along the pavement spreading out to an intricate tracery of tremulous boughs which moved backwards and forwards as the soft night breeze caught them.... The moonlight rippled over the roofs, the walls, and the grey, dusty road; the canal lapped sleepily against its banks; soldiers walked up and down the streets smoking, laughing and chatting; women came out from the cottages bearing pails which they placed under the pumps and filled with water. All was peaceful here, only twice had the village been struck by shells and then the roofs of two houses had been shattered. In twenty-four hours, however, the willing hands of the villagers had made the roofs whole again.

In the attic of a dwelling that stood by the riverside, a party of soldiers, three in all, were billeted. The boys were in a gay, good humour, for the day had been pay day and two bottles of champagne had been bought and the second bottle had just been opened.

Bowdy Benners was there, sitting on a bundle of straw under the niche in which a candle was placed, surveying the newly-drawn cork with a lazy smile, his hands under his thighs and his short, powerful legs stretched out in front to their fullest extent. He was dressed in shirt, trousers and socks, his braces were tied round his waist, his hairy chest was bare, and his identity disc tied round his massive neck with a piece of twine was almost hidden in the hair.

Opposite him sat Harry Bubb, nothing the worse after his tater and vaseline meal. A bright sparkle was in his alert eyes, his legs were crossed and the fingers of his left hand kept strumming idly on the floor. His right hand gripped a mess-tin which he pushed towards the champagne bottle in a slow, guileless manner as if he was doing it knowingly.

Flanagan was there, stripped to the waist and rubbing his body with a towel. He had been out through the village and had just come back, sweating profusely. He had eaten at a café round the corner and made a study of "the movements of masticating jaws" as he expressed it.

"It's damned interesting to watch people eat," he said. "Some eat slowly as if deliberating whether they should swallow the food or spit it out, some eat quickly, trippingly as it were, and some gorge. Those who eat slowly keep their mouths shut, those who eat quickly show their teeth all the time, and those who gorge simply gorge. We were sitting at a long table and I was at the end of the seat. I had a look along the line of moving jaws rising and falling, at the man next to me having a canter...."

"A canter?" queried Bubb.

"Yes, a canter round his teeth with his tongue," said Flanagan; "and at the man opposite whose moving jaw shook his ears until I thought they would fall off!"

Flanagan got no further with his chatter. The door opened, Sergeant Snogger entered followed by a stranger, and glanced keenly about him.

"Watch that candle," he said; "it will fall down on the straw and burn the whole damned place out if you are not careful. And that window, what about it? The light's showing froo and you'll have a shell across 'ere if you're not careful. You're not at 'ome now, boys."

"'Aven't been in Blighty for eighteen months, sarg," said Bubb blandly.

"I've got a new mate for you fellows," said the sergeant, paying no heed to Bubb's remark. "'E 'as just come out an 'e's for this 'ere section.... And another thing," he said, "I s'pose you think yourselves lucky gettin' your pay to-day and gettin' a good night's sleep to-night after fillin' your guts with grub and fizz. Don't you, now?"

"Yes, of course," Bubb assented.

"Well, you're damned unlucky," said the sergeant. "We've got ter go up ter the trenches ter-night."

"Blimey!" "Damn!" "Curse it!" Three voices yelled.

"We're startin' off as soon as we can, so get ready," said the sergeant. "Every man wipe 'is wifle wiv a woily wag 'fore 'e goes, for 'e may need it 'fore 'e comes back.... Buck to when you give me a wet and get ready."

They gave the sergeant a drink and started to pack up their things. Only when they had finished and sat down to wait for the call to move had they time to pay any attention to the new mate, the boy who had just come out from home.

He had helped them at the making up of their kits, oiled their rifles and rushed out to the baker's shop near at hand and bought two loaves to take up to the trenches. When he returned, the others were sitting on the floor waiting for him.

He came in with a brisk step, placed the loaves on the floor and looked at his mates. In carriage he had a certain individual grace, and his face, good-looking and youthful, wore an expression of intense expectation. A traveller within sight of a long-sought objective might look as that boy did. His age might be about nineteen, he looked seventeen. When he saw the men looking at him, he smiled awkwardly and blushed as if he had been found guilty of a mean action.

"Well, wot d'yer fink of it?" asked Bubb.

"Of this place?" asked the boy.

"No, not of this place, but the 'ole blurry business," said Bubb; "o' this 'ere war."

"I don't know what to think of the war, but I love being out here," said the boy, putting his hand in his pocket and bringing out a packet of cigarettes. "I couldn't get out before; my mother spoke to the authorities back in England, and I couldn't get away until I was nineteen."

"And ye're glad to be out 'ere?" asked Bubb in an incredulous voice, then added: "Of course you are. I was dyin' ter get out 'ere myself.... But I know where I'd like ter get now.... Thanks, matey."

Spudhole put the cigarette in his mouth and the newcomer lit it with a match. He gave the others cigarettes also and lit the last three with the same match; the stranger was the third smoker. This was not discovered until it was done.

"Devil blow me blind!" exclaimed Bowdy Benners. "He lit his cig——" Then he stopped, and a moment's silence ensued.

"It's always unlucky," said Spudhole. "D'ye mind old Stumpy...."

"Hold your row, you old woman!" Benners exclaimed.

"The superstition is a modern one," said Flanagan, blowing the smoke of a cigarette through his nostrils. "Invented, I suppose, by Bryant and May's to increase the output of matches."

"But wot about old Stumpy?" asked Bubb.

"Stumpy be damned!" exclaimed Benners, who was seldom moved to such a state of excitement. "Hold your jaw, Spudhole."

"So we're going up to the trenches to-night," said the newcomer in an eager voice.

"Yes, we're going up," said Flanagan moodily. "It's always going up. I suppose you'll be quite pleased going into action for the first time."

"Delighted," said the boy, and his hearers chuckled at the frank admission.

"It's young blood and not knowin' things that makes you say that," said Bubb, shaking his head with an air of wisdom at which his mates would have laughed if their rest had been assured for another week. But now as they sat there waiting for the signal to move up to the fighting line which they knew so well, it was a different matter....

The talk turned to England; the newcomer, whose name was Frank Reynolds, had much to tell about home, his people, his life at school, and above all, about his life in the Army. He was the only child of a head clerk in a London Bank, his father had died recently, and now only the mother remained at home. She lived in Hampstead, and was rather well to do, having money left to her by a rich relative. She was very fond of her boy and would send him parcels twice a week.

"No cigarettes, though," said Reynolds. "She doesn't know that I smoke, and I daren't tell. It would hurt her.... I learned to smoke since I joined the Army; just about three cigarettes a day."

"I could smoke that many when drinking my tea," said Bubb.

Conversation ceased at that moment, for the whistle was blown in the street and the soldiers were forming up preparatory to moving off to the trenches.

The battalion set off and marched along the road by the river, company after company, with little connecting files in between. Not the slightest breeze was awake, the river was silent, and the tall, graceful poplars which lined their route looked blacker and straighter than usual. They seemed to have gone to sleep even as they stood. The whole world was in repose, the battalion's movement was a sacrilege against the gods of the still night.

The very trenches were quiet now, the artillery riot had died down and only a few starshells rose into the mysterious heights of the eastern sky. The company in front set up a brisk pace which required long, quick strides to follow. Benners' section turned off from the river and marched up a steep incline to the top of a low hill opening out on a wide, far-reaching plain, which under the pale moonlight, looked more immense, and merged as it seemed into the distant sky.

Here and there a tall chimney stack stood high in air, dark shadows clinging to its base in startling contrast to the moonlight which rippled like molten silver over the top. A thin, white mist trailed across the meadows in long, formless streaks, bunching in the hollows and breaking away on the open. The air was full of the smell of water and mist and growing grass, in short, of the atmosphere of a summer night.

Smoking was not allowed. The enemy's trenches, miles away though they were, looked down on the road, and the glowing cigarette ends might be noticed. Then the road would be shelled....

Spudhole and Reynolds marched side by side, with Flanagan and Bowdy Benners immediately in front. From time to time they spoke of one thing and another, more especially about their hard luck in not getting a month's rest which had been promised to them for some time. They had expected to go back on the following morning, but instead it looked as if they were going to spend the morrow and a few other morrows in the trenches.

"Just our luck," said Flanagan. "It's always the same, always and eternally the same damned grind."

"Why do they send up green lights?" asked Reynolds in a whisper, and added, "They do look pretty."

"Pretty!" laughed Bubb. "If you was up in the trenches now you'd 'ear some pretty langwidge. They're signals for the artillery to bust up a dug-out or two, them green lights."

"Who's sending them up?" asked Reynolds.

"Us, maybe," said Bubb, "and again maybe it's not us. No one ever knows wot's wot in this 'ere job. It's always a muddle."

"But it's quiet enough now," said Reynolds. "How far are we from the trenches?"

"About three miles."

The battalion entered a village and marched up a wide street towards the full moon. The companies in front looked like dark, compact, heavy masses which did not seem to move but which could not be overtaken. A pump on the pavement was running and the water glittered like burnished silver as it fell to the cobbles. A shutter hung loose on a window and a woman came out and tried to fasten it, moving quietly as if afraid to make a noise. Reynolds was surprised to find a woman up so late; it was almost midnight now....

"This place is quiet enough," said Reynolds, speaking to Bubb. "One wouldn't think that the place was so near the trenches.... Do they ever fire at this village?"

"Sometimes," said Bubb, "at the other end. There!"

The deep, bass note of a bursting explosive swept through the village, awaking myriad long-drawn echoes, and died away.

"Shelling in front," said Flanagan in a trenchant whisper.

"I hope it's not the road," said Bubb.

"I don't think it's the road," said Bowdy Benners. "It sounded to the left a bit. But you can't tell with the echoes."

But further conversation was then impossible; the battalion formed into two files and plodded ahead.... Round the next corner Frank Reynolds came in touch with the war. A limber lay in the middle of the street shattered to pieces, the two ponies and the driver dead, and a sluggish trail of something dark crawling away from the scene of the wreck. Instinctively the boy knew that he was looking on blood and a queer sensation gripped the pit of his stomach. At the same moment he thought of the woman who was trying to close the shutters two hundred yards away and a feeling of shame swept through his heart.

"Am I afraid?" he asked himself. "And a woman going on with her work beside me just as if nothing was happening."

The R.A.M.C. were already at work, not in the vicinity of the limber, for there all help was useless, but on the pavement under the shadow of the poplars where four or five men were lying down, wounded and groaning.

Here the village had suffered, the houses were crumpled and shattered, the tiles had been flung off the rafters, the walls were smashed, the trees on the pavement were cut to splinters. Big holes showed in the streets and over all the ruin and destruction the moon shone calmly and the stars glimmered. But the atmosphere of the night had changed; a strange pungent odour filled the air, and Reynolds knew that he was smelling the battlefield.

"I must not tell mother about this," he said. "If she knew she couldn't sleep a wink at night.... I never thought.... I suppose there will be worse sights"

CHAPTER XVII YOUNG BLOOD

At one o'clock in the morning the London Irish were in occupation of the trenches; the battalion which they had relieved were just moving away. Reynolds' section were lucky enough to find a dug-out, and here they threw down their loaves and other luxuries which the Government had not supplied.

"Now we must make ourselves as comfortable as we can," said Flanagan as he lit a cigarette. "I'm for a sleep until it's my turn for sentry."

Snogger, who came to the dug-out door at that moment, heard the remark and chuckled. Having some work to do which needed volunteers, he saw scope for his peculiar type of humour.

"Goin' to 'ave a kip, Flanagan?" he asked in a gentle voice. "Turnin' in fer a spell?"

"Just for a while," said Flanagan; "an hour or two."

"Well ye're damned unlucky," said the sergeant with a chuckle. "We're goin' ter raid the henemy's trenches. We want to see what they're doin'. Indefication purposes ye know. They're too damned quiet 'ere. And you know when the German is keepin' quiet ye've got to oil yer hipe."

The section was up and alert in an instant; anticipation flushed every face.

"I'm in this 'ere game," said Bubb in a vehement voice. "Larst time I was out o' it."

"All's in it, that is, every man in this platoon 'cept them just out," said the sergeant. "They'll stay 'ere an' mind the 'ouse while we're away."

"I'm going out in the raid," said Reynolds in an eager voice. "I want to be in the fun."

"Yer do, do yer?" asked the sergeant, scratching his head. "Ye never do wot ye want in this 'ere crush, my boy," he bellowed. "Ye just do wot I tell you; an' you'll find that quite enuff, 'fore ye're 'ere very long. If ye do wot I tell you and do it well ye're all right. I'll make it easy for you. That's me, Snogger."

Reynolds lay back against the wall of the dug-out, his fair, youthful face lit by the glow of the candle which Flanagan had just placed in a niche of the wall. The boy was bitterly disappointed; the others were going over the top and he was to be left alone. He opened his lips to say something and his voice faltered; he was on the verge of tears.

"Is there any means of getting out with you?" he asked. "Couldn't somebody stay back and let me go in his place?"

"The bloke as doesn't want ter go isn't in this 'ere regiment," said Bubb.

The sergeant, who had just gone outside, returned carrying a tin filled with a substance black and soft like soot.

"Now boys," he said, as he placed the tin on the floor; "cover yer faces over with this an' be like niggers. A white face can be seen a good distance on a moonlight night, an' if ye're seen on this 'ere job, it'll be all up with the party—they'll be damned unlucky.

"An' when ye've done that, get arf a dozen bombs apiece and bring 'em wiv you," the sergeant continued. "Also, get some brushwood—ye'll find it out 'ere ready for yer—and ye'll g'over disguised as a shrubbery. We'll crawl across, get up to the German trench and fling the bombs in. Then we'll come back again, the 'ole lot of us, if we're lucky.... What the devil's that?"

The stretcher-bearers brought him in from the trench, a rifleman with a wound showing in his shoulder, and placed him on the floor.

"One of the party that was to cross," said the sergeant; then asked: "Much 'urt, old man?"

"Not much wrong," was the reply of the wounded man. "I'm sorry I'm not in the raid.... I looked across and then my shoulder burned...."

"Well, I must get another man," said the sergeant. "You'll do, Reynolds. Get yer face blacked and get some bombs."

The men set to work in the dug-out and blackened their faces, procured their bombs and branches, and got into raiding order. In ten minutes' time they were out on the open, thirty men making towards the German trenches.

Flanagan lit a cigarette, put his hands in his trousers pockets and leant his back against the wall of the dug-out. Bubb looked at him.

"Yer bloomin' old phizz is sooty enough, Flan," he said; "but yer teeth don't arf look white; they'll be seen miles away."

"I suppose I should black them," said Flanagan. "It would be for my own good. Natural selection has not fashioned me for this war environment. Raiding by night is a job for chimney sweeps. They could walk over to the German trenches and they would not be seen in the darkness. Darwin would be very interested in these raids. If he saw one he would write a treatise on Artificial Selection and call it The Survival of the Fittest Disguised. We are disguised; we're one with the night. We accommodate ourselves to our environment like the fox that changes its coat to white when the snow comes."

"These 'ere branches ain't arf a barney," said Bubb, who understood only a little of what Flanagan was saying.

"Birnam Wood! Copied from Macbeth," said Flanagan with an air of scorn. "There's nothing new in the world. There were trenches and dug-outs at the siege of Sebastopol."

Sergeant Snogger came in at that moment, his body festooned with bombs, his face the colour of ebony. He looked at his men.

"Wot are yer waitin' for?" he asked. "Gawd, ye are slummicky. Come on, we've got to get across to-night. To-morrow won't do for this 'ere job."

The party went out, crossed the parapet into No Man's Land and advanced in open order, six yards' interval between each man and his neighbour. Reynolds near the centre of the line, had Flanagan on his right, Bowdy Benners on his left, whilst the sergeant, who led the party, moved warily along, a few yards in advance. From time to time he halted and waited for those who followed to come abreast and issued orders which were passed from the centre to the flanks in whispers. He used the words "damned unlucky" whenever he spoke.

"Spread out from the centre," he cautioned. "The whole party's bunchin' up. If the henemy flings some dirt across, yer'll be damned unlucky."

Again he gave the order "Close in in the centre! You're losing touch. Some of yer'll be goin' in to the German trench all alone; then yer'll be damned unlucky."

Whenever a star-shell rose in air, the raiders flung themselves flat to the ground and waited for the flare to die out. As they went down, they placed the branches over their heads and held them there until the order to advance was given. Lying thus, they were immune from discovery, for an enemy patrol ten yards away would mistake the prone bundles under their covering of branches for derelict bushes which the fury of incessant shell fire had spared.

Star-shells rose at frequent intervals from the enemy lines; the British sent up very few. This was the case all along the line. The enemy, in eternal dread of raids, kept up a continual watch over No Man's Land.

The party, now half way across, lay down, for a starshell rose from the German trench, stood high and lit the derelict levels with the brilliance of day. Then oscillating sleepily from side to side, it dropped a myriad petals of flame and sank lazily to earth.

"They're getting the wind up," said Bowdy Benners, whispering across to Reynolds. "We'll have some dirty work 'fore we come back."

The boy made no answer. Lying prone, he listened to the silence. How calm it was under the great, glorious moon. The levels were in a dream, a dream of Fairyland, and everything save the starshells and the glint of light that played on his rifle barrel was as motionless as though in a realm of frozen enchantment. The night drew closer to the boy; it seemed caressing his young head and body. He even felt sleepy. It would be good to lie there and rest.

His eyes looked out in front on a dead man who lay there, scarcely a yard away. The boy did not feel afraid. That a dead soldier should be there seemed quite natural, in keeping with the new life which the youth had entered.

"I suppose he was killed on a raid," he thought. "I wonder if he was going out or coming back.... What would mother...." He looked at the dead soldier with a fresh interest and his eyes filled with tears.

He saw that the man was dressed in khaki and he lay on his back, his knees up and his bayonet pointing in air. From the bayonet standard to the man's head stretched an unfinished cobweb on which the spider was still busily working, fashioning circle and line. Under the moonlight the web was a brilliant and beautiful dream....

"Come out o' it, Reynold," said the sergeant, who was annoyed because the boy had not heard the first order to advance. "Spread out a little on both sides, for we've got to keep a look-out for a henemy patrol. We're not out on a six months' tour now," he added. "If yer —— think so, ye're damned unlucky."

The men spread out at the double and lay down again, leaving an interval of some twelve yards between each man and his neighbour. Reynolds lay flat, his hand gripping his rifle. Now and then a breeze rustled across the levels, set the poppy flowers nodding to one another, and died away again. The smell of the wet grasses and the damp earth was in his nostrils, and the narcotic odour of the soil almost lulled him into slumber.

A mouse rustled along the ground in front, in and out amongst the nodding poppy flowers and disappeared. Near him somebody stifled a cough, but the sound struck harshly on his ears. Apart from that, silence and suspense.

He lay flat, his face on his hands, his legs stretched out to their full extent, and listened. Well to the left a mate whistled; something had aroused his suspicions, probably the enemy patrol. A bird rose from the grass, shrieking as if in pain, and flew away. The lights died out; the level fields looked deathlike.

A starshell rose up to the sky and settled over Reynolds' head. Under its light the country seemed to become more immense, it stretched out on all sides into endless distances.... He lost consciousness for an instant.

"Well, the night is very long in passing," he said in an audible voice, opening his eyes for a moment. "I am very sleepy, but if I doze off something may happen."

He had a desire for something exciting to take place, something that would keep him awake. He even felt hungry, and did not particularly want to fight. Even a sleepy boy does not like fighting at two o'clock in the morning on an empty stomach when there was so much to eat near at hand.... How strange that he had not noticed it before. Probably he had been looking in the wrong direction. But there out in front in the midst of the poppies stood a house with the windows brilliantly lighted up and a girl standing at the door. From the way she laughed when he approached he knew that she was glad to see him. She made way and he entered the dining-room, where the table was spread out for dinner. The food was not laid yet, but on a table in the corner he could see a grand array of steaming dishes.

"It's splendid," he said. "Not like army stuff. It's...."

The girl whom he met at the door came into the room, approached the table in the corner, and brought over a plate of soup, which she placed in front of him. He looked for a spoon, but could not find one.

"You've forgotten," he said to the girl. "I haven't got a spoon."

"How stupid of me," she replied. "I'm awfully sorry. I was thinking of something else. But now I'll get a spoon. I always carry a spoon no matter where I go."

"So do I," was Reynolds' answer. "I always carry a knife, fork and spoon in my pack. They're gone now."

The girl disappeared for a moment. When she came into the boy's world again she carried a spoon in her hand.

"This is for you," she laughed. "It's silver-plated with a monogram—your own monogram."

As she spoke she lifted his soup and rushed off with it.

"Come back with the plate," cried Reynolds, rising to his feet. "I haven't eaten yet."

"Don't get excited," she called back over her shoulder, "I'll pass it along in a moment. I'll pass it along, pass it along."

A strange harshness had crept into her voice, and the youth swept back into reality. The man on his right was calling to him.

"Pass it along," he called out in a loud whisper. "Pass it along."

"What's the message?" Reynolds asked.

"The right flank reports seeing an enemy patrol," was the answer.

The boy passed the message to the left but got no acknowledgment.

"I suppose the man there is asleep," he muttered. "I'll go along and see him."

He lifted his rifle and stumbled along through the gloom. When a light went up he stood still and waited for the darkness to resume his journey.

"Yes, here he is," he said, when a flare lit up the night and showed him a figure in khaki lying flat on the ground. "Asleep, of course."

"Wake up, man," he shouted, when he reached the motionless figure, bringing his hand down with a smack on the man's back. The shoulders gave way beneath the force of the blow. His hand seemed to sink into the soldier.

"Good God!" he gasped. "It's a dead man."

He left the poor thing hurriedly, found a man asleep, woke him up, delivered the message and made his way back to his post.

The strange experience had unnerved him and he lay down again, feeling that a huge dark form was standing behind him watching every movement on his part. A breeze had risen and the waving grasses wailed a dirge in dismal unison. From somewhere far away a dog whined mournfully.... The order to advance was given.

The men went forward at the double for a space and flung themselves down flat when they reached the enemy's barbed wire entanglements. Those in the centre of the party could not get across; the wires in front of them stood sturdily, untouched by artillery fire.

"Lie low," the sergeant whispered to Bowdy Benners, "and pass the word along to the left. Ask them if there's an openin'. The same message to the right."

The seconds crawled by until the answer came back from the left. "Opening here. Shall we go through?"

"Pass the message to the right and tell them to close up," said the sergeant to Benners. "Also, those on the left, get through and lie down on the other side of the wires until we join them. Pass it along."

The message went its way and the men in the centre followed it, stumbling and crouching low to avoid the eyes of the enemy sentinels. Reaching the opening, they lay down, their heads under the branches, and waited for the party to close in.

Reynolds had a good view of the enemy's trench as he lay on the ground a dozen yards away from the reverse slope of the parapet. He saw the sandbags tilted at strange angles looking for all the world like dead men huddled together in heaps. Immediately in front lay an unexploded shell perched on the rim of a small crater, and near it was a wooden box and a heap of tins. Somebody in the trench was singing a song in a low but clear voice. The night was full of the smell of burning wood; probably the Germans were cooking a meal.... Bowdy Benners and the sergeant lay in front of Reynolds, immovable as statues,—both might have been dead.... Benners turned slowly round and crawled back again with a message.

"When the sergeant lifts his branch and holds it over his head, prepare to advance," he whispered. "Get your bombs ready to throw.... Pass it along to right and left."

Fascinated Reynolds watched the sergeant, saw him lie still as ever for a full minute, then he raised the branch and held it over his head for an instant, brought it down again and got to his feet. As one man the party rushed forward to the rim of the trench and began to fling their bombs in on the occupants. There was one explosion, then a second, a third and a fourth.... The Germans, taken unawares, raced from one bay to another, but the bombers waited for them at every turning. In their eyes the attack might have been delivered by an army corps. Death had crept up in the night out of the unknown. Men fell, yelled in agony, and became silent, their white faces showing ghastly on the floor of the trench when the smoke of the explosions died away.

"Damned good work! Keep at it, boys!" yelled the sergeant, standing on the parapet and drawing a pin from the shoulders of a bomb. "They're damned unlucky this 'ere time."

He threw his missile at a German who was trying to enter the door of a dug-out, and stepped back to avoid the explosion.

"Blimey, it's a barney!" said Bubb, looking down in the trench. He had come to his last bomb, and wanting to "make it tell," he threw it into a dug-out door which showed in the wall of the parados. Followed an explosion accompanied by agonised yelling....

Twenty yards away Reynolds stood on a sandbag, a bomb in his hand, his eyes fixed upon a boy about his own age who, crouching against the wall of the trench, was looking up at him. Reynolds, full of military ardour, had rushed up to the attack when the order was given, and was on the point of flinging the bomb into the trench when he noticed the young German standing motionless, paralysed with fear. Reynolds raised the bomb with the intention of throwing it, then brought it down again. The terrified foe frightened him. In the heat of passion, Reynolds would have killed him, but to take away the life of that shivering, terrified creature was not a job for the youngish newly-out. He gazed at the German, the German returned the gaze, perplexity looked at dread and became horrified. Killing was not an easy matter.

Reynolds drew back a pace, his eyes still fixed on the foe. The battle raged around him; the flash of the bursting bombs almost blinded him, the explosions shook the ground ... the flying splinters sang through the air.

Suddenly the order to retire came down the line; a brown figure rushed up to Reynolds shouting something about "getting out o't," seized the bomb which the youngster held and flung it into the trench on the youthful German.

The party retired hurriedly; their work was completed. "The sooner back the safer," the sergeant yelled. "They'll open up a machine gun now and we'll be damned unlucky if we don't grease back."

Already the enemy's rifles were speaking and bullets swept by with a vicious hiss. The men stumbled through the opening in the barbed wires and rushed into the levels. Benners and Reynolds ran out together chuckling, pleased, no doubt, at the success of their enterprise. Bubb and Flanagan followed; the latter had lost his rifle and vowed that he was always unlucky.

Suddenly Reynolds fell headlong to the ground. He was on his feet immediately and rushing forward again.

"It's the damned wires," said Flanagan. "They're scattered all over the place."

As he spoke, Reynolds went down for the second time, but did not rise again. Benners came to a halt and stooped over him.

"Are you hit, chummy?" he asked.

"I got it through the breast," the boy replied. "It was that which brought me down the last time, not the wires."

Reynolds was surrounded now by his comrades. He was sitting half upright, his head sinking towards his knees, the martial elation of a few minutes ago utterly gone.

"Well, chummy, you'll be all right in time for breakfast," said Bubb, who expected that these words would buoy up the youngster's courage. But Reynolds seemed to pay no heed, a cold and sorrowful expression settled on his white face, which looked strange and unearthly in the light of the moon. The sergeant cut open the youth's tunic and looked at the wound, which showed red over the heart. There was very little bleeding.

"Oh! you'll be all right in no time," said the sergeant in a voice which was strangely soft and kind.

"No, no," said the boy, in a scarcely audible whisper. "Leave me to myself, please.... I'll not live very long.... It's too near the heart."

These were the last words which the men heard him speak. Ten minutes later he had passed away.

"I knowed it would pan out that way," said Bubb, as he sat in his dug-out two hours later drinking hot tea from his sooty messtin.

It was dawn, the sun came up red in the east and the dewdrops glittered like diamonds on the levels.

"'Twas the same wiv old Stumpy. 'E was the third man to light 'is fag wiv the same match," said Bill. "Then 'e went up to the trenches an' 'e was shot dead."

"It's all damned rot," said Flanagan. "I knew men getting killed who never smoked a fag."

"I had a feeling that Reynolds was going under, anyway," said Benners. "And he was such a good boy, too."

"I liked him better than I cared to say," said Flanagan. "He was as eager as hell. And he's dead. He didn't have much of a run for his money."

"Takin' it all in all, we're not so blurry badly off," said Bubb. "I wunner if we're goin' ter get relieved soon. I 'ope so, anyway."

CHAPTER XVIII BATHING

The road by La Bassée Canal was gritty and dry and shone like a thread of gold in the afternoon sunlight. The Canal, dark and oily, was broken by hundreds of little petulant ripples; its banks were red with poppy flowers. Quiet reigned in the village of Gorre, where the London Irish were quartered. They had been out digging trenches at Cambrin the night before. Having been relieved from the fighting line, two nights after Reynolds' death, they were now supplying working parties to the trenches near La Bassée. In the present war the pick and shovel are as important as the rifle and bayonet.

Bubb, Flanagan and Bowdy had just got up from the straw on which they had been lying.

"Let's have a bloomin' dip in the briny," said Bubb.

"Let's," said Bowdy and Flanagan.

The trio made their way out into the village. It was a glorious day. The sky was a tender blue, the green branches of the poplars which lined the street waved sleepily, the shadows of many little clouds glided across the cobbled pavement. To eastward other little clouds formed suddenly and as suddenly paled away, and the men knew that an artillery duel of slight intensity was in progress by Cuinchy.

"This ain't a bad place for a billet," said Bubb. "I could stick 'ere for duration."

"We'll soon be out of it now," said Flanagan, handing round a packet of cigarettes. "Captain Thorley said this morning that we are going to trek to the Somme. Big doings down that way."

"We're always in it when there's a row on," said Bubb. "It's no sooner see and like a place 'ere than you're out't next day. There are some fine birds in this 'ere place too.... Look there are the cooks gettin' dinner ready. Gawd they're sweatin' at the job too."

A field kitchen stood in the church square and the smoke curled up from the sooty funnel and paled away in the clear air. Here the company cooks were busy preparing dinner. Facing the Canal was a row of red-roofed houses, with a wealth of summer flowers round the doors, the windows looked out coquettishly through roses, and green ivy clambered up the walls.

To the left of the church was a snug little graveyard hidden in a spinney, and here a number of English soldiers were buried. Under a large tree stood a broken and rusty pump which was out of action. A large shell had fallen there and after the explosion some soldiers found a robin, dead. They buried it and were moved to poetry in inscribing the little bird's epitaph. The epitaph, written in large black letters, hung from the handle of the pump. This was the verse:—

Bubb looked at the epitaph.

"Mind the one over Sergeant Slade at Maroc?" he remarked.

"Not as good as the one at the Cabaret Rouge up at Souchez," said Flanagan, and quoted:—

"Well, we'll go into the café and have a drink," said Bowdy. "Bubb won't refuse to go in, I know. He wants to see Emily."

"It's yourself as wants to see the bird," said Spudhole. "I don't mind sayin' that I kind o' like 'er. She's not bad lookin', almost as nice as Fifi. Mind Fifi, Bowdy?"

"Poor old Fifi," said Bowdy. "Fitz was fond of her. I remember one night seeing him kissing her over the window."

"Git out."

"True," said Bowdy. "That was when we were at Y—— Farm, and I was lying in the straw up in the barn. Snogger and Fitz and Spud and myself came in from the café and all went to bed, except my bold Fitz. He sat up and I watched him. After a while he thought everyone was sleeping and up he gets and goes downstairs. I waited for ten minutes, but he didn't come back, so out I goes and down to see what he was up to. And what would it be but Fitz at the back of the farmhouse speaking to Fifi and kissing her. Well, it wasn't my business to spy on him, so back I comes to my roost and I was asleep before he came back."

"I always knew that 'e was a devil," said Bubb. "Pity that 'e went west.... 'Ere, can yer smell the roses."

They came to the door of the café and entered. Emilie was inside sitting at a table writing a letter. She smiled at the soldiers and went on with her work. Bubb lit a cigarette, sat on a chair and mumbled a song.

The girl raised her head and laughed, disclosing her pearly white teeth and red lips. Emilie was a well-made girl with dark hair, white brow, thick, strongly arched eyebrows, a charming chin and a full throat. She was of medium height, full of vitality and fun, a coquette every inch of her. Bubb was in love with her, just as he had been in love with dozens of other French girls. A billet and a bird, and no man out of the trench area could be happier than Bubb.

Having drunk their coffee, the soldiers made their way to the Canal.

Bubb's face was brimming over with good nature and vitality. Now and again he would jump into the air, cut a caper with his feet, hop to earth as gracefully as a bird, kick a pebble along the roadway, and afterwards lift the pebble in his hand and fling it into the water.

A boy, wearing a pair of English puttees drove two lean cows along the Canal bank and stopped for a moment to speak to an elderly female who was washing her household linen in the cool water. Heedless of the woman's presence, Bowdy and Flanagan undressed and flung themselves into the Canal. The swim from bank to bank was very exhilarating, the coolness warmed the heart and imparted a strange exhilaration to the body. A swim in the cold water always gave the two men the same sensation as good news that is unexpected. Bubb sat on the bank looking at the swimmers.

"Come into the water, my man," they shouted. "It's glorious."

"'Twon't be so glorious when yer get out again," said Bubb.

"Why?" Flanagan enquired.

"'Cos yer clo'es are right top o' a hant-'eap."

"An ant-heap!" ejaculated Flanagan. "Oh, my God!"

"I'm not goin' ter leave my clo'es wiv yours," said Bubb. "I'm goin' ter leave 'em where there's no bloomin' hants."

"We'll get stung to death," Bowdy said. "Bubb, put our clothes along with yours," he called.

"No blurry fear," shouted Bubb, who was undressing further along. "I don't want to get no hants."

The swimmers only ceased in their endeavours to drench him when he flung half-a-dozen bricks into the water perilously close to their heads, but it was only Bubb's trudgeon stroke that saved him from a combined attack when he dived into the Canal. Bubb was a graceful swimmer.

Bowdy was just clambering up on the bank when he heard it coming, rumbling in from the Unknown. He was back in the water immediately, beating it with his hands as he waited. The shell burst near the bank and a hundred splinters whizzed into the Canal. A second shell followed, and a third. Then it was that Bubb's clothes, caught fair, were blown in pieces.... For ten minutes the men kept in the water, but when no further shells came across from the Germans, they clambered out on to the bank.

"All hail, thou twentieth century Adam!" said Flanagan, looking at Bubb and shaking the ants from the bundle of khaki clothing. "It will be splendid to see you march through Gorre on your way back.... And all the young girls...."

Bubb looked round in agony; Bowdy shook with laughter.

"And French girls, too," said Flanagan. "They're very rude sometimes."

"We'll have a little procession," Bowdy suggested. "Bubb leading."

"It's a sad plight for a bashful man," said Flanagan. "An exhibition in the nude."

Bubb opened his mouth and shut it again. Bowdy and Flanagan put their boots on.

"If only I 'ad a sandbag," said Bubb.

"We'll get back now," Bowdy said. "Come along, Spudhole."

"No blurry fear," said the Cockney. "I'd drown myself 'fore I'd go back through Gorre like this. I'm not a girl in a revue. I'm a soldier, not a hactress. Will one o' you run back and get a pair o' trousers and a shirt for me?"

"No."

"No-o!"

"Callin' yerselves mates!" shrieked Bubb. Then his voice became coaxing. "Look 'ere, Flan, you go back and get me even a shirt; or Bowdy.... Any of you. Be pals."

"Who stood by and let the ants run over our clothes?" asked Flanagan.

"Bubb," Bowdy replied. "Our pal, Spudhole."

"That was a joke," said Bubb, "but this is past a joke. It's 'ell 'avin' no clothes."

"But you wouldn't wear clothes with ants running over them, would you?" asked Bowdy.

"I must go on in front," said Flanagan. "I'll ask Emilie to come down and have a look at you. She's up to any kind of devilment, that same girl."

"Flan-a-gan," said Bubb in a slow voice, hoarse with decision, "if you'd do a thing like that, I'd cut yer blurry froat." Then he stooped down, picked up a pebble and flung it into the water.

"'Ere, wot's this?" he exclaimed suddenly. "This, in the Canal."

They looked in. A stretcher, to which a ground sheet was bound by a leathern thong, drifted slowly down the Canal. Quick as a flash, Bubb dived in and brought the stretcher to the bank.

"Carry me 'ome on this," he said. "Put the ground sheet over me."

He lay down on the wet stretcher and his mates covered him over with the sheet and raised the burden to their shoulders. Spudhole regained his good humour and began to sing. He was in the throes of a rag-time chorus when Flanagan and Bowdy halted opposite the Café Calomphie and placed the stretcher on the pavement.

Flanagan knocked at the door. Emilie came out. Bubb sweated terror from every pore.

"Take me away!" he yelled, wrapping himself very tightly in his sheet. "For Gawd's sake take me back to the billet!"

Agitation and confusion distorted his countenance; at that moment he longed for the ground to open and swallow him. Flanagan, who knew French like a native, was speaking to the girl.

"What are you saying?" Spudhole called.

"She wants the ground sheet," said Flanagan. "I'm going to make her a present of it."

"For Gawd's sake——"

"She's going to take it off herself, with her own two hands," Flanagan remarked.

"Oh, blimey!" groaned Bubb; then, in an excess of rage, "I'll kill 'er if she comes near me. I'll strangle 'er, then I'll strangle you."

But Bubb's violent gestures did not deter Emilie from approaching the stretcher. She knew all about Bubb's mishap. Flanagan had explained his mate's woeful plight. Emilie bent down and raised the lower part of the ground sheet, disclosing Bubb's toes.

Spudhole curled up like a hedgehog. The girl gave the sheet a slight tug.

"Pour moi!" she said.

"Git out!" yelled Bubb. "Clear off ter 'ell. Damn yer, don't yer know wot shame is! Ally voos ong."

"Pull it off, Emilie," roared Flanagan, holding his sides.

The girl gave the sheet another tug. She did not want to take it off, but Bubb's terror amused her.

The boy could stand it no longer. He got to his feet, wrapped the sheet round his waist and fled up the street. The village came out to see him careering along; all laughed at the escapade but few were surprised at the spectacle.

"It's only the mad English," the old women said. "They are always up to mischief."

That night the London Irish set out on their trek to the Somme.

CHAPTER XIX THE SOMME

The trench was quite a good one for the Somme, about six foot deep with here and there a few dug-outs where men could sleep and eat.

There, on a certain autumn morning, we find the men of the London Irish again, waiting to cross No Man's Land and attack the Germans. A month has passed since they left Gorre and during that time they have seen much fighting in which they have earned great renown.

"We're too well known," Bubb often remarked bitterly, but beneath all his grumbling it could be seen that he was more than a little proud of his regiment. "We're too well known that's wot it is," he would continue. "If there's anything to be done oo's to do it? Us. We're always in the thick o' it. If the 'eads 'ear that there's a stiff job to be done and it wants an army corps to do it, wot do the 'eads say. They say: 'Put the London Irish, the footballers of Loos on the job. They'll soon do it.'"

On this morning Bubb was preparing breakfast in a dug-out while Bowdy Benners was sleeping in a corner and Flanagan was out on the parapet watching for Tanks. These monsters were going to cross presently, but as yet they were not to be seen. In front, the self-sown crops were waving in the breeze, and the barbed wire entanglements showed red and rusty over the meadows. Nothing of the German wires remained; they had been blown to bits. The German trenches could be seen in front, dipping out of sight into a natural valley on the left and losing all outline amongst the tree stumps on the right. The stumps were all that remained of the well-known High Wood; the locality was pitted with shell-holes and littered with dead, friend and foe, who lay together in silent communion. The Germans still held the wood.

Bubb, having prepared breakfast, went to the door and called Flanagan in, then he turned round and kicked Bowdy on the shins.

"Git out 't," he said. "Ye're not going to fight on an empty tummy, are yer?"

Flanagan came into the dug-out. "That smells A.1." he remarked. "But the Tanks," he said. "I can't see them yet. I hope they're not late."

"I hope they're not," Bowdy replied, and yawned. The arrival of the Tanks did not interest him apparently. He reached out his hand for the mess-tin of tea and drank.

"We're givin' them 'ell wiv our guns," said Bubb. "Blowin' the place to 'ell.... That's a good drop o' tea, ain't it?"

"Indeed, it's damned good," Flanagan replied. "I'm out for a V.C. this time, anyhow.... Where's Snogger?"

"He's outside, somewhere," said Bowdy. "He thinks that he'll not come through this scrap. He is quite nervy."

"I wouldn't mind 'avin' a job at these 'ere tanks," said Bubb. "It'd be damn good sport.... 'Ave another piece of bacon, Bowdy?"