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Title: The Middle Parts of FortuneAuthor: Frederic Manning* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *eBook No.: 0200261h.htmlLanguage: EnglishDate first posted: May 2015Most recent update: May 2015Project Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printed editionswhich are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright noticeis included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particularpaper edition.Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check thecopyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing thisfile.This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the termsof the Project Gutenberg AustraliaLicence which may be viewed online.
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While the following pages are a record of experience on theSomme and Ancre fronts, with an interval behind the lines, duringthe latter half of the year 1916; and the events described in itactually happened; the characters are fictitious. It is true thatin recording the conversations of the men I seemed at times to hearthe voices of ghosts. Their judgments were necessarily partial andprejudiced; but prejudices and partialities provide most of thedriving power of life. It is better to allow them to cancel eachother, than attempt to strike an average between them. Averages aretoo colourless, indeed too abstract in every way, to representconcrete experience. I have drawn no portraits; and my concern hasbeen mainly with the anonymous ranks, whose opinion, often meresurmise and ill-informed, but real and true for them, I have triedto represent faithfully.
War is waged by men; not by beasts, or by gods. It is apeculiarly human activity. To call it a crime against mankind is tomiss at least half its significance; it is also the punishment of acrime. That raises a moral question, the kind of problem with whichthe present age is disinclined to deal. Perhaps some future attemptto provide a solution for it may prove to be even more astonishingthan the last.
To Peter Davies who made me write it
On fortune's cap we are not the very button...Then youlive about her waist, or in the middle of her favours?...'Faith,her privates we.—
—SHAKESPEARE
By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we oweGod a death...and let it go which way it will, he that dies thisyear is quit for the next.
—SHAKESPEARE
The darkness was increasing rapidly, as the whole sky hadclouded, and threatened thunder. There was still some desultoryshelling. When the relief had taken over from them, they set off toreturn to their original line as best they could. Bourne, who wasbeaten to the wide, gradually dropped behind, and in trying to keepthe others in sight missed his footing and fell into ashellhole.
By the time he had picked himself up again the rest of the partyhad vanished and, uncertain of his direction, he stumbled on alone.He neither hurried nor slackened his pace; he was light-headed,almost exalted, and driven only by the desire to find an end.Somewhere, eventually, he would sleep. He almost fell into thewrecked trench, and after a moment's hesitation turned left, caringlittle where it led him.
The world seemed extraordinarily empty of men, though he knewthe ground was alive with them. He was breathing with difficulty,his mouth and throat seemed to be cracking with dryness, and hiswater bottle was empty. Coming to a dugout, he groped his way down,feeling for the steps with his feet; a piece of Wilson canvas, hungacross the passage but twisted aside, rasped his cheek; and a fewsteps lower his face was enveloped suddenly in the musty folds of ablanket. The dugout was empty. For the moment he collapsed there,indifferent to everything. Then with shaking hands he felt for hiscigarettes, and putting one between his lips struck a match. Thelight revealed a candle-end stuck by its own grease to the oval lidof a tobacco-tin, and he lit it; it was scarcely thicker than ashilling, but it would last his time. He would finish hiscigarette, and then move on to find his company.
There was a kind of bank or seat excavated in the wall of thedugout, and he noticed first the tattered remains of a blanketlying on it, and then, gleaming faintly in its folds a small metaldisc reflecting the light. It was the cap on the cork of a waterbottle. Sprawling sideways he reached it, the feel of the bottletold him it was full, and uncorking it he put it to his lips andtook a great gulp before discovering that he was swallowing neatwhisky. The fiery spirit almost choked him for the moment, in hissurprise he even spat some of it out; then recovering, he drankagain, discreetly but sufficiently, and was meditating a moreprolonged appreciation when he heard men groping their way down thesteps. He recorked the bottle, hid it quickly under the blanket,and removed himself to what might seem an innocent distance fromtemptation.
Three Scotsmen came in; they were almost as spent and broken ashe was, that he knew by their uneven voices; but they put up a showof indifference, and were able to tell him that some of his mobwere on the left, in a dugout about fifty yards away. They, too,had lost their way, and asked him questions in their turn; but hecould not help them, and they developed among themselves anincoherent debate, on the question of what was the best thing forthem to do in the circumstances. Their dialect only allowed him tofollow their arguments imperfectly, but under the talk it was easyenough to see the irresolution of weary men seeking in theirdifficulties some reasonable pretext for doing nothing. It touchedhis own conscience, and throwing away the butt of his cigarette hedecided to go. The candle was flickering feebly on the verge ofextinction, and presently the dugout would be in darkness again.Prudence stifled in him an impulse to tell them of the whisky;perhaps they would find it for themselves; it was a matter whichmight be left for providence or chance to decide. He was movingtowards the stairs, when a voice, muffled by the blanket, came fromoutside.
"Who are down there?"
There was no mistaking the note of authority and Bourne answeredpromptly. There was a pause, and then the blanket was waved aside,and an officer entered. He was Mr Clinton, with whom Bourne hadfired his course at Tregelly.
"Hullo, Bourne," he began, and then seeing the other men heturned and questioned them in his soft kindly voice. His face hadthe greenish pallor of crude beeswax, his eyes were red and tired,his hands were as nervous as theirs, and his voice had the samenote of over excitement, but he listened to them without a sign ofimpatience. "Well, I don't want to hurry you men off," he said atlast, "but your battalion will be moving out before we do. The bestthing you can do is to cut along to it. They're only about ahundred yards further down the trench. You don't want to straggleback to camp by yourselves; it doesn't look well either. So you hadbetter get moving right away. What you really want is twelve hourssolid sleep, and I am only telling you the shortest road toit."
They accepted his view of the matter quietly, they were willingenough; but, like all tired men in similar conditions, they wereglad to have their action determined for them; so they thanked himand wished him goodnight, if not cheerfully, at least with the airof being reasonable men, who appreciated his kindliness. Bournemade as though to follow them out, but Mr Clinton stopped him.
"Wait a minute, Bourne, and we shall go together," he said asthe last Scotsman groped his way up the steeply pitched stairs. "Itis indecent to follow a kilted Highlander too closely out of adugout. Besides I left something here."
He looked about him, went straight to the blanket, and took upthe water bottle. It must have seemed lighter than he expected, forhe shook it a little suspiciously before uncorking it. He took along steady drink and paused.
"I left this bottle full of whisky," he said, "but those bloodyJocks must have smelt it. You know, Bourne, I don't go over with askinful, as some of them do; but, by God, when I come back I wantit. Here, take a pull yourself; you look as though you could dowith one."
Bourne took the bottle without any hesitation; his case was muchthe same. One had lived instantaneously during that timelessinterval, for in the shock and violence of the attack, the perilousinstant, on which he stood perched so precariously, was all thatthe half-stunned consciousness of man could grasp; and, if he losthis grip on it, he fell back among the grotesque terrors andnightmare creatures of his own mind. Afterwards, when the strainhad been finally released, in the physical exhaustion whichfollowed, there was a collapse, in which one's emotional nature wasno longer under control.
"We're in the next dugout, those who are left of us," Mr Clintoncontinued. "I am glad you came through all right, Bourne. You werein the last show, weren't you? It seems to me the old Hun hasbrought up a lot more stuff, and doesn't mean to shift, if he canhelp it. Anyway we should get a spell out of the line now. I don'tbelieve there are more than a hundred of us left."
A quickening in his speech showed that the whisky was beginningto play on frayed nerves: it had steadied Bourne for the timebeing. The flame of the candle gave one leap and went out. MrClinton switched on his torch, and shoved the water bottle into thepocket of his raincoat.
"Come on," he said, making for the steps, "you and I are two ofthe lucky ones, Bourne; we've come through without a scratch; andif our luck holds we'll keep moving out of one bloody misery intoanother, until we break, see, until we break."
Bourne felt a kind of suffocation in his throat: there wasnothing weak or complaining in Mr Clinton's voice, it was full ofangry soreness. He switched off the light as he came to the Wilsoncanvas.
"Don't talk so bloody wet," Bourne said to him through thedarkness. "You'll never break."
The officer gave no sign of having heard the sympathetic butindecorous rebuke. They moved along the battered trench silently.The sky flickered with the flash of guns, and an occasionalstar-shell flooded their path with light. As one fell slowly,Bourne saw a dead man in field grey propped up in a corner of atraverse; probably he had surrendered, wounded, and reached thetrench only to die there. He looked indifferently at this piece ofwreckage. The grey face was senseless and empty. As they turned thecorner they were challenged by a sentry over the dugout.
"Goodnight, Bourne," said Mr Clinton quietly.
"Goodnight, sir," said Bourne, saluting; and he exchanged a fewwords with the sentry.
"Wish to Christ they'd get a move on," said the sentry, asBourne turned to go down.
The dugout was full of men, and all the drawn, pitiless facesturned to see who it was as he entered, and after that flicker ofinterest relapsed into apathy and stupor again. The air was thickwith smoke and the reek of guttering candles. He saw Shem lift ahand to attract his attention, and he managed to squeeze in besidehim. They didn't speak after each had asked the other if he wereall right; some kind of oppression weighed on them all, they satlike men condemned to death.
"Wonder if they'll keep us up in support?" whispered Shem.Probably that was the question they were all asking, as they satthere in their bitter resignation, with brooding enigmatic faces,hopeless, but undefeated; even the faces of boys seeming curiouslyold; and then it changed suddenly: there were quick hurriedmovements, belts were buckled, rifles taken up, and stooping, theycrawled up into the air. Shem and Bourne were among the first out.They moved off at once.
Shells travelled overhead; they heard one or two bump fairlyclose, but they saw nothing except the sides of the trench, whitishwith chalk in places, and the steel helmet and lifting swayingshoulders of the man in front, or the frantic uplifted arms ofshattered trees, and the sky with the clouds broken in places,through which opened the inaccessible peace of the stars. Theyseemed to hurry, as though the sense of escape filled them. Thewalls of the communication trench became gradually lower, the tracksloping upward to the surface of the ground, and at last theyemerged, the officer standing aside, to watch what was left of hismen file out, and form up in two ranks before him. There was littlelight, but under the brims of the helmets one could see living eyesmoving restlessly in blank faces. His face, too, was a blank fromweariness, but he stood erect, an ash-stick under his arm, as thedun-coloured shadows shuffled into some sort of order. The words ofcommand that came from him were no more than whispers, his voicewas cracked and not quite under control, though there was stillsome harshness in it. Then they moved off in fours, away from thecrest of the ridge, towards the place they called Happy Valley.
They had not far to go. As they were approaching the tents acrump dropped by the mule-lines, and that set them swaying alittle, but not much. Captain Malet called them to attention alittle later; and from the tents, camp-details, cooks, snobs, and afew unfit men, gathered in groups to watch them, with a sympathygenuine enough, but tactfully aloof; for there is a gulf betweenmen just returned from action, and those who have not been in theshow, as unbridgeable as that between the sober and the drunk.Captain Malet halted his men by the orderly-room tent. There waseven a pretence to dress ranks. Then he looked at them, and they athim for a few seconds which seemed long. They were only shadows inthe darkness.
"Dismiss!"
His voice was still pitched low, but they turned almost with theprecision of troops on the square, each rifle was struck smartly,the officer saluting; and then the will which bound them togetherdissolved, the enervated muscles relaxed, and they lurched off totheir tents as silent and as dispirited as beaten men. One of thetailors took his pipe out of his mouth and spat on the ground.
"They can say what they bloody well like," he saidappreciatively, "but we're a fuckin' fine mob."
Once during the night Bourne started up in an access ofinexplicable horror, and after a moment of bewildered recollection,turned over and tried to sleep again. He remembered nothing of thenightmare which had roused him, if it were a nightmare, butgradually his awakened sense felt a vague restlessness troublingequally the other men. He noticed it first in Shem, whose body,almost touching his own, gave a quick, convulsive jump, andcontinued twitching for a moment, while he muttered unintelligibly,and worked his lips as though he were trying to moisten them. Theobscure disquiet passed fitfully from one to another, lips partedwith the sound of a bubble bursting, teeth met grinding as the jawsworked, there were little whimperings which quickened into sobs,passed into long shuddering moans, or culminated in angry,half-articulate obscenities and then relapsed, with fretful, uneasymovements and heavy breathing, into a more profound sleep.
Even though Bourne tried to persuade himself that theseconvulsive agonies were merely reflex actions, part of anunconscious physical process, through which the disordered nervessought to readjust themselves, or to perform belatedly someinstinctive movement which an over-riding will had thwarted at itsoriginal inception, his own conscious mind now filled itself withthe passions, of which the mutterings and twitchings heard in thedarkness were only the unconscious mimicry. The senses certainlyhave, in some measure, an independent activity of their own, andremain vigilant even in the mind's eclipse. The darkness seemed tohim to be filled with the shudderings of tormented flesh, as thoughsomething diabolically evil probed curiously to find a quicksensitive nerve and wring from it a reluctant cry of pain.
At last, unable to ignore the sense of misery which filled him,he sat up and lit the inevitable cigarette. The formless terrorshaunting their sleep took shape for him. His mind reached back intopast day, groping among obscure and broken memories, for it seemedto him now that for the greater part of the time he had beenstunned and blinded, and that what he had seen, he had seen insudden, vivid flashes, instantaneously: he felt again the tensionof waiting, that became impatience, and then the immense effort tomove, and the momentary relief which came with movement, the senseof unreality and dread which descended on one, and some restorationof balance as one saw other men moving forward in a way that seemedcommonplace, mechanical, as though at some moment of ordinaryroutine; the restraint, and the haste that fought against it withevery voice in one's being crying out to hurry. Hurry? One cannothurry, alone, into nowhere, into nothing. Every impulse createdimmediately its own violent contradiction. The confusion and tumultin his own mind was inseparable from the senseless fury about him,each reinforcing the other.
He saw great chunks of the German line blown up, as theartillery blasted a way for them; clouds of dust and smoke screenedtheir advance, but the Hun searched for them scrupulously; the airwas alive with the rush and flutter of wings; it was ripped byscreaming shells, hissing like tons of molten metal plungingsuddenly into water, there was the blast and concussion of theirexplosion, men smashed, obliterated in sudden eruptions of earth,rent and strewn in bloody fragments, shells that were like hellcatshumped and spitting, little sounds, unpleasantly close, like theplucking of tense strings, and something tangling his feet, tearingat his trousers and puttees as he stumbled over it, and then a facesuddenly, an inconceivably distorted face, which raved and sobbedat him as he fell with it into a shellhole.
He saw with astonishment the bare arse of a Scotsman who hadgone into action wearing only a kilt-apron; and then they rightedthemselves and looked at each other, bewildered and humiliated.There followed a moment of perfect lucidity, while they took abreather; and he found himself, though unwounded, wondering with aninsane prudence where the nearest dressing-station was.
Other men came up; two more Gordons joined them, and then MrHalliday, who flung himself on top of them and, keeping his headwell down, called them a lot of bloody skulkers. He had a slightwound in the forearm. They made a rush forward again, the dust andsmoke clearing a little, and they heard the elastic twang of Millsbombs as they reached an empty trench, very narrow where shellinghad not wrecked or levelled it. Mr Halliday was hit again, in theknee, before they reached the trench, and Bourne felt somethingpluck the front of his tunic at the same time. They pulled MrHalliday into the trench, and left him with one of the Gordons whohad also been hit. Men were converging there, and he went forwardwith some of his own company again.
From the moment he had thrown himself into the shellhole withthe Scotsman something had changed in him; the conflict of tumultof his mind had gone, his mind itself seemed to have gone, to havecontracted and hardened within him; fear remained, an implacableand restless fear, but that, too, seemed to have been beaten andforged into a point of exquisite sensibility and to have becomeindistinguishable from hate. Only the instincts of the beastsurvived in him, every sense was alert and in that tension was somepoignancy. He neither knew where he was, nor whither he was going,he could have no plan because he could foresee nothing, everythinghappening was inevitable and unexpected, he was an act in a wholechain of acts; and, though his movements had to conform to those ofothers, spontaneously, as part of some infinitely flexible plan,which he could not comprehend very clearly even in regard to itsimmediate object, he could rely on no one but himself.
They worked round a point still held by machine-guns, through arather intricate system of trenches linking up shell-craters. Thetrenches were little more than boltholes, through which the machinegunners, after they had held up the advancing infantry as long aspossible, might hope to escape to some other appointed positionfurther back, and resume their work, thus gaining time for thetroops behind to recover from the effect of the bombardment, andemerge from their hiding places. They were singularly brave men,these Prussian machine-gunners, but the extreme of heroism, alikein foe or friend, is indistinguishable from despair.
Bourne found himself playing again a game of his childhood,though not now among rocks from which reverberated heat quivered inwavy films, but in made fissures too chalky and unweathered foradequate concealment. One has not, perhaps, at thirty years thesame zest in the game as one had at thirteen, but the sense ofdanger brought into play a latent experience which had become akind of instinct with him, and he moved in those tortuous ways withthe furtive cunning of a stoat or weasel. Stooping low at an anglein the trench he saw the next comparatively straight length empty,and when the man behind was close to him, ran forward stillstooping. The advancing line, hung up at one point, inevitablytended to surround it, and it was suddenly abandoned by the few menholding it.
Bourne, running, checked as a running Hun rounded the furtherangle precipitately, saw him prop, shrink back into a defensiveposture, and fired without lifting the butt of his rifle quitelevel with his right breast. The man fell shot in the face, andsomeone screamed at Bourne to go on; the body choked the narrowangle, and when he put his foot on it squirmed or moved, making himcheck again, fortunately, as a bomb exploded a couple of yardsround the corner. He turned, dismayed, on the man behind him, butbehind the bomber he saw the grim bulk of Captain Malet, and hisstrangely exultant face; and Bourne, incapable of articulatespeech, could only wave a hand to indicate the way he divined theHuns to have gone.
Captain Malet swung himself above ground, and the men,following, overflowed the narrow channel of the trench; but the twowaves, which had swept round the machine-gun post, were now on thepoint of meeting; men bunched together, and there were somecasualties among them before they went to ground again. CaptainMalet gave him a word in passing, and Bourne, looking at him withdull uncomprehending eyes, lagged a little to let others intervenebetween them. He had found himself immediately afterwards next toCompany-Sergeant-Major Glasspool, who nodded to him swiftly andappreciatively; and then Bourne understood. He was doing the rightthing. In that last rush he had gone on and got into the lead,somehow, for a brief moment; but he realised himself that he hadonly gone on because he had been unable to stand still. The senseof being one in a crowd did not give him the same confidence as atthe start, the present stage seemed to call for a little morepersonal freedom. Presently, just because they were together, theywould rush something in a hurry instead of stalking it. Two men ofanother regiment, who had presumably got lost, broke backmomentarily demoralised, and Sergeant-Major Glasspool confrontedthem.
"Where the bloody hell do you reckon you're going?"
He rapped out the question with the staccato of a machine-gun;facing their hysterical disorder, he was the living embodiment of athreat.
"We were ordered back," one said, shamefaced and fearful. "Yes.You take your fuckin' orders from Fritz," Glasspool, white-lippedand with heaving chest, shot sneeringly at them. They came to heelquietly enough, but all the rage and hatred in their hearts foundan object in him, now. He forgot them as soon as he found them inhand.
"You're all right, chum," whispered Bourne, to the one who hadspoken. "Get among your own mob again as soon as there's a chance."The man only looked at him stonily. In the next rush forwardsomething struck Bourne's helmet, knocking it back over the nape ofhis neck so that the chinstrap tore his ears. For the moment hethought he had been knocked out, he had bitten his tongue, too, andhis mouth was salt with blood. The blow had left a deep dent in thehelmet, just fracturing the steel. He was still dazed and shakenwhen they reached some building ruins, which he seemed to remember.They were near the railway station.
He wished he could sleep, he was heavy with it; but his restlessmemory made sleep seem something to be resisted as too like death.He closed his eyes and had a vision of men advancing under a rainof shells. They had seemed so toy-like, so trivial and ineffectivewhen opposed to that overwhelming wrath, and yet they had movedforward mechanically as though they were hypnotised or fascinatedby some superior will. That had been one of Bourne's most vividimpressions in action, a man close to him moving forward with thejerky motion a clockwork toy has when it is running down; and ithad been vivid to him because of the relief with which he hadturned to it and away from the confusion and tumult of his ownmind. It had seemed impossible to relate that petty, commonplace,unheroic figure, in ill-fitting khaki and a helmet like thebarber's basin with which Don Quixote made shift on his adventures,to the moral and spiritual conflict, almost superhuman in itsagony, within him.
Power is measured by the amount of resistance which itovercomes, and, in the last resort, the moral power of men wasgreater than any purely material force which could be brought tobear on it. It took the chance of death, as one of the chances itwas bound to take; though, paradoxically enough, the function ofour moral nature consists solely in the assertion of one's ownindividual will against anything which may be opposed to it, anddeath, therefore, would imply its extinction in the particular andindividual case. The true inwardness of tragedy lies in the factthat its failure is only apparent, and as in the case of the martyralso, the moral conscience of man has made its own deliberatechoice, and asserted the freedom of its being. The sense of wastedeffort is only true for meaner and more material natures. It tookthe more horrible chance of mutilation. But as far as Bournehimself, and probably also, since the moral impulse is notnecessarily an intellectual act, as far as the majority of hiscomrades were concerned, its strength and its weakness wereinseparably entangled in each other.
Whether a man be killed by a rifle bullet through the brain, orblown into fragments by a high-explosive shell, may seem a matterof indifference to the conscientious objector, or to any otherequally well-placed observer, who in point of fact is probablyright; but to the poor fool who is a candidate for posthumoushonours, and necessarily takes a more directly interested view, itis a question of importance. He is, perhaps, the victim of anillusion, like all who, in the words of Paul, are fools forChrist's sake; but he has seen one man shot cleanly in his tracksand left face downwards, dead, and he has seen another torn intobloody tatters as by some invisible beast, and these experienceshad nothing illusory about them: they were actual facts. Death, ofcourse, like chastity, admits of no degree; a man is dead or notdead, and a man is just as dead by one means as by another; but itis infinitely more horrible and revolting to see a man shatteredand eviscerated, than to see him shot. And one sees such things;and one suffers vicariously, with the inalienable sympathy of manfor man. One forgets quickly. The mind is averted as well as theeyes. It reassures itself after that first despairing cry: "It isI!"
"No, it is not I. I shall not be like that."
And one moves on, leaving the mauled and bloody thing behind:gambling, in fact, on that implicit assurance each one of us has ofhis own immortality. One forgets, but he will remember again later,if only in his sleep.
After all, the dead are quiet. Nothing in the world is morestill than a dead man. One sees men living, living, as it were,desperately, and then suddenly emptied of life. A man dies andstiffens into something like a wooden dummy, at which one glancesfor a second with a furtive curiosity. Suddenly he remembered thedead in Trones Wood, the unburied dead with whom one lived, hemight say, cheek by jowl, Briton and Hun impartially confounded,festering, fly-blown corruption, the pasture of rats, blackening inthe heat, swollen with distended bellies, or shrivelling awaywithin their mouldering rags; and even when night covered them, onevented in the wind the stench of death. Out of one bloody miseryinto another, until we break. One must not break. He took in hisbreath suddenly in a shaken sob, and the mind relinquished itshopeless business. The warm smelly darkness of the tent seemedalmost luxurious ease. He drowsed heavily; dreaming of womanlysoftness, sweetness; but their faces slipped away from him like thereflections in water when the wind shakes it, and his soul sankdeeply and more deeply into the healing of oblivion.
But I had not so much of man in me
And all my mother came into mine eyes
And gave me up to tears.
—SHAKESPEARE
It was late when they woke, but they were reluctant to move.Their tent gave them the only privacy they knew, and they wanted tolie hidden until they had recovered their nerve. Among themselvesthey were unselfish, even gentle; instinctively helping each other,for, having shared the same experience, there was a tacitunderstanding between them. They knew each other, and their rivalegoisms had already established among them a balance and disciplineof their own. They kept their feelings very much to themselves. Noone troubled them, and they might have lain there for hours,preoccupied with their own formless and intangible reveries, ormerely brooding vacantly; but whatever remote and inaccessibleworld the mind may elect to inhabit, the body has its owninexorable routine. It drove them out in the end to the open,unscreened trench which served as a latrine. This is furnished witha pole, closer to one side than to the other, and resting at eitherend on piled-up sods, and on this insecure perch they sat, andwhile they sat there they hunted and killed the lice on theirbodies.
There was something insolent even in the way they tightenedtheir belts, hawked, and spat in the dust. They had been throughit, and having been through it, they had lapsed a little lower thansavages, into the mere brute. Life for them held nothing new in thematter of humiliation. Men of the new drafts wondered foolishly attheir haggard and filthy appearance. Even the details kept a littlealoof from them, as from men with whom it might be dangerous tomeddle, and perhaps there was something in their sad, pitilessfaces to evoke in others a kind of primitive awe. They for theirpart went silently about the camp, carrying themselves, in theirstained and tattered uniforms, with scornful indifference. They mayhave glanced casually at the newcomers, still trim and neat fromthe bullring at Rouen, who were to fill the place of the dead nowlying out in all weathers on the down-land between Delville Wood,Trones and Guillemont; but if one of the new men spoke to them hewas met with unrecognising eyes and curt monosyllables.
Outside the tents two or three men would come together and askafter their friends.
"Where's Dixon?"
"Gone west. Blown to fuckin' bits as soon as we got out of thetrench, poor bugger. Young Williams was 'it same time, 'ad most ofan arm blown off, but 'e got back into the trench. Same shell, Ithink. Anyway, it were the first thing I see."
They spoke with anxious, low voices, still unsteady and inclinedto break; but control was gradually returning; and all that pitycarried with it a sense of relief that the speaker, somehow, butquite incredibly, had himself managed to survive.
When breakfast came they seemed at first to have no appetite,but once they had started, they ate like famishing wolves, moppingup the last smear of bacon fat and charred fragments from thebottom of the pan with their bread. When they returned to camp onthe previous night, there had been tea waiting for them, a rumissue left very largely to the indiscretion of the storekeeper, andsandwiches of cold boiled bacon. Bourne had drunk all he could get;but on biting into a sandwich it had seemed to chew up into so muchdry putty in his mouth, and he had stuffed the rest of his rationaway in his haversack. The other men had been much the same, noneof them had had any stomach for food then, though the sandwicheswere freshly cut with liberal mustard on them; now, though they hadturned dry and hard, and the bread had soured, they weredisinterred from dirty haversacks and eaten ravenously.
Gradually their apathy cleared and lifted, as first their bodilyfunctions, and then their habits of life asserted themselves. Oneafter another they started shaving. Bourne and Shem had anarrangement by which they fetched and carried for each otheralternately, and it was Bourne's job today. There was a shortage ofwater, and rather stringent regulations concerning its use. Bournehad long ago come to the conclusion that there was too much bloodydiscipline in the British Army, and he managed to procure, on loan,a large tin, which had been converted into a bucket by the additionof a wire handle. He got this more than half full of water, as wellas a mess-tin full of hot water from one of the cooks, and goingand coming he worked round behind the officers' tents, so as toavoid other companies' lines, and sergeants or sergeant-majors,who, zealous in the matter of discipline, might have hypothecatedboth the bucket and water for their own personal use. Then, out ofsight behind their own tent, he and Shem washed and shaved. Theyhad not had a bath for five weeks, but curiously enough, theirskins, under their shirts, were like satin, supple and lustrous;the sweat washed out the dirt, and was absorbed with it into theirclothing which had a sour, stale, and rather saline smell. Theywere not very lousy.
They had achieved more of the semblance than the reality ofcleanliness, and were drying themselves when Corporal Tozer, whoknew their value, came round to the back of the tent and looked atthe water, already grey and curdled with dirt and soap.
"You two are the champion bloody scroungers in the battalion,"he said; and it was impossible to know whether he were more movedby admiration or by disgust. Shem, whose eyes were like the fishpools of Heshbon, turned on him an expression of mingled innocenceand apprehension; but Bourne only looked on indifferently as thecorporal, making a cup of his hand, skimmed off the curdled scumbefore dashing the dirty water over his own head and neck. Bournehad no modesty in the demands he made on his friends, and he hadgot the water from Abbot, the company cook, by asking for itcasually, while discussing the possibility of procuring, illegally,a grilled steak for his dinner, preferably with fried onions, whichfor the time being proved unobtainable.
"Tell me when you've finished with the bucket, will you,corporal?" he said quietly, as he turned to go back to the tentwith Shem. Before putting on his tunic, after taking it outside tobrush rather perfunctorily, he looked at the pockets which themachine gun bullet had torn. The pull of his belt had caused themto project a little, and the bullet had entered one pocket andpassed out through the other, after denting the metal case of hisshaving-stick, which he had forgotten to put into his pack, but hadpocketed at the last moment. His haversack had been hit too,probably by a spent fragment of a shell; but the most impressivedamage was the dent, with a ragged fissure in it, in his tin hat.His pulse quickened slightly as he considered it, for it had been apretty near thing for him. Then he heard Pritchard talking tolittle Martlow on the other side of the tent.
"...both 'is legs 'ad bin blown off, pore bugger; an' 'e weredyin' so quick you could see it. But 'e tried to stand up on 'isfeet. ''elp me up,' 'e sez, ''elp me up.'—'You lie still,chum,' I sez to 'im, 'you'll be all right presently.' An 'e jesgive me one look, like 'e were puzzled, an' 'e died."
Bourne felt all his muscles tighten. Tears were running downPritchard's inflexible face, like raindrops down a window pane; butthere was not a quaver in his voice, only that high unnatural notewhich a boy's has when it is breaking; and then for the first timeBourne noticed that Swale, Pritchard's bed-chum, was not there; hehad not missed him before. He could only stare at Pritchard, whilehis own sight blurred in sympathy.
"Well, anyway," said Martlow, desperately comforting; ''ecouldn't 'ave felt much, could 'e, if 'e said that?"
"I don't know what 'e felt," said Pritchard, with slowly fillingbitterness, "I know what I felt."
"Bourne, you can take that bloody bucket back to where youpinched it from," said Corporal Tozer, as he came into the tent,wiping the soap out of his ears with a wet and dirty towel, andBourne slipped out as inconspicuously as a cat. Still rubbing hisneck and ears, Corporal Tozer caught sight of Pritchard's face, andnoticed the constraint of the others. Then he remembered Swale.
"Get those blankets folded and put the tent to rights," he saidquietly. "You'd better open it up all round and let some air in; itstinks a bit in here."
He picked up his tunic, put it on, and buttoned it slowly."Swale was a townie of yours, wasn't he, Pritchard?" he saidsuddenly. "A bloody plucky chap, an' only a kid, too. I'm damnedsorry about him."
"That's all right, corporal," answered Pritchard evenly. "Bein'sorry ain't goin' to do us'ns no manner o' good. We've all thesorrow we can bear on our own, wi'out troublin' ourselves wi' thato' other folk. We 'elp each other all we can, an' when we can't'elp the other man no more, we must jes 'elp ourselves. But I tellthee, corporal, if I thought life was never goin' to be nodifferent, I'd as lief be bloody well dead myself."
He folded up his blanket neatly, as though he were folding upsomething he had finished with and would never use again. Then helooked up.
"I took 'is pay book an' some letters out o' 'is tunic pocket,but I left 'is identity disc for them as finds 'im. If our chapshang onto what we got, there'll be some buryin' parties out.There's 'is pack, next mine. I suppose I'd better 'and them lettersin at th' orderly-room. There were a couple o' smutty Frenchphotographs, which I tore up. 'E were a decent enough lad, but boysare curious about such things; don't mean no 'arm, but think 'emfunny. 'Tis all in human nature. An' I'll write a letter to 'ismother. Swales is decent folk, farmin' a bit o' land, an' I'm onlya labourin' man, but they always treated me fair when I worked for'em."
"I suppose Captain Malet will write to her," said CorporalTozer. "Cap'n 'll write, surely," said Pritchard. "E's a gentlemanis Cap'n Malet an' not one to neglect any little duties. We allknew Cap'n Malet before the war started, an' before 'e were acap'n. But I'll write Mrs Swale a letter myself. Cap'n Malet, 'emus' write 'undreds o' them letters, all the same way; 'cause thereain't no difference really, 'cept tha' know'st the mother, same asI do."
"Have you a wife and children of your own?" Corporal Tozerinquired, breaking away a little.
"Ad a little girl. She died when she were four, th' year beforeth' war. The wife can look after 'erself," he added vindictively."I'm not worryin' about 'er. Th' bugger were never any bloody goodto me."
He lapsed into a resentful silence, and the corporal wassatisfied that his emotion had been diverted into other channels.The other men grinned a little as they shook the dried grass-stemsand dust off the groundsheets. When they had finished tidying thetent, they sat about smoking, without their tunics, for the day washot and airless. The corporal stood outside with his eye on theofficers' tents watching for the appearance of Captain Malet. Thenby chance he saw Bourne talking to Evans, who had been thecolonel's servant, and had been taken over in that capacity by theofficer commanding them temporarily, who was a major from anotherregiment. Evans, who never in private referred to his new masterotherwise than as "that Scotch bastard', though he had nothingScots about him but a kilt, was now idly swinging the bucket, intowhich Bourne, Shem and the corporal himself, had washed more thanthe dust of battle.
"'E 'as some bloody 'ide, pinchin' the commandin' officer'sbucket," was the corporal's only comment, turning his gaze towardsthe officers' tents again. Presently Bourne stood beside him.
"We're on the move, corporal," he announced.
"Who says we're on the move? Evans?" He added the name as anafterthought so that Bourne might guess he knew where the bucketcame from, and not underrate either his powers of observation andinference, or his more valuable quality of discretion.
"Evans!" explained Bourne indifferently; "Oh, no! I was onlygiving him back his bucket. Evans never hears anything except thedirty stories the doctor tells the major in the mess. Abbot toldme. He said the cookers were to be ready to move on to Sand-pits attwo o'clock. We're on the move all right."
"Them bloody cooks know what we're doing before the orderly-roomdoes," said Corporal Tozer drily. "Well, if it's goodbye to thefuckin' Somme, I won't 'arf' ave a time puttin' the wind up some o'these bloody conscripts. Seen 'em yet? Buggered-up by a joy-ride inthe train from Rouen to Mericourt, so they kept 'em fuckin' aboutthe camp, while they sent us over the bloody top; you an' I, oldson; in it up to the fuckin' neck, we was! When they've 'ad me at'em for a fortnight, they'll be anxious to meet Fritz, they will.They'll be just about ready to kiss 'im."
Suddenly he shed his confidence, as Captain Malet emerged fromone of the tents, on the other side of the extemporised road,looking up at the sky, as though he were chiefly concerned inestimating the weather prospects for the day. Then, rapidlysurveying his company lines, he saw Sergeant Robinson and CorporalTozer, and waved them to him with a lift of his stick. Bourneturned, and going into the tent sat down beside Shem. When he toldthem what he had heard from Abbot there was a flicker of interest;though they were not surprised, for the fighting strength of thewhole battalion was by now little more than that of a singlecompany. They were to be taken out of the line, fed with newdrafts, and then thrown in again, that was all, except thatwhenever the new drafts were mentioned, a certain amount of feelingwas shown against them.
Bourne began to be a little sorry for the new men, though somemalicious imp in his mind was amused by the resentment theyaroused. A draft had arrived the night before the attack,consisting of men enlisted under the Derby scheme, the first ofthat class to join the battalion; and there was some uncertaintyconcerning their temper and quality. The question had been, whetherit were better to distribute the men among the different companiesimmediately on the eve of the attack; or to leave them out, andabsorb them more slowly afterwards. Probably the commanding officerhad preferred to rely entirely on men already experienced inbattle, even though their numbers were rather depleted, and itmight be argued very reasonably that his decision was right. At thesame time, the new men suffered by it. They were friendless amongstrangers, without having been long enough together to form acoherent unit to themselves; being rather soft, thirty hours in atroop train, tightly packed in sweltering heat, and then a longishmarch from Mericourt, the railhead, had left them dead-beat; notbeing borne on the ration strength, they had at first to make shiftfor their provisions as best they could; and because there wasnothing for them to do, all sorts of futile and unnecessaryfatigues were invented by those in authority for their especialbenefit. They were bullied even by the details, and stood at thebeck of any storekeeper. All this, of course, was in the besttradition of the British Army; but after swanking in a servicecompany at some training camp in Blighty, cheek by jowl with someof the slightly obsolete heroes from Mons, it was a littledisheartening to find themselves suddenly precipitated again to thelevel of a recruit. After all, Bourne reflected, when he had comeas one of a draft, he had been made to suffer similarly: but he hadgone immediately into a show and that had made some difference.Presently these men would be indistinguishable from the others, andshare their common experience.
Corporal Tozer reappeared in the tent.
"Parade for roll call at eleven o'clock: fatigue order."
There was just a trace more importance than usual in his manner,and though it was barely discernible Bourne noticed it, and lookedup with his incorrigible smile.
"Got an extra stripe, corporal?" he inquired.
"Don't you worry about what I've got," said the corporal. "Yoube bloody careful what you get."
Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking?
Why, he drinks you with facility your Dane dead drunk; he sweatsnot to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit erethe next pottle can be filled.
—SHAKESPEARE
After dinner, they moved back about two miles to another camp atSand-pits. The invaluable and long-suffering draft had precededthem there, to make straight the ways; but the men who composed itwere ill-regarded, as there was not enough tent-room for their ownshelter, and they paired off, each pair trying to make a bivvy outof a couple of groundsheets fastened together by string passedthrough the eyelets, and then slung on a horizontal pole suspendedbetween two uprights. Their efforts might have been more successfulif it had not been for a shortage of string and wood. There wasmore bustle and life in the new camp, and the men who had been inaction moved about more freely. After roll call a change had workedin them, the parade had brought them together again; and, somehow,in talking of their common experience they had mastered it; itceased to be an obsession, it was something they realised as pastand irrevocable; and the move to Sand-pits marked a newbeginning.
They were still on a shoulder of the downs; and beneath themthey could see Albert, and the gilt Virgin, head downwards, poisedimminent above the shattered city, like an avenging wrath. Clouds,apparently of hewn marble, piled up for a storm, and already, overthe distant flats, there were skirts of rain drifting across thesunlight. An observation balloon, sausage-shaped and thickened atone end by small subsidiary ballonets, lifted itself, almost asthough it were being hoisted by a series of pulls, out of one ofthe hollows beneath them: and then hung swaying in the air, much asa buoy heaves in a tide-way. High above it some silvery gleamscircled, seen fugitively and lost again, and occasionally one ofthese gleams would detach itself from the group and make off,leaving a little trail of vapour behind it. The men watched theballoon idly, since there were interesting possibilities in thatdirection: it might be shelled, or attacked by hostile aircraft andset alight, in which case the occupants would have to jump for it;and then perhaps their parachutes would not open. They were ratherdisappointed as it continued to swing there undisturbed. Now andagain, however, an aeroplane would become too inquisitiveconcerning other people's business, and then, suddenly,miraculously it seemed, puff after puff of white smoke appeared inits immediate neighbourhood; it would ignore these attentionscontemptuously for a time, and then turn away, apparently satisfiedwith the result of its inquiries. There was very little excitementto be found in that quarter either, unless it were by the pilot andhis observer.
"Them bloody chaps 'ave a cushy job," said little Martlow withresentful envy. "Just fly over the line, take a peek at ol' Fritz,and as soon as a bit o' shrapnel comes their way, fuck off 'omejildy, toot sweet."
He was sprawling beside Shem and Bourne, to whom he had attachedhimself for the moment. Having no particular chum, he waseverybody's friend; and being full of pluck, cheekiness and gaiety,he made his way very cheerfully in a somewhat hazardous world. Shemwas talking to him; but Bourne was occupied with other matters, andseemed to be interested in the movements ofRegimental-Sergeant-Major Hope, who was at the other end of thecamp.
He was interested for many reasons. At roll call it was foundthat there were thirty-three men left in the company, but probablymany of those absent were not severely wounded. Bourne only knew afew of the men outside his own section by name; and the only twomen belonging to it whom he had actually seen wounded were Caswelland Orgee, during the last stage of the attack near the station,when they had been brought down by a machine-gun. They had crawledinto shelter, and eventually a stretcher-bearer had helped them.Caswell had been hit in the upper part of the chest; and Orgee inthe cheek, the bullet knocking out some teeth and breaking part ofthe lower jaw. Some men by him had been hurt by splinters beforethey went over the top. One of them, Bridgenorth, had only beenslightly hurt, and had subsequently gone over the top with them,but later in the day, having been hit again, went back with somewalking wounded.
It was a long business. They had gauged the extent of the lossessuffered by the company as soon as they went on parade. Name aftername was called, and in many cases no particulars were available.Then for a moment the general sense of loss would become focused onone individual name, while some meagre details would be given bywitnesses of the man's fate; and after that he, too, faded into thepast. Behind Bourne was a big stevedore from Liverpool, though hewas of Cockney origin; a man called Pike, a rough, hard-bittencharacter, with a good heart.
"Redmain" was the name called out; and as at first there was noreply, it was repeated. "Has anyone seen anything of Redmain?""Yes, sir," cried Pike, with sullen anger in his voice. "The poorbastard's dead, sir."
"Are you sure of that, Pike?" Captain Malet asked him quietly,ignoring everything but the question of fact. "I mean are you surethe man you saw was Redmain?"
"I saw 'im, sir; 'e were just blown to buggery," said Pike, witha feeling that was almost brutal in its directness. "'E were a chumo' mine, sir, an' I seen 'im blown into fuckin' bits. 'E got it;just before we got to their first line, sir."
After a few more questions, Sergeant Robinson, calling the rollin place of Sergeant-Major Glasspool, who had been rather seriouslywounded soon after Bourne had seen him in the German front line,passed to another name.
"Rideout."
Even though they could not always hear what he said, the othermen would crane their heads out to watch any man givinginformation, and the officers questioning him. Officers and menalike seemed anxious to restrain their feelings. The bare detailsin themselves were impressive enough. But under that restraint onecould feel the emotional stress, as when Pritchard told of Swale'send. It was only after the roll of the men had been called, thatthe men were asked if they could give any information about MrWatkins, or Mr Halliday.
Of those on parade Bourne, apparently, was the only one to haveseen Mr Halliday after he had been wounded, and Captain Malet hadquestioned him very closely. Bourne, like every man who came intouch with Captain Malet, had a great admiration for him. He wasabout twenty-four years of age, with a sanguine complexion, blueeyes, and fair, rather curly hair. He stood about six feet four,and was proportionately bulky, so that his mere physical presencewas remarkable; at the same time, the impression he left on themind was not one of mass, but of force, and speed.
It was his expression, his manner, something in the way he movedand spoke, which made one feel that only an enormous effort enabledhim to bridle the insubordinate and destructive energy within him.Perhaps in battle it broke loose and gratified its indomitableappetites. This is not to say that he was fearless: no man isfearless, fear is one of the necessary springs of human action; buthe took pleasure in daring, and the pleasures of men are probablyincomplete, unless some poignancy accompanies them. Just before theattack was launched, he had climbed out of the trench and walkedalong the parapet, less as though he were encouraging the men, thanas though he were taunting them; and after they were back in theiroriginal position that night, he had found that he had forgottenhis ash-stick, and had returned to the captured trenches to get it.There was nothing deliberate in either of these actions, they werepurely spontaneous. He would not have gone into an attack with ahunting-horn, or dribbled a football across no-man's-land: probablyhe would have thought anything of the kind a piece of sentimentallevity. All that he did was improvised, and perhaps he had morethan his fair share of luck.
Evidently he was very much troubled about Mr Halliday; andwhenever he was troubled, he became impatient and angry, not withany particular individual, but with the nature of things, and theorder of the universe. Mr Watkins had been killed outright, andthere was no more to be said on that point, except that he was oneof many good fellows. There was nothing perfunctory in that summaryregret; it was keen and deep, but one could not pause on it. Thecase of Mr Halliday was different. Bourne had seen him first with aslight wound in the arm, and had then seen him wounded again in theknee. Probably the bone was broken. That was in the German outpostline, and he had been left there in comparative shelter with otherwounded who were helping each other. After that moment, nothingfurther was known of him, as they had no information of him havingpassed through any dressing-station. Moreover, the medical officer,after working all day, had taken the first opportunity to explore agreat part of the ground, and to make sure, as far as that werepossible, that no wounded had been left uncollected. Of coursenight and the shellholes may not have yielded up all their secrets.The problem of Mr Halliday's fate seemed insoluble. At last CaptainMalet ceased to probe the mystery. He dropped it abruptly, andasked Bourne about himself, with a half humorous kindliness; then,the men having been dismissed, he walked off towards theorderly-room looking preoccupied and tired.
Shortly afterwards Captain Malet saw Corporal Tozer and askedhim a good many questions about Bourne; and then a little later thecorporal met the regimental, who also asked about Bourne, and addedthat he wished to see him when they had moved to Sand-pits.Corporal Tozer, finding that two separate lines of inquiry wereconverging on Bourne's somewhat insignificant person, concludedthat he was to be given a stripe, and he told him so, as they satsmoking together after dinner, giving him besides a full account ofeverything that had been said. Bourne had no ambition to become anacting lance-corporal, unpaid. He preferred the anonymity of theranks. He wished that he had not taken down his crossed guns oncoming overseas, for if Mr Manson had seen them on his sleeve, hewould have been put in the snipers' section, and whatever thetrials and perils of a sniper's life might be, it was solitary and,up to a point, inconspicuous. Bourne's preferences were irrelevantto Corporal Tozer, who gave him good advice, which Bourne hoped waspremature.
The conversation flagged for a moment, and then Corporal Tozertook it up again.
"Captain Malet's not in a very good skin today," he said; "'e'as to take over as adjutant, temp'ry; and there ain't no bloodylove lost between 'im an' the O. C., I can tell you. An' then,there's another thing: that bloody old colour-sergeant in theorderly-room, if 'e got 'arf a chance o' puttin' a knife into theregimental 'e'd take it, dam' quick, see? Well, you know whatCaptain Malet's like. Oh, I'm not sayin' anything against 'im; 'eknows a good man from a bad un, an' you couldn't wish for a betterofficer. But 'e doesn't know 'ow bloody bad some o' the bad uns canbe. When you come to think of it in that way, Captain Malet ain'tgot no more sense than a kid at school."
"He's all right," said Bourne dispassionately; "anyway, he willalways take his own line."
"Would 'e take 'is own line wi' the O. C.? Yes, 'e would too;an' a nice bloody mess 'e'd make of it. The major's only temp'ry'imself. An' what's a man like who's only temp'ry, an' wants 'isjob pukka? Why a bloody guardsman couldn't please the bugger. Youtake a corp'ral comin' from the first battalion, or from thesecond, same as I did, an' what's 'e think o' this fuckin' mob, eh?Well, it's a dam' sight worse when you get an officer from anotherregiment takin' command o' the battalion. 'E's been cribbin'everything. 'E's asked Brigade already to send 'im an officercompetent to take over the duties of adjutant. Captain Malet don'twant the adjutant's job; but 'e don't want Brigade to think he'llnever make anything better'n a good company officer, does 'e? Thecolour-sergeant's just goin' to sit back, an' let 'im get on withit. 'E's due for 'is pension, an' 'e's tryin' to work 'is ticket.Then there's the regimental.'
"Well, nobody can teach the regimental his job," said Bourne,decisively.
"I'm not sayin' anything against 'im," said the corporal. "E's afriend o' yours, though I can't say I'm sweet on 'im myself. Idon't mind a man bein' regimental, but 'e gives 'imself too manybloody airs, thinks 'imself more class than most of us, an' triesto talk familiar to officers as don't know enough to keep 'im in'is place. I'm not worryin' about 'im. But what's goin' to 'appenif 'e an' the colour-sergeant start scrappin' in theorderly-room?"
The thought of a scrap in the orderly-room gladdened Bourne'sjaded soul, and he had laughed softly to himself. The corporal gotup, dusted bits of dead grass from his trousers, and they put theirkit together for the move.
Now, listening a little distractedly to Shem and Martlow, whilewatching the approach of the regimental-sergeant-major, Bourneturned over these matters in his mind. He did not doubt for amoment that Tozer had told him all this so that he could drop ahint to the regimental if he thought fit; and Tozer was a decentman, who wasn't trying to work off a grudge, or make mischief. Theposition of affairs was very much as the corporal had described it,but Bourne saw it from a slightly different angle. He had had it onthe tip of his tongue, more than once in the course of theconversation, to tell the corporal that Major Blessington was agentleman, and, whatever his private feelings for Captain Maletmight be, would do nothing that was not honourable; but he hadwisely refrained, for fear of seeming to imply that the corporal'sstandard of conduct in these matters was necessarily inferiorbecause it was different. After all, honour, in that connection, isonly an elaborate refinement of what are the decent instincts ofthe average man, and in the process of its refinement, perhapsthere is a corresponding finesse thrown into the other scale as anoff-set.
War, which tested and had wrecked already so many conventions,tested not so much the general truth of a proposition, as its truthin relation to each and every individual case; and Bourne thoughtof many men, even men of rank, with military antecedents, whosehonour, as the war increased its scope, had become a fugitive andcloistered virtue, though it would probably renew its lustre againin more costermonger times.
He did not blame them; only after considering all possiblegrounds for their absence, it left him perplexed. What he did blamein them was their readiness to judge others who had at leastsubmitted to the test. It was rather as though they wished to makesome vicarious atonement for their own lapse; but a man who hasforgotten the obligations of loyalty should not set up as a judge.If this conventional notion of honour would not fit into thecorporal's scheme of things, he himself could safely discard it. Itmay have been very well so long as it had been possible to considerthe army as a class or a profession, but the war had made it aworld. It was full of a diversity of God's creatures: honour, withsome, might be a grace, and with others duty an obligation, butself-interest, perhaps in varying measure, was common to them all.Even in the actual ecstasy of battle, when a man's soul might betorn suddenly from its scabbard to flash in an instant'sbrightness, it was absent not for long. When one returned to theroutine of camp and billets, one had to take the practical and moreselfish view; and if a nice sense of honour were unable to restrainthe antipathy which the major and Captain Malet felt for eachother, their own interests might be expected to provide anefficient check. It operated equally, where there were none ofthese niceties, with the regimental and the colour-sergeant, buthere the interests did not follow the same direction.
As the colour-sergeant was quite openly working his ticket,incompetence, if calculated, might even help to procure his end,and would be charitably condoned as only another symptom of hispensionable years. If he were out to satisfy some old grudge, hehad his opportunity in the present condition of affairs, and thecorporal was right; but after all it was none of Bourne's business,apart from the fact that the regimental, when a sergeant-instructorat a training camp, had been decent to him. Anyway, he had to goand see him now; and telling Shem he would be back in a minute, hemoved off to intercept his man before he should reach thesergeant-majors' tent.
"Corporal Tozer told me you wished to see me, sir."
"Hullo, Bourne, your bloody luck has brought you through again,has it? Captain Malet has been talking to me about you. I think hemeans to tackle you about going in for a commission when we getbehind the line. We are going back for a rest. It won't be anybloody rest for me, though. I have to do the work of the wholebattalion. I thought you might come along to my tent tonight,though as a matter of fact I haven't a tent to myself, in thisbloody camp. Have to muck in with the company-sergeant-majors.However, you come along about nine o'clock. There's some bucksheerum. There'll be a rum ration in any case at nine o'clock, soperhaps you had better come a bit later."
"I rather wanted to see you alone, sir. I don't like butting in,where there are a lot of sergeant-majors. They probably won't likeit either, and to tell you the truth I don't much care aboutleaving Corporal Tozer sitting in the tent. After all I shall haveto tell him where I'm going."
"Oh, that's all rot. I'll make it right with thesergeant-majors, after all I'm running this show, and I don't seewhy I shouldn't please myself once in a bloody while. You weren'tso particular at Tregelly, when you pinched a sergeant's greatcoatand came into the sergeant's mess of the fifth-sixth with us thatSunday. Where's the difference? Bring Tozer along with you, he's inorders for an extra stripe, and we can make the excuse that he hasonly come along to wet it. Sergeant Robinson is to becompany-sergeant-major. Poor Glasspool was pretty badly damaged, Ihear. Tell Sergeant Tozer I told you to bring him."
"You tell him, sir, and tell him to bring me. It will look muchbetter that way; and he's an awfully decent chap. I don't want acommission. But I wanted to give you a tip on the quiet. I don'tknow yet whether it is worth bothering about, but has that oldcolour-sergeant in the orderly-room got any grudge againstyou?'
"My good bloody man, every incompetent ass in the battalion hasgot a grudge against me. What's his trouble?"
"Oh. I don't know enough to say; I have just put one or twothings together. Probably I hear a good many things you don't; butif he hasn't any motive, then it is not worthwhile giving a thoughtto the matter."
"You leave the motive to me. What's the game?"
"Well, they say that with the colonel and the adjutant bothgone, and with the Major not entirely pleased with Captain Malet asadjutant, he may be able to find or make an opportunity. If I werein your place..."
"Well, I don't mind hearing your advice, even if I shouldn'ttake it."
"Don't anticipate him, and don't try to get in first. Let theorderly-room do its own work, instead of trying to run the wholeshow yourself. And if you must quarrel with him quarrel on a pointof your own choosing, not on one of his. He's pretty cunning, andhe has got you weighed up."
"So have you, apparently. I thought the bugger was being alittle more oily than usual. Anyway, thanks for the tip. I shalltell Sergeant Tozer to bring you along with him."
He walked off, and Bourne went back to Shem and Martlow.
Several of the company-sergeant-majors andquartermaster-sergeants were with the regimental when SergeantTozer, whose new rank sat a little stiffly on him as yet, came upon some routine duty; and the regimental used the opportunity tomake them consenting parties to his invitation.
"I'm damned glad your promotion has gone through, sergeant. Comealong to us after the rum issue tonight and wet the stripe forluck. Bring Bourne with you, if you like. None of you fellows mindif Sergeant Tozer brings Bourne along, do you? He's quite a decentchap. Plays the game you know, so it won't matter for once in away. That's all right, then; bring him along, sergeant. Bourne andI became rather pally at Tregelly; of course at a musketry camp youall muck in together more or less. I was his instructor, and whenhe came out here and found I was regimental, you might have thoughthe'd never seen me before in his life. You may tell him privately,if you like, sergeant, that Captain Malet wants him to go for acommission. Said he was a damned useful man."
A little to his surprise, Sergeant-Major Robinson indirectlysupported him.
"I was goin' to ask you about Bourne, major," he said. "Thoughtthere might be a chance to shift 'im into the signals section,where 'e'd find things a bit easier. 'E's pretty well buggered-up,an' it's not as though 'e were a slacker. 'Owever, if 'e's goin'for a commission..."
"That's just the bloody difficulty," said the regimental. "I'dbet a level dollar that, when the captain asks him, Bourne will sayhe would rather stay as he is. Of course if he did, one could shovehim into sigs whether he liked it or not; that's if we don't getenough trained signallers in the new drafts. You can't put anuntrained man in, if there are trained men waiting. After all, wedon't get much chance of training men ourselves."
"Well, if I'd my way," said Sergeant-Major Robinson obstinately,"I'd let them bloody conscripts sweat a bit first."
"It's no damned good talking," answered the regimental. "We'vegot to make the best of 'em. Once they're here you can't make anydifference between them and the older men. They've got to shakedown together, and you know it as well as I do. A good many of themare boys, too, who couldn't have come sooner."
Considering little Martlow and Evans, neither of whom wereseventeen, the sergeant-major remained unconvinced; but herecognised the expediency of the argument, and no more was said.Sergeant Tozer walked off, surprised and flattered, both by theinvitation and the manner of it. His importance showed a definiteincrease.
"I don't want to go and butt in among a lot of sergeant-majors,"said Bourne petulantly; and his manner by no means implied that heconsidered sergeant-majors to be the salt of the earth. Then, withapparent reluctance, he allowed himself to be persuaded, Shemintervening effectively.
"Take your cooker," said that astute counsellor. "It'll do as amug; and then if you can scrounge any buckshee rum for tea in themorning, the cover will keep it good. See, it fits quitetight."
Army rum is potent stuff, especially when the supplies of teaand water have run out, and one drinks it neat out of a dixie. Theyhad just settled down comfortably, and the regimental was tellingthem some of his experiences with Bourne at Tregelly, when MajorBlessington returned from visiting friends in the neighbourhood,and was heard shouting outside the tent. The regimental buttonedhimself into his tunic hurriedly, shoved on a cap, and went out.The others in the tent heard the commanding officer say:
"Sergeant-major, don't you think there's rather a lot of lightshowing from the camp? Oh, I don't mean from your tent."
Then they heard the regimental, full of zeal, and bursting withsuppressed blasphemy.
"Put that light out! Put that light out!" His voice showed hewas moving about the camp. "Put that bloody light out!"
"Put two o' them fuckin' candles out, Thompson, and please thebugger," said Hales, quartermaster-sergeant of B Company, who wasone of the party in the sergeant-majors' tent, to the storekeeper."E's as fussy as five folks, now 'e's out o' the bloody line again.'E don't stir up there no more'n a mouse. It don't make no differto us; we can find the way to our mouths in the dark. 'Ave you gota bit o' cheese there 'andy? I could fancy a bit o' cheese."
Major Blessington had retired to his tent, determined in hismind that now they were going behind the line he would lick thissloppy mob into something like shape.
"That bugger takes me for a bloody lance-jack," said theregimental, hot and indignant, on his return. "Who put out thosecandles?"
"I told Thompson to put two of 'em out," said Hales; "just toplease the bastard. 'E can light 'em again now, if you like."
"He expects me to go to kip in the fuckin' dark, I suppose? Giveme some more of that bloody rum, Thompson. I've been shoutingmyself hoarse. What was I saying? Oh, yes! About how Bourne and Ipalled up at Tregelly. Well, there were these two bloody greatLancashire laddies firing their course there, and they were sothick you could never separate the buggers; but on the Saturdaythey went into Sandby for a spree, and got properly pissed-upthere. They picked up with some woman or other, and she walked partof the way back with them over the golf links.
"I don't know exactly what happened, but when they came backinto camp they started out to call each other everything they couldget their bloody tongues round, and things went from bad to worseuntil one of 'em fetched the other an almighty clout on the jaw,which toppled the bugger over. When he got on his feet again, hewent abso-bloody-lutely fanti; picked up a bayonet, and wounded hisbest pal in the arse. Of course he bled all over the fuckin' hut,and that sobered him up a bit, but by that time every bugger therewas trying to get the bayonet away from the other artist. Old TeddyCoombes got it. Do you remember old Teddy? Well, when the woundedman saw his best pal in the centre of what looked like a Rugbyscrum—you know how all Lancashire men fight with their feet,it comes o' wearing clogs, I suppose—he sailed in again frombehind shouting out: 'I'm comin' Bill; give the buggers hell.' Billwas biting one of the recruits in the calf of the leg at thatparticular moment, so he didn't really need any bloodyencouragement.
"Just at that moment I got back from the sergeants' mess, so Ibegan to take a lively interest in the proceedings myself, and thenext minute there were two bloody scrums where there'd only beenone before. However, at the end of the discussion, and it was afirst-class scrap I can tell you, there was Teddy Coombes withabout ten recruits sitting on one of the fuckin' heroes, and therewas I with another ten sitting on the other; and when you couldn'thear anything else but loud breathing, two of the military policecame in and wanted to know in a superior way what the fuckin' hellall the noise was about. Would you credit it? Those two buggers hadbeen at the door the whole time, and had been in too big a bloodyfunk to come in, until it was all over and they knew they weren'twanted. Of course it was all up then; but it took a small army tomarch those two Lancashire laddies down to the clink all the same.They were a bonny pair all right. When I'd wiped the sweat from myface, and was taking stock of the situation, the first thing Inoticed was Bourne, sitting up in his bed quite quietly, smoking afag; and looking as though he thought the whole thing in very poortaste.'
"I wasn't taking any fortresses that night," said Bournecontentedly. He was drinking rum out of an enamelled mug; and thecooker with cover complete had passed, quite openly, so as toescape remark, into the hands of the storekeeper.
"It made me bloody wild to see him sitting there like that. Itdidn't seem to me that there was anyesprit de corps aboutit. All right, you bugger, I said to myself, meaning him of course,I'll get you yet. I didn't know him then. Do you know SergeantTrent? A first battalion man. I had been up at the mess with him,but he didn't know anything about the scrap, as he'd gone straightdown to the big barrack-room. He was going to put in for a passuntil midnight on Monday, and make an excuse that he wanted to seehis wife. Well, our two sportsmen from Lancashire, one of whom wassuffering from what the M. O. described as a superficial fleshwound, though it would have been a damned sight more serious ifhe'd had it himself; they spent all Sunday recovering in the clink,and on Monday, after we got back from the range, they were upbefore the camp commandant.
"Bourne was escort; and you never, in all your life, sawanything so bloody funny as Bourne leading in my two Lancashirelads, either of whom could have put him in one of their pockets andkept him there. They'd nothing to say, very wisely, except thatthey really loved each other like brothers, and that the wholeepisode had been a pure accident. The commandant was unsympathetic,and asked them whether they would take his punishment or go beforea court-martial; and again very wisely they left it to him. Youcouldn't have met a nicer pair of lads on the whole, except fortheir bad habits. He gave them all he could give them, which was ahundred and sixty-eight hours' cells.
"Well, they had to have an escort to Milharbour, and I arrangedwith the officer that Bourne and I should be the escort, thegeneral idea being, of course, that if there were any more bloodytrouble lying about he could help himself to all he wanted and abit more as well; or if the lambs went quietly, then Bourne andSergeant Trent and myself could have a merry party in Milharbourafter we had handed them over, Bourne to be in the chair. We triedto put wind up him by telling him they were pretty hard-bittenoffenders, and he seemed to mop it up. We got to the station, andthen Sergeant Trent and I saw two pushers we knew from Sandby onthe train, and Trent was pretty keen on one of them..."
"Thought you said 'e 'ad a wife in Milharbour?' interruptedCompany-Quartermaster-Sergeant Hales, with the solemnity of a manwho is a little drunk but still unsatisfied.
"Well, she was no fuckin' use to him when he was at Tregelly,was she? She didn't live at Milharbour, either; and he wasn't goingto see her anyway. He was very fond of her really, and wouldn'thave done anything to hurt her feelings for a lot. Would he,Bourne?"
"They were a most devoted couple, sir," said Bourne tersely.
"Well, Sergeant Trent and I got in with the two pushers, andleft Bourne with the two prisoners. How did you get on with them,Bourne?"
"Oh, we hit it off all right, sir," said Bourne indifferently."Of course, you had given me orders to treat them strictly. Theywere two able-bodied six-footers, accustomed to chucking tons ofcoal about, and I stood a pretty poor chance if they chose to makea rough house of it. Besides they had their kitbags with them, aswell as their rifles: and they could have brained me with either.Of course I may have looked very pretty in belt and bayonet, but Iwas not exactly filled with confidence. My business was toestablish a moral superiority over two members of the criminalclasses. One of them turned to me as soon as the train started, andsaid: 'Can we smoke, chum?' I said no, like a fool; and they turnedaway quietly and looked out of the windows at the sea. Well, I wassorry for them and I wanted to smoke myself; and if they couldn'tsmoke because they were prisoners, I couldn't either, because I wason duty. You had told me I was to treat them strictly, but afterall, sir, you had deserted from duty..."
"I like your blasted cheek," exclaimed the regimental,surprised; but there was a general appreciation of the point, andBourne continued tranquilly:
"...so I had to take such practical measures as I thought best,and I took out my cigarette case, and handed it to them. The manwho had been wounded was not too well. I expect his behind wassore. I carried his kitbag for him when we changed trains atPembroke; and then again up the hill to the gate. You and SergeantTrent didn't come on the scene again until I had landed myprisoners in the guardroom, and the sergeant wouldn't take themover from me because you had the ticket. In the interval theprisoners and I had all become quite friendly."
"I wonder you didn't tell them to cut and run for it," said theregimental ironically. "After I handed over the prisoners, SergeantTrent and I went into the mess and had a bottle of Bass each, andgave Bourne one at the back door. Then the three of us went up toSergeant Willis's bunk; we had some tea there, and passed the timeuntil the boozers had opened. We thought we had got Bourne weighedup, and he was only a bloody fool. He was a bloody masterpiece.
"As soon was we got into a boozer we started mopping up thebeer, and he had drink for drink with us, beer or stout; but thenhe said he was tired of long drinks, and suggested that we hadbetter have some gin and bitters. We improved quite a lot on that,but it didn't seem to make any difference to Bourne, who said weought to have a meal. We were down in the Hare and Hounds then, inthe back parlour. He ordered some steak and onions, but we couldn'teat much, though he seemed pretty hungry; and when we sat down tothe table he said we had better make a party of it, and he orderedsome champagne. Oh, he took charge all right, and did the thingproperly; said he wanted a sweet, and as they didn't have anythingbut tinned peaches, ordered those, and told us liqueur brandy wasthe proper stuff to drink with tinned peaches. There were two girlsthere, Sergeant Trent was a bit sweet on..."
"Sergeant Trent be blowed, sir," interrupted Bourne. "I don'tknow anything about the two girls in the train, but the girl at thepub was your affair; only you didn't want it known because youraffections were ostensibly engaged in another part of the town.After all, Sergeant Trent was a good friend of mine, and Ican't..."
"Have it your own way, then; it didn't matter a damn anyway;because as soon as they heard Bourne had been standing us gin andbitters, and champagne, and liqueur brandy, they were all over him.One sat on one arm of his chair, and one on the other, and he fedthem bits of peaches stuck on the end of a fork, treating them justas though they were a pair of pet dogs or two bloody parrots; andthen he said in an absent-minded way that he didn't want to breakup the party, but the last train went at eight-thirty, and it was aquarter past already, so that there was just time for astirrup-cup, as he called it, before we left.
"If any of you chaps go on the piss with Bourne, and he offersyou a stirrup-cup, you can take it from me he has got you beat. Heordered brandy and soda for five, and that made the girls livelytoo, as they had had a few before they came in. And now, he says,we really must say goodbye. It was bloody easy to say goodbye, butSergeant Trent tried to get up, and then he sat down again,laughing in a silly way: we were both just silly drunk, and therewas Bourne as smart and quick as Sergeant Chorley on parade, exceptthat his cap was off and one of the girls had ruffled his hair abit. We heard the bloody engine whistle and the train go, and therewe were, with ten or eleven bloody miles to walk back to Tregellybefore rouse parade. Bourne was quite philosophic about it; said itwould sober us all up, there was nothing like a good long walk tosweat it out of you, only we ought to allow plenty of time.Whenever I thought of it I got wind up, and then I'd pretend it wasa joke and laugh like hell. Sergeant Trent was the same: we wereboth just silly drunk.
"Well, Bourne said he must get a little air, he would go out forten minutes, and in the meantime we were not to have anything todrink. Those two bitches didn't pay any attention to us, said we'dinsulted them, and were no gentlemen; but Bourne could do anythinghe liked with them, and he was just as polite as he could be. Well,he went out after whispering something to the two girls, who stayedwith us, and in about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour he wasback again.
"We had a few more drinks, but he didn't press us; only he drankdrink for drink with us, that I'll swear. I seemed to see himsitting there, looking as though he doubted our ability to walk,and the next thing I knew was that I woke up, in bed with my bootson, in the big a barrack-room at Tregelly; and there was SergeantTrent looking bloody awful in the next bed. We had moved down outof the hut on Monday morning before leaving for Milharbour, asanother party left the camp that day. I didn't know how we had gotback; but Corporal Burns told me that at about half-past twelveBourne had come in, and asked him to come down to the wall and helpcarry us up. When the corporal came down he saw, on the other sideof the wall, a car, and the driver, and the two girls. They hadbutted us over the wall, because one of the other regimentsfurnished the guard that night, so Bourne had stopped the car andmade the driver switch off the lights some way back. Corporal Burnstold me that he sat by the fire talking to him a bit, and then gotinto kip much as usual."
"Corporal Burns was an odd chap," said Bourne in a disinterestedway. "Sometimes he would sit up most of the night, looking into thefire and brooding. I never knew why, but somebody said that he haddeserted from another regiment because of some trouble, and thatthe authorities knew about it, but sympathised with him, andwouldn't take action. He had a proper guardsman's word of command.He was a nice chap. I remember he was sitting over the fire when Icame in; and after we had put you on your bed I said to him that helooked as though he could do with a drink. He had some sugar, so weboiled some water and had a glass of hot rum before we turnedin."
"Yes," said the regimental; "there was this bugger recommendingplenty of hot tea in the morning, to flush out our kidneys, and hehad the greater part of a bottle of rum hidden in his kit. SergeantTrent and I both drank tea, and we were both bloody sick; but aboutten minutes before rouse parade he gave us each a bottle of beer,which he had brought back from Milharbour, and that just got usthrough. He told us sweetly he was orderly-man, and was not goingon rouse parade. Mr Clinton took us out for a run, and when we cameback we were sick again. Bourne always knew someone likely to beuseful in emergencies, and we asked him to go up to the canteenmanager and try and scrounge some more beer; but he said we musteat something first; he would see what could be done afterbreakfast. Well, we went across to the cookhouse, and tried to ramfood down, but it didn't do; and then Bourne, he always came intothe cookhouse instead of the mess-room too, appeared behind ussuddenly, with a medicine bottle, and poured a good double tot ofrum into our tea. I couldn't speak; but Trent looked up at him withtears of gratitude and said under his breath: 'You're a bloodymiracle.' He didn't have any himself."
"I was firing at four hundred, five hundred, and six hundredyards that morning," Bourne explained. "I took the same bottle downto the range with me, and when the detail before mine was firing Igot behind a sandhill to take a small swig to steady myself. Justas I got the bottle out, Mr Clinton came round, and saw it; he wasfiring too, you remember. 'Bourne, what have you got in thatbottle?' he said. 'Oil, sir,' I replied. 'That's the very thing Iwant,' he said. 'Well, sir,' I said, 'here's a piece of four by twoready, and, wait a bit, sir, here's a clean piece, as well.''Thanks awfully, Bourne,' he said; and when he had sauntered off Idrank that rum so quickly I nearly swallowed the bottle with it. Ifired quite well: got seventeen at four hundred, eighteen at fivehundred, and seventeen at six: top scores at each range, and I gotmy crossed guns with a couple of points to spare. Well, sir, Ithink I had better go to kip."
"We had all better go to kip, but you can have another tot ofrum before you go. Now you all know what I think about Bourne. Hehas never asked a favour of me, and when Sergeant Trent and I tookhim out meaning to get him canned up and generally make a fool ofhim, he drank us both to a standstill. You didn't leave us there,Bourne, to get out of the mess we had made for ourselves as best wecould, while you went back by train. You got us back withconsiderable difficulty, and you put us safely into kip, and youhad the laugh on us, and you forgot it. Well, I think you are abloody good sport. Goodnight, Bourne; goodnight, sergeant."
"Thanks awfully, sir," said the embarrassed Bourne. "Goodnight,Sir. Goodnight, all."
As he was going, the storekeeper handed him his cooker casually."Thanks, goodnight, Thompson; see you tomorrow at Meaulte. Mindthat tent rope, sergeant. Here, give me your arm."
"You know, Bourne, of chap," said the sergeant, who was a littleunsteady in speech as well as in gait, but very solemn. "That washa lie you tol' that offisher."
"I'm afraid it was, sergeant. It touches my consciencesometimes; and I pinched some of his whisky, too, up the line theother night."
"I wouldn't 'a' believed it of you, Bourne. I really wouldn't'a' believed it o' you if you 'adn't tol' me yo'sel'."
Bourne managed to deposit the sergeant in his place withoutmaking any undue disturbance in the tent. Then he undressed, pulledup his blanket, and smoked another cigarette. It was a lie, headmitted cynically to himself; but not being exactly a free agentin the army, he wondered how far the moral problem was involved.Every man had a minimum of self-will, and when an externaldiscipline encroached on it, there was no saying what might happenas a result. When he had finished his cigarette he turned over andslept without a dream.
And now their pride and mettle is asleep.
—SHAKESPEARE
The next day they moved back to the sordid squalor of Meaulte,where they spent two nights housed in stables, and the draft ceasedto have a separate existence, being absorbed by the variouscompanies. There was a kit inspection, at which Bourne's tin hatwas condemned, the fact being entered in a notebook bySergeant-Major Robinson; and that piece of ritual concluded thematter for the time being, the company-quartermaster-sergeanthaving no surplus tin hats at his disposal. At Meaulte they werestill within the battle area, and there was nothing for them to do.Shem, Bourne and Martlow idled about, looking at the interminabletrain of motor lorries, which passed through, day and night,without ceasing, and so densely packed that it was difficult tocross the narrow street between them. Little Martlow had agrievance. In the attack he had annexed the field glasses of twoGerman officers, who being dead had no further use for them. AtHappy Valley, seeing him needlessly decorated with the loot ofbattle, the commanding officer had said to him peremptorily: "Handover those glasses to me, my boy. I shall see that they areforwarded to the proper quarter." His action may have been correct,from the official point of view, but to little Martlow it was anunjustifiable interference with the rights of privateownership.
"And now the bastard's wearin' the bes' pair slung round 'is ownbloody neck. Wouldn't you've thought the cunt would 'a' give mevingt frong for 'em anyway?"
"Your language is deplorable, Martlow," said Bourne in ironicalreproof; "quite apart from the fact that you are speaking of yourcommanding officer. Did you learn all these choice phrases in thearmy?"
"Not much," said little Martlow derisively; "all I learnt in thearmy was me drill an' care o' bloody arms. I knew all the fuckin'patter before I joined."
Shem grinned maliciously at Bourne, who could never offer anyserious resistance to Martlow's rosy-cheeked impudence. Bourne hadseen the boy blubbering like the child he really was, as they wentover the top a couple of days earlier, but unaware that he wasblubbering, and possessed at the same time by a more primitive furythan filled the souls of grown men. It was unsafe to give oneselfthe airs of riper experience with a boy of Martlow's breed.Probably life to a him had always been a kind of warfare; and hisprecocity at times could be disconcerting.
"Voulez-vous m'embrasser, mademoiselle?" he cried provocativelyto a bovine female who replied only with a look of virtuousindignation. "Well, thank Gawd we're going back to decent billetswhere there'll be some chance of a bon time."
They marched from Meaulte to Mericourt, and on the way an enemyplane swooped out of the blue and dropped two bombs, whichexploding on the hard macadam sent gravel and road metal flying inall directions. In spite of their casualties the men were verysteady, and though there was no cover, they moved quietly off theunenclosed road on to soft wet turf, which would stifle to someextent the effect of any more bombs. Some of our own planes at onceattacked the Hun, and drove him off; a running fight ensued, but itwas apparently indecisive. Evidently the enemy was challenging ourtemporary supremacy in the air with a new type of machine, for inthe earlier stages of the battle he had not been verytroublesome.
Bourne had been set to pulling a Lewis-gun cart, a job which heliked because it enabled him to get rid of his pack, which wascarried on the cart itself. There were a couple of men behind, tohold the cart back with a length of rope when going downhill.Passing through Ville the men behind, in fooling with the rope, letthe cart run forward, and one of the iron rests in front tore openthe back of Bourne's left boot, and the flesh of his heel as well.It was a trivial thing, but painful, though he did not troubleabout it. They had dinner just outside Mericourt, and thenentrained; but the van in which Bourne found himself had nearerfifty than the forty men it was supposed to hold, packed into it.He contrived to keep by the door, sitting there with his feet onthe footboard outside, so that he got the air, though he had noshade and the sun was fierce. The men at the back sufferedconsiderably: they were both stifled and cramped: and, unable tosit, in standing with nothing to steady them, when the train swayedand jolted they fell and jostled against each other. A kind ofimpersonal bad temper, which could not find any very definiteobject, developed among them; there was some abuse, there were eventhreats and counter-threats, but no actual quarrelling. The generaleffect was one of a recalcitrant acquiescence in the dispensationsof an inscrutable providence.
In the last couple of days their whole psychological conditionhad changed: they had behind them no longer the moral impetus whichthrust them into action, which carried them forward on a wave ofemotional excitement, transfiguring all the circumstances of theirlife so that these could only be expressed in the terms of heroictragedy, of some superhuman or even divine conflict with the powersof evil; all that tempest of excitement was spent, and they werenow mere derelicts in a wrecked and dilapidated world, with soreand angry nerves sharpening their tempers, or shutting them up in amorose and sullen humour from which it was difficult to movethem.
Bourne often found himself looking at his companions as it werefrom a remote distance, and then it sometimes seemed to him thatthey had very little reason or sense of responsibility, apart fromthat which the business imposed on them. He was not supercilious inthis; he was merely wondering how far what he felt himself wassimilar or equivalent to what they felt. It is a little curious toreflect that while each man is a mystery to himself, he is an openbook to others; the reason being, perhaps, that he sees in himselfthe perplexities and torment of the mental processes out of whichaction issues, and they see in him only the simple and indivisibleact itself. While he imagined that the other men were probably alittle less reflective and less reasonable than he was himself, hefrankly envied them the wanton and violent instincts, which seemedto guide them, or at least carry them, so successfully through thishazardous adventure. It was a piece of naivety on his part. Theyhad accepted him, and he had mucked in with them quitesatisfactorily. But there was a question which every man put toanother at their first acquaintance: What did you do in civillife?
It was a question full of significance, not only because itrecognised implicitly the endless variety of types to whichmilitary discipline had given an apparent uniformity; but becauseit implied also that, for the time being, civil life had beenobliterated, at least as far as they, were concerned: it existedonly precariously, and in a very attenuated form, somewhere in therear of the embattled armies, but for all practical purposes it wasnot worth a moment's consideration. Men had reverted to a moreprimitive stage in their development, and had become nocturnalbeasts of prey, hunting each other in packs: this was theuniformity, quite distinct from the effect of military discipline,which their own nature had imposed on them.
There is an extraordinary veracity in war, which strips man ofevery conventional covering he has, and leaves him to face a factas naked and as inexorable as himself. But when a battalion hasbeen so thinned that it becomes negligible as a fighting unit, andit is withdrawn from the line to refit, there is a tendency forindividual characteristics to reassert themselves; the pressure ofthe opposed force is removed, and discipline, until theestablishment has been reorganised, is necessarily relaxed. The badtemper which steamed or exploded ineffectively among this van-loadof angry men, childish as it was, was symptomatic. Bourne, who hadscored in so far as he had air and could sit on the floor, nursedhis sore heel and was as hot and as angry, as the rest of them.
It was already dusk when they detrained, and Bourne did notnotice the name of the station, though he imagined they weresomewhere in the neighbourhood of St Pol. They had a march of nineor ten miles in front of them; and another man having taken hisplace with the Lewis-gun cart, Bourne fell in between Shem andMartlow, and marched with his company again; but he was now quitelame, and tired easily. He was pretty well dead-beat before theycame to the end, otherwise the march through the cool dusk waspleasant; a few scurrying rainstorms crossed their line, andevidently, from the state of the road, it had rained heavily there;but now the sky was mainly clear, with stars and a half-moon, whichlooked up at them again from the puddles, and there were long,straight lines of poplars which stood on either side of them,erect, like notes of exclamation. Bourne was a little indignantwhen Shem, a tough, sturdy and generous person, seeing him limping,offered to take his rifle. It was after eleven o'clock when theycame to Beaumetz. As soon as they entered the village the battalionsplit itself up into several detachments, and Mr Sothern, in chargeof the party in which Bourne was included, was not quite surewhether he had found the right billets; but he told the men to fallout while he went in search of information, and they sat in thekennel of the muddy street. Except for lights in one or two windowsthere was not a sign of life. The men sat there quietly, tiredenough, but with not a trace of bad temper left in them; a kind ofcontentment seemed to soak into them from the stillness of theplace.
When they had found their stables for the night, Bourne took hisboot off and examined his heel; his sock was hard with dried blood,and the wound itself looked dirty, so as there was a light showingin the house, he thought he would try for some hot water to batheit, and he knocked persuasively at the door. It was opened by anold man with a patient, inquiring expression on his face. WhenBourne, speaking lamentable French, explained his need, he wasinvited to enter, and then made to sit on a chair, while his hostbrought some hot water in a basin and insisted on bathing the woundhimself. When it was clean he went to a sideboard—the roomwas a kind of kitchen-parlour-and brought out a bottle of brandy,pouring some into a cup so that Bourne's heart rejoiced in him; butthe old man only took a strip of clean linen, which he folded intoa pad, and after saturating it with brandy, he once again took upBourne's foot in his capable hand, and squeezed the linen, so thatthe brandy fell drop by drop onto the broken flesh. It stung alittle, and Bourne, rather sceptical of its healing power, wouldhave preferred to take it internally; but against the old man'svoluble assurances that it was bon, tres bon pour les plaies, hecould find nothing to say. Finally, his host took up what was lefton the linen pad and placed it on the wound, and Bourne drew aclean sock over it. He always carried an extra pair in his kit, butit was a mere chance that they were clean. Like most of the men hehad dumped everything that was not necessary, even his spare shirtand underpants; for when a man has to carry nearly three stone ofkit and equipment on the march, he becomes disinclined to take muchheed for the morrow, and prefers to rely on the clean changeprovided at the divisional baths, in spite of the uncertaininterval.
By the time the treatment was complete, Bourne's gratitude hadalmost left him bankrupt in the French language; but the old manincreased his obligations by giving him a cup of steaming coffee,well laced with that sovran remedy for a torn and swollen heel, andthey talked a little while. He could not persuade his host to takeany payment, but he accepted a few cigarettes, which he broke upand smoked in his pipe. He was alone in the house, Bourne gathered,and he had a son who was at the front. His only other relation wasa brother who was a professor of English at a provincialuniversity. These two facts seemed to establish a degree of kindredand affinity between them, and when Bourne left to sleep in hisstable he was invited to come in again in the morning.
He woke early, and not knowing where the cookers were, he tookadvantage of the invitation, so that he could beg some hot waterfor shaving. He was surprised by the effect of the brandy on hisheel, as all the swelling had disappeared and the pain was no morethan a slight discomfort when he flexed his foot. He found the oldman ill, and brewing himself some tea, which he took only as a kindof physic, somewhat reluctantly. Bourne looked at his newspaper, inthe hope of learning something about the war, but apart from a fewcolourless details from the French front there was nothing; no oneknew anything about it; it was like one of the blind forces ofnature; one could not control it, one could not comprehend it, andone could not predict its course from hour to hour. The spirit ofthe troops was excellent, the possibility of defeat was incredible;but to calculate the duration of the conflict was quite beyond theresources of the human mind: it was necessary to look at thesematters from a scientific standpoint, and the scientific method wasthat of trial and error. Bourne only glanced hastily at all thesolemn empty phrases, and was wondering whether he could get a newpair of boots from the shoemakers, unofficially to save time,before they paraded; and when the old man had at last brewed histea, he got a little hot water and departed to shave. The snobswere also kind to him, and gave him a pair of boots which theyassured him were of a type and quality reserved entirely forofficers, being of the best Indian roan, a kind of leather of whichBourne had never heard.
"Strictly speakin'," said his friend Snobby Hines, "it's anofficer's boot, but it's a very small size, so you may 'ave thatpair, as they fit you. 'Ope we stay 'ere a bit. It's quite a bonplace, two decent estaminets an' some mad'moiselles, not that I seeanything much in these French girls, you know: my ol' curiosity at'ome would make most of 'em look silly. Well, you can't 'aveeverythink, so you've got to be content with what you git."
Bourne did not trouble about the cryptic significance of thesewords, he agreed with everything unreservedly, this being one ofthe secrets of a happy life. He liked his new boots because theleather was strong but soft and pliable, and if they were a bitoily, well, that would keep the wet out, and one did not have topolish boots on active service. They paraded at ten o'clock, for alittle extended order drill; but when they had fallen in SergeantTozer asked if there was any man capable of working a typewriter.There was no reply from the ranks, though Bourne had played about alittle with a Blick. They moved out into the fields to drill. Butat eleven o'clock the regimental appeared on the scene; and onceagain a typist was demanded, and as there was no reply, theregimental singled out Bourne, and cross-questioned him. He knewvery well that Bourne was the most likely man, and when the latteradmitted under pressure that he could use the machine, he was toldto report at the orderly-room at one o'clock. He was very unwillingto take the job. He was by no means an expert with a typewriter,but that did not trouble him; what he disliked was the fact that hewould be sitting, for the greater part of the day, under the eyesof authority. He had no personal experience of the orderly-roomstaff but, from hearsay alone, he had a very definite prejudiceagainst the men composing it, and it was almost a relief to him tofind from the very first moment that there were good grounds forit, because he was spared the trouble of attempting to adjusthimself to these new conditions. His job was a temporary one, andit was his object to see that it didn't become permanent; withwhich end in view, obedience, and a certain amount of innocentstupidity, seemed the proper tactics to adopt. He had made his ownplace in the company, and he was quite willing to go back to it,that very night if they should think fit; and to find an amplecompensation for the apparent setback in the rowdy good humour ofhis comrades.
The lance-corporal received him, with a suspicious air, andpassed him on to the corporal, who wore a more truculentexpression, and presented him to the colour-sergeant. He was acat-like individual, who showed all his false teeth in adeprecating smile, and seemed to consider Bourne as only the latestof those many tribulations with which God, in his inscrutablewisdom, had chosen to afflict a faithful servant. While this littleceremony was in progress, Captain Malet, upon whom the adjutant'sduties had temporarily devolved, entered the orderly-room; and asthey stood to attention, he acknowledged their existence coldlywith a brusque salute; but when he sat at his table and turned oversome papers, Bourne caught his eye, and a quick ripple of impishschoolboy humour flickered for an instant on the officer's face. Heseemed always to find in Bourne some stimulus to mirth. Of coursethe others noticed it, with the air of not noticing it, with analmost ostentatious indifference, and wondered what this indecorousrecognition might imply.
"Show Bourne what he is supposed to do," said thecolour-sergeant to the lance-corporal with an almost ingratiatingbenevolence, but with a slight stress on the word "supposed" thatgave a sub-acid flavour to his oiliness; and Bourne sat down beforea small Corona to learn his way about on it. It did not occupy hiswhole attention; he was aware that the others were scrutinising himcarefully, and his own rather delicate sensibility put out littlegroping feelers in an attempt to apprehend some of the realities ofthe situation. The colour-sergeant was of course the dominatingfactor, and the other two did not count, though in the rude phraseof better men, they should have chalked their bloody boots.
When Captain Malet, who spent as little time as possible in thatuncongenial atmosphere, went out again, they talked amongthemselves; and if the matter of their conversation was difficultfor an outsider to follow, its manner was sufficientlyilluminating. Bourne saw at once that his own particular job was amyth: even the lance-corporal, Johnson, was not overburdened withwork, and all the typing done in the course of a day would not havetaken up twenty minutes of his time. What these luxurious creaturesreally wanted was a man to skivvy for them; and, though Bourne as arule avoided the use of coarse language, he knew precisely what hewould be before he acted as a kind of general batman to theorderly-room; so when teatime came, he did not enter into anyunseemly competition with the lance-corporal for the honour offetching the colour-sergeant's; but, taking his mess-tin, went offand sat with his own friends for half an hour.
"Ow do you like it?" inquired Sergeant Tozer.
"Oh, it's cushy enough," Bourne answered indifferently. "I don'tmind it for a week or so; but it is not a job I want for keeps. Iwould rather be with the company."
"Some people don't know their bloody luck," said the sergeanttersely.
"I don't know. Your section were always fairly contented, exceptwhen Fritz strafed them unnecessarily."
"Sergeant-Major Robinson wanted to know whether you would pinch'im some notebooks from the orderly-room, an' a few pencils? 'e an'the quarter-bloke can't get anything out o' them buggers."
"I'll pinch anything the sergeant-major wants," said Bournerecklessly; "only he will have to give me time to learn my wayabout." He went back to the orderly-room, and was released from hisarduous labours a little after half-past five; then, picking upShem and Martlow, he went off to an estaminet, determined to haveas bon a time as the place and their purses afforded. The battalionhad been paid out at twelve o'clock, and the place was crowded withuproarious men, stamping time with their feet on the floor as theysang at the top of their voices:
Mademoiselle, she bought a cow, Parley-voo,
To milk the brute, she didn't know how, Parley-voo,
She pulled the tail instead of the tit,
And covered herself all over with—MILK...
A storm of loud cheers and laughter at the unwonted delicacy ofphrase drowned the concluding gibberish of the chorus. Bourneordered a bottle of some poison concocted out of apples andpotatoes labelled champagne, which had a little more kick in itthan the vin rouge or French beer. Then the three of them crowdedin among the men playing "crown and anchor", with Snobby Hinesrattling the dice-box.
"Oo's goin' to 'ave somethin' on the old mud'ook? Come on, melucky lads, if yer don't speckyerlate yer can't accumyerlate.Somethin' on the of mud'ook jest to try yer luck. Y'all finished,then? Right! There y'are. It's the sergeant-major. I tol' yer so.An' off we go again, an' off we go again."
Bourne struck a vein of luck, and as he had crushed in next toThompson, the storekeeper, he gave him ten francs for servicesrendered at Sand-pits. He lost that in a few minutes, and Bournegave him another ten, which went the same way. As Bourne'sgenerosity seemed to dry up, Thompson asked him for the loan offive, and that vanished with an equal rapidity. Shem won a little,and Martlow lost, but lost cannily, buttoning up his purse when hefound the dice running against him. But Bourne had a bit more thanhis share of luck, and as the disconsolate Thompson still hungabout the altars of fortune, on which he had sacrificed alreadymore than double his pay, Bourne gave him five francs, and told himto go and try his luck with wine or women, as he might do better atanother game. Thompson took his advice, and turned awaydisillusioned from an unsympathetic world; and then, oddly enough,for a little while Bourne lost; but he played on, and his luckturned again. He got up having won about seventy-five francs, andthey had another bottle of champagne before setting off through thedarkness to their billets.
The old man still had a light in his kitchen, and Bourne decidedto pay him a visit and inquire after his health. Bourne had a briarpipe in a leather purse, which a friend in England had sent him,though he never smoked a pipe; and he took it with him, andpresented it to his host as a tribute of gratitude. The old man wassurprised and delighted. He was quite well again, and offeredBourne some cafe-cognac; but Bourne refused, explaining that theywould march away in the morning; though, if monsieur wereagreeable, he would come in early and have some coffee. Monsieurprofessed himself enchanted.
I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in theoppression of aged tyranny, who sways not as it hath power but asit is suffered.
—SHAKESPEARE
For the next few days they were continually on the move, andBourne did nothing for the orderly-room but help to stow and unstowa few tin deed-boxes, eating, marching and sleeping with hiscompany. Captain Malet had gone on leave unexpectedly, and CaptainHavelock became adjutant in his place. The roads were dusty, a lotof the route pave, hot and unyielding to the feet, and the flatstones worn or shifted to an uneven surface; while the sycamores orpoplars bordering the sides were not close enough to give muchshelter from a pitiless sun.
At the end of the second day's march after leaving Beaumetz,they halted under a stone wall which must have been about fifteenfeet high, with a single arched gateway opening in it. On the otherside of the road pollarded willows leaned away from them tooverhang a quick-flowing little river, full of bright water.Several of the new men had fallen out, and would be on the mat forit in the morning, and they were all tired enough, the sweat havingsoaked through their shirts and tunics to show in dark patches onthe khaki where the equipment pressed on it.
On the other side of the archway was a wide courtyard, with theusual midden in the centre of it; at the back, a large house,half-farm, half-chateau, with a huge stone-built barn on one side,flanking the yard, and on the other almost equally substantialstables and outbuildings. It was conventual in appearance, with aprosperous air. When they pushed open the great doors of the barn,and entered into that cool empty space, which would have held twocompanies at a pinch, it had seemed to offer them the pleasantestlodging they a had known for months: it was as lofty as a church,the roof upheld by unwrought beams and rafters, the walls piercedwith narrow slits for light and air, and the floor thick-litteredwith fine, dry straw. Some panicky fowls flew up into their faces,and then fled precipitately as they took possession. They slippedoff their equipment and wet tunics, and unrolled their putteesbefore sprawling at ease.
"Cushy place, this," said Shem contentedly. "Wonder what thevillage is like, it would be all right if we were billeted here fora week; that is, unless we're going on to some decent town."
"Some bloody thing's bitin' my legs," said Martlow after a fewminutes.
"Mine, too," said Bourne. "What the hell...?"
"I'm alive with the buggers," said Pritchard angrily.
Men were scratching and cursing furiously, for the straw swarmedwith hen-fleas, which seemed to bite them in a hundred differentplaces at one and the same time. Compared with these minute blackinsects of a lively and vindictive disposition, lice were merelycaressing in their attentions; and the amount of profane blasphemywhich broke from the surprised and discomfited men was of anunusual fervour. For the moment they were routed, scratchingthemselves savagely with dirty fingernails; and then gradually thebites decreased, and they seemed, with the exception of anoccasional nip, to have become immune, hen-fleas apparentlypreferring a more delicate pasture. They caught one or two withconsiderable difficulty, and examined them curiously: after all,they were not so repulsive as the crawling, white, crab-like lice,which lived and bred, hatching in swarms, on the hairy parts ofone's body. These were mere raiding, pleasure-seekers, and when thefirst onset had spent its force, the fitful skirmishes whichsucceeded it were endurable.
Old soldiers say that one should never take off boots and socks,after a march, until one has cooled down, and the swelling in legsand feet has vanished; bathing hot swollen feet only makes themtender. They rested until tea was ready, and in the distribution ofrations they were lucky; a loaf of bread among four, and a tin ofbutter and a pot of jam among six. Shem, Bourne and Martlow ate,smoked and then, taking towels and soap, followed the river untilthey found some seclusion, and there they stripped and bathed. Theydid not know that bathing had been forbidden, and even after theyhad dressed themselves partly again they sat on the bank with theirfeet on the gravel bottom, letting the water ripple over them. Oneof the regimental police found them there, and rapped out anadjectival comment on their personal characters, antecedents andfuture prospects, which left nothing for the imagination tocomplete. As they showed an admirable restraint under the point andemphasis of his remarks, he contented himself with heading themback to billets, with a warning that the village was out of bounds,and then took his own way along the forbidden road in search ofpleasure, like a man privileged above his kind.
"They don't care a fuck 'ow us'ns live," said little Martlowbitterly. "We're just 'umped an' bumped an' buggered about all overfuckin' France, while them as made the war sit at 'ome waggin'their bloody chins, an' sayin' what they'd 'ave done if they wastwenty years younger. Wish to Christ they was, an' us'ns might getsome leaf an' go 'ome an' see our own folk once in a while.'
"Too bloody true," Shem agreed. "Five bloody weeks on the Sommewithout a bath, and thirteen men to a loaf; and when they take youback for a rest you can't wash your feet in a river, or go into avillage to buy bread. They like rubbing it in all right.'
"What are you chewing the fat about?" asked Bourne. "You've hada bathe, and you're not paying for it. Can't you take an ordinarytelling-off without starting to grouse about it? You don't want todrink someone else's bath water in your morning tea, do you? I'mgoing over to the house to inspect the inhabitants. There's amad'moiselle there, Martlow; just about your mark."
"You please yourself," said Martlow. "I'm not goin'; I don'tlike the look of the fam'ly."
Bourne found the womenfolk hospitable enough, and pleasedhimself enormously. He bought a couple of glasses of wine frommadame, who asked him not to tell the other men, as there were toomany of them. Snatches of soldiers' choruses came from the barnacross the yard, and madame was full of praise of the English,their courage, their contentment. She asked Bourne if he sang, andhe laughed, lifting up his voice:
Dans le jardin de mon pére, les lilas sontfleuris...
She seemed astonished by that, and beamed at him, her red facebright with sweat.
Auprès de ma blonde, qu'il fait bon, fait bon,fait bon,
Auprès de ma blonde, qu'il fait bon dormir...
but he knew no more than a few lines of it. She knew it wellenough, and told him it was not proper, at which he cocked his headaside and looked at her knowingly; and then, satisfied that he hadturned that flank, gave his attention to the girl, who ignored itdiscreetly. She was not really pretty, but she had all the bloomand venusty of youth, with those hazel eyes which seem almostgolden when they take the light under dark lashes. Two oldish mencame in, and looked at Bourne with grave suspicion, while madameand the girl bustled to get their evening meal. Every time eitherof these ladies approached him, Bourne, with an excessivepoliteness, rose from his chair, and this seemed to increase thesuspicion of the younger man.
"Asseyez-vous, monsieur," he said with a tranquil sarcasm."Elles ne sont pas immortelles."
"C'est dommage, monsieur," Bourne replied, apt enough for allhis clumsy French, and madame beamed at him again; but thediscouragement the men offered to his presence there was too strongfor him, and he took up his cap, thanking her for her kindness,bowing respectfully to mademoiselle, and finally saluting the twohobereaux so punctiliously that they were constrained torise and acknowledge his elaborate courtesy. As he crossed thecourtyard in the half-dark he laughed softly to himself, and thenwhistled the air of "Auprès de Ma Blonde" loudly enough forthem to hear in the lighted room.
No one could tell what luck tomorrow might bring.
The girl had moved him a little. She had awakened in him thatsense of privation, which affected more or less consciously allthese segregated males, so that they swung between the extremes ofa sticky sentimentalism and a rank obscenity, the same mind warpingas it were both ways in the attempt to throw off the obsession,which was less desire than a sheer physical hunger, and could notfeed itself on dreams.
In the shuddering revulsion from death one turns instinctivelyto love as an act which seems to affirm the completeness of being.In the trenches, the sense of this privation vanished; but itpressed on men whenever they moved back again to the borders ofcivilised life, which is after all only the organisation of man'sappetites, for food or for women, the two fundamental necessitiesof his nature. In the trenches his efforts were directed tosecuring an end, which perhaps has a poor claim on his attention,for in comparison with the business of keeping himself alive, thepursuit of women, or even of food, may seem to rank only as therather trivial diversion of a man's leisure moments; and in theactual agony of battle, these lesser cupidities have no place atall, and women cease to exist so completely that they are not evenirrelevant. Afterwards, yes. Afterwards all the insubordinatepassions released by battle, and that assertion of the supremacy ofone's own particular and individual will, though these may bemomentarily quiescent from exhaustion, renew themselves and find noadequate object, unless in the physical ecstasy of love, which isless poignant.
Unfortunately they moved off again next morning, and the girl,standing with her own people in the yard, watched them go, asthough she regretted vaguely the waste of good men. About themiddle of the day something in the character of the countrysideseemed familiar, and the reminiscence teased their memory to makeit more definite, until they came upon a signpost which told themthey were marching in the direction of Noeux-les-Mines, andreminiscence became anticipation. The thought of a town wheredecent conditions still prevailed, and where they might have a bontime, put new heart into them, and the marching column broke intocheerful song. They had put, at least partially, their own words tothe air of song sufficiently sentimental:
Oh, they've called them up from Weschurch,
And they've called them up from Wen,
And they'll call up all the women,
When they've fucked up all the men.
After which the adjuration to keep the home fires burning seemedrather banal. Entering Noeux-les-Mines they were exuberant; butafter they had passed the lane leading from the main street to thecamp, the chorus of song became less confident. When the greatslagheap and the level crossing had been left behind them, theyreconciled themselves to the less joyful, but still tolerableprospect of Mazingarbe. Then Mazingarbe, with its brick-builtbrewery, fell behind them too.
"We're goin' into the bloody line again," shouted Minton, whopwas marching just ahead of Bourne.
"Well, it's cushy enough up this part o' the line now," saidPritchard resignedly.
"Cushy be buggered," said Minton angrily.
They continued a little way along the road to Vermelles, andhalted finally in Philosophe, a mining village, brick-built andgrimy, from which the inhabitants had been evacuated. There theyfell out and went to billets in sullen silence. Almost immediatelyShem and Martlow were posted with field glasses and whistles togive warning of the approach of enemy aircraft. The troops wereordered to keep close in to the houses when moving about thevillage, and to take cover when the whistles were blown.
Bourne went off to the orderly-room. The main street ofPhilosophe was at right angles to the road from Mazingarbe toVermelles, and at the end of it was another street, roughlyparallel to the road, the orderly-room being in the third housedown on the left. The village was practically undamaged byshellfire, but it was a dour, unlovely place. One or two familiesremained there, and children either belonging to them, or toMazingarbe, which was not far away, passed up and down the streetwith large baskets on their arms at intervals through the day,shouting, 'Engleesh pancakes, Engleesh pancakes', with a curiousnote of melancholy or boredom in their high-pitched voices.
Bourne, quite inadvertently, had improved his position in theorderly-room. The colour-sergeant, with his usual irony, hadreferred to the possibility of making him a permanent member of theorderly room staff, and Bourne had replied with great firmness thathe would prefer to go back to his company. As they saw at once thathe really meant it, they became more friendly. While he and thelance-corporal unpacked the boxes, he asked for the notebooks andpencils which Sergeant-Major Robinson wanted, and got them withoutany difficulty. When he and the lance-corporal went for theirdinners, he took them to the sergeant-major, with whom wereSergeant Tozer and the quarter-bloke.
"You're bloody lucky to be in the orderly-room for a spell," thesergeant-major told him. "The C. O. thinks the men have got slack,and says that all time available must be spent in drill. Companyguards as well as headquarter guard are to parade outside theorderly-room for inspection at eleven o'clock every morning; an' Isuppose there'll be working parties up the line every bloody night.How do you like Captain Havelock in th' orderly-room? The men callhim Janey. Saw him walking over to Brigade with the C. O. a fewminutes ago. Brigade's at Le Brebis. Captain Malet's coming back tothe company in a few days. We're going to spend most of our timecarrying bloody gas cylinders up Potsdam Alley: that's what I heardanyway."
The prospect of carrying gas cylinders, which weighed about ahundred and eighty pounds apiece, and were slung on a pole carriedon the shoulders of two men, proved conclusively to Bourne that theorderly-room had its uses. The work was made more difficult by thefact that the men had to wear their P. H. gas helmets, which werehot and suffocating. He went back to the orderly-room in a somewhatchastened frame of mind.
The next day each company in turn marched back to the brewery inMazingarbe for baths. They stripped to the buff in one room,handing over towel, socks, shirt and underpants to the men incharge, who gave them clean things in exchange: these were rolledup in a bundle, ready, and a man took what he was given withoutquestion, except in the case of an impossible misfit or a garmentutterly useless, in which case he might ask his sergeant-major tointervene, though even his intervention was not always effective.It was invariably the same at casualty-clearing-stations ordivisional baths, the leadswingers in charge and their chums tookthe best of the stuff they handled, and the fighting men had tomake shift as best they could with their leavings. The men lefttheir clean change with their boots and khaki, and passed nakedinto one large room in which casks, sawn in two and standing inrows, did duty for baths. There were a few improvised showers. Herethey splashed and soaped themselves, with a riotous noisiness and agood deal of indecent horseplay.
"Dost turn thysen to t' wall, lad, so's us'ns sha'n't see thadick?" one man shouted at a shy young newcomer; and when the boyturned a red and indignant face over his shoulder, he was met withderision, and another man pulled him out of the tub, and wrestledwith him; slippery as they both were with soap. They weredistinctly fresh. Rude and brutal as it was, there was a boisterousgood humour about it; and laughing at his show of temper andhumiliation, some other men intervened, and they let him slip outof their hands back to his tub, where he continued the washing ofhimself as modestly as he could. Finally, after fighting for theshowers, they dried, dressed themselves and marched away, anothercompany taking their place.
In the orderly-room Bourne sat next to the signaller, at a longtable which was pushed in to the wall under two windows. He satwith his back to the room, looking out into the street, down whicha few soldiers passed occasionally. During the few days they hadbeen at Philosophe he had sunk into a fit of depression, which wasnot usual with him. He did not understand the reason for ithimself. He told himself he was only one of thousands whose life,when they were out of the line, was blank emptiness: men who weremoved about France and saw nothing but the roads they travelled andthe byres in which they slept. They were mere automatons, whoseonly conscious life was still in England. He felt curiouslyisolated even from them. He was not of their county, he was noteven of their country, or their religion, and he was only partiallyof their race. When they spoke of their remote villages andhamlets, or sleepy market-towns in which nothing happened exceptthe church clock chiming the hour, he felt like an alien amongthem; and in the vague kind of homesickness which troubled him hedid not seek company, but solitude.
The day after they went to the baths he was entering orders inthe book, when the commanding officer came in, and asked brusquelyfor a sheet of foolscap and a pencil. Bourne got what was wantedand returned to his place, completing the entry and closing thebook softly. He never did any typewriting while the commandingofficer was in the room or during orders-hour. So he looked out ofthe window as the various guards fell in for inspection.
The orderly officer, Mr Sothern and the regimental were onparade and made a preliminary inspection of the men. Then theregimental came over to the orderly-room, entered it, and saluted.The adjutant put on his cap, and went out of the room, and theregimental followed him. They were in the passage leading to thefront door, when Bourne, looking out of the window, saw a blindingflash followed instantly by an explosion, and a shower of glassfell on the table in front of him. For an instant the street was ablur; but he saw the regimental rush out, evidently shouting ordersto the men, who took cover. Nine were left lying on the pavingstones. Then there was a second explosion, evidently in the otherstreet. Bourne's first instinct was to rush out and try to help. Heflung a foot over the form on which he sat and, turning, saw thecommanding officer shrinking in his chair, eyes staring out of ablank face, and teeth bared in a curious snarl, the oldcolour-sergeant with his fingertips on the floor in the posture ofan ape walking, and Johnson cowering against the wall. Reynolds wasstanding up to it, cool, still, as though he listened.
"Sit still," whispered the signaller to Bourne warningly; but asthe corporal went to the door, Bourne followed him.
"Can we help?" he said quietly.
"No," said the corporal sternly. "The stretcher-bearers arethere already. You shouldn't have left your place. Come outsidewith me, now."
They went into the street, and the adjutant and orderly-officerbrushed by them into the orderly-room. It was extraordinarily stillagain, and the last of the wounded was being carried away by thestretcher-bearers. The C. O., with Captain Havelock and theorderly-officer, came out again and disappeared round the cornerinto the main street, so that Bourne and the corporal were the onlytwo left on the scene. They looked at the blood on the pavedroadway, and then up to the sky, where a few puffs of white smokeshowed still against the blue, but, as they watched them, driftedand faded gradually from sight.
"So much for their bloody parades," said Bourne bitterly to thecorporal.
"I suppose it's war," answered Reynolds with a touch offatalism.
"War," exclaimed Bourne. "They post men with field glasses andwhistles to give warning of enemy aircraft; the troops are orderedto show themselves as little as possible in the streets, and tokeep close to the houses, and the police are told to makethemselves a nuisance to any thoughtless kid who forgets; and then,having taken all these precautions, fifty men are paraded in themiddle of the street opposite the orderly-room, as a target, Isuppose, and are kept standing there for twenty minutes or half anhour. It's a bloody nice kind of war."
"What's the use of talking about it? If Jerry hadn't taken allhis stuff down to the Somme, we'd be shelled to shit in half anhour. Come inside and get on with it."
The colour-sergeant glanced at them enigmatically as they cameinto the room, and Bourne, without speaking, began to clear awaythe litter of broken glass from the table and floor, stacking thelarger pieces in a heap. The lance-corporal came to his help, andwhen they had taken up all they could manage with their hands,Bourne swept up the splinters. Then he sat down to his typing.Every now and again the instrument in front of the signaller wouldtick out a message in Morse, and the signaller would take it downon a slip, which he passed to Johnson, who handed it to thecolour-sergeant. Bourne, typing orders, heard broken fragments ofconversation behind him, and sometimes the signaller speakingsoftly with a hand up to his mouth into the transmitter. It wasmeaningless to him, for he was not thinking of it.
"...surprise...quiet place, not a sound...artillery on theSomme...all so quiet and still...swank, that's what it is...I'm tooold for this...not a bomb...anti-aircraft battery...it was a bomball right...says two shells didn'texplode...major...what...yes...thought he'd get under thetable...does put wind up...quite a cushy part...aeroplanes..."
It was all so much senseless babble to him. When he had finishedtyping orders, he put in a clean sheet, and typed whatever cameinto his head, to practise speed; odd bits of verse, Latin tags,Aequam memento rebus in arduis Servare mentem. He had a textof Horace with Conington's translation in his pocket. "And richerspilth the pavement stain," that waspavimentum mero; whydid that come into his head now? "Richer spilth" was ill-soundinganyway, and "stain" on top of it made an ugly line. Well, it didn'tmatter, it was all experience, and gave him some mechanicaloccupation to fill in time. He kept on striking the keys: "Thane'er at pontiffs supper ran." What he needed was to go on a bigdrunk somewhere, and break this bloody monotony. When he had filledup the sheet he took it out to turn, so that he could use the otherside; but first he looked at it, to see how many mistakes he hadmade, and then through the window he saw two men swilling andsweeping the street. Yes; Fritz is mighty careless where he drops adixie. He rested his chin on clasped hands and watched them in akind of reverie.
Men were cheap in these days, that is to say men who were notcoal miners or ship's rivetters, to whom war only meant higherwages. Officers were scarce, but they might be scarcer by one ortwo, without much harm being done. They had a good lot of officerson the whole. Major Shadwell and Captain Malet, who took the lastounce out of you, but anyway pulled their own weight as well andpoor Mr Clinton, who was plucky but played out, and Mr Sothern, whowas a bit of an ass, but a very decent chap. There was that oldbrigadier, who had spoken to him in Trones Wood: he must have beensixty, but he wasn't too old to come and do his bit, and stuck ittoo. But there were some who could be quite easily spared. It wouldsoon be time for dinner.
"Bourne," said the colour-sergeant, suddenly; "Lance-CorporalJohnson is taking some books to the quartermaster inNoeux-les-Mines. You will help him carry them in; and I dare say hewill find you useful while he's there. You will stay there tonightand come back tomorrow afternoon. Be ready to start at threeo'clock. You had better bring your pack here after dinner, and gostraight away."
"Very good, sir," said Bourne quietly, with none of the surprisehe felt. He didn't anticipate any particular liveliness in thecompany; of Lance-Corporal Johnson, but he might come upon someunpremeditated pleasure. Putting his things together, and coveringup his typewriter, he considered his financial position; and thoughit was satisfactory, he wondered whether he could get a chequecashed through the chaplain, or Mr White, the transport officer,who would probably be seeing the field-cashier shortly, as anotherpayday was approaching. He had to look ahead, and either of themwould manage a fiver for him. At last the colour-sergeant told himhe might go; he took up his mess-tin and haversack, in which hecarried a knife and fork, a notebook and pencils, so that he couldput his equipment together after he had eaten, and started off withthe lance-corporal, but they went to different cookers. SergeantTozer was getting his own dinner at the cooker, and he and Abbotlooked at him, but Bourne only nodded to them and went over towhere Lance-Corporal Jakes was superintending the dishing out ofdinners.
"Was you in the orderly-room when that bloody bomb dropped?"inquired Corporal Jakes.
"Yes. I was looking out of the window."
"Knock some of the swank out of that bloody regimental you're sopally with," said one of the men angrily, and Bourne looked at himquietly: he was a pretty tough proposition from Lancashire, calledChapman.
"I expect he will carry out his orders as usual," Bourne said,stooping to get his food. "What the hell has it got to do with youwho my pals are?"
"Well, that one will get a bit of extra weight if 'e's notcareful."
"When you talk silly, you ought to talk under your breath," saidBourne, leaning forward a little, so that his face was about a footaway from Chapman's. "Anyone who didn't know you as well as I domight think you meant it."
"We don't want any of that talk 'ere," said Jakes, positive andsolemn.
"Not when there are two poor buggers dead, and five more notmuch better."
"Well, we don't want any more talk about it. It don't do nogood; an' you've got no call to butt in; nobody said anythink toyou. If you can't talk reas'nable you can keep your bloody mouthshut."
"What did they think about it in th' orderly-room?" Martlowasked him.
"What does everybody think about it?" replied Bourne. "Theythink it was damned silly to have a parade there. You can't thinkanything else. What they are saying now is that it was not a bombat all, but a shell, or rather two shells from one of our ownanti-aircraft batteries. Were you on aeroplane guard, Martlow?"
"No bloody fear," said Martlow hastily. "I 'ad enough t'daybefore yesterday. You can't see nowt, an' you get a crick in yourbloody neck; an' them field glasses is not 'arf as good as what theC. O. pinched off me."
"I didn't hear any whistles, not till t'boomb burst," saidChapman, somewhat mollified by food. "You ask Bill. 'E was onairyplane guard."
"First thing I see was a shell burstin', an' then another," saidBill Bates nervously, "an' I blew me whistle as soon as I see thefirst shell. T' sun was in me eyes. What d'you want to bring meinto 't for?"
"You've got no call to worry, kid," said Jakes. "You was on theother side o' the town."
"Well, then, what's 'e want to bring me into 't for?" askedBates, with indignation.
The sight of Bourne putting his equipment together created adiversion, and when he explained the reason they looked at him asthough he were one of those who had all the luck.
"I think we must be going to move somewhere else," said Bourneto Shem, "or Lance-Corporal Johnson wouldn't go in full pack. Weshall have to carry a lot of stuff. Do you or Martlow want me tobring anything back?"
"Bring what you like," said Shem smiling. "Martlow and I havemucked in together, since you've been in the orderly-room."
"Well, the three of us can muck in together now," saidBourne.
"When you come back to the company, you mean," said Martlow.
Bourne showed no curiosity concerning the business which hadbrought them into Noeux-les-Mines. He was glad to dump the boxwhich he and Lance-Corporal Johnson had carried the three milesfrom Philosophe on the floor of the quartermaster's office. Theyhad carried it between them. It had those handles which hang downwhen not in use, but turn over and force one's knuckles against theends of the box when it is lifted. By reversing the grip, one maysave one's knuckles, but only at the expense of twisting one'selbow, and the muscles of the forearm. Having tried both ways, theypassed their handkerchiefs through the handles, and knotted thecorners, so that it was slung between them, but the handkerchiefsbeing of different sizes, the weight was not equally distributed.The quartermaster's store was a large shed of galvanised iron,which may have been a garage originally. He was not there, but thecarpenter, who was making wooden crosses, of which a pile stood inone corner, thought he might be at the transport lines; on theother hand, he might be back at any moment, so they waited for aslong as it took to smoke a cigarette, watching the carpenter, who,having finished putting a cross together, was painting it with acheap-looking white paint.
"That's the motto of the regiment," said the carpenter, takingup one on which their badge and motto had been painted carefully."It's in Latin, but it means 'Where glory leads.'"
Bourne looked at it with a sardonic grin.
"You're a bit of an artist with the paintbrush, Hemmings," hesaid, to cover up his thought.
"Well, I take a bit o' pride in me work. It don't last, o'course, the paint's poor stuff, and that wood's too soft; but youmight just as well try to make a good job of it."
"What about going down to the transport lines?" askedJohnson.
"I'm ready, corporal," said Bourne, and they left Hemmings tohis work.
"Not very cheerful, sitting there with a lot of wooden crosses,"said Johnson, as they turned into the street.
"Why not?" Bourne asked him callously. "Would you like stoneones any better?"
"As soon as we see the quartermaster, we shall be able to lookfor our billets," said Johnson, not wishing to pursue the subject."Then we can dump our packs and look round the town. He won't wantme until the morning.'
"I hope we find some place where we can get a decent drink,"said Bourne. "Why don't we get a rum issue every night, or a bottleof beer with dinner? The French get their wine. Did you see thatshop as we came through Mazingarbe, with bottles of Clicquot andPerrier Jouet in the window, and a label on them,Réservée pour les officiers? Bloody cheek.Half of them don't know whether they are drinking champagne orcider. And we have to be content with that filthy stuff they sellus in the estaminets."
"I don't know anything about wine," said Johnson primly."Sometimes when I took my girl out in Blighty we would go into ahotel, a respectable house, you know, and have a glass of port wineand a biscuit. And port wine and brandy is good for colic, it'sbinding. I've got a photo of my girl in my pocketbook. Here it is.It's only snap, of course, not very good; and the sun was in hereyes. Do you think she's nice looking?"
"Awfully pretty," said Bourne, who could be a fluent liar onoccasion. He really thought that she looked rather binding, too;but they were turning into the transport lines, and Johnsonbuttoned the photograph into his pocket again. The quartermasterwas not there, nor was the transport officer, so they inspected thehouses, and Bourne stroked the nose of the old grey mare, who drewthe Maltese cart for the officers' mess. His conscience was alittle sensitive on her account. The officers' mess-cart generallypreceded the Lewis-gun cart which Bourne helped to pull on themarch; and whenever they came to a hill, if the officer werepreoccupied with other matters, Bourne would hitch his rope to themess-cart and leave it to the mare. She bore no malice, the oldlady, as though she knew they had a pretty thin time. The mules didnot move him to any sentiment; to him they seemed symbolical ofmodern war, grotesque, stubborn, vindictive animals. There wasnothing for it but to trudge back to the quartermaster's storesagain; and they found him this time. He talked to thelance-corporal and gave them a chit for the town-major, so theywent off to look for him; he was out too, but a corporal in theoffice took matters into his own hands, and showed them to somebillets in a back street, on the way to get his own tea. They wouldhave to go to the town-major's office again, to make sure that itwas all right. A thin woman of about forty, with a long-sufferingexpression on her face, was the only occupant of the house; and sheleft her work in the kitchen to show them into an empty room.Bourne noticed that the floorboards were clean.
"Mais c'est tout ce qu'il y a de plus commode, madame," saidBourne, and he began to tackle her at once on the prospect ofgetting a more or less civilised meal.
"Mais, monsieur, l'enchérissement est tel..."
But he would not be denied, insinuating himself into her goodgraces with the flexibility of an eel in a bundle of grass; butafter making a number of suggestions, he had to leave it to her,only he insisted on her getting him a bottle of good wine, Barsacfor choice; and he gave her some notes with which to do hermarketing.
"O, là, là!" she cried amusedly.
"What does she say?" inquired Johnson.
"That's the French for 'Good God,'" said Bourne, laughing. Theyfollowed her out into the kitchen, where she collected her shawland basket, her sleek head needing no hat, while they went on intothe yard, and surveyed the vegetables which she grew in a littlegarden at the end of it. Then they heard a familiar sound, thoughit seemed strange there: the long whine of a shell through the air,and its explosion on the outskirts of the town. She had come outwith her basket, and looked up at the sky very much as though shewere wondering whether it would rain. Then again came the whiningsound.
"Ah, des obus!" she said in a tranquil tone, and set off on hererrands.
"You'd think these Frenchies had lived in a war for years, andyears, and years," said Johnson.
"Well, you do get accustomed to it, don't you?" replied Bourne."It seems to me sometimes as though we had never known anythingdifferent. It doesn't seem real, somehow; and yet it has wiped outeverything that came before it. We sit here and think of England,as a lot of men might sit and think of their childhood. It is allpast and irrecoverable, but we sit and think of it to forget thepresent. There were nine of us practically wiped out by a bomb thismorning, just outside our window, and we have already forgottenit."
"It wasn't a bomb, it was an anti-aircraft shell."
"Was it?" Bourne asked indifferently. "What reallyhappened?'
"An anti-aircraft battery reported in answer to inquiries byBrigade that they had fired nine rounds on an enemy plane, and thefifth and sixth failed to explode."
That would give an accidental colour to the incident. One mightanticipate an attack by enemy aircraft and avoid unreasonableexposure to it; but one could not anticipate a defective shell,which failed of its object and then exploded on striking the hardpavement of a street. Bourne kept what he thought to himself; butthe men had said that no whistles were blown until after the firstexplosion, and the men on aeroplane guard had said that they didnot actually see the plane, but blew their whistles when puffs ofsmoke appeared from the first couple of shells. If they were right,the official version was untrue, for the explosion which had killedtwo men in the street must have occurred before the shelling began.The practical futility of an aeroplane guard chosen at random fromamong the men was not a relevant consideration: they had not beentrained to do that particular work. It was also irrelevant to saythat the bomb found its target by the merest chance. Bourne tookthe men's point of view that these parades were silly and useless;and then he reflected, with a certain acidity of thought, thatthere was a war on, and that men were liable to be killed rathercursorily in a war.
They waited until madame returned from her shopping; and sheexhibited a bottle of Barsac in triumph to Bourne. She was givingthem an omelette, a fillet of beef, and what Johnson called"chips", with a salad and cream cheese, and Bourne became eloquentin the appreciation of her zeal. They left her to prepare it, andwent off to the town-major's office, when the same corporal whomthey had seen in the afternoon told them that they might have thebillets they were in for that night. They asked him to meet them atan estaminet and have a drink, and he told them of one at which hemight look in later. Then they went for half an hour to sit in aroom full of noise and smoke, where they drank vin blanc.
Back at their billets they had a satisfactory wash in a bucketwith plenty of clean water; and then madame gave them their meal.Bourne tried to persuade her to eat with them; she declined firmlybut amiably, only relenting so far as to drink a glass of wine. Shedidn't give very much attention to the lance-corporal, but shetalked readily enough to Bourne. Her husband was at the front, andher daughter, who was to marry a man also with the colours, hadgone to some relations to be out of the battle zone. She wouldmarry when the war finished. When the war finished! When would itfinish? She gave a low, curious laugh that expressed thesignificance of the tragedy more closely than any tears could do.She was extraordinarily tranquil in her pessimism: it was not somuch as though she despaired, but as though she suppressed hope inherself for fear it would cheat her in the end. But all thispessimism was apparently for the course which the war was taking:she was perfectly clear that the Hun had to be defeated. The worldfor her was ruined, and that was irreparable; but justice must bedone; and for her justice was apparently some divine law, workingslowly and inexorably through all the confused bickerings of men.She interested him, because though she was a comparativelyuneducated woman, her thought was clear, logical, and hard.
He tried to speak hopefully to her, wondering whether he werenot only trying to speak hopefully to himself. She admitted thatthe Hun was stopped; and England's strength was increasing:"Maintenant elle est très bien montée," as she putit: though perhaps her manner implied that it was a tardy atonementfor years of culpable negligence. There was in her some trace ofthat spirit which he had noticed among the older men in the ranks,a spirit which had ceased to hope for itself and yet wasundefeated.
He finished the wine, of which Johnson had only drunk a coupleof glasses, while she cleared away the plates and dishes. Then shecalled him into the room in which he and the lance-corporal were tosleep; and he found she had left there a pile of eight blankets,which were legally, perhaps, the property of the French republic,as they were all horizon blue in colour. One apiece was enough tocover them, and by folding three for each bed they could sleep onsoftness.
Bourne had long ago ceased to trouble about where or when heslept; but her kindness touched him, and he thanked her so warmlythat perhaps she was touched too. A little thing meant a lot inthese days. He no longer wanted to go out on the spree; he had hada decent meal and some good wine, and he would have been quitecontent to sit where he was until it were time to sleep; butJohnson had arranged to meet the corporal, and he had better go;after all there was little chance of any indecorous behaviour withJohnson.
They found the estaminet full of troops, and the corporal, whohad been talking to a few men, came across to them. He wasevidently at home in the place, for as soon as they had takenpossession of a table, one of the two girls who were serving drinkscame for their order, and he pulled her towards him familiarly,seating her on his knee, slipping his hand round her waist upwardsunder her arm so that he could feel her left breast, caressing itwith inquisitive fingers, while she squealed and wriggled to makehim more adventurous.
Bourne felt the contagion of the place take hold of him, andcourse in his veins like a subtle flame; it was as though therewere some enormous carnal appetite loose among them, feeding onthem as fire on its fuel; from all sides came the noise of loudunsteady talk, senseless arguments suddenly uplifted to the pitchof quarrelling. and swept aside again by a torrent of hard, almostmirthless laughter, while through it all drifted irrelevantly thesound of raucous voices, with the quality of a hand-saw,singing:
And the old folks at home, they will sit all night andlisten,
In the evening,
By the moonlight,
By the moonlight.
There was just that waft of nostalgia through the riot ofbeastly noise, which rose to drown it; and Bourne found the girllooking at him, as the corporal fondled her, with her insolent andfurtive eyes. She exasperated him, so that he almost felt the lustof cruelty which such women provoke in some men, and she sawit.
"What the hell are we going to drink?" he asked with abruptimpatience; and the corporal shifting in his chair, the girl rose,straightened her skirts, and then, lifting both arms to smooth herhair with her hands, came round the table, and stood beside Bourne,purring, with the composed perversity of a cat. He did not want thebloody woman, he said angrily to himself: and ignoring her, hediscussed drinks with the corporal, who had no ideas beyond thecheap champagne which Bourne only drank when he could get nothingelse. They would not give him any cafe-cognac there, but shesuggested the privacy of an adjoining apartment.
"Very well. You drink the champagne, if you like it," saidBourne, sending the girl away with the order. He got up and pushedhis way over to the bar, from where madame, hot and tightlybuttoned, and monsieur surveyed their barbaric customers as from aposition of legal, if not moral superiority. Bourne tackledmonsieur, and after some hesitation the man left the bar andreturned with a half-bottle of white wine and the assurance that itwas good. He paid for it, they drew the cork for him, gave him aclean glass; and he took it back to the table with him.
"I don't want to go into any back parlours for the sake of somecognac in my coffee. If you would rather have some of this,corporal...?"
But the corporal preferred the champagne which the girl brought;and Bourne paid for it, throwing in a small tip. He did not drinkmuch of his wine, though it was tolerable; he did not want todrink; and he knew that the place would soon close for the night.Johnson and the corporal had plenty to say to each other, and heonly needed to join in the conversation out of civility now andagain. So he sat there quietly smoking, and drinking a little wine,until it was time to leave. The girl looked at him sulkily whenthey said goodnight.
So! in the name of Cheshu Christ speak lower. It is thegreatest admiration in the universal world when the true andaunchent prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept...there isno tiddle-taddle nor pibble-pabble in Pompey's camp. I warrant you,you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of it, andthe forms of it, and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, tobe otherwise.
—SHAKESPEARE
Lance-corporal Johnson went off to the quartermaster by himselfnext morning, telling Bourne that there was no need for him tocome; but to be ready to start for battalion headquarters at noon.Bourne went out to buy some food to take back to Shem and Martlow.He found a decent-looking shop in the main street, but the firstthing to take his eye in the window was a notice in English sayingthat the sale of bread to troops was prohibited until after midday.He went in, and was allowed to buy a small cake, a couple of tinsof sardines, and a jar of cherry jam. The difficulty was to findsomething which would make a change for them, and was easilycarried. He couldn't very well buy a ham, or a tin of biscuits.Since leaving the Somme even fresh meat was scarce, and theirdinner was almost invariably a stew composed of bully-beef, somepatent soup powders, dried or tinned vegetables, and potatoes.There were some pastries in the shop, but these could not be stowedin his pack like the cake and the cherry jam. The tins of sardineshe could carry in the side pockets of his tunic.
Johnson returned a few minutes before twelve with the news thatthe battalion had been moved back to Mazingarbe, and were in hutsby the cemetery; and that there was a big working party going upthe line that night. He and Bourne would pick up the box at thequartermaster's stores. They would get back to Mazingarbe too latefor any dinner; but madame had given them a good bowl ofcafé au lait, with about a foot of bread each, fresh butterand boiled eggs for breakfast. As she went off to work early,Bourne had paid her, and said goodbye, in case they should haveleft before she returned at midday. For all that look of longsuffering on her face, she was a bracing and indomitable soul. Hefolded her blankets up and left them neatly in a pile, as they hadreceived them; and then they left the empty house, closing the doorbehind them.
They had the same trouble as before with the box, and thoughthey had not so far to go it was heavier. Bourne was relieved whenit was placed finally in a corner of the hut which was now theorderly room. He looked about him, and the first thing he saw was anotice, printed in large capitals; MIND WHAT YOU SAY, THE HUN HASLISTENING APPARATUS, AND CAN HEAR YOU. It was a disturbingstatement, and he concluded that it was intended only for thesignaller; but he saw it later posted up on the outside of somehuts. The colour-sergeant, greeting him affably, administered amore serious shock. "Bourne, you will sleep in the orderly-room infuture."
"Yes, sir," he said, amazed, but with the mechanical obediencerequired of him. He didn't want them to see and covet the food hehad brought back with him, so after a pause he said:
"I shall go for my blankets, sir; and for some things I leftwith one of my chums."
The colour-sergeant nodded, and he went out with his pack stillon his shoulders, and talked to Shem and Martlow for a little whilebefore they went on parade.
"You'll never come back," said Shem in a matter-of-fact way."You've got a cushy job; an' if they didn't want you, they'd havesent you back before now. You'd better keep one tin o' sardines,an' take half the cake with you."
"I don't want it. I had a good feed in the town."
The division of the food proposed by Shem's practical mindseemed to him too like a formal act dissolving their partnership.He went back to the orderly-room in a mood of apathy, and copiedorders into the book. The adjutant had complained that hishandwriting was too small; and he tried to write large, with theresult that his script became uneven and stiff, like that of achild, who is thinking in letters, instead of in words or inphrases. It seemed to him, somehow, symbolical of the loss ofbalance which he had detected in himself in the last few days. Heheard the colour-sergeant speaking in his usual tone of affecteddiffidence, the sharp, business-like whisper of the corporal, andJohnson's, an empty echo. Occasionally Reynolds or Johnson wouldgive him a paper to type, and for the moment he was busy with theclicking keys. The thing finished, he would sink again into apathy,thinking, with a singular intensity, about nothing, hisconsciousness not submerged or inhibited, but so dilated that itbecame too tenuous to hold any reality.
The adjutant came in, and after sitting at his table for alittle while with his accustomed air of patient perplexity, went tothe field telephone. To overhear one half of a conversation isalways a little mystifying, but the adjutant's part of it seemedidiotic. Yes, he was pepper; and apparently he received, and insome cases repeated, instructions concerning a rat-hunt, and thesewere all about rats, and poles, which would be found at PotsdamDump, and salt. Bourne came back from the emptiness of his interiorconscience to take a little interest in the matter. Pepper and saltwere code words for two battalions in the Brigade; and when theadjutant went back to his place Bourne scribbled on a scrap ofpaper the question, "What are rats?" and passed it to thesignaller, who wrote underneath, "gas cylinders", and pushed itback to him. If the Hun continued to develop his inventive facultyat this alarming rate, they would soon all be using the deaf anddumb language.
Then a pugnacious little officer with two pips up, calledWirral, who was a newcomer unknown to Bourne, entered, and politelybut firmly asked the adjutant whether he, Wirral, was expected todo not only all the work of his own company, but apparently alsothe combined work of every other company in the battalion. Theadjutant seemed to be impressed, or at least embarrassed, by themagnitude of the issues involved in these questions; but having apathetic faith in the fallacy that man is a reasonable animal, hepointed out to Mr Wirral all the difficulties in which he foundhimself owing to the momentary shortage of officers, Captain Maletbeing on leave, Mr Clinton being in the hands of the dentist, and afew other officers being absent on one pretext or another. MrWirral was not at all moved by the difficulties of the adjutant; infact he seemed disposed to increase them by every means availableto him, unless he were treated with a minimum of consideration; ifMr Clinton happened to be suffering from a decayed tooth, hehimself was at present a martyr to an ingrowing toenail. Theadjutant held that these rival disabilities fell within differentcategories, the care of the feet, with all ranks, being an entirelypersonal responsibility. Mr Wirral's sense of injustice only becamemore acute at this complete lack of sympathy, while the adjutantstiffened in his chair.
The malicious imp in Bourne's heart laughed again for a moment.If Captain Malet had been in the adjutant's place, the interviewmight have lasted a minute, but scarcely longer, and under the gazeof his intolerant eyes Mr Wirral would not have proceeded toargument, for with Captain Malet the immediate necessity was allthat counted, and if he were ever driven to repeat an order, hisvoice and expression almost converted it into a threat of personalviolence. Bourne had no feeling against the adjutant, he ratheradmired the conscientious and painstaking way in which he stuck tohis work; but his manner was more likely to gain the approval ofhis superiors, than to command the obedience of those who workedunder him. Mr Wirral was told in the end that as he had but latelyreturned from England to the front, it was only right that heshould take some of the burden from the shoulders of officers whohad been overworked for months. That closed the discussion and heretired after saluting the adjutant with an air of markedhostility. Then the colour-sergeant went over to the adjutant'stable, and bending down had a few minutes' whispered conversationwith him. Scenes of this kind always interested Bourne, the tensionexcited him; but he thought it rather humiliating that they shouldoccur in the presence of the orderly-room staff. Old Tomlinson,Reynolds, and even Lance-Corporal Johnson knew all that there wasto know about every officer in the battalion. He and the signallerknew too much. Except on one or two occasions Bourne always leftthe room during orders-hour, but the others remained, and after thedelinquencies of the men had been dealt with, an officer wasoccasionally sent for and asked to explain his conduct in certaincircumstances. This should have been done quite privately. If anofficer wished to complain to the adjutant, as in the case of MrWirral, there was no reason why the orderly-room staff should havewitnessed the incident.
The army organisation is supposed to work with the impersonaland remorseless action of a machine, but this action is not singleand indivisible, a human agency is always intervening, so thatsometimes what is only the inexorable functioning of the machine,takes on the character of a duel between opposed personalities; andwhile the mechanical action, having attained its object, ends, theother is more lasting. Under all this monotonous routine of duty,which made war seem a dull and sordid business, there was the senseof encompassing danger, a sense which perhaps grew stronger underthe efforts of the will to subdue it.
Men acting together in constant peril of their lives demand atleast that the chances shall be evenly divided among them. Theycould be generous and accept additional burdens without complaint,if there were real need; but in moments of bitterness it seemed tothem that duty and honour were merely the pretexts on which theywere being deprived of their most elementary rights. Even oncarrying parties and in the mere routine work of ordinary trenchlife in quiet sectors, men were killed in rather a casual andindiscriminate way. Though he was by no means inclined to helpcarry a gas cylinder on a pole, while watching the working partyfall in on the road that night, Bourne felt rather out of it; hefelt as though he were swinging the lead.
For his breakfast now he went straight to the cookers, andunless it were raining, he ate it there, talking to Abbot, whilesitting in the shelter of a thin straggling hedge. He had in hispocket a small tin of toffee which had come in a parcel fromEngland. He offered some to Abbot.
"Thank 'ee," said Abbot, "but I ain't very partial to sweetstuff. There's Williams there. 'E's always hungry for toffees. 'Edon't drink, an' 'e don't smoke, an' unless 'e goes after the womenI don't know what 'e does do. You might give 'im a few. 'Ere,Williams, 'ere's some toffee for you."
Williams was a little Welshman, Headquarter-company cook, with aface like a Phoenician, etched all over with fine lines, but withnone of the deeper wrinkles, a curiously impassive face, which hadaged early, as he could not have been fifty. He came at once, inhis greasy smoke-blackened suit, wiping his hands on a cloth.
"It's a long time since I 'ad any decent toffee," he said, witha curious hunger in his black eyes.
"I believe 'e'd sell 'imself for a tin o' toffee," said Abbotwith a grin.
"Here you are, then; take the lot," said Bourne. "I have somemore inside, and I don't care about them, but some friends of mineare always sending out a tin. I shall bring you out some."
"I'd be glad of them," said Williams simply; he was a man of fewwords, a rare quality in a Welshman.
"How did the carrying party get on last night?" Bourne inquired."You know, as each party get back the officer in charge comes intothe orderly-room, with a slip of paper, I think. I was half-asleepand didn't pay much attention. And sometimes a runner comes in,too, and leaves a paper on the table; and the old colour-sergeantis cribbing like hell this morning about it. They disturb the sleepof a hard-working man."
"'E were a colour-sergeant when 'e went on reserve," said Abbot."You knew 'im, didn't you, Williams? The men were pretty tired whenthey got back at about two this morning, after the move, an'parades an' one thing an' another, an' wearin' them bloody gas'elmets the 'ole time. Parade again at ten today, an' another bigcarryin' party tonight. No sense workin' men day an' night."
"Well, they'll ave to send us back into the trenches for a restsoon, I suppose," said Bourne, and asked Abbot for some hot waterto rinse out his mess-tin, polished his knife and fork by rubbingthem in the earth, and went back to the orderly-room. He arrived atthe crisis of a scene; the adjutant, Captain Havelock, was at histable, looking irritable and rather nervous; at one side was thecolour-sergeant, shaking with fury as he spoke, and opposite theadjutant was the regimental, perfectly cool and with a slightlysupercilious smile on his face. Corporal Reynolds impatiently wavedBourne out of the room again. He didn't hear what the adjutantsaid, but he heard the regimental's voice, rather cool, almostinsolent, in reply:
"Of course, sir, if you will not support your regimentalsergeant-major there is nothing more to be said." Bourne went rightdown the steps into the road, so as to be out of earshot; and heremembered Tozer's words about the regimental and thecolour-sergeant scrapping in the orderly-room. The regimental cameout almost immediately after him, smiling superciliously andcarrying his head high as he walked way. He didn't see Bourne, whodecided to wait a few minutes, and give things time to settle downagain, before going back to his work.
The row seemed to have been quite unpremeditated, and anywayCaptain Malet was out of it. He was due back today, but he wasgoing to carry on as company commander. Major Blessington seemed tolike Captain Havelock; it was true he treated him in rather acasual way, but it was all to the good that he should like him. Itwas a pity Major Shadwell and Captain Malet could not run thebattalion between them. Bourne had never seen much of MajorShadwell, but he was the same type as Captain Malet, only older,quieter, with more of iron and less of fire in his nature. Men saidthat he had changed a lot since coming out to France; he had beenlively and full of humour, now he was rather taciturn, with asevere and inflexible expression. The men liked him: Captain Maletappealed more to the imagination, but they had more trust in MajorShadwell. He knew it too, apparently, because Bourne rememberedtalking to the padre, who told him how the major had said to himimmediately after a show on the Somme, with a great effort torestrain himself; "It's bloody murder, padre, but by God there'snothing like commanding men."
That was after Colonel Woodcote had been wounded; since he hadgone, and the old adjutant, Captain Everall, things had not beenthe same. The old lot had all kept together, and the men knew them,or knew of them, even before the war; but Major Shadwell andCaptain Malet were the only two left of the old lot. Regularofficers as a rule didn't understand the new armies, they had themodel of the old professional army always in their mind's eye, andthey talked of the fire discipline of the old army, and the rate offire they were able to maintain in repelling counterattacks, sayingthat reliance on bombs had ruined musketry. They forgot how the warhad changed since 1915, ignoring artillery developments; and itnever occurred to them that if one Lewis-gun could do the work often men, it was rather foolish not to prefer it, since it offered asmaller target. The majority of them, though there were brilliantexceptions, did not understand that the kind of discipline theywished to apply to these improvised armies was only a brake ontheir impetus. Then again, as a rule the regular officers did notget on with the temporary officers of the new army; but the regulararmy, perfect as it was, was a very small affair; things were nowon a different scale, and in these new conditions the regularofficer was as much an amateur as his temporary comrades. After afew minutes, Bourne went back to his place, and the orderly-roomwas calm again.
Captain Malet returned to duty that afternoon, and on thefollowing day he was one of the principals in another scene. WhenBrigade ordered the battalion to provide a working party for thatnight, it was discovered that in the state supplied to Brigade bythe orderly-room, the strength of companies returned was not thefighting strength but the ration strength, and the demands made byBrigade, on the basis of the figures supplied, could only be met bytaking every available man, even to the companies' cooks. The M. O.was one of the first to complain, with regard to his orderlies, andvarious specialist officers followed him. One of the penalties ofinfallibility is that it cannot remedy its mistakes, because itcannot admit having made them; and Captain Havelock was embarrassedbut inflexible. Then Captain Malet arrived on the scene, quiteready to fight anything and principle be damned.
"Do you intend, sir, to take my cooks?" The adjutant saw noother way.
"I am not going to allow my men to suffer because of some damnedincompetence in the orderly-room. Do you understand that if thecooks go up the line on this working party, the men will not evenhave any hot tea when they come back, at about three in themorning, exhausted?"
The adjutant tried to assert himself, but the angry officerwould not let him speak.
"You haven't got the moral courage to stand up for your own men,or to admit your silly blunder. Well, I shall tell you what I shalldo. I shall order my horse, and take two orderlies and go up toinspect trenches. I shall see you are two men short anyway, andfuck Brigade!" He brought his fist down on the table, turned on hisheel without saluting and went out. The adjutant and thecolour-sergeant looked at each other, as though they thought thiskind of behaviour was not quite nice, and then there was a hurriedconsultation. There was never any doubt that Captain Malet would beas good as his word, and the outcome of this incident was that twocooks were left behind to make tea for the whole battalion. On thefollowing day the M. O. saw the commanding officer in theorderly-room, and said the men did not have enough rest; theyshould not be expected to parade all day and to work all night aswell. He put the matter very quietly, but Major Blessington treatedhim in an offhand way.
"Very well, sir, if any man reports sick to me I shall excusehim duty," said the M. O.; and he saluted, leaving MajorBlessington to the contemplation of his fingernails.
Nobody had much sympathy for the adjutant; but he was bound bythe nature of his office to be the mere reflection and echo of thecommanding officer, and with all his faults and defects of mannerhe was doing his best to master his job. His duties were oftenunpleasant. A couple of days later he sent for Mr Clinton, who sofar had not gone up the line once since they had been in thissector. The adjutant had to tell him that he would not accept anyfurther excuses, and that he had been detailed to take up a partythat night. Mr Clinton took what amounted to a telling-off verywell, and the adjutant had said what he had to say, quitedefinitely, but in a friendly and reasonable way. There was nothingin the interview at all, it was a mere matter of routine; but as MrClinton went out, Bourne noticed an acid smile on thecolour-sergeant's face, and he experienced a feeling of humiliationin himself. Clinton was such a good fellow; he had been throughsome of the worst shows on the Somme, and he had never sparedhimself; and there was that swine grinning at him.
He heard the working party come back in the small hours of themorning, and as usual there were slips to be left on the table,people came in and went out again, and the only light was from themoon shining through the windows. They woke the lance-corporal, andeventually he sat up, as another man entered, and Bourne heard awhispered conversation.
"They got Mr Clinton all right. One of them sausages came overand blew most of 'is guts out. No, 'e's not dead, they gave 'immorphia, and took 'im away on a stretcher. Well, if 'e's not deadyet, 'e pretty soon will be."
"Who's that?" said Corporal Reynolds, sitting up.
"Mr Clinton, corporal; 'is number's up all right. It fair mademe sick to see 'im. 'E was conscious, too. 'E said 'e knew 'e wasgoin' to get it up 'ere. 'E knew it."
Bourne did not move, he lay absolutely still in his blankets,with an emotion so tense that he thought something would snap inhim.
'Tis no matter if I do halt; I have the wars for mycolour, and my pension shall seem the more reasonable.
—SHAKESPEARE
The colour-sergeant had succeeded in working his ticket, it hadgone through, as they phrased it, and he was leaving for home thatnight. He enhanced his own pleasure by expatiating on the manyyears of usefulness which still lay in front of his subordinates, aprospect which did not move them in the same way; and his purringsatisfaction seemed to make it more difficult for them to findsuitable words in which to express their regret at his departure.Congratulations on his release came more readily from theirtongues. Bourne said nothing at all; as far as he was concerned inthe matter, he was glad the old hypocrite was going; but hecouldn't think of anything except the fate of poor Clinton, who hadalways been so decent to him. He wanted to see Sergeant Tozer andhear what had happened.
"I hoped that before I left," said the colour-sergeant, drippingwith the unction of benevolence, "I should see Johnson a corporal,and Bourne with a stripe." Bourne, who never believed a word theold man said, looked up at him with startled surprise, which theother probably mistook for credulity, as he continued to purrpleasantly while lacing up his boots. Bourne, having made up hisown bed and swept the floor, went outside to wash and shave, andafter coming back for his tunic, crossed the road and foundSergeant Tozer.
"I'm damned sorry about it myself," said the sergeant. "It wasone o' them sausages; they put wind up me, them things do. You cansee the buggers in the air, but you can't always know where they'regoing to land. All our stuff 'ad to be carried up to thefire-trench, you see, and put in position there, ready. After eachpair o' men 'ad dumped their load, they turned down a short bit ofslit trench an' waited in the trench behind where I was. Well, the'un isn't much more'n fifty yards away just there, an' 'e can 'eara good deal of what's goin' on in our trenches, same as we can 'eara good deal of what's goin' on in 'is. We 'eard this bloody thinggo up. Two o' our chaps 'ad just dumped their load an' turned intothe slit, an' the officer who was takin' over the stuff went into asmall dugout then to get a chit. We could see the dam' thingcomin'. Mr Clinton an' a couple o' their sentries were the onlypeople in the bay, an' 'e got it proper, 'e did. Fair made me sickwhen we was puttin' 'im on a stretcher; an' all 'e said before theygave 'im morphia an' took 'im away was; 'I knew I'd get it 'ere, Iknew.' 'E kep' on sayin' it. One o' the men on the fire-step was'urt too, but they said it was only a nice blighty one. Funnything, don't you think, 'im sayin' 'e knew 'e'd get it 'ere?"
"I don't know," answered Bourne; "most of us have premonitionsof the kind now and again, but they don't always prove right."
"I've got a kind of fancy I'm goin' to come through it all,"said the sergeant. "D'you know what I couldn't 'elp thinkin' aboutMr Clinton? Well, 'e looked as though, now 'e knew, it didn'tmatter, it was all right. Of course, you could see 'e was in pain,until they gave 'im the morphia; an' 'e moaned a bit, an' you couldsee 'e was tryin' not to moan. I don't know what it was, but 'isface 'ad changed some'ow; it didn't 'ave that kind of sulky worriedlook any more. 'E knew 'is number was up all right."
"It was rotten bad luck, after coming through the Somme withouta scratch," said Bourne. "I'm awfully sorry about him. Every time Iwas with him something funny would happen, and he was such a goodsort. And he was always decent to the men, didn't lose his temperbecause he had got wind up or was beaten to the wide; he seemed tohumour them and master them at the same time. He had such a clearlow voice, did you ever notice it? He didn't have to shout to makehimself heard."
"Oh, the men all liked 'im," agreed the sergeant. "You can'tfool the men. You will get an officer sometimes full of shout an'swank, an' 'e'll put 'em through it, an' strafe 'em, an' the walkoff parade feelin' that 'e 'as put the fear o' God into 'em. Well,'e 'asn't. 'E thinks they respect 'im, an' all they think is that'e wears a Sam Browne belt, and they wear one waist, web, ditto.Men don't mind a bit o' chatter. 'E were a nice chap, were MrClinton, an' we all liked 'im.
"You know, to my way o' thinkin' some of us'ns 'ave a dam' sightmore religion than some o' the parsons who preach at us. We'rewillin' to take a chance, we are. 'Uman nature's 'uman nature, an'you may be right or you may be wrong, but if you bloody well thinkyou're right, you may as well get on with it. What does it matterif y'are killed? You've got to die some day. You've got to chanceyour arm in this life, an' a dam' sight more 'n your arm toosometimes.
"Some folk talk a lot about war bein' such a bloody waste; butI'm not so sure it's such a bloody waste after all. They think it'sall about nothin', I suppose. Take some o' the men comin' out now.I don't mean the kids, but some o' the older men, who wouldn't joinup till they was pushed. Those are the kind o' chaps who talk aboutwhat a bloody waste of life war is. They say there oughtn't to beno war, as though that 'elped matters. But when you send 'em overthe top with a rifle, an' a bayonet, an' a few bombs, an' they finda big buck 'un in front o' them, they don't care a fuck aboutwastin' the other bugger's life, do they? Not a bit of it, it'stheir own bloody skins they think about, then. That's what theycall their principle. 'Arf o' them snivellin' conshies at 'ome 'dfight like rats if they was cornered. It's 'uman nature. You canmake nearly any bloody coward fight if you tease 'im into the right'umour. But what about us? Who 'as the better principle? Do theythink we came out for seven bloody bob a week? I'm not troublin'about my bloody conscience. I've got some self-respect, I'ave."
Bourne appreciated Sergeant Tozer's point of view, because heunderstood the implications his words were intended to convey, evenwhen he seemed to wander from the point. Life was a hazardenveloped in mystery, and war quickened the sense of both in men:the soldier also, as well as the saint, might write his tractatede contemptu mundi, and differ from him only in the angleand spirit from which he surveyed the same bleak reality.
He could not stay any longer, but went back to the orderly-roomuntil within a few minutes of commanding officer's orders, when asusual he went out, and finding a cool place sat by himself andsmoked. He spoke scarcely a word to anyone except the signaller,who would whisper occasionally or scribble something on a piece ofpaper, and push it along the table for him to read. The only personin whom he took any interest was the adjutant. When he had come infor the first time that day, Bourne had been going out with formsfor one of the company offices, and they had met in the doorway.Bourne stood to attention on one side of the door, as he passed in,and he noticed the look of weariness and anxiety on the officer'sface. He felt a great deal of sympathy for him. Now and againthrough the day he glanced in his direction, to find him sittingthere in his place, doing nothing, his chin in his left hand, hiseyes fixed, and his young, rather handsome face filled with thetrouble and perplexity of his thoughts. They all knew what histhoughts were. The colour-sergeant would interrupt himoccasionally, on some matter of routine; and he would turn to itwith a look of wearied resignation, and having settled it, fall tofidgeting with his papers for a few moments, and then relapse againinto his melancholy brooding. It is so easy to settle thesequestions of routine. He was even oblivious of the fact that thecolour-sergeant had made a separate peace with the enemy, and whenreminded with modest delicacy of the fact, he had only looked athim with some embarrassment and said:
"Oh, yes, sergeant-major"—for that was Tomlinson's presentrank, the old 'colour-sergeant' being merely reminiscent of therank, abolished earlier, with which he had retired from the prewararmy'—"what time do you leave?"
"I relinquish my duties at six o'clock tonight, sir."
"Well," said the adjutant desperately, "you will be glad to havea rest, won't you?"
Bourne, typing orders, was just ticking off on the typewriterthe statement "18075 Cpl. T. S. Reynolds to be sergeant", and thedate; and then a little later the notice of Sergeant Reynolds'appointment as orderly-room sergeant. He felt the hurt which theadjutant's preoccupation had given to the old man's vanity.Presently the chaplain came in, and immediately Captain Havelockgot up and went out with him. Bourne remembered he wanted to askthe padre to cash a cheque. And then quite suddenly he heard thatcuriously tinny old voice, which always reminded him of anemasculated tomcat, behind him.
"Bourne, you will cease from duty here tonight at sixo'clock."
"Very good, sergeant-major," said Bourne briefly; though thedismissal, which he had expected, took him by surprise at thatparticular moment. Evidently the sergeant-major thought there wassome disappointment in his voice, and it roused in him the appetiteto rub it in.
"You are not quite the man for the job," he said, withsatisfaction.
"No, sergeant-major," said Bourne indifferently, and then added,simply as a matter of casual interest; "I shall be glad to go backto soldiering again."
Nothing could have flicked them more acutely on the raw, thanthe implied distinction between their job and his; and, satisfiedwith the effect of this counterthrust, he continued his typing. Hehad become almost an expert. A moment later the signaller looked upat him, and solemnly winked.
"'Ow d'you feel?" said Sergeant-Major Robinson when he presentedhimself at a few minutes after six, pack, rifle and beddingcomplete.
"Fat and idle, sergeant-major," replied Bourne, smiling.
"We can cure that. You may go to Sergeant Tozer's 'ut; dare say'e can make room for you."
"Eard you was coming back, at tea-time," said little Martlow, asBourne dumped all his stuff on the ground beside him. "We're notgoin' up the line tonight. First night off we've 'ad since we'vebeen in this fuckin' 'ole. What are we goin' to do about it?'
"Where's Shem?" Bourne asked him.
"Washin' 'isself. Let's go into bloody Mazingarbe an' 'ave a bontime, the three on us. I've got vingt frong an' a ten-bob note memother sent me."
Shem appeared in the doorway.
"Do you know where the padre is billeted, Shem? Come and show methe way; and then I want to find Evans. You had better come along,too, Martlow, and we shall make a night of it."
"What d'you want Evans for?' asked Martlow jealously.
"I want him to buy me some of that champagne which is 'reserveepour les officiers'; as he is the commanding officer's servant,they'll sell it to him without fuss."
"Ask Sergeant Tozer to come," said Shem. "He has been prettywell fed up lately."
"All right, but I must find the padre first. We shall haveplenty of time to look for the sergeant later; or you may go andlook for him, while I'm waiting for the padre."
They took a short cut behind Headquarter Company's huts and theorderly-room, coming out in a side street, or rather lane, in whichsome of the better houses had secluded themselves. Bourne knockedat a door, and Shem and Martlow, having told him they would meethim at an estaminet in the main street a couple of doors away fromthe corner, went off to look for Sergeant Tozer. No one answeredhis knock. Then an old woman crossing the yard told him thechaplain was not in, but he would be back later; she was vague whenasked how much later. Bourne idled up and down the street, waiting.Presently out of one of the houses came the adjutant. He looked atBourne as he acknowledged the salute.
"Are you waiting for anyone?" he asked.
"I am waiting to see the chaplain, sir."
"He is with the commanding officer. I do not think he will belong."
That was encouraging. At last the tall lean figure of the padrecame out. He did not notice Bourne coming down the street, butturned away to go to his own billet, and Bourne followed him,overtaking him before he got to the door. He was surprised whenBourne told him that he was no longer in the orderly-room. Therewas no difficulty about the cheque, as he had plenty of money,which he needed for the use of the mess, and he was going intoNoeux-les-Mines in the morning.
"Mr Clinton died of wounds this afternoon. Do you know, he toldme some days ago he had a feeling that he would be killed if hewent into the line here? I think he told me, because in a way hewas rather ashamed of it; when he did go up, he went quitecheerfully, as though he had put it out of his mind."
Bourne shrank from talking about the incident with the padre,even though the padre was one of the best. He could only say, insome confusion, how sorry he was; it was odd to think he couldspeak more frankly about the matter with Sergeant Tozer.
"I don't know how you can go on as you are, Bourne," said thechaplain, abruptly changing the subject. "I suppose even theluckiest of us have a pretty rough time of it out here; but if youwere an officer, you might at least have what comfort there is tobe found, and you would have a little privacy, and friends of yourown kind. I wonder how you stick it. You haven't anyone whom youcould call a friend among these men, have you?"
Bourne paused for quite an appreciable time.
"No," he said, finally. "I don't suppose I have anyone whom Ican call a friend. I like the men, on the whole, and I think theylike me. They're a very decent generous lot, and they have helpedme a great deal. I have one or two particular chums, of course; andin some ways, you know, good comradeship takes the place offriendship. It is different; it has its own loyalties andaffections; and I am not so sure that it does not rise on occasionto an intensity of feeling which friendship never touches. It maybe less in itself, I don't know, but its opportunity is greater.Friendship implies rather more stable conditions, don't you think?You have time to choose. Here you can't choose, or only to a verylimited extent. I didn't think heroism was such a common thing. Oh,it has its degrees, of course. When young Evans heard the colonelhad been left on the wire, he ran back to do what he could for him.Of course he owed a good deal to the colonel, who thought it ashame to send out a mere boy, and took him on as servant to try andgive him a chance. That is rather a special case, but I have seen aman risking himself for another more than once; I don't say thatthey would all do it. It seems to be a spontaneous and irreflectiveaction, like the kind of start forward you make instinctively whenyou see a child playing in a street turn and run suddenly almostunder a car. At one moment a particular man may be nothing at allto you, and the next minute you will go through hell for him. No,it is not friendship. The man doesn't matter so much, it's a kindof impersonal emotion, a kind of enthusiasm, in the old sense ofthe word. Of course one is keyed up, a bit overwrought. We helpeach other. What is one man's fate today, may be another'stomorrow. We are all in it up to the neck together, and we knowit."
"Yes, but you know, Bourne, you get the same feeling betweenofficers, and between officers and men. Look at Captain Malet andthe men, for instance."
"I don't know about officers, sir," said Bourne, suddenlyreticent. "The men think a great deal of Captain Malet. I am onlytalking about my own experience in the ranks. It is a hard life,but it has its compensations, the other men have been awfullydecent to me; as they say, we all muck in together. You know,padre, I am becoming demoralised. I begin to look on all officers,N.C.O.'s, the military police, and brass hats, as the naturalenemies of deserving men like myself. Captain Malet is not anexception, he comes down on us occasionally, and disturbs the eventenor of our existence."
"I don't doubt you deserve it. Were you fired from theorderly-room?'
"Yes. I should think that is the right term to use, sir. I wastaken into the orderly-room on the understanding that I should bethere for ten days, while Grace was undergoing medical treatment. Ihave completed my ten days, and Grace is still swinging the lead.The post is now vacant. It was not really my milieu. Betweenourselves, padre, there's not enough work in the orderly-room forthree men, let alone four. Three are necessary when we are in theline; but they are now doing the sensible thing, and running itwith two, until they can pick up a properly qualified clerk."
"Well, I don't think you ought to stay as you are. I don't thinkit is the right place for you. You might be more useful in someother way. However, I have got to do some work now. Come in and seeme again some night, though I think we shall be on the move againvery soon. Do you know that man Miller?"
"Miller, who deserted just before the July show, sir? I don'tknow him. I know of him."
"Well, he has been arrested down at Rouen. How he ever got sofar I can't imagine. He found a woman there who sheltered him untilhis money was finished and then handed him over to the police. Ican't help wishing either that he had got clean away, or thatsomething had happened to him. It's a beastly business.Goodnight."
"I am awfully sorry that you should be troubled about it, sir;it won't be very pleasant for any of us. I hope I haven't kept you,and I am really very much obliged about the cheque. Goodnight,sir."
"Goodnight, Bourne; and look me up again some time.Goodnight."
As he hurried down the twilit street, Bourne thought itcertainly seemed more than likely that a firing party would bedetailed for the purpose of ending the career of Lance-CorporalMiller; and on the whole he was more sorry for the firing partythan for the prisoner. He had always thought that Miller shouldhave spelt his name Muller, because he had a high square head likea Hun. It was a beastly business all right. When Miller disappearedjust before the attack, many of the men said he must have gone overto the Hun lines and given himself up to the enemy. They werebitter and summary in their judgment on him. The fact that he haddeserted his commanding officer, which would be the phrase used todescribe-his offence on the charge-sheet, was as nothing comparedto the fact that he had deserted them. They were to go through itwhile he saved his skin. It was about as bad as it could be, and ifone were to ask any man who had been through that spell of fightingwhat ought to be done in the case of Miller, there could only havebeen one answer. Shoot the bugger. But if that same man weredetailed as one of the firing party, his feelings would be modifiedconsiderably.
Suddenly Bourne wondered what he himself would do if he weredetailed for the job. He tried to put that involuntary question hehad asked himself aside, and he found it was impossible; he was oneof those men who must try to cross a bridge before coming to it. Itwould be his duty; his conscience would not be too nice when therewas a collective responsibility, but these justifications seemedunreal.
The interval between the actual cowardice of Miller, and thesuppressed fear which even brave men felt before a battle, seemedrather a short one, at first sight; but after all, the others wentinto action; if they broke down under the test, at least they hadtried, and one might have some sympathy for them; others brokemomentarily and recovered again, like the two men whomSergeant-Major Glasspool had brought to their senses. It might evenbe necessary to shoot fugitives for the sake of preventing panic.All these cases were in a different class, and might be consideredwith sympathy. If he were on the firing party he would have to makethe best of it; he took the same chance as the rest of them, noneof whom would care for the job of an executioner.
He had forgotten to see Evans; but it would have been too lateeven if he had remembered, for Evans would be occupied in attendingto the wants of the major. He found Shem and Martlow at the corner,but no Sergeant Tozer, they had not been able to find him; so hetold them to wait where they were, while he went into a smallrestaurant, where he had eaten once before. Presently he emergedagain with a girl of about seventeen; and, to the astonishment ofShem and Martlow, turned with her away from them, up the street. Hewas walking quite affectionately, his hand on her arm.
"It's a bugger, ain't it?" exclaimed Martlow. "Wish I knew somebloody French.'
"Well, I'm not going to wait here for him," said Shem a littlesulkily. "Let's go into the estaminet and get a drink."
They waited until he was out of sight round the bend in thestreet, and noticed that an older woman came to the restaurantdoor, and looked after the couple a little anxiously.
"'E 'asn't been the same, not since 'e 'as been in theorderly-room," said Martlow. "All right, let's go in an' get adrink."
They went into the estaminet and drank some vin rouge andgrenadine, while they told each other what they really thoughtabout Bourne, and the defects in his character, defects which hadrecently become more marked. In about twenty minutes Bournereappeared, smiling, and asked if they were ready.
"Where 'ave you been?" they both asked him in one indignantbreath.
"What is the matter with you?" said Bourne, surprised. "I havebeen to get Sergeant Tozer, of course. He is waiting in therestaurant."
"We thought you had cleared off with the girl," said Shem, alittle awkwardly; "and left us on our own."
"Evidently your ideas want bucking up again," said Bourne. "Itwas about time I came back. I didn't think you would becomesoft-witted in ten days."
He was not offended by their sulkiness; if he were a little hurtat first, he put it aside and ragged them into a good humour.Sergeant Tozer was glad he was back again, and liked the quietlittle eating house, one could scarcely call it a restaurant,better than the big noisy room in the estaminet. They could onlyget an omelette and pommes frites in the way of food; but presentlymadame and her daughter, who both waited on them, crowned the tablewith a couple of bottles of Clicquot. Madame went straight back toher kitchen, but Bourne started to protest to the girl. She triedto reason with him, apparently, but he would not listen to her, andat length, a little reluctantly, she went to a drawer in a dresserand brought out a card with a piece of faded green cord, by whichhe suspended it on the corks of the two bottles. On it was printedboldly, in letters all the same size, 'Réservéepour les officiers'. Madame, returning with the food, promptlyremoved it; someone might see it, she protested. The militarypolice were very troublesome. At last, to pacify her, Bourne putthe card in his pocket, saying he would keep it as a souvenir ofthe war.
They ate and drank in great good humour after that, and littleMartlow followed the movements of the girl who waited on them withround eyes of admiration. No one else came in that night, they hadthe room to themselves, and they finished their wine at theirleisure. Then Bourne crossed to the kitchen door and asked for thebill, which brought forth madame and the daughter to him; helaughed as he went into their minute and detailed statements, andgave them money. Then quite impudently he kissed them both, the oldwoman first, and the daughter afterwards.
"What did you want to kiss the old woman for?" said Martlow assoon as they were in the street.
"So that I could kiss the girl afterwards," said Bourne,laughing in the darkness.
They turned the corner and came again to the huts. As SergeantTozer wanted to go into the company office for a minute, Bournewaited for him outside, and the other two went on bythemselves.
"Don't let us go back to kip yet, sergeant," said Bourne whenthe other returned. "Let us go a little way behind the huts, andsit down, and smoke and talk. It is such a ripping night. Look atthat slag heap over there, cutting the skyline like the rock ofGibraltar. There's another towards Sains. The wine has enlivenedwithout exciting me..."
"It 'as gone a bit to my 'ead, too," said the sergeant.
"To say it has gone to my head would be incorrect," observedBourne. "It has set my blood alight, it has warmed all my fivesenses simultaneously. I feel like a human being again. To tell youthe plain, honest truth, sergeant, though I didn't want to stay inthe orderly-room, when old Tomlinson came up to me in his cat-likeway and told me to go back to my company, I felt a bit hipped byit. My vanity was hurt, and he seemed to get a kind of satisfactionout of it. But as you would put it, I have been in a bad skin eversince we left Sand-pits."
"You could 'ave worked it so that they'd 'ave let you stay inthe orderly-room, if you 'ad wanted to stay there," said thesergeant.
"I didn't want to stay there," answered Bourne impatiently. "Itbored me stiff, and I would rather be dog-tired than bored. I likebeing with the company. I like the swank of it, even if it's asempty as a drum. I like the swank of a drum. But if I had stayed inthe orderly-room much longer, I should have become a lead-swingertoo. I might have asked the colour-sergeant or the adjutant to sendme back; but I didn't, because I wanted to dodge carrying gascylinders. I was swinging the lead as it was. Of course, I don'tmind swinging the lead a bit in the company, especially when Ithink I have earned a bit of a rest. It's a game, as they say."
"Well, don't you come any o' those games on me," said thesergeant with a note of warning in his voice. "That young Shem isthe most artful bugger I know. 'E got on a workin' party 'ere, whenwe wanted every man we could get. 'E got off with 'is boots, Ithink. They was worn out, an' we didn't 'ave another pair to fitthe bugger, 'e 'as got such short broad feet."
"He got off with his eyes," said Bourne laughing. "When anofficer looks up and meets Shem's eyes, he always thinks he mayconceivably be telling the truth. I can't work it like Shem. Anywaythat is all in the game, so long as you don't overdo it. Do youthink I'm windy?"
"You're not any more windy than the next man," said the sergeantwith a judicial air in answer to the abrupt question."Sergeant-Major Glasspool said you were all right, an' you'vealways been all right with me. Besides, if 'e thought you wasshirkin' it, the cap'n would be down on you. What do you want toask me for; don't you know yourself ?"
"I wanted another opinion," said Bourne. "I don't think I'mwindy. I am in the hell of a bloody funk, sometimes, but theneverybody is. At first it seems to push me right over. I get a bitdazed; but when that has passed, funk only makes me think a damnedsight quicker than usual. When I went to see the padre tonight, heasked me why I wanted to stay with the company, and I said I likedthe men. Well, you and I know that there are all sorts among themen. You know more than I do, because you have got to keep themtogether, and push them into it sometimes.
"What I said to him sounded rather silly after I had said it,but I suppose it was true all the same. I like the life better whenI'm with the men. When I was in the orderly-room, and saw the menfall in on the road to go up the line, I felt out of it. Now thatI'm back again I feel better."
"Well, we'd better go to kip," said the sergeant. "I'm gladyou're back, if that's what you want. All the same you was dam'lucky. I 'aven't 'ad enough sleep for a week. It's cloudin' overnow. We'll get some rain before mornin'."
...ambition,
The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss
Than gain which darkens him.
—SHAKESPEARE
Captain Malet watched Sergeant Tozer drilling his section onsome of the wasteland beyond the huts. It had rained a little inthe night, and there was no dust. They had been doing some rapidwiring with screw-pickets, but there was not enough material forthe work done to provide any test of efficiency. Afterwards, towake them up, the sergeant gave them a little extended order drill,and Bourne being the last man on the right, the sergeant amusedhimself by giving the order left wheel repeatedly, so that Bournesweated at the double for the greater part of that hour. Almost assoon as he dropped into quick march, on coming into line with thepivotal man again, there would be a shrill whistle from thesergeant, who, standing very erect, would sweep his outstretchedarm round a quarter of the horizon, and Bourne was at the doubleagain, saying, under his breath and while he had any breath, thingsthat were more sincere than complimentary.
Captain Malet completely misunderstood the sergeant's motives.He had believed him to be a strict, efficient, but kindlyinstructor, and yet this looked very much like a kind of punishmentdrill. He struck at a few clods of earth irritably with his greatash-stick. He did not like this kind of thing. He waved to theinnocent sergeant to halt his men, and advanced on him.
"The men don't seem to be working very well this morning,sergeant," he said with ominous amiability. "They don't keep aproper interval, and they don't wheel round evenly. I shall takethem myself for a few minutes. You get on the left flank, will you,and let us see if we can't improve matters a bit."
Sergeant Tozer was disturbed. He was not quite sure from thestart that Captain Malet's method was the right one, and he becameconvinced before two minutes had elapsed that it was entirelywrong. Captain Malet gave the order right wheel repeatedly, andSergeant Tozer was doubling over clods and stubble for all he wasworth, while Bourne merely made a right turn, and continued at aleisurely pace in the direction indicated. Bourne realised thesignificance of the matter immediately, and could with difficultyrestrain his laughter. He wished he were on the other flank, andnext to the sergeant; it would be worthwhile doubling if he couldonly hear what the sergeant must be saying to the circumambientair. The sergeant would see the point, too, and was certainlybursting with a sense of injustice. Probably the men thoughtnothing more about the matter than that it was rather good fun tosee Sergeant Tozer taking quite a lot of unnecessary exercise. Atlast Captain Malet signalled to retire, thus bringing the men backtowards himself; and having halted them, he called up a hot andindignant sergeant to listen to his views on the performance.
"Sergeant, these men all seem inclined to slow down to aninfantryman's pace, and I think that on parade, at any rate, theymight keep to our own quick, short step. Of course, one can'texpect to get quite the same pace out of them under theseconditions; they carry a bit more weight out here than they do athome. And it's very hot today, isn't it? That man on the rightthere; no, he's on the left now, he seems to be a bit slow. Heshouldn't think about the other men. He seemed inclined to checkhis pace a little, as though to give 'em time to swing round intothe new alignment."
He spoke slowly, giving the sergeant time to recover from hisexertions.
"That man 'as been in the orderly-room the last ten days, sir.'E may be a bit slack, an' out o' condition for the moment; but asa rule 'e's not bad at 'is drill. I thought 'e wanted a bit ofextra work to get fit, sir, that's why I put 'im out on aflank."
"Oh, that was it, was it?" said Captain Malet, enlightened."What do you think of your men, sergeant? Let me have your ownopinion."
"I don't think they're a bad lot o' men, sir," replied SergeantTozer, secretly indignant that there could be any question on thesubject.
"No. I don't think they're a bad lot at all," Captain Maletagreed. "When I come along with a few criticisms, I don't want youto think I am dissatisfied. I think you always keep to a highstandard, and that gives me the impression that you handle your menwell. Get 'em into extended order again, and double 'em down thefield and back again. Then they may fall out for ten minutes andsmoke."
Sergeant Tozer struck his rifle in salute, and turned to themen. Calling them to attention, standing them at ease again, andthen calling them up with a bark, he told them off withconsiderable vigour and snap. He not only, by this means, didsomething to restore his prestige; but he also managed to conveythe impression that his own contempt for their utter lack of allsoldierly qualities was only an ineffectual echo of Captain Malet'sopinion; and, in that way, he got home as well on his companyofficer, who quite appreciated the fact. Then, as he had beenordered, he extended the men, and sent them about a hundred andfifty yards and back again at the double. When he halted them theylooked at him indignantly, panting like blown cattle. He consideredthem for a little while with an air of patient disparagement, andtelling them to fall out for ten minutes returned to CaptainMalet.
"Fuckin' slave drivers, that's what they are!" said Minton,flinging himself on the ground. "What's the cunt want to come down'ere buggerin' us about for, 'aven't we done enough bloody work inth' week?"
Captain Malet talked to the sergeant for a few minutes onmatters of casual interest, glancing occasionally in the directionof the resting men.
"Sergeant, I want to speak to Bourne; not yet, let him cool offand finish his cigarette. I think he might go for a commission.There's a great wastage in officers, and they seem to be runningshort. They are always pressing us to recommend likely men. I thinkhe might do, don't you? What's your own opinion of him?"
"I don't know what to think of 'im, sir. 'E's a queer chap. When'e first came to us we all took 'im for a dud, but after a few days'e seemed quite able to take care of 'imself; fact I thought 'e wasgettin' a little too much of 'is own way; thought 'e might begettin' a bit fresh, an' decided to keep an eye on 'im. I couldn'tfind any fault with 'im, 'e could take a tellin' off withoutshowin' temper. 'E was a well-disciplined man. 'E didn't try tomake friends with anyone, but 'e was quite friendly, if anyonewanted to talk to 'im. 'E wouldn't be put upon, either. All the mengot to like 'im. 'E's a gentleman all right, an' better educatedthan we are, but 'e never talks of 'imself. 'E seems out o' placein the ranks some'ow."
"You seem rather doubtful about him," Captain Maletobserved.
"It isn't that, sir," said the sergeant. "I think 'e might makea very good officer. 'E's not quite the build of a soldier; bitlight, sir; but he's pretty smart. Only 'e says 'e don't want toleave the comp'ny, sir."
"Well, a man can't shirk his responsibilities in that way. Hemight have stayed in the orderly-room if he had liked. I was ratherinterested to see what he would do, and I was rather glad he didn'tstay there. Did he say anything to you about it?"
"Well, only between ourselves, sir," said the sergeant,discreetly.
"Not for the use of the young, eh? I see. Well, bring him up tome, and I shall have a talk with him."
The sergeant saluted, took a few steps towards the men, and thenshouted Bourne's name. Captain Malet saw his man get up, after themomentary hesitation of surprise, dust the grass and dry earth fromhis trousers, pick up his rifle and double towards them. Yes, hewas a bit light; pity he hadn't a bit more stamina; it counts forsuch a lot; and he acknowledged Bourne's salute.
"So you've given up the crown and the glory, Bourne," he said,humouring him with an easy smile.
"I don't know about the crown and the glory, sir. I wasdumped."
"I am under the impression that you probably asked for it. Youdidn't go out of your way to make friends, did you? Why did youstay there so long, if you didn't like it?"
"I wanted to dodge work for a bit, sir."
"I don't think that is a very creditable proceeding," saidCaptain Malet, and noticed the uneasy resentment flickering inBourne's face. "I like to get out of a man all he is worth. I work'em until they drop, isn't that what they say? Then if the medicalofficer thinks they're past work, they can get a slacker's jobamong the details; it's usually rather a dirty, greasy, lousy kindof job, but I suppose they do some necessary work. Anyway they havedone some, by the time I have finished with them, if they never doany more. Of course, I do my best to find out in what way a man canbe most useful, but it's often a case of hit or miss, one hasn'ttime."
He paused and looked at Bourne, who remained quite impassiveunder his gaze.
"As a matter of fact," continued Captain Malet, "I thought youdeserved a bit of a rest. I think you do pretty well as a rule; asfar as your work with the company is concerned I haven't any faultto find with you. You're not windy, at least you keep your head.But you haven't the build."
"Sir, after all I am a good deal heftier than some of theboys..."
"Now, you know I'm right," said Captain Malet firmly. "Theseboys, as you call them, train on, most of them will fill out andmake two of you. You are as fit as you ever will be, and you'requite fit now, in the pink, I should say. But all these men arehardened to all kinds of manual labour, which you can't do. I betyou were never in proper training until you joined the army. Youwon't train on, you're much more likely to train off. If you crockup, you will only be a damned nuisance. You are out of place whereyou are. I believe you have a certain amount of influence over themen about you; I don't mean that you try to influence them, butquite naturally they think you know a bit more than they do, andthey are likely to be swayed by your opinion. Well, that's allwrong; you've no business in your position to have any influenceover the men. Oh, yes, you get some stout fellow with bags ofcourage, and the other men look up to him. That is different. Idon't say they don't admire your pluck, in fact I believe they do,but that isn't what influences them. It is something else. Youought to go in for a commission."
"I would much rather stay with the company, sir."
"It isn't a question of what you would much rather do," saidCaptain Malet, a little irritably. "It is a question of what youought to do. You have no right to shirk your responsibilities inthe matter. I said that to Sergeant Tozer, when he said he thoughtyou would rather stay with the company. Well, I say it to you, too,and I mean it."
"Well, sir," said Bourne, firmly, "may I say what I think?"
"What is it?" asked Captain Malet, looking at his boot, andhitting it impatiently with his ash-stick.
"I was asked if I would take a commission when I first enlisted;that was at Milharbour, sir; and when the adjutant spoke to me Itold him that I had absolutely no experience of men, not even thekind of experience that a public-school boy gets from being one ofa large community. I didn't want to shirk my responsibilities, butI told him I thought it would be better if I got a littleexperience of men and of soldiering before trying for a commission.He hadn't thought of it in that way, but he agreed immediately hesaw the point. Well, now, I think we were both wrong. Experience inthe ranks doesn't help one a bit. I have only taken on the colourof the ranks. It would be very difficult for me now to look at waror to consider the men from the point of view which an officer isbound to take."
"Oh, you can forget all that," said Captain Malet cheerfully."If you take my advice I shall get the matter under way at once;but I won't press you for an answer today, in case you want time tothink things over. I am sure it is the wisest thing you can do inthe circumstances."
"There's only one other thing, sir. I don't want to be a troubleto you, but it looks as though they were getting us ready foranother show. I don't want to slip away before the show. I wouldrather take my chance and go afterwards."
"Very well, Bourne," said Captain Malet after hesitating,perplexed, for a second or two. "Have it your own way. Only I can'tpromise you that you will remain in the company the whole time. Itwon't make much difference; you won't miss the show. You may gonow."
He looked after him curiously as he went back to the men, andthen he turned to Sergeant Tozer.
"You're right, sergeant, he's a queer chap. You can carry onwith some drill now; but I shouldn't bustle the men any more. Theyhave had a fairly hard time the last few days, and we move awaytomorrow. You needn't make things easy for Bourne, you know; infact it would be better if you put him through it a bit. He looksat a question upside down and inside out, and then in the long runhe does just what an ordinary sensible man would do. Keep him atit."
The other men were rather curious to know why Bourne had beensent for, and Martlow, with his irrepressible curiosity, asked him;but Bourne refused to say anything, and the sergeant's order tofall in again prevented further questions. They had an easy hour.When they went back to the huts, for their midday meal, he wasstill silent and preoccupied. The men took it that he had been toldoff for something, very likely for his failure to give satisfactionin the orderly-room; and a martyr to authority always moved theirprofounder sympathies, though when he was out of hearing theyagreed, that if a man tried to be too clever he was bound to come amucker. Shem, who knew him, after a suspicious and furtivescrutiny, left him alone; and Sergeant Tozer also held aloof,somewhat reluctantly, as the interview at which he had assisted inthe morning had embarrassed him a little. However, he was quiteclear in his own mind on one point; he wasn't going to bustleBourne about just to please the company commander, so long as hewent on quietly with his work. If a man thought he were beingtreated unjustly, it made him restive, then he became reallytroublesome and ended on the mat. There was no sense in it.
Bourne ate very little, and then went off to smoke alone. He hadthe faculty of withdrawing right into himself, his consciousnessshrinking into its inmost recesses, contracting to a mere point,while the bodily part of him followed its ordinary train of habitunconsciously, like an automaton. He did not resent anything thatCaptain Malet had said to him. He felt a kind of vague impersonalresentment against enveloping circumstances, that was all. When onewas in the ranks, one lived in a world of men, full of flexiblemovement and human interest; when one became an officer, one becamepart of an inflexible and inhuman machine; and though he thoughtthat the war as a moral effort was magnificent, he felt that as amechanical operation it left a great deal to be desired.
They paraded again at two, and at three there was a kitinspection, during which Bourne's tin-hat was condemned for thesecond time. Mr Marsden, who had come back to them after havingbeen slightly wounded on the Somme, was the first to examine thehat, and then Mr Sothern remembered that it had been condemned atMeaulte. He reminded the sergeant-major of the fact, and turned toBourne again.
"Did you see the quartermaster-sergeant about it?" he askedBourne.
Bourne had a very vivid recollection of his interview with thequartermaster-sergeant, a bad old devil like the colour-sergeant,only violent as well because he drank. He had gone, too, pensionedoff, and had reached by this time the summit of his ambition in theproprietorship of a pub.
"Yes, sir," Bourne replied mechanically.
"What did he say?" continued Mr Sothern inquisitively.
"He told me to go to buggery, sir," replied Bourne veryquietly.
Sergeant-Major Robinson, and Sergeant Tozer as well, werescandalised that Bourne should divulge even part of a conversationso obviously intended to be confidential. The officers seemed to beonly a little surprised by his candour.
"What d'you mean, talkin' like that?" said the sergeant-majorseverely. "'E only meant 'e didn't 'ave any."
Bourne thought that the quartermaster-sergeant's words might beinterpreted in various ways; but in the face of thesergeant-major's righteous indignation, he didn't feel called on tosupply any alternative glosses; so he stood to attention rigidlywhile he was told off by Mr Marsden, Mr Sothern, and thesergeant-major in succession. The sergeant-major thought itnecessary to say to Mr Marsden that Quartermaster-Sergeant Leak hadgone home.
"'E was no good, sir. 'E was too old, an' it made 'imirritable-like," he remarked with reasonable indulgence.
"See that this man has a new steel helmet by tonight," said MrMarsden imperiously.
"There are none here, sir," protested the sergeant-major. "Theremay be a few at the quartermaster's stores in Noeux-les-Mines; buteven there, they've probably got all their stuff packed ready forthe move."
"Then see that he gets one at the first possible opportunity,"said Mr Marsden, and with this indefinite extension of the originaltime limit he passed, somewhat hastily, to a detailed criticism ofthe next man's deficiencies.
All the men had pricked up their ears to hear Bourne being toldoff for the second time that day. Bloody shame, wasn't it? Once thebuggers get their knives into you, you can't go right. No pleasin''em. Well, you've got to tell the truth, haven't you? But thesergeant-major's inadvertent reference to the prospect of a moveeffectively routed these desultory sympathies with a strongerinterest, and as soon as they went for their tea they heard it wasin orders; breakfast at eight, all huts to be cleaned up and readyfor inspection by company officers at nine, and the battalion to beon parade, ready to move off, at nine-thirty. Bourne drank his teaalone, but Martlow invaded his solitude.
"Look 'ere, Bourne, you're comin' out wi' me, tonight, an' I'mgoin' to pay, see? I've got plenty money; an' I'm not always goin'out with you, an' let you stan' treat. So you come along with Sheman' me, an' we'll 'ave a little bit of a beano on our own. An' youdon't want to mind what any bloody officer says to you, see? Youwant to take it the right way. It don't do no 'arm."
It was the solemnity of Martlow's expression which overcameBourne's already diminishing reserve. The notion that he couldn'ttake an ordinary telling-off made him inclined to laugh, but herestrained himself.
"All right, kid," he said gratefully. "We shall go out and havea beano together."
"An' I stan' treat,' said Martlow, immensely pleased; but then asudden doubt clouded the youthful brow.
"I won't 'ave enough money to get real champagne," he said,facing the difficulty frankly; "but the other stuff's just as good,only it don't make you so drunk; an' after all we don't want to getpissed-up with a long day's march in front of us tomorrow, dowe?"
"Oh, I only like champagne occasionally," said Bourne in acasual way; "as a rule I like beer or vin blanc better."
"Beer here's bloody," said Martlow. "All right, I'll go an' tellShem, 'e's lyin' down outside."
Bourne wasn't alone for long in the hut; he was putting away hismess-tin and knife when Sergeant Tozer came in and noted thesymptoms of recovery.
"Comin' down the village with me tonight?" he inquiredbriefly.
"Martlow has just asked me to go out with him, sergeant.Otherwise I should. I think he wants to return the compliment, youknow; but thanks all the same."
"E's a decent kid," said the sergeant. "I was goin' to ask 'iman' Shem to come too. But I'll leave it to some other night. Itmight look as though I were buttin' in. 'Ave you told 'em anythingabout what Cap'n Malet said to you?"
"No, I'm not goin' to say anything about it, until it's more orless settled."
"Quite right. They think Cap'n Malet gave you atellin'-off."
"Well? How would you describe it?"
"E's a good officer, is Cap'n Malet; an' 'e's a nice gentlemantoo, but 'e may be wrong in a lot o' things. I thought there was alot in what 'e said to you, because I've often thought like thatabout you myself. You've got a pull over us in some ways..."
"Well, you've got a pull over me in other ways."
"Yes, but that don't even things out, it makes 'em worse. Ithought there was something in what you said to the cap'n. Only youdidn't say all that you was thinkin'..."
"How the hell can you ever say all that you are thinking to anofficer, without being bloody rude?" said Bourne indignantly.
The sergeant enjoyed the humour of it.
"You weren't polite about the quarter-bloke to Mr Marsden."
"That was a different thing. It's so damned silly. A private isordered to complete some deficiency in his kit, and he goes to thequarter-bloke for it and gets nothing but abuse for his trouble.What can he say to the quarter-bloke? At the next kit inspection,he gets ticked off by the officer for not doing something that theofficer knows bloody well he can't do. You have never heard megrouse about anything to the men, have you? Very well. I may tellyou, that there are precious few mistakes made in the army that arenot ultimately laid on the shoulders of the men. A fool of a clerkin the orderly-room sends in the wrong state to Brigade, and themen can do without their tea when they come back from a workingparty, wet and tired at four o'clock in the morning, having hadnothing since five. Yes, Captain Malet put that right, and he wasthe only company officer I know with guts enough to do it.
"Some general streaks off in a car, at about forty miles anhour, to go on a binge in Amiens; an unfortunate sentry spots hispennon, just in time to turn out the guard to present arms to acloud of dust. The general comes back with a fat head next morning,and reports them for slackness, with the result that there's aparade of guard-mounting, and Jerry comes over and bombs the lot.They're not exceptional cases, and you know as well as I do, thesame sort of stupidities happen every day. I only hope to God Jerrysalutes the swine some day with a 5.9 or something equallyeffective. The war might be a damned sight more tolerable if itweren't for the bloody army.
"I shall get another tin hat, when I can find one for myself inthe trenches, I suppose, because I'm pretty sure I will not get onethrough the official channels. What do I do, when I want anythingnow? I go to the snobs for it. But they don't happen to have a tinhat, at the moment. I don't know whether Mr Marsden and Mr Sothernthink they look impressive when they're ticking me off; but what Ido know is, that a storekeeper, with a lance stripe up, has muchmore say in the matter of getting me a tin hat than either ofthem."
"Well, there's something in that," said Sergeant Tozer, feelingfor his tobacco. "But it were silly to repeat what thequarter-bloke said. It didn't matter, as far as the officers wereconcerned; but it got up the sergeant-major's back. If Mr Marsdencan't alter things, do you think you can?"
"I know perfectly well they can't be altered. They have got torun the machine more or less as it has been handed over to them;and because I know that, I have never groused to anyone, until Istarted grousing to you a few minutes ago. If the sergeant-majorhas got his back up with me, I dare say I can stick it. The lasttime I heard from him was when he asked me to pinch him somenotebooks and pencils out of the orderly-room. But don't worry, Ishall forget it. I have given you a rough notion of my reason fornot wanting to take a commission; but if it's up to me to take one,there's no option, is there? I mustn't shirk myresponsibilities."
"You're all right," said Sergeant Tozer, and paused to light hispipe very deliberately. "Only you'll have to watch your step, youknow. There are too many people interested in you, at present, foryou to play the fool in safety."
Bourne said nothing but lit another cigarette, and they smokedin quiet. Then little Martlow came back and sat quietly besidethem. He looked at the sergeant a little dubiously, and Bourne knewthat he was telling himself that his money wouldn't run to theentertainment of three people beside himself. He could see Martlowdetermining firmly not to ask the sergeant; and then quite suddenlyCorporal Greenstreet put his head in the hut.
"Bourne here?"
"Yes, corporal."
"Company guard tonight, six o'clock."
"Very good, corporal. Just gives me time to get ready. I'msorry, Martlow, but we'll go on a binge together some other night.I dare say the sergeant-major thinks I have had too cushy a timelately."
"It's a bloody army!" said Martlow in disappointed tones, and hesat there looking at Bourne with his underlip thrust out intemper.
"Oh, I don't know," said Bourne cheerfully. "It's all right inpeace time, as the old sweats say."
He looked at Sergeant Tozer with an almost laughing face, andthe sergeant took his pipe out of his mouth.
"You an' Shem 'ad better come out with me tonight then, Martlow;it's about up to me. We can 'ave some eggs and chips, and then goand take a peek at a couple of estaminets. It'll pass the time. Youmight be able to bring Bourne back some vin blanc."
"That's a damned good plan, Martlow. Cut along and tellShem."
"'E don't seem keen on it," said the sergeant, as Martlow wentreluctantly.
"He's disappointed about his own show, otherwise he would bebucked by it. It is awfully decent of you, sergeant."
But thy speaking of my tongue, and I thine, mosttruly-falsely, must needs be granted to be much at one.
—SHAKESPEARE
Bourne never slept much; as soon as he put out his cigarette androlled himself up in his blankets, he would sleep like a log for anhour or two perhaps, and then so lightly that the least sound wouldwake him. It was a legend among the other men, that nobody everwoke during the night without finding Bourne sitting up and smokinga cigarette. Company guard didn't bother him in the least. It was acushy guard, without formality; and he liked the solitude andemptiness of the night. One bathed one's soul in that silence, asin a deep, cold pool. Earth seemed to breathe, even if it were onlywith his own breathing, giving consciousness a kind of rhythm,which was neither of sound nor of motion, but might become eitherat any moment.
The slag heaps, huge against the luminous sky, might have beenwatchtowers in Babylon, or pyramids in Egypt; night with itsenchantments, changing even this flat and unlovely land, into aplace haunted by fantastic imaginings. Morning gave again to lifeits sordid realities. He got himself some tea at the cooker, yarnedto Abbot while he drank it, and was washed and shaved before therest of his but were fully awake.
The battalion fell in on the road at about twenty minutes pastnine; and five minutes later the commanding officer, and theadjutant, rode down the line of men; perhaps less with the objectof making a cursory inspection than for the purpose of advertisingthe fact that they had both been awarded the Military Cross, fortheir services on the Somme.
"Wonder they 'ave the front to put 'em up," said Martlow,unimpressed.
Major Shadwell and Captain Malet had no distinctions.
"I don't want no medals meself," added Martlow,disinterestedly.
Bourne was struck by the adjutant's horsemanship; when the greyhe rode trotted, you saw plenty of daylight between his seat andthe saddle; and the exaggerated action made it seem as if, insteadof the horse carrying the adjutant, the adjutant were reallypropelling the horse. However, he brought to the business the sameserious attention which he gave to less arduous duties at othertimes. The men were forbidden to drink from their water bottles onthe march until permission were given. They moved on, and, by teno'clock, were marching through Noeux-les-Mines again; and presentlyword was passed along that they were going to Bruay. There was nodoubt about it this time; Captain Malet had told Sergeant-MajorRobinson, and the men swung forward cheerfully, in spite of dustand heat, opening out a bit, so that the air could move freelybetween them. On the whole their march discipline was pretty good.They arrived at their new billets at about one o'clock.
Bruay was built on two sides of a valley, and their billets werenaturally in the poorer part of the town; in one of the uniformstreets which always seem to lay stress on the monotony of modernindustrial life. It was a quarter given up to miners. The street inwhich A Company had billets was only about a hundred yards long,led nowhere, and ended abruptly, as though the builders hadsuddenly tired of their senseless repetition. But it was all veryclean; dull and dingy, but clean. Some of the houses were empty,and Bourne, Shem and Martlow, with the rest of their section, werein one of these empty houses. The town, however, was for the mostpart earlier than the days when towns came to be planned. You couldsee that the wisdom of cattle, which in such matters is greaterthan the wisdom of man, had determined the course of many of itssinuous streets, as they picked their way to and from theirgrazing, guided only by the feel of the ground beneath them, andthe gradients with which they were confronted. So the town stillpossessed a little charm and character. It had its place, its sidesall very unequal, and all of it on the slope. Even the direction ofthe slope was diagonally across it, and not merely from side toside or end to end. Perhaps the cattle had determined that too, forthe poor fool man has long since lost his nature. Houses in theolder parts of the town, though modest and discreet, stillcontrived to have a little air of distinction and individuality.They refused to be confounded with each other. They ignored thatsilly assumption that men are equal. They believed in privateproperty.
It was obviously the intention of authority that the men shouldbe given an opportunity to, have a bon time. They were to be paidat two o'clock, and then were free to amuse themselves.
"You're comin' out with me tonight," said Martlow to Bournedecisively.
"Very well," said Bourne, dumping his pack on the floor of theroom they occupied, and opening the window. They were upstairs; andhe looked out and down, into the street. There were five or sixcorporals, and lance-corporals, standing just outside; and bothCorporal Greenstreet and Lance-Corporal Jakes spotted himimmediately, and shouted for him to come. He went, a littlereluctantly, wondering what they wanted.
"You're the man we was lookin' for," said Corporal Greenstreet."The sergeants are running a sergeants' mess for the couple of dayswe'll be 'ere; an' we don't see why we can't run a corporals'mess."
"Well, run one, corporal," said Bourne disinterestedly. "There'snothing in King's Regs against it, so far as I know."
"Well, we can't run it ourselves. That's where you come in, youknow the lingo a bit, an' you always seem able to get round the oldwomen. A corporal don't get a sergeant's pay, you know, but we wantto do it as well as we can. There'll be eight of us; Jakes, Evansan' Marshall are in billets 'ere, an' we could 'ave the mess 'ere,if she'd do the cookin'. You 'ave a talk to 'er."
"This is all very well," said Bourne reasonably; "but now we'rein a decent town I want to have a good time myself. I've just toldMartlow I should go out with him tonight."
"Well, I've got 'im down for company guard tonight."
"Have you, corporal? Well, you just take him off company guard,or there's absolutely nothing doing. Every time we arrange to goout on a bit of a spree together, he or Shem or myself are put oncompany guard. I was on last night."
"Well, Sergeant-Major Robinson told me to put you on guard lastnight. 'E said it would do you good, you were gettin' a bitfresh."
"I guessed that," said Bourne. "He didn't want to be nasty, ofcourse, but he thought he would give me a reminder. I don't mindtaking my share of guards. But, if you put one of us on, you mightjust as well put us all on together, and make a family party of it.I don't mind helping you to run a mess, but I want to have a goodtime, too."
"Well, you muck in with us," said Corporal Greenstreet. "An' youneedn't put anythin' in the kitty," added Lance-Corporal Jakes.
"Oh, thanks all the same, but I like to pay my own way," saidBourne coolly. "I don't mind going in and asking madame what can bedone in the matter; and then, if we can come to some arrangement, Ishall see about buying the grub; but before things go any further,it has got to be clearly understood that neither Shem nor Martlowis on any guard tonight. We three are going out on a spreetogether. I shall muck in with you tomorrow night."
"That's all right," said Corporal Greenstreet hastily. "I'll getsome other bugger for the bloody guard, if there is a guard. I've'ad no orders yet."
"It's just as well to take the possibility into consideration,"said Bourne; "but mind you, you would do it just as well on yourown, without me."
"Come on. You parlez-vous to the old woman," said CorporalGreenstreet, and hurried him through the house into the forefrontof the battle, which was the kitchen. Madame was a very neat andcompetent-looking woman, and she faced Bourne with her twodaughters acting as supports immediately behind her. Bourne gotthrough the preliminarypolitesses with a certain amount ofcredit. She had already understood that the corporals required herassistance in some way, but they had failed apparently to makematters clear.
"Qu'est-ce que ces messieurs désirent?' she inquired ofBourne, coming to the point with admirable promptitude, and when heexplained matters they launched into a discussion on ways andmeans. Then Bourne turned to Corporal Greenstreet.
"I suppose it is pukka that we stay here two nights, is it?"
"That's accordin' to present plans. Of course you can't becertain of anything in the bloody army. Does it make any differ to'er?"
"Not much," said Bourne.
"You can have grilled fillet of steak with fried onions, andchips and beans, or you can have a couple of chickens. I amwondering what sort of sweet you can have."
"Could we 'ave a suet puddin' wi' treacle?"
"No, I don't think so," said Bourne reflectively. "I don't thinkthe French use suet much in cooking, and anyway I don't know theFrench for suet, if they do.Suif is lard, I think. Couldyou pinch a tin of pozzy out of stores? Then you might have a sweetomelette with jam in it. Perhaps it would be better to buy somedecent jam, you don't want plum and apple, do you? Only I want tomake the money go as far as possible. I like those little redcurrants in syrup which used to come from Bar-le-Duc."
"Get 'em. I don't care a fuck where they come from. We don'twant any bloody plum an' apple when we can get better. An' don'tyou worry about the money, not in reason anyway. They've only letus come 'ere for a couple of days to 'ave a bon time before theysend us up into the shit again. Might just as well get all we can,while we can."
Bourne turned to madame again, and asked her if she would do themarketing for them, and the upshot of it was that they both agreedto go together. Bourne turned to Corporal Greenstreet and asked himabout money.
"Will it do if we all put twenty francs into the kitty to startwith?"
"I don't think I shall want so much; give me ten each, and ifthat isn't enough, then you can each give me up to another ten. Iam going to let her buy the wine because she knows somebody in thetrade, and says she can get us good sound wine, which you don't getin estaminets, fairly cheap."
"Dinner's up, corporal," said Corporal Marshall, putting hishead in the door; and thanking madame, they left to get their mealrather hurriedly.
"Where've you bin?" said Martlow indignantly to Bourne, and Shemburst out laughing at the way in which the question was put.
"What the bloody 'ell is 'e laughin' at?' said Martlow, his faceall in a pucker.
"I have been doing my best to get you off company guardtonight."
"Me!" exclaimed Martlow. "Me, on bloody company guard tonight,an' the only cushy town we've been in! It's a bugger, ain't it?D'you mean to say they 'ad me on bloody guard?"
"Well, I have taken on the job of rationing officer to thecorporals' mess, on condition they find someone else in your place;that is if they should mount a guard tonight; they may give it amiss. It isn't a bad stew today, is it? Seems to me a long timesince we had any fresh meat, except for a few weevils in thebiscuits. As soon as I have had dinner, I shall go off withCorporal Greenstreet, and make the other corporals ante up. Then Ishall be back in time to get my pay; and afterwards I shall go outand do the marketing with madame. When we have had tea, the threeof us had better hop it to the other side of the town right away,in case they come along and pinch us for any fatigues. There's acinema, up there. And look here, Martlow, you're not going to payfor everything tonight, see? We shall have to make the most of ouropportunity to have a bon time, as it may be our last chance. Ihate the thought of dying young."
"Well, I'll stan' the supper," said Martlow reasonably. "I'vegot about three weeks' pay, an' me mother sent me a ten-bob note. Iwish she wouldn't send me any money, as she wants all she gets, butthere's no stoppin' 'er."
"Shem can pay for the drinks afterwards. Of course, he has gotmoney. To be a Jew and not to have money would be an unmitigatedmisfortune. Enough to make one deny the existence of Providence. Henever will offer to pay unless you make him. He wouldn't think itprudent. But all the same, if you are broke to the wide, Shem willcome down quite handsomely; he doesn't mind making a big splashthen, as it looks like a justification of his past thrift. Shem andI understand each other pretty well, only he thinks I'm a bloodyfool."
"I don't think you're a bloody fool," said Shem indulgently;"but I think I could make a great deal more use of your brains thanyou do."
"Shem thinks he is a practical man," said Bourne, "and a cynic,and a materialist; and would you believe it, Martlow, he had acushy job in the pay office, to which all his racial talent gavehim every claim, and he was wearing khaki, and he had learnt how topresent arms with a fountain pen; the most perfect funkhole inBlighty, and he chucks the whole bloody show to come soldiering!Here you are, clean out my dixie, like a good kid, and my knife andfork. I must chase after these corporals. I wouldn't trust any ofthem round the corner with a threepenny bit; not unless I were asergeant."
He found Corporal Greenstreet ready, and they set off together;the corporal had collected all the money except from CorporalFarman and Lance-Corporal Eames.
"What about Corporal Whitfield?" Bourne asked him.
"'E's no bloody good," said Greenstreet. "'E never will join inwith us in anything. Do you know, 'e gets at least one big parcelout from 'ome every week, an' I've never seen 'im give away a biteyet. In any case, 'e's no good to us. 'E's a Rechabite."
"What the hell is that?" inquired Bourne, somewhat startled. "Idon't know. It's some kind o' sex or other, I think. They don'tdrink, an' they don't smoke either; but you ought to see the buggereat. 'E's no bloody good to us."
"I don't know anything about him," Bourne explained.
"No, an' you don't want to," said Greenstreet earnestly. "I'm inthe same billets as I was last time, but I 'aven't 'ad time to lookin on 'em yet. An old maid owns the 'ouse, an' she 'as an'ousekeeper: cook-'ousekeeper, I should say. They're very decent toall of us. Respectable people, you know; I should say the old girl'ad quite a bit o' rattle to 'er. Lives comfortable anyway. Likesyou to be quiet an' wipe your feet on the mat. You know."
The house was in one of the streets leading off the place; andit had a gate at the side giving access to a small yard, with agarden, half flowers, half vegetables; there was a tree bright withearly red apples, and a pollarded plane with marvellously contortedbranches and leaves already yellowing. Corporal Farman was justcoming out of the door, as they entered the gate, and he handedover his ten francs cheerfully. He and Corporal Greenstreet wereperhaps the two best-looking men in the battalion, fair-haired,blue-eyed and gay-complexioned. The menagere, recognising thelatter, waved a welcome to him from the doorway.
"She's been askin' about you, corporal."
"Bonjour, Monsieur Greenstreet," she cried, rolling each 'r' inher throat.
"Bongjour, madame, be there in 'arf a tick. I'll meet you up atthe company office, corporal, and show you the billets. Bourne'srunnin' the show."
Farman waved a hand, and departed on his own business. CorporalGreenstreet and Bourne went into the house, after using the doormatrather ostentatiously; but even so the menagere looked a littlesuspiciously at Bourne.
"Vous n'avez pas un logement chez nous, monsieur," she saidfirmly.
"C'est vrai, madame; mais j'attends les ordres de monsieur lecaporal."
He spoke deliberately, with a little coldness in his manner, dehaut en bas, as it were, and after a further penetrating glance inhis direction, she ignored him for the moment. Corporal Greenstreetleft his pack in a room off the kitchen, but one step higher andwith a wooden floor instead of tiled; then he returned, and thewoman opened on him rapidly, expressing her pleasure at seeing him,and her further gratification at seeing him so obviously in goodhealth. He did not understand one word of what she said, but thepleasure and recognition in her face flattered him agreeably.
"Ah, oui, madame," he said with a gallant effort.
"Mais vous n'avez pas compris, monsieur."
"Ah, oui, compris, madame. Glad to be back, compris? Cushy avecmademoiselle."
The expression on the face of the ménagère passedvery rapidly from astonishment to indignation, and from indignationto wrath. Before Corporal Greenstreet realised what was about tohappen, she had swung a muscular arm, and landed a terrific box onhis ear, almost knocking him into a scuttle containing split woodand briquettes for the stove. Bourne, thinking with a rapidity onlyoutstripped by her precipitate action, decided that the Hindustani"cushy" and French "coucher" must have been derived from the sameroot in Sanskrit. He interposed heroically between the fury and hervictim, who without any hesitation had adopted the role of anon-combatant in trying circumstances.
"Mais madame, madame," he protested, struggling to overcome hismirth. "Vous vous méprenez. 'Cushy' est un mot d'argotmilitaire qui veut dire doux, confortable, tout ce qu'il y a deplus commode. Monsieur le caporal ne veut pas dire autre chose. Ilveut vous faire un petit compliment. Calmez-vous. Rassurez-vous,madame. Je vous assure que monsieur a des manièrestrès correctes, très convenables. Il est un jeunehomme bien élevé. Il n'a pour vous, ainsi que pourmademoiselle, que des sentiments très respectueux."
Bourne's French was only sufficient, when circumstances allowedhim an economical use of it; and these were enough to make him abankrupt even in English. Madame was now moving about her kitchenwith the fine frenzy of a prima donna in one of the more ecstaticmoments of grand opera. Every emotion has its appropriate rhythm,and she achieved what was proper to her own spontaneously, throughsheer natural genius. Perhaps she was too great an artist to allowBourne's words to have their full effect at once. She could notplunge from this sublimity to an immediate bathos. Innocence inadversity was the expression patent on the corporal's face, andperhaps the sight of it brought into her mind some mitigatingelement of doubt; which she resisted at first as though it were amere feminine weakness.
"Nous nous retirons, madame, pour vous donner le temps de calmervos nerfs," said Bourne, with some severity. "Nous regrettonsinfiniment ce malentendu. Monsieur le caporal vous fera ses excusesquand vous serez plus à même d'accepter sesexplications. Permettez, madame. Je suis vraimentdésolé."
He swept the corporal out of the house, and into the street, andfinding a secluded corner, collapsed.
"What the fuckin' 'ell is't all about?" the awed but exasperatedcorporal inquired. "I go into th' 'ouse, an' only get as far as 'owd'you do, when she 'ands me out this bloody packet. You'll get athick ear yourself, if you don't stop laffin'."
Bourne, when he had recovered sufficiently, explained that thehousekeeper had understood him to express his intention of going tobed with her mistress.
"What! D'you mean it? Why, the old girl's about sixty!" Bournewhistled the air of "Mademoiselle from Armentieres", leaving thecorporal to draw his own conclusions from it.
"Look 'ere," said Corporal Greenstreet, with sudden ferocity."If you tell any o' them other buggers what 'as 'appenedI'll..."
"Oh, don't be a bloody fool," said Bourne, suddenly firing uptoo. "If there's one thing that fills me with contempt, it is beingasked not to tell. Do you think I have got no more sense than a kidor an old woman? You would look well with that tin can tied to yourtail, wouldn't you? We had better get moving. They will havestarted to pay out by now."
"Wish to God I knew a bit o' French," said the corporalearnestly.
"I wish to God you wouldn't mix the little you do know withHindustani," said Bourne.
The whole company were in the street, waiting to be paid; theyformed in little groups, and men would pass from one group toanother, or two groups would merge together, or one would suddenlysplit up completely, distributing its members among the others.Their movements were restless, impatient, and apparently withoutobject. Corporal Greenstreet, finding Lance-Corporal Eames,collected his subscription to the mess, and then handed over thewhole eighty francs to Bourne. Presently a couple of men brought atable and an army blanket out of one of the houses. The table wasplaced on the footpath parallel to the street, and the blanket wasspread over it. One of the men went back into the house andreturned with two chairs, followed by Quartermaster-Sergeant James,who detailed the same two men as witnesses. Almost immediatelyafterwards Captain Malet appeared with a new subaltern, a Mr Finch,who was not yet twenty, though he had already been in action withanother battalion, and had been slightly wounded. Thequartermaster-sergeant called the company, now grouped in asemicircle in front of the table, to attention, saluted, andCaptain Malet, acknowledging the salute, told them to standeasy.
There was a moment's pause; and then one of the witnessesbrought a third chair for the quartermaster-sergeant, who sat onCaptain Malet's left. The three then proceeded to count the notesand arrange them in bundles, while the men in front shifted fromone foot to another, and whispered to each other.
The sergeant-major, who had been to the orderly-room, returnedand saluted Captain Malet. He was the first man to be paid, andthen the quartermaster-sergeant, and Sergeant Gallion and SergeantTozer. The others were paid in alphabetical order; and as eachman's name was called he came forward, saluted, and was ordered totake off his cap, so that the officer could see whether his hairhad been properly cut. Men had a strong objection to their hairbeing cropped close. They had been inclined to compromise by havingit machined at the back and sides, and leaving on the crown of thehead a growth like Absalom's, concealing it under the cap. In thecase of a head wound, this thick hair, matted with dried blood,which always became gluey, made the dressing of the wound much moredifficult for the doctor and his orderlies, delaying other equallyurgent cases. In consequence, all men were ordered to remove theircaps before receiving their pay, and if a man's hair were notcropped it was only credited to him; and there were formaldifficulties in the way of any attempt to recover arrears.
Bourne had always liked his hair very short. He objected togrowing a moustache, which collected bits of carrot and meat fromthe eternal stew. He thought it inconsistent in the Army Council tomake men grow hair one place and shave it in another, as thoughthey were French poodles. He had once, when they were discussingthe matter in the tent, told the men that they should be made toshave all over, as then they would not provide so many nurseriesfor lice. They thought the suggestion indecent.
"Don't be a bloody fool," Minton had objected. "Fancy a man'avin' to let 'is trousers down before 'e gets 'is pay!"
"But the commanding officer wants to put us all in kilts,"Bourne had replied in a reasonable tone; and Major Blessington'savowed preference for a kilted regiment had always been a ground ofresentment.
His name being early on the list, and his head almost shaven, hewas soon free; and he left immediately to take madame marketing.She had insisted that he should be present, so that he would knowexactly how much everything cost. After Corporal Greenstreet'sinvoluntary collision with the housekeeper, Bourne had become alittle anxious as to the possibility of any misunderstanding withthis other, more tractable but equally muscular, lady with whom hehad to deal. However, when he presented himself in her kitchen, hefound that she had changed her mind, and had decided that the elderof her two daughters should take her place. She explained that shehad other work to do in the house.
The daughter was waiting, demurely clothed in black, whichperhaps enhanced her complexion, but seemed in any case to be theuniform dress of nubile maidens in France. She carried a largebasket, but wore no hat, content with the incomplete sleekness ofher black hair, which was rolled up just above the nape of herneck. It was something about her neck, the back of her small head,and the way her little ears were set, flat against her bright hair,which attracted Bourne's appraising eyes. She knew, because she putup a hand, to smoothe or to caress it; and a question came into hereyes quickly, and was gone again, like a rabbit appearing anddisappearing in the mouth of a burrow. Apart from the firm butdelicate modelling of the back of her head and neck, and her ratherlarge eyes, at once curious and timid, she had little beauty. Herforehead was low and rather narrow, her nose flattish, and hermouth too large, with broad lips, scarcely curving even when shesmiled. She had good small teeth.
Bourne had always treated women with a little air of ceremony,whatever kind of women they might be. The case of the girl atNoeux-les-Mines was exceptional, but she was of the type who try tostimulate desire as by an irritant, and he had too sensitive askin. All the same he had reproached himself a little on heraccount, for after all it was her vocation in life. Now, heprofessed that he was entirely in the hands of madame; he did notthink it necessary that he should go, but if she wished it, itwould be a great pleasure to accompany mademoiselle. Madame wasflattered by his confidence, but thought it right that he shouldgo; perhaps she had less confidence in him than he in her; or wasit only that she was interested where he was indifferent? Hefollowed the girl out into the street. The greater part of thecompany were still waiting to draw their pay; and, as Bourne andthe girl passed behind them, the men turned curiously to look atthe pair.
"Ullo, Bourne! Goin' square-pushin'?" one of his acquaintancesasked him with a grin.
Bourne only looked at him, and moved a little closer to thegirl, a combative feeling rising in him. After all, if the girlwere not beautiful, she had poise and character. She ignored allthose eyes, which were filled with desire, and furtive innuendo,and provocative challenge; as though indifferent to the tributewhich all men pay, one way or another, to the mystery she embodied.With women of her race, it was still a mystery. It gave her the airof saying that she could choose for herself as she pleased, her ownwill being all that mattered. Even Captain Malet, as Bourne passedon the other side of the street with a correct if perfunctorysalute, glanced up at them with a fleeting interest.
"So that's the way he spends his money, is it?" he murmured,half to himself and half to the quartermaster-sergeant; though thetwo witnesses, all ears and attention, naturally overheard him.
As soon as they had turned the corner she spoke to Bourne,opening out quite frankly. She had two brothers, who had been atthe front, but were now working in a mine. They were apparently ona kind of indefinite leave, but were liable to be recalled at anymoment to the colours. Then, others, who had also earned a restfrom trench life, would take their place. C'est dure, la guerre.But all the same she felt about it as did so many of them, to whomwar seemed as natural and as inevitable as a flood or anearthquake. Bourne had noticed very much the same feeling amongpeasants close to the line. They would plough, sow, and wait fortheir harvest, taking the chance that battle might flow like lavaover their fields, very much as they took the chance of a wetseason or of a drought. If the worst happened, then the ruin oftheir crops might seem mere wanton mischief on the part of a fewirresponsible generals; and whether it were a German or a Britisharmy which ravaged their fields and shattered their homesteads, didnot affect their point of view very materially. On the whole,however, their pessimism was equal to the occasion.
"C'est la guerre," they would say, with resignation that wasalmost apathy; for all sensible people know that war is one of theblind forces of nature, which can neither be foreseen norcontrolled. Their attitude, in all its simplicity, was sane. Thereis nothing in war which is not in human nature; but the violenceand passions of men become, in the aggregate, an impersonal andincalculable force, a blind and irrational movement of thecollective will, which one cannot control, which one cannotunderstand, which one can only endure as these peasants, in theirbitterness and resignation, endured it. C'est la guerre.
The demure little person hurrying beside him with her basketrealised that the war made life more precarious, chiefly because itresulted in a scarcity of provisions, and a rise, if onlyrestricted rise, in prices. There was something always a littledisconcerting to the soldier in the prudence, foresight andpractical sense of the civilian mind. It is impossible to reconcilethe point of view which argues that everything is so scarce, withthat opposed point of view which argues that time is so short. Shewas amazed at his extravagance, as she bought under his supervisionchickens and beef and eggs and potatoes and onions, and then fourbottles of wine. Salad and beans her mother's garden could provide;but as an afterthought when buying the red currants in syrup, hebought some cream cheese. Then, their shopping completed, theyturned back. She touched him lightly on the arm once, and asked himwhy he had no stripes on his sleeve.
"Je suis simple soldat, moi," he explained awkwardly.
"Mais pourquoi...?" And then, noticing his expression, sheturned away from the subject with what was no more than the shadowof a shrug. Women must be always stimulating some man's ambition.He followed her movement, as she half turned away from him, almostwith suffering in his eyes. He wanted to kiss that adorable neck,just where the black hair was lifted from it, leaving uncaught afrail mesh that was almost golden in the light. Then that patheticface, almost monkey-like, with its lustrous velvet eyes, turned tohim; and touching his sleeve again, she told him that he could, ifhe would, do her a great service, but it must be kept a profoundsecret. He asked her what it was, startled a little by her manner.She had a friend, an English soldier who had been billeted on themfor ten days, not very long ago, and she gave the name of hisregiment. He had written to her three letters, and she had writtento him, but he knew no French, and she only knew a few words ofEnglish. She had promised him that she would learn, so that shemight write to him in his own language. Would Bourne help her? Thehand, a little red and shiny from work, fluttered on his sleeve.Would Bourne translate his letters to her, and help her to writehim a letter in English? Bourne, amazed, tried to picture the manto himself, as though his mind were a kind of crystal in which hemight expect to see visions, as a moment before he had beendreaming dreams. It baffled him.
"Restez, monsieur, restez un moment," she said, placing herbasket on the footpath; and then, putting a hand into her blouse,and hunching her shoulders a little as she forced it slightly butperceptibly between her breasts and corset, she drew out a letter,an authentic letter stamped with the postmark of the field servicepost-office B.E.F., and with the name of the officer who hadcensored it scrawled across the lower left-hand corner of theenvelope. She gave it to him.
"Lisez, monsieur. Je serai très contente si vous voulezbien la lire. Vous êtes si gentil, et je n'aime que lui."
It was a simple letter. There was no self-consciousnessintervening between the writer and the emotion which he tried toput into words, though he had been conscious enough of thecensorship, and perhaps of other things intervening betweenthem.
Her hand fluttered again on Bourne's sleeve, as she coaxed himto translate it for her; and he did his best, his French haltingmore than ever, as he studied the handwriting, thinking it mightgive him some notion of the writer. The script was clear, ratherlarge, commonplace enough; one might say that he was possibly aclerk. Everything was well, that went without saying; they werehaving a quiet spell; the village where they had their rest-billetshad been evacuated by its inhabitants, except for a few old people;the war could not last much longer, for the Hun must know that hecould not win now; and then came the three sentences which said allhe could say; "I shall go back and find you some day. I wish wewere together again so that I could smell your hair. I love youalways, my dearest." There were signs of haste in the handwriting,as though he had found some difficulty at that point in opening hisheart.
"C'est tout?"
"Je ne puis pas traduire ce qu'il y a de plus important,mademoiselle; les choses qu'il n'a pas voulu écrire."
"Comme vous avez le coeur bon, monsieur! Mais vraiment, ilétait comme ça. Il aimait flairer dans mes cheveuxtout comme un petit chien."
She tucked the letter away into that place of secrets, andlifted her hand again, to caress the beloved hair. Suddenly hebecame acutely jealous of this other man. He stooped, and picked upher basket.
"Ah, mais non, monsieur!" she protested. "C'est pas permis qu'unsoldat anglais porte un panier dans les rues. C'est absolumentdéfendu. Je le sais bien. Il m'a dit toujours, quec'était défendu."
"Had he?" thought Bourne, and tightened his grip on the handleof it.
"Je porterai le panier, mademoiselle," he said quietly.
"Mais pourquoi...?" she asked anxiously.
"Parce qu'apparemment, mademoiselle, Cest mon métier," hesaid with an ironic appreciation of the fact. She looked at himwith troubled eyes.
"Vous voulez bien m'aider à écrire cette petitelettre, monsieur?"
"Mademoiselle, je ferai tout ce que je puis pour vousservir."
She suddenly relapsed into anxious silence.
Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity. Wilt thoulove such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument and play falsestrains upon thee? Not to be endured! Well, go your way to her, forI see love hath made thee a tame snake, and say this to her; thatif she love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not, I willnever have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover,hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.
—SHAKESPEARE
"Was I drunk last night?" Martlow inquired. He threw off hisblanket, and, leaning on his left hand, drew up his naked legs sothat he could rub them with his right.
"Well, if you can't answer the question for yourself, you musthave been," said Shem, reasonably. "There's some tea there."
"I've got a bit of a fat 'ead," said Martlow, taking up themess-tin; "an' me mouth tastes of the bloody blanket. It's a bonplace, this; I could stay 'ere for the duration. Where's ol'Bourne?
"He's outside, shaving."
"'E were in a good skin last night. I like ol' Bourne when youget 'im like that, spinnin' out all them little ditties. 'Ow didyou like that one about the young man courtin' 'is pusher upstairswith the window open, and Sergeant Thomas knockin' at the frontdoor o' the 'ouse in Mil'arbour, at eleven o'clock one night an'askin' the old woman to take 'er grandchild off 'is new 'at? Beatsme 'ow folk think o' some o' these things."
"You couldn't have been very drunk if you can remember allthat," said Shem.
"I felt a bit funny when we got into the street," Martlowadmitted, and he turned his head towards the doorway as Bourne camein. "Ere, Bourne, was I bloody drunk last night?"
"No," said Bourne, reviewing the matter in a judicial way. "No,I shouldn't have said you were bloody drunk. You walked bettergoing uphill than going down; and you looked as though you werekeeping your mouth shut tight for fear you might spill something;but I don't think you were bloody drunk, Martlow, you just lookedas though you had got a comfortable skinful. You did us very well.I felt like enjoying life last night. It was awfully decent of youto take us out."
"That's all right," said Martlow. "I don't mind 'avin' a fatlead in the morning, if I've 'ad a real good do the night before;only I can't stan' the buggers who wake up grousin' about it.
"You know, me ol' dad at 'ome, 'e's a decent of sport, but when'e gets a skinful sometimes 'e's that surly you wouldn't credit it.'E's keeper to Mr Squele, 'e is; an' one day after a shoot memother 'ad a good dinner for 'im, a real nice piece o' beef itwere, an' 'e went into the Plough at Squelesby wi' some o' theother keepers, an' they all started moppin' up a few drinks there,an' chewin' the fat about what kind o' sport they'd 'ad, an' whatbloody poor shots some o' the guns were. Well, me mother didn'twant the beef spilin' in the oven; an' at last she cut 'im offsome, an' put it on a plate wi' another plate over it, an' put itback in the oven, leavin' the door open, so as it would keep lot.An' we all 'ad our own dinners, me mother, an' me sister, who wasin gentleman's service, she were with Mr Squele too, then, an' metwo brothers, they're out in Salonika now wi' the Cheshires. An'after we'd all 'ad our dinner, an' it were real nice beef, wi' abit o' Yorkshire puddin' an' cauliflower and taters, me sister'syoung man calls to walk back wi' er, and me elder brother, Dick, 'egoes off to meet 'is pusher, and then me brother Tom slips out. 'Edidn't 'ave a girl then, but 'e used to follow 'em up, and 'idebe'ind a 'edge to 'ear 'em tellin' the tale. 'E got the 'ell of aleatherin' for it one night.
"Well, I stayed be'ind to 'elp me mother wash up, and put thethings away; an' she were gettin' a bit up the pole then, an' she'dgo to the oven, an' take the plate out an' look at it, an' put itback again, an' she'd give me a clout over the lead for summat I'adn't done; an' at last she looked at the plate, an' the meat wereall gettin' dried up, so she put it on the rack, an' said shewouldn't give a damn if 'e never came back. She left the cloth onthe table, an' 'is knife an' fork, an' she got the lamp, an' satdown to darn stockin's by the fire. She 'ad one o' them china eggsfor darnin', an' I used to think that if you tied it up in the toeof a stockin' what a bloody great crack on the lead you could givesomeone wi' it. She wouldn't let me go out, made me get a book an'sit opposite 'er. I only wanted to, get out o' the way, I did.
"Then 'e comes in, an' chucks 'is 'at down on a chair, an' triesto stan' 'is stick up in a corner where it won't stan' up, an' then'e 'as got to pick it up again, an' 'e starts blastin' an'buggerin' an' all, an' she says nowt. She goes on wi' 'er darnin',an' only cocks an eye at 'im over 'er specs, an' 'e goes out intothe scullery an' washes 'isself, an' then, when 'e's sat down atthe table, she gets up an' puts the plate in front of 'im, an' saysnowt, but just sits down an' goes on darnin'; an' you 'ear 'imcuttin' up the meat, an' then suddenly 'e chucks 'is knife an' forkon the table an' says; 'This meat's neither 'ot nor cold.' An' thenshe gets up, an' goes roun' to 'im wi' 'er 'ands on 'er 'ips. 'Ifyou 'ad come in sooner,' she says, 'it would 'a' bin 'ot; an' ifyou'd stayed out later, it would 'a' bin cold; an' such as it is,you can take it or leave it. I don't care if it's your last.' So 'egets up then, 'e a'n't got no more to say; an' she goes back to 'erdarnin'; and 'e goes outside to look at the new moon, from thecorner o' the 'ouse, and see if it were goin' to be a wet month ora dry. 'E were wunnerful good really at foretellin' weather. Somefolk lave a gif' that way."
Bourne was rolling his puttees on by this time.
"I should say, Martlow, that your father had been crossed inlove," he said gently.
"Well, me mother were," said Martlow, grinning. "They get onwell enough together, because they're accustomed to each other'sways. Me mother always says you've got to be patient wi' folk, an'folk ain't got no patience now. If any o' us said anything about mefather she'd gi'e us a clout on the side o' the 'ead, quick too.But she 'ad to be father an' mother, both, to us. Keeperin's afunny sort o' game; but my dad's a good ol' sport. 'E'd give youanything 'e'd got. An' 'e's a lot better nor 'e were. That'sbecause she wouldn't give in to 'im. 'Charlie,' she'd say to me;'you do what's right, an' don't let no man get master on you.'That's my motter in life, an' another is if you've got a fat 'eadyou've earned it. That's what I say."
"Quite a cheerful philosophy," said Bourne, who had a greatadmiration for the impartial candour with which Martlow looked backon family life. Probably he took after his mother; in any case hewould seem to have been nurtured in a stern school.
"Some o' these buggers what come out 'ere now," observedMartlow, "ave never done anythin' they didn't want to do in theirlives before, and now they're up against somethin' real nasty, theydon't 'arf make a song about it. They think they're fuckin' 'eroesjust because they're 'ere."
He had shifted his blue-grey shirt round to one side, and withhis legs apart was searching the lower part of his belly for lice,when Corporal Marshall came into the room.
"Ere! Why don't you get dressed?" the corporal asked him. "Timeyou was up, me lad. You don't want to sit there showin' the 'olebloody world all you've got."
"All right, corporal," said Martlow cheerfully. "I'm just'untin' up a few o' me bosom friends, you know. Wish I could seeall I've got, meself; they take a 'ell of a lot o' findin'. Wonderwhat all the buggers will do when peace comes?"
He rapidly assumed his trousers and socks, and then, afterlacing up his boots, took up his towel and went out to wash,leaving even Shem laughing.
"That was a bloody good supper we 'ad las' night, Bourne," saidthe corporal. "Sergeant-Major Robinson came in in the middle of it,and you've never seen a man look more surprised in your natural. 'Ewas quite wild about it; said the bloody corporals did 'emselvesbetter'n the officers' mess. 'E did, straight! An' it were true,too. We were real sorry you weren't there; if you 'ave all thetrouble you might as well 'ave some o' the fun. You'll come intonight, won't you?"
"Oh, that's all right, corporal," said Bourne. "I went into thehouse last night when I got back, just to ask madame how you hadliked it. She's a nice woman; and she had all the trouble. I shallsee if there's anything extra wanted for tonight; but I don't thinkI had better go in. I shall have a glass of wine with you after youhave eaten. Madame had all the trouble; you might put a bit extrain the kitty for her just before we go. What time do weparade?"
"Nine o'clock. Just muck about a bit in the street to keep themen together. There's a rumour we may pack up again today, but I'aven't rumbled anything yet. I've got a sort o' feelin' we shallstay 'ere tonight anyway; from what I 'eard, the officers are bein'told what the plans are about the next show. Then we go off topractise the attack, an' I suppose in a fortnight or so we'll allbe for the 'igh jump again."
"What hopes we've got!" said Shem softly.
"We've got nothin' to grouse about," said the corporal evenly."That bloody man Miller's to be court-martialled tomorrow or thenex' day, chap as 'opped it in July. I expect 'e's for the electricchair all right. Bloody, ain't it?"
A silence fell on them for a moment.
"Well, I must get a move on; the bloody orderly-corporal'salways on the run. See you later."
"Corporal, you might take me off on an imaginary fatigue atabout half-past eleven. That's if there's nothing much doing. Youcan work it with Sergeant Tozer. I thought I might go in about thattime and see if madame wanted anything.'
"All right. I'll see if I can work it."
They heard him, heavy on the stairs, going down, and Shem lookedup at Bourne with a curious grin.
"Seems to me you're getting a bit cunt-struck."
Bourne only turned away disdainfully, and Martlow coming backand putting on his tunic, the three of them went off forbreakfast.
The morning wore on very slowly; parades should never beperfunctory, and these seemed to be merely devised to kill time ina back street. The bayonet fighting was useful; and they were doingarms drill when Corporal Marshall, passing down the street, stoppedand spoke to Sergeant Tozer. It was about twenty past eleven. Tenminutes later the sergeant called out Bourne, and told him to godown to the corporals' billets. He found nobody in the house butthe girl, who was in the kitchen; and he told her that now he wasat her service, if she wished to write her letter.
She hesitated, embarrassed for a moment, and made her decision.He drew up a chair to the table, and bringing her pen, paper andink, she came and sat beside him. He had his own fountain pen, intowhich, after filling it with water, he had only to drop a pellet ofink; and then he started to translate her phrases into English,writing them so that she could copy them in her own script. It wasa somewhat mechanical business. There was nothing determinate inhis mind, there was only the proximity of this girl, and someaching sensibilities.
He saw the man's name again; Lance-Corporal Hemmings, writtenwith his address at the top of the paper. He might be anything,there were all sorts in the army; anyway he was in the line, andwhat were the odds against him ever coming back? She kept hisletter tucked away in there between her breasts. What had he seenin her? She was not even pretty; and yet Bourne himself had foundhis curiosity awakening almost as soon as he had seen her. It hadbeen no more, after all, than a casual interest, until she hadbrought in this unknown man, and it was he, curiously enough, whoprovided the focus for Bourne's own rather diffuse desires. Heseemed to see the other man caressing her, and the girl yielding,no, not reluctantly, but with that passive acquiescencecharacteristic of her; and then, imaginatively, his own desiresbecame involved with those of the other man, even as a sense ofantagonism increased in him. She possessed herself of this otherman so completely, and to Bourne he was only a shadow. The factthat he was only a shadow made an enormous difference; if he hadbeen Corporal Greenstreet, or indeed anyone actually present there,then his value, and the value of their several relations to eachother, and to her, would have dropped perceptibly in the scale.
These were not merely sentimental considerations; theycorresponded to an actual reality which weighed in varying measureon all of them. He was in the line, and within another few daysBourne himself would be in the line too. Perhaps neither of themwould ever come back. Bourne could realise completely the otherman's present misery; could see him living, breathing, moving inthat state of semi-somnambulism, which to each of them equally wastheir only refuge from the desolation and hopelessness of thatlunatic world. In fact, the relation in which he stood to thisunknown man was in some ways closer and more direct than that inwhich he stood to the girl beside him. She knew nothing of theirsubterranean, furtive, twilight life, the limbo through which, withtheir obliterated humanity, they moved as so many unhouseledghosts, or the aching hunger in those hands that reached, gropingtentatively out of their emptiness, to seek some hope or stay.
Yesterday or tomorrow might hold it for them, for men hope forthings remembered, for a past irrevocably lost. Why did she talk tohim of this other man? He knew; he knew so much better than shedid; he realised him now so completely in his own mind, that theymight be one and the same man. She spoke softly, without raisingher voice; but the need she felt to make him understand, to findexpression for her desire, gave it apparently an infiniteflexibility; and from time to time he felt again on his sleeve thetouch of that disturbing hand. The dead words there on the paperbefore him, those graven and rigid symbols, could never againkindle with the movement and persuasion of her living voice. Theytoo, were the mere traces of something that had passed. Some kindof warmth seemed to come from her, and flow over the surface of hisskin with little pricklings of fire, and to lay hold of his veins,glowing there, until the lit blood rose and sang in his head.
"Je t'aime, chéri! Je t'aime éperdument! Je n'aimeque toi"; she almost chanted it; and suddenly his arm was round hershoulder, and his mouth was shut fast down there behind her ear,where the hair swept upwards from the firm white neck.
She collapsed astonishingly under his touch; neither towards himnor away from him; she seemed to go to nothing in her chair. Shepushed him away with her right hand, firmly, quickly. He shifted,shifting his chair away, too, and then put up a hand to his brow.He was sweating lightly. The other hand went into his pocket. Hestood up, feeling criminal, and looked at her.
"Vous m'aimez?" There was a kind of rage in his suffocatedvoice, and she turned her face to him, looking at him with eyes inwhich was neither anger nor fear, but only the surprise ofrecognition. It was as though she had not known him before, but nowshe remembered. He sat again, turned sideways towards her; and puthis hands over her hands lying clasped in front of her on thetable. They remained still, impassive.
"Vous m'aimez? C'est vrai?"
There were light steps in the hall; they heard someone heave asigh of relief. Oh, la! la! And madame came from the passage intothe kitchen. She put her basket on the dresser, and turned to them."Bonjour, monsieur!" she said almost gaily.
"Bonjour, madame!"
She looked at the paper, pens and ink on the table, and a smileof amused comprehension came into her eyes. She lifted her handsand let them fall again with a gesture of despairing humour.
"C'est fini, maintenant?"
"Oui, madame," said Bourne tranquilly; "c'est fini."
He did not rise from his chair immediately; a point of somedelicacy restrained him.
"What's 'e want to go back an' 'ave a glass o' wine wi' thecorporals for?" Martlow asked. "Why don't 'e stay an' 'ave anotherbon night with us? You can get all the bloody wine you want'ere."
Shem laughed.
"You've got quite a lot o' sense for a kid, you know, Martlow;but a man wouldn't want to ask so many questions."
Martlow grunted resentfully.
"Some o' these mademoiselles are too bloody artful for anyone.You want to watch your step wi' 'em, I can tell you."
The battalion was to move from Bruay at two o'clock, and aboutmidday Bourne went to find Corporal Greenstreet at his billet. Hewanted the corporal to pay madame and the girl for their services.He had an absurd scruple about doing it himself. Altogether thecorporals had given him a hundred and twenty francs, and theirexpenses, with some extra wine the night before, had been justunder ninety.
"Give her the bloody lot," said the corporal; "she did us allwell."
"You give it to her," said Bourne; "give her twenty, and givethe girl ten."
"It's all in the family," said the corporal.
"Yes, but some families like to be considered as a group ofindividuals," said Bourne, "and the individuals like to bedistinguished separately."
He sent the corporal in by himself, and waited until hereturned.
"That's all right," said Corporal Greenstreet, with the air of aman who has brought a difficult business to a successful issue. "Ibelieve you're a bit sweet on that girl, Bourne."
"How did you get on with your cook-housekeeper?" Bourne askedhim irrelevantly, and Greenstreet's ruddy face became scarlet. "Shenever said nothin' more," he stammered precipitately. "She give mea cup o' coffee that night, an' mademoiselle come out an' said afew kin' words. It were bloody funny, weren't it?"
"It's funnier when you look back on it than when you're in themiddle of it," said Bourne dryly. "It's curious how events seem tochange their character when one looks back on them.'
"'E 'as gone potty," said the corporal to himself, as he walkedaway and Bourne turned to go into the house.
When Bourne entered the kitchen, the girl took up a basket, andwent into the garden. Madame looked from her to Bourne a littleanxiously.
"Je viens faire mes adieux, madame," he said, ignoring thegirl's flight, and he thanked her warmly on behalf of himself andof the corporals. He hoped that they had not caused her anyinconvenience. She was perfectly satisfied, but when he asked if hemight go and say goodbye to mademoiselle, she looked at him againwith that expression of droll despair which she had shown wheninterrupting them yesterday. Then she decided the question once andfor all.
"Thérèse!" she called from the doorway, and whenthe girl came reluctantly, she added; "Monsieur veut faire sesadieux."
And they said goodbye, with that slight air of formality whichmadame's presence imposed on them, their eyes searching through itto try and read each other's thought, and each warding off theother. Madame might have her suspicions, but she evidently couldrestrain an unprofitable curiosity; and part of their secret waseven a secret to themselves.
In all action a man seeks to realise himself, and the act oncecomplete, it is no longer a part of him, it escapes from hiscontrol and has an independent objective existence. It is the fruitof his marriage to a moment, but it is not the divine momentitself, nor even the meaning which the moment held for him, forthat too has flown feather-footed down the wind. Bourne had apositive hatred of the excuse that "it does not matter" being givenas a reason for any action; if something did not matter, why do it?It does matter. It matters enormously, but not necessarily toothers, and the reasons why it matters to you are probablyinexplicable even to yourself. One need not confuse them with theconsequences which one has to shoulder as a result, and one cannotshift the burden with a whimper for sympathy.
He fell in with his pack slung, and with Martlow and a couple ofothers helped to pull the Lewis-gun cart; as usual the old greymare, Rosinante, as he called her, was just ahead, and they tookthe road towards Béthune. At about half-past four, cloudsthat had been piling up all day became leaden, and trees and fieldsstood out under them for a little while curiously transparent in alivid golden light; then that vanished, and it became almost dark.Storm burst on them, shattering the stillness with vivid lightningand crash upon crash of thunder; trees creaked and wailed, bendingunder a sudden onset of wind, lashing them with heavy rain andhail, and tossing away small branches and leaves not yet yellow.They were all drenched to the skin before they could get theirovercoats out of their packs, and it was not until the storm hadpractically passed that they were given an opportunity. Then, beingall wet, it was not worthwhile, and no order was given.
Before the storm had quite passed, they came to a ford, where abrook, swollen considerably by rain, crossed the road; and hereRosinante avenged herself for all the past injustice she hadsuffered at their hands. After hesitating for a moment, shesuddenly charged across it, her nerves shattered by the storm. Theycouldn't see the ford until they were in it, and then they couldn'tfree the Lewis-gun cart from the mess-cart in time; Martlow and aman on the other side jumped clear, but Bourne and another mancould not extricate themselves from the ropes, and while Rosinante,in her impetuous rush, carried the Lewis-gun cart with her, thewater over their knees in the middle impeded them. They were bothswept off their feet. Bourne, clutching the rope, was draggedthrough and out; the other man was knocked down and run over by theLewis-gun cart, which represented a fairly heavy weight. His kneeswere cut and his legs bruised from the wheels.
"Serves you all bloody well right," cried an exultantchorus.
Bourne, whose face had expressed every kind of comic anxietyduring his accelerated passage of the ford, had to laugh athimself.
"I've never seen anybody," said the delighted Martlow, "look'arf so bloody funny as you looked, Bourne."
They freed the ropes rapidly, in case anyone having authorityshould come to inquire into the cause of the sensation. They hadleft Béthune on their left and were now heading forNoeux-les-Mines again, and marched to the huts there, rain stillfalling steadily. Before they were dismissed, they were ordered tostrip to the buff immediately afterwards and take their clothes tothe drying-room, keeping only their overcoats and their boots.Overcoats are scarcely a sufficient covering for man's nakedness.The cloth caps had to be dried, though the cap badges weredistrustfully removed by their owners first; and for a time one sawmen wearing nothing but an overcoat, a tin hat and boots, movingabout fetching wood and coal to make fires in the huts. They weregiven, perhaps as an additional aid to warmth, cocoa instead oftea. After an hour or so their clothes were returned to them dry,and then, during a lull in the rain, Bourne, Shem and Martlow wentto the nearest estaminet for a drink, but were only out for twentyminutes, returning glad to go to bed. The next day it rained,except for a slight intermission after their dinner, all day.
The rain cleared away that night, and they marched all thefollowing day, and the day after, chasing skylines. There wereoccasional showers, but only enough to lay the dust a little. Onthe evening of the second day the company were billeted in avillage apart from the rest of the battalion, which was atReclinghem; Vincly, Bourne thought, was the name. He was at a farmon the outskirts of the village, where there were only two old men,a thin bent old woman whom life had long since ceased to surprise,and a boy. When they had settled in, Corporal Marshall came up toBourne and said, anxiously, but unofficially, that he wanted hishelp.
"That Lance-Corporal Miller is my prisoner, an' I'm responsiblefor 'im. 'E's not to be shot anyway, Captain Malet an' the chaplainworked tooth an' nail to get him off, an' the sentence will bepromulgated later; so they've given the bugger to me to mind. 'Eought to be wi' the police; but 'e's under a kind of open arrest,on parole you might say. I don't trust 'im."
Bourne gave the other man, standing a few yards away, a briefglance, and decided he didn't trust him either. He had a weak, meanand cunning face; but there was something so abject in hishumiliation, that one felt for him the kind of pity which canscarcely tolerate its own object. It might be I, one feltinvoluntarily, and the thought made one almost merciless towardsthe man who carried with him the contagion of fear.
"What will you do if he tries to do a bunk again?" Bourneasked.
"Shoot the bugger," said Marshall, whitening to the lips. "ByGod, if he tries that game on me I won't give 'im a dog'schance."
"All right," said Bourne, in a quiet matter-of-fact voice."Don't get windy. I can't take any of your responsibility, but Ishall see he doesn't let you down if I can help it, corporal. Hehad better sleep between us, because I wake easily. Only I shallhave to explain to Shem and Martlow. I'll shift my corner, and thenwe shall not have to shift them."
"Jakes will be sleepin' 'ere too, but 'e sleeps like a log,"said Marshall, partly reassured. "I'll be bloody glad when theysentence 'im, I can tell you. Why the 'ell can't they do the thingquick, instead of puttin' it all on us? You 'elp me, an' I won'tforget it, see."
Probably the unfortunate man knew they were speaking of him, forBourne, glancing once again in his direction, saw him looking atthem narrowly, his mouth half-open with a foolish grin. AfterBourne had recovered from that instant wave of pity and repulsion,he became more and more indifferent to him. Miller would have beencompletely irrelevant, but for the fact that he was a nuisance. Hewould be better dead, and then a man's riddling conscience couldask no more questions about him; one felt even a little impatientat the thought of a court-martial and a firing party, senselessparades clothed in the forms of law. To keep him like this,exhibiting him to the battalion, was not a warning or a deterrentto other men; it merely vexed them. He should have been killedcursorily; but as they evidently did not intend to kill him, heshould have been sent away. He was no longer a man to them; he wasa ghost who unfortunately hadn't died.
It might be true, as the men believed, that Captain Malet andthe chaplain had been able to intervene in his favour; and thatwould seem to imply that there were some extenuating circumstances.There was no one who grudged him a reprieve; but naturally enoughthey were reserved about him. A man who had deserted on the Somme,and had got as far as Rouen, and had eluded the military police forsix months, could not be entirely a fool; and after one glance atthat weak mouth and the furtive cunning of those eyes, Bournedistrusted him. The men were right, too, about his physicalcharacteristics; he had the look of a Hun. One turned away from thequestion. Bourne, lying next to him that night, and tired after thelong day, fell asleep almost at once. When he woke a few hourslater the prisoner was sleeping quietly beside him, and then Bournehimself slept again. In the morning the prisoner was stillthere.
Bourne did not watch him the following night. At two o'clock,when they paraded in the open space in front of the village inn,Bourne, Shem and Martlow were told to fall out; and when the restof the company moved off, Sergeant-Major Robinson told them thatthey were to go to the signals section for instruction. He talkedto Bourne alone, sending the other two to get their equipment.
"I'm rather sorry you're goin', but they're short of signallers.You made me wild the other day, talkin' like that to an officer. Iknew you couldn't 'elp not 'avin' a proper 'at; but you shouldn't'ave said anything. You ought to put in for a commission, asCaptain Malet told you."
"Well, I'm going to put in for one. Why do they want to send meto the sigs? It seems to be the principle of the army, to find outsomething you can't do, and make you do it."
"I 'eard the adjutant said you seemed to 'ave some sense. 'Ementioned you, an' as they wanted three men, I told the captainShem were pretty quickwitted, an' Martlow young enough tolearn."
"That was decent of you, sergeant-major. I'm sorry I made youwild the other day. I didn't have any intention of making you wild.I thought it time I kicked a bit."
"You ought to 'ave shown more sense. I know you don't want toleave the company."
"I don't mind now, sergeant-major. I'm sorry to go, for manyreasons, but I don't feel the same way about it now. I decided theother day that I should take Captain Malet's advice. I haven't anywish to be an officer, but if I were to stay any longer in theranks I should become a slacker. He's quite right."
"Well, you had better buzz off an' get your pack," said thesergeant-major. "I suppose as soon as you put in for a commissionyou will come back for a bit as a lance-corporal. Did you knowMajor Blessington was leaving to go to his own battalion tonight?Major Shadwell will be in command until the new colonel comestomorrow or the nex' day.'
"No, I didn't know."
"Well, goodbye for the present, Bourne."
"Goodbye, sergeant-major; and thank you."
But he did not go immediately, for the quartermaster-sergeanttold him there were some letters and a parcel for him, and theparcel looked a promising one. He got them.
"Which is the way to Reclinghem, sergeant-major?"
"Up the 'ill past the church, an' then turn down'ill to yourright. It's a mile an' a 'arf. Just the other side o' thevalley."
He went back to his billet for his pack, and then with Shem andMartlow set off on their new career.
I have led my ragamuffins where they are peppered;there's not three of my hundred and fifty left alive, and they arefor the town's end, to beg during life.
—SHAKESPEARE
Where is this straw, my fellow?
The art of our necessities is strange,
That can make vile things precious.
—SHAKESPEARE
Sergeant-Major Corbet of Headquarter Company was a cheerful,alert and intelligent man; an excellent signaller himself, helooked on the eight men who had come from the various companies forinstruction with a more or less favourable eye. He did not noticesigns of a blazing intellect on any of their faces, which heglanced at cursorily; but he had not expected anything different;and he had a lively faith in the things which, under the educativeinfluence of himself and of Corporal Hamley, were yet to come.
"Corporal Hamley has taken the section out, and it is notworthwhile sending you after him, as you wouldn't get there untilit would be time to come back. The signals section is billeted justopposite that estaminet. You can wait there for him. He will tellyou where your billets are."
So they found their way to a yard enclosed by barns and byres,where one of the orderly-runners, who were also billeted there,pointed out that part of the premises allotted to the signallers.Finding a place to themselves, Bourne, Shem and Martlow sat down inthe straw to investigate the contents of Bourne's parcel. It was alarge parcel from some well-known West End stores, securely packedin a box of that thin wood known as threeply; and Bourne, pullingout his jack-knife from the pocket of his tunic, and slipping fromunder his shoulder strap the lanyard by which it was secured,prised the box open with a steel spike probably intended forpunching holes in leather, or for removing stones from a horse'shoof. The first sight of the contents was a little disappointing,as a great deal of room was taken up by a long loaf of bread,called by some a sandwich loaf because it cuts into square slicesand is intended to be made into sandwiches.
"What do they want to send us out bread for?" Martlow exclaimedindignantly, as though the parcel had been addressed to themcollectively.
A tin of chicken, a small but solid plum cake, a glass of smallscarlet strawberry jam, and a tin of a hundred Russiancigarettes.
"Yes, I wonder why they sent the bread. He's a sensible chap,but perhaps the bread was his wife's idea. You know, Martlow, myfriend is about fifty-five, but he is a very good sport, andmarried for love last year."
"Well, never mind 'im now," said Martlow. "I'm feelin' a bitpeckish. Let's eat the chicken, and then we shan't 'ave to carry itabout."
"We can save the cake for tea," said Shem. "I suppose they onlysent the bread to fill up the box, but it will come in useful withthe chicken."
"Open the chicken, then," said Bourne; "and cut some bread,Martlow."
Martlow, however, was too interested in watching Shem openingthe tin to turn to the loaf immediately. He waited until he saw thecarved fowl, set in pale, quivering jelly.
"Looks all right," he said, and grabbed the loaf.
It was fast in the box, and needed a bit of effort to pull itout.
"Bloody fine packers!" said Martlow; "they don't care'ow..."
He gave a wrench, and it came up by the end he grasped; theother end, as soon as it was released from the pressure of the box,fell off, and a bottle with a white capsule over the cork slid outand would have fallen to the floor, but that Shem caught it.
"Well, you can fuck me!' exclaimed the astonished Martlow.
"Here, hide it, hide it quick!" said the excited Shem. "There'dbe no end of a bloody row if they got to know your friends weresending you bottles o' Scotch. Bloody fine packers! I should thinkthey were! They've scooped out nearly all the crumb. We'll have toeat dry crust with the chicken. Here, open it quick; and let's allhave a tot, and then put the rest away in your pack."
"Shem," said Bourne earnestly, "if I ever get a Victoria Cross Ishall send it to Bartlett as a souvenir."
"You don't want to go lookin' for no Victoria Crosses," saidMartlow in a didactic vein, "you want to be bloody careful youdon't get a wooden cross instead."
They gave the bones of the chicken to a dog in the yard, so thatnothing of it was wasted; and the empty tin they threw into a pitdug for the purpose in a bit of field behind the yard. Shem pouredsome more whisky into Bourne's cooker, the lid of which fittedquite tight. That would be good in their tea, he said, as he corkedthe bottle and, folding it in the skirt of Bourne's overcoat,concealed it in his pack. Then, each smoking a Russian cigarette,they awaited placidly the return of Corporal Hamley from hisarduous duties.
Corporal Hamley was rather like Sergeant Tozer in build, a lean,raw-boned man; but of a dark complexion, where the other man wasfair and ruddy; and of a softer nature, where the other, ifreflective and sensible, was still hard and sharp. The corporal,too, just because he was a little weaker than Sergeant Tozer, wasinclined to be influenced by what he may have heard of a man'scharacter before he had sufficient experience to form an opinionabout him for himself. Someone had evidently prejudiced him againstBourne and Shem.
When the new men fell in for his inspection outside the stable,he was inclined to single the two of them out from the rest, bylooking at them fixedly, while he delivered to the squad a littlehomily on the whole duty of man. There being only billets for fourmen in the stables, he divided the parade arbitrarily into two, andMartlow, Shem and Bourne, with a big dark man called Humphreys,were sent off to other billets about a hundred and fifty yards awaydown a by-road, where there were some more orderlies and somesnipers. It was inconvenient being so far away from the rest oftheir section. "Doesn't seem to like us much," said Shem, in apleased voice. "No bloody love lost, then," said Martlowstoically.
"He's all right," said Bourne. "In fact, I think he's probably anice chap, only he doesn't know us, and somebody has been tellinghim that we need watching. Did you hear what he said about theregimental? I don't think I have spoken to the regimental since wewere at Beaumetz, except to say good morning, sir, if I passed him.The corporal will be all right in a couple of days, you'll see. MrRhys is a pretty difficult proposition, I believe; a nice chap, butliable to cut up rough any morning when he happens to have a fathead. He and Mr Pardew are boozing-chums, you know: when they getcanned up they get canned up together; and when I was in theorderly-room I used to notice that whenever Mr Rhys was ratty withthe signallers, Mr Pardew was ratty with the snipers. Isn't it niceto think we've got three-quarters of a bottle of good Scotchwhisky?"
"We want to keep that, until we can have a quiet beano on ourown. We'll have what I put in your cooker for tea, and we'll haveanother tot at tea-time tomorrow, then it will last three or fourdays. We can get something at the estaminet. Mind you don't pull itout with your overcoat. Put a sock round it, and then keep yourtowel on top of it."
"It'll look dam' funny 'im pullin' 'is coat out ev'ry time 'ewants 'is tow'l, won't it?" Martlow suggested. "It'll be all rightin a sock."
Bourne proved to be right about the corporal, who may havewatched them with a little suspicion for two or three days, but bythat time had become more favourable towards them. They had tobegin at the beginning; learning the Morse code, flag-wagging, asuccession of acks, and practice on the buzzer. Martlow, whosewhole wit lay in his quick teachable senses, was easily the bestpupil, and Bourne the least satisfactory of the three, Shem havingconsiderably greater power of applying himself to the matter inhand. Madeley, one of the signallers usually on duty in theorderly-room, had become friendly with Bourne there, though theyonly saw each other casually. Perhaps he helped to correct CorporalHamley's point of view. On their part, they liked their work andthe men in their section.
Their first day the whole battalion paraded at nine o'clock inthe main street at Reclinghem, and Major Shadwell made a briefinspection of them. It was really extraordinary, but one could nothelp being struck by the changed feeling among the men, as hepassed along the ranks. It was not simply that they liked him, buthe belonged to them, he belonged to their own earth. His ratherstern and uncompromising manner did not matter a damn to them. Itwas the general opinion that here was a man who should be sent homeon a senior officers' course, and then come back and command themfor the duration. It was not that he was popular among them asother officers were; their feeling towards him was not withoutaffection, but had more in it of appreciation and respect.
One might have thought that this feeling would tell against thenew colonel, who arrived and took over command that night; but whenColonel Bardon inspected them in the morning, he moved along theranks with an air of quiet efficiency, with a great deal ofreserve, as though past experience had told him that, if he wereinspecting these silent rigid men, they also were inspecting him,with a penetration and a power of judgment equal to his own. Theseverity of his clean-cut face was that of Major Shadwell's; he wasshorter in stature, but compactly built, well-balanced and alert,with grey-blue eyes that were keen and quick in sizing up his men.That seemed to be his whole object, to find out the kind of men hehad to command; and the answer to his question was for his ownprivate mind.
There was nothing of the romantic swagger and arrogance towhich, in the past couple of months, they had become accustomed andindifferent. Bourne always had the illusion that his own sensesstretched right along the line of men on either side of him. Whenone is standing to attention, one is still, erect, with eyeslooking straight in front of one, but as the footsteps of authoritycome closer and closer, one seems to apprehend something of thereality before it is visible; then into one's field of vision, atfirst vague and indeterminate, then suddenly in sharp definition,comes a face, cold and unrecognising but keen and searching in itsscrutiny, and it blurs again and is gone. For those brief secondsone feels one's breath being drawn in through one's nostrils andfilling the cavity of one's chest, and then its expiration, andonce again the in-draught of air. One feels that one should eitherrestrain one's breathing, as in aiming at a target, or else, as theonly possible alternative, snort, as a dog or a horse might, at theapprehension of some possible danger. Those were Bourne's feelings,anyway, when he first met the scrutiny of those incisive eyes.Colonel Bardon passed, like some impersonal force, and the tensionrelaxed. Then Madeley, next to him in the ranks, whispered underhis breath, and practically without moving his lips:
"Well, he looks like, a bloody soldier, anyway."
After all, that was what mattered most to them; and since theirduty and service implied some reciprocal obligations on his side,their opinion meant more to him than perhaps he knew. They were hismen all right, if he handled them well, that was settled when oncethey had looked into the just, merciless face; and the companiesmarched off to their drills, and the specialists to their duties,well aware that presently there would be another big killing ofmen. They marched out of the village, past the stone calvary at theend of it, and men who had known all the sins of the world lifted,to the agony of the figure on the cross, eyes that had probed andunderstood the mystery of suffering.
Shem was the moving spirit in an episode which might havebrought himself, Bourne and Martlow face to face with ColonelBardon in a more unpleasant aspect. They were content with theirwork, and Corporal Hamley, and the section in general; but alreadythe question had been raised as to what would be their duties whenthe battalion went into the line. Obviously they would be unable toact as signallers, except perhaps in the subsidiary duties, such ashelping to repair or lay lines. Even Martlow, whose light touch andquick ear made him a very apt pupil on the buzzer, would scarcelybe qualified for the duty. There being a shortage among therunners, they might be useful in that capacity.
Then it was arranged that for three consecutive days the wholebattalion was to practise an attack, and once again this questionemerged. They were told by the corporal that they were to report totheir companies. Shem, who was quite a reliable person where allserious duties were concerned, but an inveterate lead-swinger withregard to any parades or fatigues which he considered unnecessary,promptly made a grievance of the matter.
"Well, we've got to go."
"We haven't got to go," said Shem. "I am willing to bet nobodyin A Company knows anything about our going to them. We have onlygot to get into the loft here every morning, and we have a coupleof days' rest. It's a gift."
"Please yourself," said Bourne reflectively; "but I would justas soon go out with the company."
"We'd be on the mat," said Martlow, dubiously.
"If one goes back to the company the lot of us will have to go.There's no sense in our going, unless we are going over the topwith the company. These bloody practices are no good anyway. A loto' brass hats make the most elaborate plans, and they issueinstructions to all concerned, and officers are taken to inspect amodel of the position to be attacked, and then we're buggeredabout, and taken over miles o' ground, all marked out with tape torepresent trenches; and then when everything is complete, and everyman is supposed to know exactly what he has to do, the whole bloodything is washed out, and we all go over the top knowing sweetfuck-all of what we are supposed to be doing."
Shem's simple and perspicuous account of staff methods reducedBourne to compromise; he proposed to visit his friends in ACompany, Sergeant-Major Robinson and Sergeant Tozer, and find outhow the land lay. Shem was recalcitrant.
"You will only give the show away," he said obstinately. Herefused to walk up to A Company's billets with Bourne, who wentwith Martlow eventually.
"I don't mind bein' on the mat, if it's wo'th it," said Martlowreflectively.
"It isn't," said Bourne. "However, old Shem wants it, and wehave to hang together."
The sergeant-major and Quartermaster-Sergeant Deane weresurprised when Bourne put his head in at the door, and asked ifthere were any parcels for him.
"Do you want a parcel every bloody day?" inquired thequarterbloke. "You got a good 'un two days ago, didn't you?"
"I expected a small parcel of cigarettes," said Bourneinnocently. "I've got a few good ones left, but I'm running out ofgaspers. Try one of these, sergeant-major. Mr Rhys forgot hiscigarette case yester day, we were about a mile and a half theother side of Reclinghem, flag-wagging; and when we had an easy heasked me for a cigarette, if, mind you if! it were a decent one.Like a fool I gave him one of these, and he has forgotten hiscigarette case all day today. I can't keep the officers incigarettes. I want some gaspers; they're good enough for thetroops."
"You've got a 'ide, you 'ave," said the sergeant-major, lightingone as Bourne offered the case to the quarter-bloke.
"'Ow d'you like the sigs?' inquired the latter, lightinghis.
"Oh, it's cushy enough," said Bourne indifferently. "I wasalways content with the company. Apparently they don't know whatthey're going to do with us when we go into the line. I suppose weshall know more or less tomorrow, as when we go over the top weshall presumably go over with the section with which we practise.They say we may be used as orderlies.'
"You can't say, really," said Sergeant-Major Robinson, "becausethey generally muck everything up at the last minute. Seems to meall these practices are just so much eyewash for the staff; an' ifanything goes wrong they can say it's not for want o' preparation.Anyway, whether you go with the runners or with the sigs tomorrow,you'll 'ave an easier time than we'll 'ave. I'm the bugger who hasmost of the work to do in these stunts. When you get yourcommission, Bourne, don't you ever let your sergeant-major down.Don't you ever forget that 'e does all the bloody work."
The reference to the possibility of a commission infuriatedBourne. The sergeant-major had forgotten the presence of Martlow,sitting quietly on a box by the doorway, and now looking at Bournewith the round eyes of astonishment.
"Why don't they send us back to the company for the attack?" heexclaimed, with an impatience which was impatience at thesergeant-major's blundering indiscretion, and an attempt to coverit.
"Oh, you're a bloody fool!" said the sergeant-major. "You've gota cushy job with the sigs until you go 'ome, an' you don't want togo askin' for trouble. When you 'ave the chance of an easy, youtake it. You won't find bein' a second loot as cushy a job as youthink; an' if you want to make a good officer, don't you be tooready to tick off your comp'ny sergeant-major when any little thinggoes wrong. You just remember all the work 'e does, an' all 'isresponsibilities, see?"
"Well, I have not put in for a commission yet, sergeant-major,"said Bourne, trying to affect an indifference under Martlow's eyes."What's in orders; may I have a look?"
He glanced at the couple of typewritten sheets as if to hide hisembarrassment.
"Them's part two orders you're lookin' at. Part one's the firstpage."
He glanced through them quickly. The sergeant-major could notteach him anything about orders. Then he put them back on thetable.
"Well, we shall have to move back. If a parcel should come forme, I suppose the post-corporal will bring it along. Goodnight,sergeant-major. Goodnight, sir."
He and Martlow went out into the twilight.
"Shall we get a drink here, or wait until we get back toReclinghem?" he asked Martlow.
"Wait," said the other briefly.
They stepped out in silence for a little while, and then Martlowturned his face up sideways to him.
"Bourne, are you goin' to be an officer?"
The question itself seemed to divide them sharply from eachother. There was something cool, remote, and even difficult in thetone in which it was asked. It was as though the boy had asked himif he were going over to surrender to the Hun.
"Yes," he answered a little harshly, accepting bitterly all theimplications in the question.
They were approaching the church, and came suddenly through theshadows on the old cure, in his soutane and broad-brimmed hat.Bourne drew himself up a little and saluted him. The old man tookhis hat right off, and bowed, standing uncovered, in something likean attitude of prayer, while they passed; and even though he hadnoticed before the kind of reverence which some French priests putinto their courtesy towards a soldier, the trivial incident filledBourne with a sense of trouble. He thought he had heard somewherethat it was unlucky to meet a priest in the dusk; and as thethought flitted through his mind, he had the sensation of gooseflesh all up his spine. He was a reticent and undemonstrative man,but after a few more steps through the silent shadows he put hisarm round Martlow's neck, his hand resting on his shoulder.
"I don't want it. I have got to go," he said.
"We're all right as we are, the three on us, aren't we?" saidMartlow, with a curious bitterness like anger. "That's the worst o'the bloody army; as soon as you get a bit pally with a chap summat'appens."
"Well, it has got to be," said Bourne. "I am not going beforethe show comes off, anyway. The three of us shall be together, andthen...well, it's not much use looking ahead, is it?"
They did not say much more for the rest of the way, but pickedup Shem, and then went into the estaminet in Reclinghem for adrink. Shem laughed scornfully when they told him that the companydid not apparently expect them to report in the morning.
"What did I tell you?" he said; and Bourne, in a sulky way, toldhim he had better go and buy some provisions.
"We'll get our bread and cheese ration," he added.
In the morning they drew a bread and cheese ration with the restof Headquarter Company, and then secreted themselves in a loft overtheir billets. Through some slats, in a ventilating window at thegable end, they could just see the front of the house; andpresently the military policeman billeted there came out, with hisstick in his hand, and proceeded briskly about his duty. They knewhis times, more or less, but what they failed to appreciate for themoment was the fact that today's stunt rather disturbed the normalroutine of duty, making his movements less definitelycalculable.
Bourne had lost the schoolboy spirit of truancy, which was stillpredominant in Shem and Martlow, and he was rather bored. The wholejoy of disobedience is in the sense that one has chosen freely foroneself, and Bourne had not chosen freely, he had fallen in withShem's plan; on the other hand, though he was equally involved withthem now, he was not primarily responsible for it, and was free tocriticise it from an almost disinterested point of view. There wasa certain amount of pleasure in that, as it brought him intoopposition with Shem, and naturally enough he liked to maintain akind of moral, or immoral, ascendancy over his ally. He was bound,of course, to do his best to secure the success of Shem's plan, andif it failed he was certain to suffer equally with its author, butamong themselves he could always disclaim responsibility, except inso far as an amiable weakness of character, by vitiating his betterjudgment, had engaged him in it. These considerations were all thatgave him a kind of zest in the exploit.
The military policeman had been gone for little more than halfan hour, and they did not expect him back until about a quarter totwelve. They were, therefore, rather surprised to hear obviouslymilitary footsteps in the yard, and a certain amount of anxietymingled with their surprise when the footsteps turned into thestables beneath them, passed by the ladder which gave access to theloft, and then moved down the length of the building from onepartition to another. Someone was evidently inspecting theirbillets. He returned to the foot of the ladder, and then they heldtheir breath, for the ladder was only secured in position by a hookfixed to a beam under the entrance to the loft and fastening to astaple in the ladder itself. The ladder moved, as a hand was placedon it, and someone was now ascending. Bourne, with the foolishmirth which sometimes overcomes one in the face of danger, couldhave laughed at the sight of Shem and Martlow couched on a pile oflittle sheaves, and watching the entrance like two animals preparedto defend their lair; and laughter came in an explosion whenHumphreys' face suddenly appeared above the floor level, itsexpression changing swiftly from guilt surprised to disappointmentas he recognised them.
"What the bloody 'ell do you want to come 'ere for?" Martlowshot at him in rage.
"I've got as much right 'ere as you 'ave," he replied,truculently.
"The question of right in this connection is of merely academicinterest," said Bourne, delighted by the position of affairs; "butyou would admit that we have a prior claim, and are therefore in astronger position than you are. I am not going to conceal from you,Humphreys, the fact that your presence is unwelcome to us. Ifyou're going to argue the toss with us, you will finish by beingchucked out on your head. Yes, by the three of us if necessary. Wehaven't found you very companionable in the past few days, and animpartial consideration of your character and habits has reconciledus to the fact. However, you are here, and we have to make the bestof your company, as of other inconveniences inherent in thesituation; but if you become at all objectionable, we'll push youdown the bloody ladder and take the consequences. Is that clear toyour somewhat atrophied intellect?"
"Well, there's room for four on us," said Humphreys, withunexpected modesty.
"That's all right," said Bourne, whose main objects were to takecharge of the situation, and forestall any unreasonable quarrellingon the part of Shem or Martlow. "This loft is a common refuge forthe four of us; but don't you do anything to give the show away. Ithink I am the oldest soldier here, so that naturally I'm incharge. If we all end on the mat, I am the person who will bear thechief responsibility."
"Shoo," said Martlow, lifting a hand to warn them, and theyheard more movement in the yard, a cackle of high female voiceswhich invaded the stables, and then again the ladder moved, tiltinga little as someone ascended.
"My God, we're holding a bloody reception," said Bourne, underhis breath.
The face of madame, the proprietress of the farm, appeared abovethe floor, and turned from one to the other in a spirit ofinquiry.
"Bonjour, madame!" said Bourne, with great self-possession."J'espère que notre présence ici ne vousdérange point. Nous nous trouvons un peu fatiguésaprès de marches longues, et des journées assezlaborieuses. Or, nous avons pris la résolution de nousreposer ici, pendant que le régiment fait des manoeuvresdans les champs. Ça n'a pas d'importance, je crois; cesexercices sont vraiment inutiles. Nous ne ferons pas de malici."
"Mais ce n'est pas très régulier, monsieur," shereplied dubiously; and some excited queries came from her twofriends below. Bourne thought her objection incontrovertible but alittle pedantic. Only half of her had risen through the floor, andthere she paused in doubt, as though emerging, like a conjuredspirit, from the shades.
"Montez, madame, je vous en prie"; he implored her. "Comme vousdites, ce n'est pas régulier, et ce sera vraiment dommage sinous sommes découverts. Montez, madame, vous et vos amies;et puis nous causerons ensemble."
It took him some time to persuade her that they were notdeserters, and that their escapade was without much significanceexcept to themselves, but eventually he succeeded. She mounted theremaining rungs of the ladder; and, filled with curiosity, her twofriends followed her, one fat and rubicund, the other one of thoseanaemic, childless women who haunt the sacristies of villagechurches. Shem and Martlow both looked as though they were halfinclined to cut and run for it. Humphreys merely stared at theinvasion with pugnacious resentment. Only Bourne seemed to graspthe essential fact that they were all in reality the prisoners ofthe three women, who had by now constituted themselves a jury ofmatrons for the purpose of trying the case. He had to play the partof advocate, not only in his own cause, but in that of theseaccomplices who from sheer stupidity did nothing to ingratiatethemselves with their judges.
"For God's sake, smile!" he said, desperately, and Martlow atleast responded by breaking into a broad grin, which gave them aless criminal appearance. Women are notoriously influenced by aman's facial expression and flatter themselves that their responseto it is some subtle power of intuition. They have, in reality,about as much intuition as an egg. Bourne's too elaborate mannerand Martlow's grinning humour were saving graces in the presentsituation, and the women discussed their right course of action, inwhat they thought was a reasonable spirit. They had to be humoured,and, considering their entire lack of charm, Bourne hoped that noneof them might prove to have a romantic nature.
Madame, seated on the floor, took up a sheaf and stripped theears from it, threshing off those which did not come away as shepulled it through her hand, into a cloth spread on the floor. Shem,Martlow and Bourne had been standing clear of the sheaves since shehad arrived, but Humphreys was sitting on a pile. She made up hermind, after consultation with her sister Fates, and having finishedher threshing, stood and delivered judgment.
They could not stay in the loft, it was "malsaine", shedeclared, as the grain stored there was her "vivres" for thewinter. On the other hand, she would not betray them to the police.She thought they would be sufficiently safe from arrest in thefurther stable; and then, turning on Humphreys, she told him to getup. Bourne told him what she said, but he would not move, and hewas rude. Even though she did not understand what he said, hismanner was rude enough to be unmistakable, and reading in it adefiance of her authority, she advanced on him, and, before Bournecould interpose, had slapped him, first on one cheek, and then withthe other hand on the other, while she told him what she thought ofhim. She did not raise her voice. She stood over him like a catswearing at a dog, in a low hissing invective, and ready to clawhim if he showed the least sign of fight.
Humphreys, of course, though he was a stupid, surly fellow,would not have retaliated against a woman; but he looked as thoughhe were almost suffocated with anger. Bourne interposed again, asin the case of Corporal Greenstreet; but this time he did not tryto soothe the angry woman, he turned on the angry man.
"You're the bloody fool who is going to get us all in the mush,"he said, in a rage quite equal to their own. "I'm not going to tellyou twice. You take up your kit, and get down that bloody ladderquick."
"What'd she want...?"
Madame advanced again with that purring hiss...
"Are you going?" said Bourne, the last strand of his controlwearing thin. "There's your bloody pack."
He threw the pack down the ladder, and grumbling and arguing,Humphreys descended after it. They all had their hackles up by now,and Bourne told Shem and Martlow to get down with an air of curtauthority. The women were flushed with triumph, but they wereinclined to look on Bourne with a favourable eye, so he approachedmadame again, and asked her if she had no other place where theymight hide themselves for that day, and the next, perhaps even forthe third. At last she led him across the yard, and showed him asmall room with a cement floor. It may have been a dairy, or astoreroom of some kind, and it had two doors, one going out at theside of the house on to a narrow strip of grass bounded by anunkempt hedge with fields beyond; and the other into a passage, onthe other side of which the military policeman had his lodging.
Bourne was satisfied. He made sure that madame intended nofurther move against Humphreys, and excused him as well as hecould. She would not have Humphreys in the house, but said he mightremain where he was. Then Bourne went back to the stables, andtelling Humphreys that he would probably be all right where he was,that he could please himself whether he stayed there or not, butthat if he went back to the loft madame would almost certainlyinform the policeman who was billeted there, he took Shem andMartlow to the house with him. Then he asked madame to let themhave some coffee, and paid her for it. With the coffee they drank alittle of the fast-dwindling, but carefully hoarded whisky. Theyheard the military policeman return at twelve o'clock. They couldkeep track of his movements more easily now, and aired themselvesoutside the house when he went out in the afternoon. They were gladwhen the battalion returned at four o'clock, and they could slipout and mingle with the men.
The second day was pleasanter, as they took more chances,getting out into the fields; and Bourne, after stalking thepoliceman until he saw him well on the road to Vincly, turned backand bought a bottle of wine at one of the estaminets to eke outtheir whisky, of which they only had a tot each left. On thaterrand he ran into Evans, now servant to the new colonel.
"Lookin' for trouble?" Evans inquired, grinning. Bourne gave hima drink, and learned that the battalion would carry out the samepractice the next day, unless it rained, but as there were nofacilities for drying the men's clothes, they wouldn't risk awetting.
The next day, after the battalion had moved out, a storm broke,and the men were brought back. The three absentees had a certainamount of difficulty in getting back to the signals sectionunobserved; they had to get wet first; and Martlow became a littletoo wet by standing under a spout which took the water off theroof.
They had been absent from parade for three consecutive days, andhad not found much pleasure in ill-doing. The same afternoon theywere taken to some pit-head baths at a mine three miles away; andthe next morning, the justice of fate, which is a littleindiscriminating as to the pretexts on which it acts, descended onthem. They were the last to fall in on parade, and Mr Rhys had afat head. They were not really late, and other sections were stillfalling in; but the officer ordered Corporal Hamley to take theirnames, and they went before Captain Thompson at half-past eleven.Bourne merely pointed out that they occupied different billets fromthe rest of the section, and some distance away, but he did notattempt to justify himself. It was wisdom on his part. CaptainThompson, after cautioning them strictly, dismissed the charge.Martlow seemed aggrieved by the injustice of this disciplinary act,but Bourne laughed at him: "If we got twenty-eight days first fieldpunishment for something we had not done we should still havedeserved it," he said. "I suppose that kind of balance is alwaysevened out in the end."
Immediately after dinner, a thrill of excitement passed rapidlyfrom company to company; all parades were cancelled, billets wereto be cleaned up, and the battalion was to be ready to march athalf-past five. It was some time since they had marched by night.For once, too, they had some definite details; they were to marchto St Pol, and entrain there for the front. It was very curious tosee how the news affected them; friends grouped themselvestogether, and talked of it from their individual points of view,but the extraordinary thing was the common impulse moving them,which gathered in strength until any individual reluctances andanxieties were swept away by it. A kind of enthusiasm, quiet andrestrained because aware of all it hazarded, swept over them likefire or flood. Even those who feared made the pretence of bravery,the mere act of mimicry opened the way for the contagion, andanother will was substituted for their own, so that ultimately theytoo gave themselves to it. They might fail or break, they mightshrink back at the last in an agony of fear, but this overpoweringimpulse for the time being swept them on towards its ownindeterminate ends, as one common impulse might move in a swarm ofangry bees.
The light was failing rapidly as they fell in, and they movedoff in silence, marching to attention. A Company would join up withthem at the crossroads, marching to meet them from Vincly. Theynoticed that their new colonel had a good word of command, whichcarried well without breaking in the effort. Shortly after ACompany had joined them they had the order to march at ease, andthen to march easy. A few minutes later, Bourne again saw the oldcure of Vincly. He was standing by the, roadside, watching thempass, his head uncovered and bowed, in his characteristic attitudeof humility, which seemed at once beautiful and ominous.
Bourne felt a kind of melancholy, a kind of homesickness,stilling the excitement which had filled him a little while ago. Hewatched the colour draining out of earth, leaving all its contoursvague and grey, except where the shadowy woods and downs took asharper outline against a sky as luminous and green as waterflowing over limestone. Some stars, pallid as yet, hung in it. Hehad the feeling that he had relinquished everything. It was notthat silly feeling of sacrifice, the sense of being a vicariousatonement for the failure of others; the wind with which some menpuff out an idle vanity. Memory drifted up on to the verge of histhought a phrase; la resignation, c'est la defaite, de l'ame; butit was not quite that, for there was no sense of defeat. He hadceased, in some curious way, to have any self-consciousness at all;it was as though his mind were brimmed up with peace, with a peacethat still trembled a little on its surface, as though a breathwould suffice to spill it; though he had the certainty in his heartthat presently it would become still, and mirror only the emptinessof the night.
The rhythm of all those tramping feet, slurring the stressesslightly, held him in its curious hypnosis. He was aware of it allonly as one might be aware of a dream. The men sang, sang to keepup cheerful hearts:
"'Ere we are, 'ere we are, 'ere we are, again,
Pat and Mac, and Tommy and Jack, and Joe!
Never mind the weather! Now then, all together!
Are we down'earted? NO! ('ave a banana!)
'Ere we are, 'ere we are..."
It might have gone on indefinitely, but the men suddenlyswitched on to "Cock Robin", into which some voices would interject"another poor mother 'as lost 'er son," as though to affront thesinister fate against which they were determined to march with aswagger. As they marched through one little village, at about teno'clock, doors suddenly opened and light fell through the doorways,and voices asked them where they were going.
"Somme! Somme!" they shouted, as though it were a challenge."Ah, no bon!" came the kindly pitying voices in reply; and evenafter the doors closed again, and they had left that villagebehind, the kindly voices seemed to drift across the darkness, likethe voices of ghosts; "Somme! Ah, no bon!"
And that was an enemy to them, that little touch of gentlenessand kindliness; it struck them with a hand harsher than death's,and they sang louder, seeing only the white road before them, andthe vague shadows of the trees on either hand. At last the singingdied away; there was nothing but the trampling of myriad feet; orthey would halt for ten minutes, and the darkness along theroadside became alive as with fireflies from the glow of cigarettesthrough a low mist.
It must have been midnight when they reached St Pol; and thereagain their singing sent out a noisy challenge to the darkness, butnow they sang one of their regimental marching songs, chroniclingin parody their own deeds; it was the air of the Marseillaise:
At La Clytte, at La Clytte,
Where the Westshires got well beat,
And the bullets blew our buttons all away,
And we ran, yes, we ran,
From that fuckin' Alleman;
And now we are happy all the day!
Windows were thrown up, and recognising only the patriotic air,some of the virtuous townspeople joined in the singing; but afterall there must be some misunderstanding in any alliance between twoseparate peoples. The men laughed with great delight, and then theorder to march to attention imposed silence on them. They turnedinto a big camp, which Bourne was told was a hospital, and afterwaiting some little time restlessly in the dark, some huts wereassigned to them.
"I like marching at night," said Martlow. "Don't you,Bourne?"
"Yes, I like it, kid; are you tired?"
"A bit. Shem isn't. Shem never tires."
They laid themselves down, as they were to get a few hours'sleep; and Bourne, dropping off between the two of them, wonderedwhat was the spiritual thing in them which lived and seemed even togrow stronger, in the midst of beastliness.
Yes, in this present quality of war
Indeed the instant action, a cause on foot
Lives so in hope, as in an early spring
We see the appearing buds, which to prove fruit
Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair
That frosts will bite them.
—SHAKESPEARE
Bourne roused himself, and, after a few minutes of dubiousconsciousness, sat up and looked round him, at his sleepingcompanions, and then at the rifles stacked round the tent-pole, andthe ring of boots surrounding the riflebutts. His right handfinding the opening in his shirt front, he scratched pleasurably athis chest. He was dirty, and he was lousy; but at least, and hethanked God for it, he was not scabby.
Half a dozen men from Headquarter Company, including Shem as amatter of course, had been sent off yesterday to a casualtyclearing station near Acheux, suffering or rejoicing, according totheir diverse temperaments, with the itch. The day after theirarrival at Mailly-Maillet, the medical officer had held what themen described irreverently as a prick-inspection. He was lookingfor definite symptoms of something he expected to find, and becausehis inquest had been narrowed down to a single question, it mayhave seemed a little cursory. The men stood in a line, theirtrousers and underpants having been dropped round their ankles, andas the doctor passed them, in the words of the regimentalsergeant-major, they "lifted the curtain", that is to say the flapof the shirt, so as to expose their bellies.
Scratching his chest, Bourne considered the boots; if a swordwere the symbol of battle, boots were certainly symbols of war; andbecause by his bedside at home there had always been a copy of theauthorised version, he remembered now the verse about the warrior'sboots that stamped in the tumult, and the mantle drenched withblood being all but for burning, and fuel for the fire. He lit acigarette. It was, anyway, the method by which he intended todispose of his own damned kit, if he should survive his presentobligations; but the chance of survival seeming to his coolerjudgment somewhat thin, he ceased spontaneously to be interested init. His mind did not dismiss, it ignored, the imminent possibilityof its own destruction.
He looked again with a little more sympathy on his pronecompanions, wondering that sleep should make their faces seem soenigmatic and remote; and still scratching and rubbing his chest,he returned to his contemplation of the boots. Then, when he hadsmoked his cigarette down to his fingers, he rubbed out the glowingend in the earth, slipped out of the blanket, and reached for histrousers.
He moved as quickly as a cat in dressing, and now, taking hismess-tin, he opened the flap of the tent, and went out into thecool morning freshness. He could see between the sparse trees tothe cookers, drawn up a little off the road. The wood in which theywere encamped was just behind Mailly-Maillet, in an angle formed bytwo roads, one rising over the slope to Mailly-Maillet, and theother skirting the foot of the hill towards Hedauville. It was on arather steep reverse slope, which gave some protection fromshellfire, and there were a few shelter-trenches, which had beenhastily and rather inefficiently dug, as a further protection. Itwas well screened from observation. The trees were little more thansaplings, young beech, birch and larch, with a few firs, poorlygrown, but so far unshattered. Bourne strolled carelessly down tothe cookers.
"Good morning, corporal; any tea going?"
Williams stretched out his hand for the mess-tin, filled it tothe brim, and then, after handing it back to Bourne, went on withhis work, without a word. Bourne stayed there, sipping the scaldingbrew.
"Go up the line, last night?" Williams inquired at last.
"Carrying party," answered Bourne, who found his dixie so hot hecould scarcely hold it, so he was protecting his hands with a dirtyhandkerchief. "I was out of luck. I was at the end, and when theyhad loaded me up with the last box of ammunition, they found therewas a buckshee box of Verey lights to go, too. The officer said hethought I might carry those as well; and being a young man ofrather tedious wit, he added that they were very light. I suppose Iam damned clumsy, but one of those bloody boxes is enough for me,and I decided to dump one at the first opportunity. Then Mr Sotherncame back along the top of the communication trench, and, findingme weary and heavily laden, said all sorts of indiscreet thingsabout everybody concerned. 'Dump them, you bloody fool, dump them!'he shouted. I rather deprecated any extreme measures. 'Give me thatbloody box,' he insisted. As he seemed really angry about it, Ihanded him up the box of ammunition, as it was the heavier of thetwo. He streaked off into the darkness to get back to the head ofthe party, with his stick in one hand, and a box of ammo in theother. I like these conscientious young officers, corporal."
"E's a nice chap, Mr Sothern," observed Williams, with a face ofimmovable melancholy.
"Quite," Bourne agreed. "However, there's a big dugout in LegendTrench, and between that and the corner of Flag Alley I saw a boxof ammunition that had been dumped. It was lying by the duckboards. It may have been the one I gave Mr Sothern: 'lost owing tothe exigencies of active service.' That's what the court of inquirysaid about Patsy Pope's false teeth."
Williams went on with his work.
"It won't be long before you lads are for it again," he said inhis quiet way.
"No," said Bourne, reluctantly, for there was a note of furtivesympathy in Williams' voice which embarrassed him.
"The whole place is simply lousy with guns," continued thecook.
"Why the hell can't you talk of something else?" exclaimedBourne, impatiently. "Jerry chased us all the way home last night.Mr Sothern, who knows no more about the bloody map than I do, trieda short cut, and wandered off in the direction of Colincamps, untilwe fetched up in front of one of our field batteries, and werechallenged. Then an officer came up and remonstrated with him.After that, when we got on the road again and Fritz started sendinga few across, you should have seen us! Leaning over like a field ofcorn in the wind."
"A lot o' them are new to it, yet," said Williams, tolerantly."You might take a drop o' tea up to the corporal, will you? 'E's anice chap, Corporal 'amley. I gave 'im some o' your toffees lastnight, an' we was talkin' about you. I'll fill it, in case you feellike some more."
Bourne took it, thanking him, and lounged off. There was now alittle more movement in the camp, and when he got back to his owntent he found all the occupants awake, enjoying a moment ofindecision before they elected to dress. He poured some tea intoCorporal Hamley's tin, and then gave some to Martlow, and there wasabout a third left.
"Who wants tea?" he said.
"I do," said Weeper Smart, and in his blue shirt with cuffsunbuttoned and white legs sprawled out behind him, he lungedawkwardly across the tent, holding out his dixie with one hand.Smart was an extraordinary individual, with the clumsy agility ofone of the greater apes; though the carriage of his head rathersuggested the vulture, for the neck projected from wide, slopingshoulders, rounded to a stoop; the narrow forehead, above archedeyebrows, and the chin, under loose pendulous lips, both recededabruptly, and the large, fleshy beak, jutting forward betweenprotruding blue eyes, seemed to weigh down the whole face. His skinwas an unhealthy white, except at the top of the nose and about thenostrils, where it had a shiny redness, as though he suffered froman incurable cold: it was rather pimply. An almost completebeardlessness made the lack of pigmentation more marked, and eventhe fine, sandy hair of his head grew thinly.
It would have been the face of an imbecile, but for theexpression of unmitigated misery in it, or it would have been atragic face if it had possessed any element of nobility; but it wasmerely abject, a mask of passive suffering, at once pitiful andrepulsive. It was inevitable that men, living day by day with sucha spectacle of woe, should learn in self-defence to deride it; andit was this sheer necessity which had impelled some cruel wit ofthe camp to fling at him the name of Weeper, and make that forlornand cadaverous figure the butt of an endless jest. He gulped histea, and his watery eyes turned towards Bourne with a cunningmalevolence.
"What I say is, that if any o' us'ns tried scrounging round thecookers, we'd be for it."
Bourne looked at him with a slightly contemptuous tolerance,gathered his shaving tackle together, flung his dirty towel overhis shoulder, and set off again in the direction of the cookers toscrounge for some hot water. He could do without the necessaries oflife more easily than without some small comforts.
Breakfast over, they cleaned up and aired the tent, and almostimmediately were told to fall in on parade with HeadquarterCompany. Captain Thompson, watching them fall in from the officers'tents, knocked his pipe out against his stick, shoved it in histunic pocket, and came up the hill, carrying his head at a ratherthoughtful angle. He had a rather short, stocky figure, and a roundbullet head; his face was always imperturbable, and his eyes quietbut observant.
Sergeant-Major Corbet called the company to attention andCaptain Thompson acknowledged the salute, and told the men to standeasy. Then he began to talk to them in a quiet unconventional way,as one whose authority was so unquestioned that the friendliness ofhis manner was not likely to be misunderstood. They had had a goodrest, he said (as though he were talking to the same men who hadfought their way, slowly and foot by foot, into Guillemont!), andnow there was work in front of them—difficult and dangerouswork—the business of killing as many superfluous Germans aspossible. He would read out to them passages from the letter ofinstructions regarding the attack, which as fresh and reconditionedtroops they would be called on soon to make. He read; and as heread his voice became rather monotonous, it lost the character ofthe man and seemed to come to them from a remote distance.
The plan was handled in too abstract a way for the men to followit; and their attention, in spite of the gravity with which theylistened, was inclined to wander; or perhaps they refused to thinkof it except from the point of view of their own concrete andindividual experience. Above his monotonous voice one could hear,now and again, a little wind stray through the drying leaves of thetrees. A leaf or two might flutter down, and scratch against thebark of trunk or boughs with a crackling papery rustle. Here andthere he would stress a sentence ever so slightly, as though itssignificance would not be wasted on their minds, and their eyeswould quicken, and lift towards him with a curious, almost ananimal expression of patient wonder. It was strange to notice how aslight movement, even a break in the rhythm of their breathing,showed their feelings at certain passages.
"...men are strictly forbidden to stop for the purpose ofassisting wounded..."
The slight stiffening of their muscles may have beenimperceptible, for the monotonous inflection did not vary as thereader delivered a passage in which it was stated that the staffconsidered they had made all the arrangements necessary to effectthis humanitarian, but somewhat irrelevant, object.
"...you may be interested to know," and this was slightlystressed, as though to overbear a doubt, "that it is estimated weshall have one big gun—I suppose that means hows andheavies—for every hundred square yards of ground we areattacking."
An attack delivered on a front of twenty miles, if completelysuccessful, would mean penetrating to a depth of from six to sevenmiles, and the men seemed to be impressed by the weight of metalwith which it was intended to support them. Then the officer cameto the concluding paragraph of the instructional letter.
"It is not expected that the enemy will offer any very seriousresistance at this point..."
There came a whisper scarcely louder than a sigh.
"What fuckin' 'opes we've got!"
The still small voice was that of Weeper Smart, clearly audibleto the rest of the section, and its effect was immediate. Thenervous tension, which had gripped every man, was suddenly snapped,and the swift relief brought with it an almost hysterical desire tolaugh, which it was difficult to suppress. Whether Captain Thompsonalso heard the voice of the Weeper, and what construction he mayhave placed on the sudden access of emotion in the ranks, it wasimpossible to say. Abruptly, he called them to attention, and aftera few seconds, during which he stared at them impersonally, butwith great severity, the men were dismissed. As they moved off,Captain Thompson called Corporal Hamley to him.
"Where will some of us poor buggers be come next Thursday?"demanded Weeper of the crowded tent, as he collapsed into hisplace; and looking at that caricature of grief, their laughter,high-pitched and sardonic, which had been stifled on parade, foundvent.
"Laugh, you silly fuckers!" he cried in vehement rage. "Yes, youlaugh now! You'll be laughing the other side o' your bloody mouthswhen you 'ear all Krupp's fuckin' iron-foundry comin' over! Laugh!One big gun to every bloody 'undred yards, an' don't expect anyserious resistance from the enemy! Take us for a lot o' bloodykids, they do! 'Aven't we been up the line and..."
"You shut your blasted mouth, see!" said the exasperatedCorporal Hamley, stooping as he entered the tent, the lift of hishead, with chin thrust forward as he stooped, giving him a moredesperately aggressive appearance. "An' you let me 'ear you talkin'on parade again with an officer present and you'll be on the bloodymat, quick. See? You miserable bugger, you! A bloody cunt likeyou's sufficient to demoralise a whole fuckin' army corps. Got it?Get those buzzers out, and do some bloody work for a change."
Exhausted by this unaccustomed eloquence Corporal Hamley,white-lipped, glared round the tent, on innocent and guilty alike.Weeper gave him one glance of deprecatory grief, and relapsed intoa prudent silence. The rest of the squad, all learners, settledthemselves with a more deliberate obedience: there was no sense inencouraging Corporal Hamley to throw his weight about, just becausehe had wind up. They took up their pencils and paper, and looked athim a little coolly. Weeper was one of themselves. With thecorporal sending on the buzzer, the class laboriously spelt out hismessages. Then he tried two men with two instruments, one sending,and the other answering and repeating, while the rest of the squadrecorded. "You've been at this game before," he said to Weeper.
"I, corporal?" said Weeper, with an innocence one could see wasaffected; "I've never touched one o' these things before."
"No?" said the corporal. "Ever worked in a telegraph office? Youneedn't try to come that game on me. I can tell by your touch."
He was not in a humour to be satisfied, and the men, thinking ofthe show they were in for, did not work well. A sullen humourspread among them. Bourne was the least satisfactory of all.
"You're just swingin' the lead," said Corporal Hamley. "Those ofyou who can't use a buzzer will be sent out as linesmen, or to helpcarry the bloody flapper."
Things went from bad to worse among them. There was a lightdrizzle of rain outside, and this gradually increased to a steadydownpour. Their sullen humour deepened into resentment, frettinghopelessly in their minds; and the corporal's disapproval wasexpressed now and again with savage brevity. Then the stolid butperfectly cheerful face of Corporal Woods appeared between theflaps of the tent.
"Kin I 'ave six men off you for a fatigue, corporal?" he askedpleasantly.
"You can take the whole fuckin' issue," said Corporal Hamley,with enthusiasm, throwing the buzzer down on his blankets with theair of a man who has renounced all hope.
Shem returned, wet and smelling of iodine, at dinner-time. Allthat day it rained, and they kept to the tents, but theirexasperation wore off, and the spirit of pessimism which had filledthem became quiet, reflective, even serene, but without ceasing tobe pessimism.
Mr Rhys paid them a visit, and said that, taking into accountthe interruption of their training by other duties, their progresshad been fairly satisfactory. He, too, picked out Weeper Smart asan expert telegraphist, and Martlow as the aptest pupil in theclass; as for the other new men, it would be some time before theywere fully qualified for their duties. At a quarter to three hetold the corporal that they might pack up for the day. If theweather had cleared they would have gone out with flags; but theyhad been on the buzzer all the morning, and in the monotony ofrepeating the same practice, hour after hour, men lose interest andlearn nothing.
From outside came the dense unbroken murmur of the rain, whichsometimes dwindled to a whispering rustle, through which one couldhear heavy drops falling at curiously regular intervals from thetrees onto the tent, or a bough laden with wet would sag slowlydownward, to spill all it held in a sudden shower, and then lift upfor more. These lulls were only momentary, and then the rain wouldincrease in volume again until it became a low roar in which alllesser sounds were drowned. There was little wind.
Mr Rhys told them they might smoke, and stayed to talk with themfor a little while. They all liked him, in spite of the erratic andhasty temper which left them a little uncertain as to what to makeof him. From time to time, without putting aside anything of hisprestige and authority over them, he would try to get into touchwith them, and learn what they were thinking. Only a very great mancan talk on equal terms with those in the lower ranks of life. Hewas neither sufficiently imaginative, nor sufficiently flexible incharacter, to succeed. He would unpack a mind rich in a curiouslumber of chivalrous commonplaces, and give an air of unreality tovalues which for him, and for them all in varying measure, had thestrength, if not altogether the substance, of fact. They did notreally pause to weigh the truth or falsity of his opinions, whichwere simply without meaning for them. They only reflected thatgentlefolk lived in circumstances very different from their own,and could afford strange luxuries. Probably only one thing he saidinterested them; and that was a casual remark, to the effect that,if the bad weather continued, the attack might have to beabandoned. At that, the face of Weeper Smart became suddenlyillumined by an ecstasy of hope.
When at last Mr Rhys left them, they relaxed into ease with asigh. Major Shadwell and Captain Malet they could understand,because each was what every private soldier is, a man in armsagainst a world, a man fighting desperately for himself, andconscious that, in the last resort, he stood alone; for suchself-reliance lies at the very heart of comradeship. In so far asMr Rhys had something of the same character, they respected him;but when he spoke to them of patriotism, sacrifice and duty, hemerely clouded and confused their vision.
"Chaps," said Weeper, suddenly, "for Christ's sake let's prayfor rain!'
"What good would that do?" said Pacey reasonably. "If they don'tsend us over the top here, they'll send us over somewhere else. It'as got to be, an' if it 'as got to be, the sooner it's over an'done wi' the better. If we die, we die, an' it won't troublenobody, leastways not for long it won't; an' if we don't die now,we'd 'ave to die some other time.'
"What d'you want to talk about dyin' for?" said Martlow,resentfully. "I'd rather kill some other fucker first. I want tohave my fling before I die, I do."
"If you want to pray, you 'ad better pray for the war to stop,"continued Pacey, "so as we can all go back to our own 'omes inpeace. I'm a married man wi' two children, an' I don't say I'm anybetter'n the next man, but I've a bit o' religion in me still, an'I don't hold wi' sayin' such things in jest.'
"Aye," said Madeley, bitterly; "an' what good will all yourprayin' do you? If there were any truth in religion, would there bea war, would God let it go on?"
"Some on us blame God for our own faults," said Pacey, coolly,"an' it were men what made the war. It's no manner o' use ussittin' 'ere pityin' ourselves, an' blamin' God for our own fault.I've got nowt to say again Mr Rhys. 'E talks about liberty, an'fightin' for your country, an' posterity, an' so on; but what Iwant to know is what all us'ns are fightin' for..."
"We're fightin' for all we've bloody got," said Madeley,bluntly.
"An' that's sweet fuck all," said Weeper Smart. "A tell thee,that all a want to do is to save me own bloody skin. An' the firstthing a do, when a go into t' line, is to find out where t' bloodydressing-stations are; an' if a can get a nice blighty, chaps, whenonce me face is turned towards home, I'm laughing. You won't see mebloody arse for dust. A'm not proud. A tell thee straight. Them asthinks different can 'ave all the bloody war they want, and me ownshare of it, too."
"Well, what the 'ell did you come out for?" asked Madeley.
Weeper lifted up a large, spade-like hand with the solemnity ofone making an affirmation.
"That's where th'ast got me beat, lad," he admitted. "When a sawall them as didn' know any better'n we did joinin' up, an' a wentwalkin' out wi' me girl on Sundays, as usual, a just felt ashamed.An' a put it away, an' a put it away, until in th' end it got medown. A knew what it'd be, but it got the better o' me, an' then,like a bloody fool, a went an' joined up too. A were ashamed to beseen walkin' in the streets, a were. But a tell thee, now, that ifa were once out o' these togs an' in civvies again, a wouldn't mindall the shame in the world; no, not if I 'ad to slink through allthe back streets, an' didn' dare put me nose in t'Old Vaults again.A've no pride left in me now, chaps, an' that's the plain truth a'mtellin'. Let them as made the war come an' fight it, that's what asay."
"That's what I say, too," said Glazier, a man of about Madeley'sage, with an air of challenge. Short, stocky, and ruddy likeMadeley, he was of coarser grain, with an air of brutality that theother lacked: the kind of man who, when he comes to grips, kills,and grunts with pleasure in killing. "Why should us'ns fight an' bekilled for all them bloody slackers at 'ome? It ain't right. Nomatter what they say, it ain't right. We're doin' our duty, an'they ain't, an' they're coinin' money while we get ten bloody fronga week. They don't care a fuck about us. Once we're in the army,they've got us by the balls. Talk about discipline! They don't trydisciplinin' any o' them fuckin' civvies, do they? We want to putsome o' them bloody politicians in the front line, an' see 'emshelled to shit. That'd buck their ideas up."
"I'm not fightin' for a lot o' bloody civvies," said Madeley,reasonably. "I'm fightin' for myself an' me own folk. It's allbloody fine sayin' let them as made the war fight it. 'TwereGermany made the war."
"A tell thee," said Weeper, positively, "there are thousands o'poor buggers, over there in the German lines, as don' know, nomore'n we do ourselves, what it's all about."
"Then what do the silly fuckers come an' fight for?" askedMadeley, indignantly. "Why didn' they stay 't 'ome? Tha'lt besayin' next that the Frenchies sent 'em an invite."
"What a say is, that it weren't none o' our business. We'd nocall to mix ourselves up wi' other folks' quarrels," repliedWeeper.
"Well, I don't hold wi' that," said Glazier, judicially. "I'mnot fightin' for them bloody slackers an' conchies at 'ome; butwhat I say is that the Fritzes 'ad to be stopped. If we 'adn't comein, an' they'd got the Frenchies beat, 'twould 'a' been our turnnext."
"Too bloody true it would," said Madeley. "An' I'd rather comean' fight Fritz in France than 'ave' im come over to Blighty an'start bashin' our 'ouses about, same as 'e's done 'ere.'
"E'd never 'ave come to England. The navy'd 'ave seen to that,"said Pacey.
"Don't you be too bloody sure about the navy," said CorporalHamley, entering into the discussion at last. "The navy 'as got allit can bloody well do, as things are."
"Well, chaps," said Glazier, "maybe I'm right an' maybe I'mwrong, but that's neither here nor there; only I've sometimesthought it would be a bloody good thing for us'ns, if the 'un didland a few troops in England. Show 'em what war's like. Madeley an'I struck it lucky an' went 'ome on leaf together, an' you neverseed anything like it. Windy! Like a lot o' bloody kids they was,an' talkin' no more sense; 'pon me word, you'd be surprised at someo' the questions they'd ask, an' you couldn't answer sensible.They'd never believe it, if you did. We jes' kep' our mouths shut,and told 'em the war was all right, and we'd got it won, but notyet. 'Twas the only way to keep 'em quiet.
"The boozers in Wes'church was shut most of the day; but Madeleyand I would go down to the Greyhound, at seven o'clock, an' it wasalways chock-a-block wi' chaps lappin' it up as fast as they could,before closin' time. There'd be some old sweats, and some men backfrom 'ospital into barracks, but not fit, an' a few new recruits;but most o' them were miners, the sort o' buggers who took our jobto dodge gettin' into khaki. Bloody fine miners they was.
"Well, one Saturday night we was in there 'avin' a bit of abooze up, but peaceable like, when one of them bloody miners camein an' asked us to 'ave a drink in a loud voice. Well, we waspeaceable enough, an' I dare say we might 'ave 'ad a drink withhim, but the swine put 'is fist into 'is trousers' pocket, andpulls out a fistful of Bradburys an' 'arfcrowns, an' plunks 'emdown on the bar counter. 'There,' he says, 'there's me bloody wagesfor a week, an' I ain't done more'n eight hours' work for it,either. I don't care if the bloody war lasts for ever,' 'e says. Ilooks up an' sees Madeley lookin' white an' dangerous. 'Was youtalkin' to me?' says Madeley. 'Aye,' 'e says. 'Well, take that, youfuckin' bastard!' says Madeley, an' sloshes 'im one in the clock.Some of 'is friends interfered first, and then some of our friendsinterfered, an' in five seconds there was 'ell's delight in thebloody bar, wi' the old bitch be'ind the counter goin' into'ysterics, an' 'ollerin' for the police.
"Then Madeley got 'old of 'is man, who was blubberin' an'swearin' summat awful, an' near twisted 'is arm off. I were busykeepin' some o' the other buggers off 'im, but 'e didn't pay noatten tion to nobody else, 'e just lugged 'is man out the back dooran' into the yard, wi' the old girl 'ollerin' blue murder; andMadeley lugs 'im into the urinal, an' gets 'im down an' rubs 'isface in it. I'd got out the back door too, be that time, as I seedsome red-caps comin' into the bar; an' when 'e'd finished I sawMadeley stand up an' wipe 'is 'ands on the seat of 'is trousers.'There, you bugger,' 'e says; 'now you go 'ome an' talk toyourself.' ''op it,' I says to 'im, 'there's the fuckin' picketoutside'; an' we 'opped it over some palin's at the bottom o' theyard; one of 'em came away, an' I run a bloody great splinter intothe palm o' me 'and. Then we just buggered off, by some backstreets, to the Crown, an' 'ad a couple o' pints an' went 'omepeaceable."
"Look at ol' tear gas!" Martlow cried. "Thought you didn't likefightin', Weeper?"
Weeper's whole face was alight with excitement.
"A like a scrap as well as any man, so long as it don't go toofar," said Weeper. "A'd 'ave given a lot to see thee go for thatminer, Madeley. It's them chaps what are always on the make, an'don't care 'ow they makes it, as causes 'arf the wars. Them's thebloody cowards."
"Is it all true, Madeley?" asked Corporal Hamley.
"It were summat like, but I misremember," said Madeley,modestly. "But it's all true what 'e says about folks at 'ome, moston 'em. They don't care a fuck what 'appens to us'ns, so long asthey can keep a 'ole skin. Say they be ready to make any sacrifice;but we're the bloody sacrifice. You never seed such a windy lot;an' bloodthirsty ain't the word for it. They've all gone potty.You'd think your best friends wouldn't be satisfied till they'dseed your name on the roll of honour. I tol' one of 'em 'e knew abloody sight more'n I did about the war. The only person as 'ad anysense was me mother. She on'y fussed about what I wanted to eat.She didn't want to know anything about the war, an' it were on'y meshe were afraid for. She didn't min' about aught else. 'Please God,you'll be home soon,' she'd say. An' please God, I will.'
"An' then they give you a bloody party," said Glazier. "Madeleyan' I went to one. You should a seed some o' the pushers. Girls o'seventeen painted worse nor any Gerties I'd ever knowed. One of 'emcame on an' sang a lot o' songs wi' dirty meanings to 'em. Iremember one she sang wi' another girl, 'I Want a Rag'. She did an'all, too. When this bloody war's over, you'll go back to Englandan' fin' nought there but a lot o' conchies and bloodyprostitutes."
"There's good an' bad," said Pacey, mildly, "an' if there's morebad than good, I don't know but the good don't wear better. Butthere's nought sure in this world, no more."
"No, an' never 'as been," said Madeley, pessimistically.
"There's nought sure for us'ns, anyway," said Weeper, relapsing."Didst 'ear what Cap'n Thompson read out this mornin', aboutstoppin' to 'elp any poor bugger what was wounded? The bloody brass'at what wrote that letter 'as never been in any big show 'isself,that a dare swear. 'E's one o' them buggers as is never nearer tothe real thing than G.H.Q."
"You don't want to talk like that," said Corporal Hamley."You've 'ad your orders."
"A don't mind tellin' thee, corporal," said Weeper, againlifting a large flat hand, as though by that gesture he stopped themouths of all the world. "A don't mind tellin' thee, that if a seea chum o' mine down, an' a can do aught to 'elp 'im, all the brass'ats in the British Army, an' there's a bloody sight too many o''em, aren't goin' to stop me. A'll do what's right, an' if a knowaught about thee, tha'lt do as I do."
"You don't want to talk about it, anyway," said Corporal Hamley,quietly. "I'm not sayin' you're not right: I'd do what any otherman'd do; but there's no need to make a song about it."
"What beats me," said Shem, sniggering; "is that the bloody foolwho wrote that instructional letter doesn't seem to know what anyordinary man would do in the circumstances. We all know that theremust be losses, you can't expect to take a trench without somecasualties; but they seem to go on from saying that losses areunavoidable, to thinking that they're necessary, and from that, tothinking that they don't matter."
"They don't know what we've got to go through, that's the truthof it," said Weeper. "They measure the distance, an' they count themen, an' the guns, an' think a battle's no' but a sum you can dowi' a pencil an' a bit o' paper."
"I heard Mr Pardew talking to Mr Rhys about a course he'd beenon, and he told him a brass hat had been lecturing them on thelessons of the Somme offensive, and gave them an estimate of thetotal German losses; and then an officer at the back of the roomgot up, and asked him, if he could give them any information aboutthe British losses, and the brass hat said 'No', and looked at themas though they were a lot of criminals."
"It's a fact," said Glazier; "whether you're talkin' to a civvyor whether you're talkin' to a brass 'at, an' some o' the officersaren't no better, if you tell the truth, they think you're a bloodycoward. They've not got our experience, an' they don't face it asus'ns do."
"Give them a chance,' said Bourne, reasonably; he hadn't spokenbefore, he usually sat back and listened quietly to thesedebates.
"Let 'em take my fuckin' chance!" shouted Weeper,vindictively.
"There's a good deal in what you say," said Bourne, who was alittle embarrassed by the way they all looked at him suddenly. "Ithink there's a good deal of truth in it; but after all, what is abrass hat's job? He's not thinking of you or of me or of anyindividual man, or of any particular battalion or division. Men, tohim, are only part of the material he has got to work with; and ifhe felt as you or I feel, he couldn't carry on with his job. It'snot fair to think he's inhuman. He's got to draw up a plan, fromrather scrappy information, and it is issued in the form of anorder; but he knows very well something may happen at any moment tothrow everything out of gear. The original plan is no more than akind of map; you can't see the country by looking at a map, and youcan't see the fighting by looking at a plan of attack. Once we goover the top it's the colonel's and the company commander's job.Once we meet a Hun it's our job..."
"Yes, an' our job's a bloody sight worse'n theirs," saidWeeper.
"It's not worse than the colonel's, or the company commander's,"said Bourne. "Anyway, they come over with us. They've got to leadus, or drive us. They may have to order us to do something, knowingdamned well that they're spending us. I don't envy them. I thinkthat bit in the letter, about not stopping to help the wounded, issilly. It's up to us, that is; but it's up to us not to makeanother man's agony our excuse. What's bloody silly in the letteris the last bit, where they say they don't anticipate any seriousresistance from the enemy. That is the staff's job, and they oughtto know it better."
"We started talking about what we were fighting for," said Shem,laughing. "It was Mr Rhys started it."
"Yes, an' you've been talkin' all over the bloody shop eversince," said Corporal Hamlety. "You all ought to be on the bloodystaff, you ought. 'Oo are orderly-men? Shem and Martlow; well,tea's up."
Shem and Martlow looked at the straight rain, and then struggledinto their greatcoats.
"All that a says is, if a man's dead it don't matter no more to'im 'oo wins the bloody war," said Weeper. "We're 'ere, there's nogettin' away from that, corporal. 'Ere we are, an' since we're'ere, we're just fightin' for ourselves; we're just fightin' forourselves, an' for each other."
Bourne stared as though he were fascinated by this uncouthfigure with huge, ape-like arms, and melancholy, half-imbecileface. Here was a man who, if he lost his temper with them, couldhave cleared the tent in ten seconds; and he sat with them, patientunder daily mockery, suffering even the schoolboy cheek of littleMartlow indifferently, and nursing always the bitterness and miseryof his own heart.
Already dripping, Shem and Martlow dumped the dixie of tea inthe opening of the tent, almost spilling it, as they slipped on thegreasy mud, where many feet had made a slide by the doorway.
"I never knowed such a miserable lot o' buggers as you all are,"said Corporal Hamley. "And me over that pot o' pozzy."
"I'm not miserable, corporal," said little Martlow: "We're notdead yet. On'y I'm not fightin' for any fuckin' Beljums, see. Oneo' them buggers wanted to charge me five frong for a loaf o'bread."
"Well, put a sock in it. We've 'ad enough bloody talk now." Theyate, more or less in silence, and then smoked, contentedly enough.The rain was slackening, and there was more light. After they hadsmoked for a while, Glazier took his tunic and shirt off, and beganto hunt for lice. One after another they all followed his example,stripping themselves of trousers, underpants and even socks, untilthe tent held nothing but naked men. They would take a candle, or alighted match, and pass it along the seams of their trousers,hoping that the flame would destroy the eggs. A hurricane lamp hungby a nail on the tent-pole, and after it was lighted they stillcontinued the scrupulous search, its light falling on whiteshoulders studiously rounded as they bent over the task. They werecompletely absorbed in it, when the air was ripped up with awailing sigh, and there was a muffled explosion in the field behindthem. They stopped, listening intently, and looking at each other.Another shell, whining precipitately, passed overhead to end with alouder explosion in some fields beyond the little wood, and wellover the lower road. Then there was a silence. They sighed andmoved.
"If Jerry starts shellin' proper," said the corporal, as theydressed themselves again, "you want to take shelter in themtrenches."
"They're no' but rabbit-scrapes," said Weeper.
"Well, you get into 'em," said the corporal, "an' if they're notgood enough for you, we can dig 'em deeper tomorrow."
Nothing more was said. They were bored a little, lounging there,and smoking again, but they took refuge with their own secretthoughts. Outside, the rain had stopped. They were all going up theline with a big carrying party that night. At about six o'clockthey heard from the road below a heavy lumbering and clanking, andthey listened with ears cocked. Then they heard hurrying movementsoutside.
"What is it?"
"Tanks! Tanks!"
They rushed out of their tent, and joined, apparently with thewhole camp, in a wild stampede through the trees to the road below.None of them as yet had seen a tank. It was only a caterpillartractor, which had come up to move a big gun to or from its lair.Officers hurried out to see what was the matter, and then returneddisgusted to their tents. Sergeants and corporals cursed the menback to their own lines. As Bourne turned back with the others, helooked up to a clear patch of sky, and saw the sharp crescent ofthe moon, floating there like a boat. A bough threw a mesh of finetwigs over its silver, and at that loveliness he caught up hisbreath, almost in a sob.
The caterpillar continued its muffled clanking along the road,and the wood filled with low voices, as the men, laughing in thedarkness, turned back up the slope to their dimly lighted tents.Bourne, who had lost Shem and Martlow in the downward rush, foundhimself beside Sergeant Morgan, the bombing sergeant, who for somelittle time past had nodded to him in a friendly way when they met,and then by degrees had come to know him better. He was a verydecent, cheerful man. As they walked up the hill together, theycame up with the regimental, to whom Bourne had scarcely spokensince they were at Beaumetz.
"Hullo, Bourne; it's a bloody long time since I've seen anythingof you. How do you like sigs? Come along to my tent for a while,and have a yarn. I hear you are going in for a commission."
Sergeant Morgan, saying goodnight, disappeared into the darknessbetween the trees, and Bourne followed the regimental to his tent,which was at the top of the wood, a little apart from the others. Ahurricane lamp burned low in it, and there was no one else therebut Barton, the regimental's batman, whom Bourne liked, knowing ashe did that, but for Barton's careful shepherding, the regimentalmight have been in serious trouble recently, on one or twooccasions. They sat and talked of the prospects of the show for afew minutes; and the regimental told him that they were going outto practise it in the morning with the rest of the Brigade, oversome ground which had been taped out. A field day with thedivisional general and most of his gilded staff. There would be agood deal of wind up before it was over.
"I'm laughing," said the regimental; "my job will be with theammunition column."
"You may get it in the neck there, as well as anywhere else,"said Bourne, in a matter-of-fact way.
Barton went off on his own private affairs, and the other twotalked in a desultory way, like men who have nothing much to say,but talk for the sake of company.
"You don't seem to be in a very good skin tonight," said Bourneat last. "What's the matter? Has the colonel been getting wind upabout the practice tomorrow?"
"The colonel's a bloody soldier, an' don't you forget it," saidthe regimental, with an honest appreciation. "I don't know what'sthe matter with me. I'm bloody well fed up with it."
"You ought to take a pull on yourself," said Bourne, as thoughhe were talking of the weather. "You have been inclined to run offthe rails ever since we were at Mazingarbe."
"That's all a bloody tale..."
"I didn't suppose it was all true," said Bourne, quietly; "butyou were canned-up, and you never know what you're doing whenyou're canned. You've been right enough since we leftNoeux-les-Mines, and you ought to keep right now. I should be sorryif you made a mess of things. There are some who would be pleased,and you give them an opening..."
"You're all right, Bourne, I don't mind what you say, but packit up now. I've got to travel my own bloody road, and I'm notasking for anyone's help. It's my own funeral. I know what a man'sbloody friends are like when he makes a slip. Oh, I don't mean you.You're all right, but you can't be of any bloody use one way or theother."
"I know that," said Bourne, shortly. "The trouble with you isthat you get things, get promotion for instance, too easily. You'retoo contemptuous. The only thing you do damned well you don't thinkworth doing."
They dropped again into idle question and answer, and after alittle while Bourne left him, as presently he had to fall in withthe carrying party.
They fell in under cover of the trees, just off the road, and MrMarsden was in charge. The mere fact that they were moving about inthe dark gave an air of stealth to the business. The words ofcommand were given, and the men numbered off, with lowered voices;then they swung out of the wood, turning right, and right again asthey struck the main road, which, in rising over the hill, curvedround slightly towards the left.
There was starlight and a young moon, sharp as a sickle; andinto the clear night great concrete standards, which had carriedelectric power, rose at regular intervals. On the reverse slopethey were intact, broad at the base, pierced, so as not to offertoo much resistance to the wind, and tapering as they rose, almostas obelisks; but the first to lift its peak above the crest of thehill had been damaged, and beyond that they had been all shatteredby shellfire, only the truncated bases remaining.
Mailly-Maillet began at the top of the hill. There was a branchroad to Auchonvillers; the main road, running straight through thetown, was in the direction of Serre, which the Hun held; and athird road on the left went off to Colincamps. The town itself,though extensively damaged, had not been completely wrecked, butthe few inhabitants who remained there were preparing reluctantly,under military compulsion, to leave.
Just after entering the town, Mr Marsden halted his men for amoment, and spoke to the military policeman in control. Then theycontinued straight through, keeping to the Serre road. Once throughMailly-Maillet, the ground fell away gradually, so gradually thatthe slope seemed almost flat. Most of the detail of the country,except for the shining road in front of them, was lost in darkness,or showed only as deeper shadow. They continued along the road alittle way, and then turned off it to the left, across country nowrough and derelict. A road running from Colincamps convergedtowards the road they had just left, to meet it at a point known asthe sugar refinery; and, just before striking that road, they cameto the large dump called Euston, and halted there, while Mr Marsdenwent to find the dump officer.
They were to carry up more ammunition. When Mr Marsden returned,with the other officer, the boxes were checked; and even in theshort interval of time which that business occupied, a couple ofbig shells had come whimpering overhead, searching for a battery,perhaps; and they heard, at no great distance, the eruption fromthe shells' explosion in the wet earth. Lower down the road Bournecould see a couple of ambulances drawn up, and from one very faint,very momentary gleam of light, he divined, rather than saw, theentrance to a dugout which would be the dressing-station. When theboxes were checked and each man loaded, they crossed the road, andBourne, who had been over the same ground the night before, noticeda new feature a few yards away from the beginning of thecommunication-trench called Southern Avenue: a large shell-crater,the size of a good pond, but empty of water, except for a littleseepage, which showed that it had only just been made.
The sound of the big shells and the sight of the craterquickened their apprehension of danger, without raising it to thepoint of fear. One's sensibility seemed to grow finer, more acute,while at the same time it became somewhat distorted. In thedistance a star-shell would rise, and as its light dilated, waveredand failed, one saw against it the shattered trunks and boughs oftrees, lunatic arms uplifted in imprecation, and as thoughpetrified in a moment of shrieking agony. The communication-trenchwas deep, and one looked up out of it to a now tranquil sky,against which the same stark boughs were partly visible. Then onthe right appeared the ruins of a shattered farm, an empty corpseof a building. There was for Bourne an inexplicable fascination inthat melancholy landscape: it was so still, so peaceful, and soextraordinarily tense. One heard a shell travel overhead, or thedistant rattle of a machine-gun, but these were merelyinterruptions of a silence which seemed to touch the heart with afinger of ice. It was only really broken when a man, stumbling on adefective or slippery duck-board, uttered under his breath amonosyllabic curse...
"Fuck..."
That reminder of man's proximity broke for a moment the dream;but, otherwise, one seemed to be travelling through some sterilelandscape in the moon, or some soulless region on the shadowyconfines of hell. Coming out of the communication-trench, theyturned to the right up Sackville Street, a breast-work only, givingone a sudden feeling of space and insecurity; and, continuing, theycame on a more intricate system: Flag Alley, Flag Switch, Legend,and Blenau. In Legend there was a company in support, and theypassed a sentry over a dugout and one or two men. Then again was along lifeless stretch. Just before they reached the fire-trenchesthey stood aside to allow a stretcher party carrying down a man topass. As he passed them they whispered encouragement.
"Good luck, chum. Don't you worry. You'll be back in Blightysoon."
He may not have heard them, he lay very still; but Bourne, whoseironical spirit was sometimes sardonic, felt with an irresistibleconviction that their words were a ritual formula, devised toavert, somehow, a like fate from themselves. Even so, it showed howclosely men were bound together, by some impalpable tie. Theypassed men on the fire-step, men as fixed as statues when thatghastly light fell tremblingly on them from the sky; and one or twosprawled on the step, their backs propped against the side of thebay, snatching a little fitful sleep, their tin hats tilted overtheir faces, and boots, puttees and trousers plastered thick withmud that caked like mortar. Sometimes their eyes met a face, blankfrom the weariness that is indifference; and perhaps, because atthis point they only moved forward a few yards at a time, theywould exchange a few whispers.
"What's it like?"
"Oh, 'e strafed a bit this afternoon, but it's cushyenough."
Bourne had never heard any other reply to that question, in allthe hundreds of times he had heard it asked. A face ofexpressionless immobility, with hard inscrutable eyes, and thateven monotonous whisper.
"Oh, it's cushy enough."
Presently Corporal Hamley motioned him forward into the nextfire-bay. Shem followed him, and the others, for the moment, werebarred. He saw Mr Marsden talking to an officer, and then he foundthat each man had to get out of the trench, and dump his stuffwhere a depression made an area of dead ground. He climbed out, andsaw for a moment the rather loosely hung strands of wire, betweenthe pickets, against the sky; there was a fairish depth of it.Almost as soon as he stood upright, a bullet sang by his head; itwas as though something spat at him out of the darkness. In thedeeper part of the hollow, an officer checked the boxes as theywere dumped. As he returned to the trench, Shem got out with hisbox. Mr Marsden was still talking, in a low voice, to the otherofficer. There were only three or four more men behind, and thenthey would go back.
Bourne passed out of the fire-trench by a slit, runningslantwise, to a trench in the rear, where the other men waited.Shem joined him, and another man. Then there was a loud elastictwang, as a shell exploded fairly close to them; and they heardstuff flying overhead; and another shell came; and another. One nosooner heard the hiss of the approaching shell than it exploded.The two last men, a little shaken, joined them. Shells continued tocome over, bursting with that curious twang, and occasionally ablast of air fanned their faces. Weeper, who was standing by Shemand Martlow, leaned on the muzzle of his rifle. His face had anexpression of enigmatic resignation. Mr Marsden did not come. Theshelling was not very severe, but it seemed to increase slightly,and they wondered whether Jerry was going to start a real strafe.The range improved, too, and presently the word was passed alongfor stretcher-bearers. Their own stretcher-bearers, with CorporalMellin, moved along to go to the fire-trench, but they were notwanted. Mr Marsden arrived and stopped them.
"It's all right. Their own bearers are there. We may want youourselves later," he said, encouragingly.
They moved off; but even before they moved the shellingslackened, and then ceased. Bourne had noticed that one or two ofthe new men had seemed a bit windy, that is, restless andimpatient, not really in a funk. Weeper's passive acquiescence inwhatever Fate might have in store impressed him more. He was alittle surprised at himself. The zip of the bullet by his head haddisconcerted him a little, and yet probably it was only a stray,and perhaps not so close as he imagined.
They had a rum issue with their tea when they got back, and thena final cigarette before turning to sleep.
He alone
Dealt on lieutenantry and no practice had
In the brave squares of war.
—SHAKESPEARE
In the morning, the whole camp seethed with hot and angry men,as was always the case when brass hats, and general officers,disturbed the normal routine of their life. Preparations, for therehearsal of the attack, were complicated by the issue of orders,that blankets were to be handed in, and the camp cleaned up, beforethe men paraded. They were to parade in full kit with packcomplete, and a bread-and-cheese ration was issued to them. Theunnecessary bad temper continued until they fell in on the road;and the colonel came on parade, smiling slightly, as though he werewell satisfied, and looked forward to an amusing day. The high,clear voice, which always seemed to carry without much effort, rangout, and the battalion moved off in the direction ofBertrancourt.
After some miles, they turned off the road and continued overreaped fields, finally mounting a ridge and taking up a positionwith other battalions of their Brigade. There the men were allowedto fall out and eat. They could see at once, more clearly than theyhad realised from the instructions read out to them, the way theywere to be disposed; and started a general discussion on the rivaladvantages and disadvantages of going over as the first or secondwave; a discussion which had no other effect than that ofconfirming each individual disputant in the opinion with which hehad originally started. It proved indirectly, however, that therewas a considerable fund of obstinacy, combativeness, and tenacityof purpose among them, and these were clearly assets of militaryvalue.
The first excitement was provided by a hare. It was put up bysome of the troops in front, who chivvied it about in alldirections, until, doubling back, it came straight through theirown H. Q. Company, almost running over Bourne's foot. He didn'tmove, pitying the poor hunted thing. They were in an angle of afield, along the boundaries of which ran a low fence of rabbitwire, and as it was headed into the corner Martlow flung himself onit, caught it, and broke its neck scientifically with a blow fromthe edge of his hand.
"Why did you kill it?" exclaimed Bourne, as Martlow buttoned histunic over the warm quivering body. Bourne thought hares uncannycreatures.
"It'll go into t' pot," said Martlow, surprised. Mr Sothern cameup, and offered him ten francs for it, and after some hesitationMartlow sold it to him.
Presently arrived magnificent people on horseback, glancingsuperciliously at the less fortunate members of their species whomnecessity compelled to walk. Bourne, who loved horses, had seennothing for months but mules, Rosinante, some sorry hacks ridden bytheir officers, and a few lusty percherons threshing corn on akindof treadmill outside a French farm. The sight of these daintilystepping animals, with a sheen on their smooth hides, gave him athrill of pleasure. He was less favourably impressed by some of theriders.
"That bugger will give his horse a sore back before the day isout," he said, as one of the great men cantered by importantly.
"You're learnin' a lot o' bad words from us'ns," said Martlow,grinning.
"Oh, you all swear like so many Eton boys," replied Bourne,indifferently. "Have you ever heard an Aussie swear?'
"No, 'n' I don't want," said Martlow. "Them buggers 'ave toomuch spare cash to know what soldierin' means."
They fell in, and there was another moment of suppressed badtemper. Most of the new signallers went with H. Q. runners, butWeeper Smart, though he was close to them, had to carry the flapperwith H. Q. signallers. The flapper was a device by which it wasintended to signal to aeroplanes. One could see by now that most ofthe men were keenly interested; they knew that the plan wasintended to supply them with a kind of map, on the actual scale ofthe trenches they were to attack. Their interest did not fade outcompletely as they advanced; but they rapidly became aware of theunreality of it all. The files of men moved forward slowly, and,when they reached the tapes, followed the paths assigned to themwith an admirable precision. Their formations were not broken up ordepleted by any hostile barrage, the ground was not pitted bycraters, their advance was not impeded by any uncut wire.Everything went according to plan. It was a triumph of staffwork,and these patient, rather unimaginative men tried to fathom themeaning of it all, with an anxiety which only made them moreperplexed. They felt there was something incomplete about it. Whatthey really needed was a map of the strange country through whichtheir minds would travel on the day, with fear darkening earth andfilling it with slaughter.
Bourne, Shem and Martlow, with the other orderlies, werefollowing close behind the colonel, when the superb individualwhose seat on a horse had seemed to Bourne to call for adversecomment, galloped up to them, and reined in his mount.
"What are all these men?' he asked the colonel, pointing almostat the embarrassed Bourne.
"These are my orderlies, sir," answered the colonel, and Bourne,from the angle at which he stood, saw his cheekbone as he turned tothe rider with an amiable smile.
"You seem to have a great many of them," said god-likeAgamemnon, with a supercilious coldness. They kept advancingslowly, and the horse was restive under his strange cargo.
"I don't think more than are usual, sir," hazarded the colonelwith a bland diffidence.
Other important people on horseback, even the most important ofthem all, on a grey, arrived, and grouped themselves impressively,as though for a portrait. There followed some discussion, firstapparently as to the number of the colonel's runners, and then asto why they were not within the imaginary trenches as marked out bythe tapes. The colonel remained imperturbable, only saying, in atone of mild protest, that they would be in the trenches on theday, though there were some advantages in separating them from theother men at the moment. They were all moving forward at a foot'space, and apparently the Olympian masters of their fate werewilling to admit the validity of the colonel's argument, when therewas a sudden diversion.
They were passing a small cottage, little more than a hovel,where three cows were tethered to pasture on some rough grass; andthe tapes passed diagonally across a square patch of sown clover,dark and green in comparison with the dryer herbage beside it. Thiswas the track taken by a platoon of A Company under Mr Sothern; andas the first few men were crossing the clover, the door of thehovel was flung open, and an infuriated woman appeared.
"Ces champs sont à moi!" she screamed, and this was theprelude to a withering fire of invective, which promised to beinexhaustible. It gave a slight tinge of reality, to operationswhich were degenerating into a series of co-ordinated drillmovements. The men of destiny looked at her, and then at oneanother. It was a contingency which had not been foreseen by thestaff, whose intention had been to represent, under idealconditions, an attack on the village of Serre, several miles away,where this particular lady did not live. They felt, therefore, thatthey had been justified in ignoring her existence. She wasevidently of a different opinion. She was a very stubborn piece ofreality, as she stood there with her black skirt and red petticoatkilted up to her knees, her grey stockings and her ploughman'sboots. She had a perfect genius for vituperation, which shedirected against the men, the officers and the etat-major, with afine impartiality. The barrage was effective; and the men, with athoroughly English respect for the rights of property, hesitated tocommit any further trespass.
"Send someone to speak to that woman," said the divisionalgeneral to a brigadier; and the brigadier passed on the order tothe colonel, and the colonel to the adjutant; and the adjutant toMr Sothern, who, remembering that Bourne had once interpreted hiswishes to an old woman in Meaulte when he wanted a broom, nowthrust him into the forefront of the battle. That is what iscalled, in the British Army, the chain of responsibility, whichmeans that all responsibility for the errors of their superiorofficers is borne eventually by private soldiers in the ranks.
For a moment she turned all her hostility on Bourne, prepared todefend her title at the cost of her life, if need should arise. Hetold her that she would be paid in full for any damage done by thetroops; but she replied, very reasonably for all her heat, that herclover was all the feed she had for her cows through the winter,and that mere payment for the clover would be inadequatecompensation for the loss of her cows. Bourne knew herdifficulties; it was difficult enough, through lack of transport,for these unfortunate peasants to bring up provisions forthemselves. He suggested, desperately, to Mr Sothern and theadjutant, that the men should leave the tapes and return to them onthe other side of the clover. The adjutant was equal to thesituation; and, as the rest of the men doubled round the patch toregain the tapes, and their correct position, on the other side,the general, with all his splendid satellites, moved discreetlyaway to another part of the field. One of the men shouted outsomething about "les Allemands" to the victorious lady, and shethrew discretion to the winds.
"Les Allemands sont très bons!" she shrieked at him.
An aeroplane suddenly appeared in the sky, and, circling overthem, signalled with a klaxon horn. The men moved slowly away fromher beloved fields, and the tired woman went back into the hovel,and slammed the door on a monstrous world.
When Bourne rejoined the runners he saw the colonel, in front ofhim, with shoulders still shaking, and they all proceeded, slowlyand irresistibly, towards the capture of an imaginary Serre. Whenthey had reached their final objective, there was a long pause; andthe men, now thoroughly bored and disillusioned, leaned idly ontheir rifles, waiting. It was a victory for method. Presently therewas another movement. Companies fell in on markers, the men seemedto wake out of a dream, and took a spontaneous interest in theproceedings, and the battalion moved off the field. The colonel hada horse waiting for him on the road, and about dusk they came toBus-les-Artois.
Bourne ran into Sergeant Tozer in Bus, and with Shem and Martlowthey made a reconnaissance of the town, visiting the Y.M.C.A., andthen an estaminet, where they fell in with Sergeant Morgan, thebombing sergeant. They talked for a little while on the events ofthe day, and the splendours of the staff.
"Are them buggers coming over the top wi' us?" asked Martlow,innocently; and when the others laughed at him, he continued,indignantly. "Then what did they come out wi' us today for,swingin' their weight about? That bugger on the black 'orse spoketo the colonel just as tho' 'e took 'im for a lance-jack. Wunnerthe colonel stood it."
He and Shem went off to the cinema; so Bourne and the twosergeants found a little place where they could get rum and coffee;after which they went off to bed.
They were signalling with flags in the morning when their workwas interrupted, and with others in the field they were fallen in,in two ranks. The adjutant came up from the orderly-room, which wasa small hut on the other side of the road. He was followed by twomilitary policemen, between whom was Miller, capless, and no longerwith a stripe on his arm. He was white and haggard, but his mouthwas half-open in an idiotic grin, and the small furtive eyeswandered restlessly along the line of men drawn up in front of him.Bourne felt a strange emotion rising in him which was not pity, buta revulsion from this degradation of a man, who was now only anabject outcast. In a clear, anxious voice, rather like that of aschoolboy reading a lesson, the adjutant read out a statement thatLance-Corporal Miller had been found guilty of deserting hiscommanding officer, and had been sentenced to be shot, the sentencebeing afterwards commuted to one of penal servitude for twentyyears. The parade was dismissed again, and the miserable man wasmarched away to be exhibited to another company. Miller would not,of course, go at once to gaol, the execution of the sentence wouldbe deferred until the war ended. Men could not be allowed to choosegaol as an alternative to military service. That was where theabsurdity arose, as Bourne understood the matter; because one couldforesee that, when peace was restored, a general amnesty would begranted which would cover all cases of this kind; and the tragedy,but for the act of unspeakable humiliation which they had justwitnessed, became a farce.
"We're goin' up to take over trenches tomorrow," said CorporalHamley, "and this is just to encourage any other bugger who thinkso' desertin'."
"It don't make no differ whether th'art shot be thy own folk orbe Germans, if th'art shot," said Weeper, pessimistically.
The corporal was right. The battalion paraded in fighting orderat ten o'clock next morning, and moved up the line to take overtrenches. They marched by the divisional artillery H. Q. atBertrancourt, to Courcelles-aux-Bois, a village the greater part ofwhich was already derelict. From there a road ran up to Colincamps,at the corner of which stood a military policeman as control,beside a red board, the kind of wooden standard used byroad-menders as a danger signal, on which was painted in whiteletters: GAS ALERT ON. The reverse side was painted with the wordsGAS ALERT OFF; but it seemed a matter of indifference to everyonewhich way the board was turned.
After that point a wide interval was left between the variousplatoons. Almost as soon as they left Courcelles, the road,mounting the hill to Colincamps, was under direct observation ofthe enemy for about three hundred yards, so it had been camouflagedwith netting like fishing nets, hung as a curtain between poles onthe left side of the road. At the top of the hill was a bend, and,commanding the road, as well as another lesser road, was a morethan usually substantial barn, a kind of bastion to the outskirtsof Colincamps itself. Bourne thought what an ugly place it would beif it were in the hands of Fritz.
They were moving in dead silence now, not that the Hun couldoverhear them; and the interval between the various platoons musthave been about one hundred yards. It implied a lively sense offavours to come. Passing the barn, there was a sharp bend first tothe right then to the left, and they entered the long straightstreet of Colincamps. Jerry had registered on the church tower,which had a large hole in it, near the top; and the front of ahouse, on which still hung forlornly a sign,Café de laJeunesse, had been stove in by another shell. There was not anundamaged house left, and some of the mud-built barns werecollapsing, as an effect of repeated explosions in theirneighbourhood. The street itself had suffered from heavy shelling,though some of the holes in the roadway had been filled in, whenthey did not allow of sufficient room for traffic to skirt them;the others had been converted into pools of very liquid mud. Thesame fine mud coated the whole surface of the roadway, and the merepressure of one's foot was sufficient to set it oozing from thematrix in which the metalling was, now somewhat loosely,embedded.
The street ended, and the houses with it, on meeting a roadlinking it with Mailly-Maillet on the right, and on the leftcontinuing to the sugar refinery, where it joined the main roadfrom Mailly-Maillet to Serre. They turned left, downhill, the roadcurving into the valley, and there was another military control,with a dugout under the road where he could shelter. From thatpoint the road, so long as it was on the slope of the hill, wouldbe visible from the enemy lines. Visibility was poor today, therewas a fine ground mist which made the distance vague. Even in thedaylight, there was something beautiful and mysterious in thatlandscape. A line of woods, well away from the road, but graduallyconverging on it, though of no great depth, and shattered byshelling, curtained their movements once they were down the hill.Leaving the road, and picking their way between gun-pits anddugouts, they came again to Southern Avenue. The shell-crater wasnow half-full of water, but there was a new one about twenty yardsaway.
Thence, onward, they followed the route they had taken onworking parties, until they came to the big dugout in LegendTrench, which was battalion headquarters. There were two entrances,and about thirty steps to the bottom. Part of it was screened offwith blankets for the officers, and the rest was allotted to themen. There was a small recess near the stairs, in which thesergeant-major or quartermaster-sergeant could sit at a tableimprovised from a box, and where a few stores were kept. Four orfive candles stuck on tins lit it, and the air was foul andsmoky.
Shem, Bourne and Martlow were sitting close to the door, threeminutes after they had taken possession, when the sergeant-major,after the adjutant had spoken to him, turned to them.
"Ere, you three men. You go back to Colincamps, an' in one ofthe first 'ouses you come to, there's a runner's relay post; you'llfind some Gordons there. You'll take over from them, see? Brigademessages will be 'anded to you, an' you'll bring 'em on 'ere; an'our runners will take you messages, which you'll carry on toBrigade at Courcelles. Got it? Well, get a move on."
They got up, and as they were pulling in their belts, Weeper,who had been sitting next to Shem, looked up at Bourne with asnarling grin, and said something about a cushy job, and somepeople being always lucky. Bourne did not trouble to reply,thinking, after what he had seen of the road, that headquartersdugout in the support trenches would have satisfied him. Martlow,however, had to say something.
"You 'ave a good sleep, ol' tear gas, an' then you'll feelbetter."
They climbed out of the dugout, and set off back to Colincamps.They had a bread-and-cheese ration in their haversacks. One of themwould have to draw their full rations later.
"I wonder why Smart has got a set on me," said Bourne,reflectively.
"Cause you never take any notice of 'im when 'e starts grousin'at you," said Martlow.
"I believe you're right," said Shem; "but I'm a bit sorry forWeeper. He's always been an awfully good man up the line, at leastthey all say so in D Company. He hasn't got any friends; and he'sso bloody miserable that he never will have any. You see, Bourne,you make friends with everybody, whether he's a cook, or ashoemaker, or a sergeant-major, or only Martlow and myself. Untilyou came along, well, I mucked in all right with the others, but Ididn't have any particular chum, so I know what itfeels—"
"Christ! Look out!' said Bourne, crouching, but hiswarning was unheard in the shrieking hiss and explosion whichfollowed almost simultaneously. There was a huge eruption of mud,earth and stones a few yards behind the trench. They waited, tenseand white, spattered with mud.
"Let's get out o' this place," said Martlow, in a shakenwhisper, and, as he spoke, another came over. They held theirbreath as it exploded, further away than the first. Bourne waslooking at Martlow, and saw that his underlip had fallen and wastrembling a little. A third shell hissed for an appreciably longertime and exploded nearer to the dump. They waited motionless.
"It's bloody lucky that first shell wasn't closer, or we shouldhave, been buried," said Shem, with a rather lopsided grin, afteran interval.
"Come on, kid," said Bourne to Martlow. "You never hear the onethat gets you."
"I'm not worryin'," said Martlow, quietly.
"It must have been twenty yards off the trench," said Bourne;"but I'm not getting out to see. I think it would be better to useRailway Avenue. Fritz seems to have got Southern pretty well tapedout; and I shouldn't like to be close to a big dixie like that inSackville Street."
"You can't tell," said Shem, indifferently. "You've just got tochance it."
They were moving along at a fair pace, and were soon clear oftrenches. The mud along the level by the dump was greasy, andslowed them down a bit; but on reaching the road it was easiergoing. Bourne asked the control where the relay post was; and theyturned into the second yard on the right. There was not a sign oflife there, and the houses on that side of the street had sufferedmore severely than on the other; little of them was left. Most ofthe buildings abutting on the street were byres and stables, atleast at that end of the town. The houses stood farther back, juston the crest of the slope. Not seeing anyone, they shouted, andfrom a stable came a reply, and a great wooden door opened. Theyfound three Gordons there, very far from gay. They were, however,very decent civil men, and they looked as though they had earned arest. Their faces had forgotten, at least for the time being, howto smile. They looked at the colours sewn on their successors'haversacks and sleeves, which they knew meant business.
"We've come to take over from you," said Bourne.
"Thought you weren't comin'. Saw some o' oor chaps gaeby..."
"Oh, the relief isn't complete yet," said Bourne, cheerfully."They took us up the trenches and then sent us back. If they can doanything backwards in the army, they will, you know. It's thetradition of the service. What's it like here?"
"Oh, it's cushy enough," answered the Gordon, in a resignedvoice.
"I had a bet with myself you would say that," said Bourne.
They looked at him curiously, perplexed by his manner, as theycompleted the business of putting their equipment together,fastening on their water bottles, haversacks, and entrenchingtools. Their packs they carried slung, that is, without fasteningthem to their cross-straps, a practice which is irregular. Onactive service, however, the authorities allowed the men to use alittle intelligence with regard to minor details, except on greatoccasions. At last, taking up their rifles, they moved to thedoor.
"Gude day t' ye, an' gude luck, chums," they said as they wentout.
"Good luck," answered their successors, in more matter-of-facttones. Bourne looked after them a little wistfully. He didn'tgrudge them the relief. He wondered when they would all be turningtheir backs on this desolation.
"I'm goin' to 'ave a peek round the village," said Martlow. "Youwon't want me, there'll be nothin' doin' yet awhile."
"All right," said Bourne; "don't go far away, and don't belong."
He returned in about twenty minutes with all kinds of luxuries:tea mixed with sugar, four tins of bully-beef, a tin of Maconachie,and tins of pork and beans, the kind in which there was never anypork.
"I scrounged them from some R. E.'s," he said with a soberpride. "They're movin' out, an' 'ave a lot o' stuff they don't wantto carry. I could 'ave got more if I'd wanted. They're that glad tobe goin' they'd give you all they've got. So it don't matter if wedon't get no rations till night."
"Good lad," said Bourne. "You are a champion scrounger,Martlow."
He was thinking that the anxiety of the R. E.'s to get away didnot indicate that it was a particularly cushy place. Shem had alsobeen reconnoitring the position, and announced that there was adecent cellar, with most of a house in ruins on top of it, onlyabout twenty yards away. Martlow then decorated the door with apaper on which he had printed with an indelible pencil RELAY POSTin block letters.
"Well, we may as well have some tea an' bully," said Shem.
It was after one o'clock, so they set to and had a goodcomforting meal and lounged about smoking until a little after two,when a message came from the trenches. One of the regular runnersbrought it, with Pacey. It was a regulation that two runners shouldtake a message together, in case one might be wounded, but this wasoften disregarded owing to a shortage of runners: it was tacitlyassumed that one of them would go at a time, so that in case ofsimultaneous messages both ways the post would not be without a manon duty. Shem and Martlow took the message to Brigade H. Q., justthe other side of Courcelles, and Pacey and Hankin, the regularrunner, sat and yarned with Bourne for a few minutes.
"You look all right 'ere, but Fritz 'as been bashin' the placeabout, 'asn't 'e?" said Pacey.
Part of the mud wall had come away, leaving only laths. After acigarette, Pacey and Hankin set off back to the trenches. Bournesat in a kind of reverie for about half an hour until Shem andMartlow returned, and idle talk continued for a time.
The whole air suddenly became alive, and crash after crashfilled the town. They were stunned, and petrified, for a moment.More of the mud wall fell away, and there was a landslide of tiles.They cowered down, as though they wanted to shrink away to nothing.It was heavy stuff coming over. One shell struck theCaféde la Jeunesse, and another corner of it went flying in alldirections; loose tiles kept falling, and the walls rapidly becamethreadbare lath, merely from the effects of the concussion. Bournefelt himself shaking, but they couldn't stay there.
"Get into that cellar!" he shouted to them; and grabbing theirrifles and water bottles, which they had taken out, they moved outuncertainly. Bourne felt his breath coming heavily. Shells werebumping practically the whole length of the village. He didn't knowwhat to do about the relay post; and though he felt an awful fool,he decided. "I'll be after you," he shouted, and running as a manruns into a rainstorm, he disappeared into the street. He turnedthe corner and continued downhill to the control's dugout. On thehillside just beyond the control's dugout a man lay dead. His tinhat was blown some yards away, and the top of the head had beentaken off, so that at a glance one saw some remnants of thescattered brains. Apparently the whole of Colincamps was goingwest, clouds of smoke and dust rose from it. Bourne fell down thesteps of the dugout. He couldn't say why he was there at first.
"There's a man dead outside, sergeant," he said, dully.
"What the bloody hell are you doin' out in it? Are you sure 'e'sdead?'
"Yes, sergeant; most of the head's gone. I'm at the relay post,runners. I thought I had better tell you that we had left thestable, and gone into the cellar of the house."
"I'm goin' out to see to that man."
They doubled out to him, and finding that he was really dead,shifted him off the road; and went into the dugout again.
"I'm going back now, sergeant."
"You 'ad better wait a bit," said the sergeant in a kindliervoice. "You know it's against regulations for you chaps to goalone. There ought to be a pair of you."
"I had better go back. I didn't know whether we ought to move,as I have not been on the job before. I'll go back to see how mychums are."
"All right," said the sergeant, in a curiously irritable way."Write up on the door where you are."
The shelling was still violent, but seemed to be worse at thecorner in the direction of Courcelles, and to have extended on thisside farther along the Mailly-Maillet road. As Bourne came out, hecould see shells exploding by the dump, with some shrapnelbursting, woolly-bears they called them, overhead. He couldn't saywhether it was with a prayer or a curse that he made for the cornerof Colincamps, doubling up the short rise with difficulty.Collapsing houses had spilt their bricks half across the street.One wall, about sixty yards away from him, suddenly crumpled andfell. He wouldn't look at things. He found himself saying over andover again in soldiers' language: "I've been out of the bloody shittoo long": not uttering the words but thinking them with a curiousintensity. His vision seemed narrowed to a point immediately infront of him. When he got to the stable they had left, he wentstraight to Martlow's notice, and drawing a rough arrow underneaththe words "RELAY POST", wrote in rough blocks the words "INCELLAR". Then he went to it, noticing as he descended that theentrance was turned the wrong way. Shem and Martlow looked at him,but he could scarcely see their faces in the gloom.
"What's it like now?" asked Martlow, with a very slight catch inhis voice.
"Oh, it's cushy enough," said Bourne, with desperate humour.
Suddenly he felt inexpressibly tired. He bowed his head and satgazing into nothing, emptied of all effort. The shells bumped forsome time longer, slackened, and then ceased. Bourne had thesensation that the earth was left steaming.
A drizzle of rain began, and increasing by degrees filled thequiet with little trickling sounds. The cellar was comfortablyfurnished, as it had apparently been used as a funk-hole before,and by people of more importance than its present occupants. Itssole defect was that the entrance directly faced the Hun lines, andperhaps this inconvenience had prompted them to leave; but duringtheir tenancy they had put in three beds, wooden frames standingabout two feet off the floor, over which rabbit-netting had beenstretched and nailed, as a substitute for spring mattresses. Somerather thin Wilson canvas curtained the entrance. Bourne rememberedthat there was some thicker sacking, in the stable which they hadleft, and he proposed to get it, and nail it over the outside ofthe doorway.
They went back, together, to their old quarters. Little of thestable was left except its frame, some laths, and a few tiles,still hanging precariously on the slats overhead, through which,now, the rain fell steadily. They wrenched some nails from thetimbers, and Shem and Martlow fastened the extra sacking on thedoorway of the cellar. Bourne wandered off by himself for a moment.He found that the premises included their own private latrine. Hehad been silent and preoccupied since coming back from the control,and had said nothing about the man killed on the hillside. Hedidn't want to talk.
"Bourne's getting windy," said Shem to Martlow.
"'E weren't windy goin' out in that lot," said Martlow,repelling the suggestion.
"Yes, he was," said Shem, chuckling; "that's just why hewent."
"If it comes to that, we're all windy," grunted Martlow,loyally.
There was some truth in Shem's observation, all the same. Bournecame back in a few minutes, and, having inspected the curtain, helit a small piece of candle. Martlow was going out, and was told toreport if any light were visible from outside.
"There will be a message to take up the line, soon," said Bourneto Shem. "I might as well go by myself, I think. I want to try andscrounge a couple of candles from the quarter-bloke."
"Then I'll take the midnight message to Brigade," said Shem.
Martlow returned. The light did not show from outside, but itdid, of course, when the curtains were twitched aside. They weretoo close together for them to hope that a man entering would liftfirst one and then the other. Bourne said they would have to coveror blow out the light on entering or leaving. Then, as the candlewas all they had, they blew it out and talked in the dark; Fritzsent three shells over, a regular interval between them. Our ownguns had been completely silent during the strafe. Now, however,after an appreciable pause, a trench-mortar battery sent three backto the Hun; and then, after an interval to give emphasis and pointto their reply, added another for luck. Bourne looked at hiswristwatch, and saw that it was a couple of minutes after six.
"That sounded like a regular stunt," he said.
A few minutes later they heard a couple of men shoutingabove-ground, and Martlow, going halfway up the steps, called tothem. Two runners from Brigade came in, and when the sackingcurtain had been put in place, Bourne lit the candle.
"Thought you'd all gone west," said one runner, "when I saw thebloody barn."
"I left a notice on the door," said Bourne, thoughtlessly.
"Well, I can't read it in the bloody dark, can I?" objected therunner. "Ere's the usual. We'll 'ave a fag, before we go back,chum. You chaps know 'ow to make yourselves comfortable."
"It's the first duty of a good soldier," said Bourne.
They talked about the strafe; now that it was over, none of themexaggerated its importance.
"Only a few shells came into Courcelles," said the runner; "butwe knew Colincamps and the dump were getting it."
"I'm going now," said Bourne. "Don't show any light."
"You're getting wind-up," said Shem, laughing.
"Wind-up! 'E's talkin' bloody sense," said the runner. "Youdon't want to take any bloody chances up 'ere, I can tell you. Itlooks to me as though Jerry 'ad rumbled somethin' already."
That was Bourne's notion, but he did not pursue the subject.
"D'you go alone?" they asked him.
"Yes, we nearly always go alone," answered Bourne."Goodnight."
Martlow covered the light with a can, as Bourne moved out intothe dark. It was very dark, and the rain was fine, searching andcold. He would keep to the road as far as the dump, it was no usetrying a short cut, and the wet surface of the road was at leastvisible, lots of little pools gleaming in it. The control was notthere. Some instinctive scruple moved Bourne to avoid the side ofthe road where he had found the dead man, and, looking to wherethey had carried the body, he saw that it had been removed.
The dump was empty. In another couple of hours it would be alivewith men and transport. He had a kind of talent for moving aboutsure-footedly in the dark. He did not mind the rain and he lovedthe quiet. There were fewer star-shells tonight, and the rain madetheir expanding and contracting haloes even more mysterious thanusual.
He handed in the message, and then spoke to Corporal Hamley, whowas with Sergeant-Major Corbet, about the strafe.
"Well, Captain Malet is out of it, now," said thesergeant-major.
"What happened to Captain Malet, sergeant-major?" he asked,anxiously.
"Dugout blown in; a beam fell on him, an' broke both his legs.They were some time before they got him clear, they had to digunder the beam. They wanted to take a couple of rifles as splintsfor his legs, until they got him to the dressing-station; but hewouldn't have it. 'You may want 'em more than I do,' he said. 'Youget me a couple of miles away from here and I'm laughing.' Whenthey were getting him out he smoked a cigarette and didn't say aword, though they must have hurt him."
"Anyone else hurt?" asked Bourne.
"A boy called Bates was killed, and two others wounded or hurt.I haven't heard all the details. B Company had a few casualties. Wehad a sentry over the dugout wounded. Matheson. D'you know him? Youcame from A Company, didn't you? Thought so. Someone told meCaptain Malet was going to get the colonel to recommend you for acommission, wasn't he? What are you going to do about it, now?"
While the sergeant-major was speaking of Bates having beenkilled, Bourne tried to remember who Bates was; and, at the effortof memory to recover him, he seemed to hear a high, excited voicesuddenly cry out, as though actually audible to the whole dugout:"What's 'e want to drag me into 't for?"
And it was as though Bates were bodily present there; thesergeant-major's voice seemed less real. In the light of theunsteady candles, each haloed in the fog of smoke, Bourne saw allthe quiet men, some half-asleep, some staring in front of them,thinking and waiting. He felt as though he were under someextraordinary hallucination, but he answered the sergeant-majorreasonably enough, said he would have a talk to him when they wentout of trenches again, suggested speaking to Mr Rhys; and all thetime he heard his own voice saying things, which somehow did notseem to concern him, meaningless things which had to be taken veryseriously. He knew no more of Bill Bates than that one phrase,passionately innocent: "What's 'e want to drag me into 't for?"
"Could I get our rations now, sergeant-major?" he said, evenly."I have brought a mess-tin, for our rum ration; and I was going toask if we could have some candles. We left the barn we were in, andmoved into a cellar; and we need a bit of light."
"Who told you to leave the barn an' go into a cellar?"
"Oh, Fritz did. And the barn came unstuck. After the tiles hadfallen off, and the walls began to tumble down, I thought we oughtto go to ground. I told the sergeant on control duty where we wouldbe, and I left a notice on the door. We're in the same yard, but inthe cellar of the house. As all that is left of the house is acouple of thousand bricks, piled up in a heap on top of the cellar,we ought to be fairly safe there; only the entrance faces the line,and we have to be careful to screen the light."
"I can only let you have a couple of candles," said thequartermaster-sergeant.
"Oh, make it three, sir," said Bourne, in a tone of coaxingprotest, and a little grudgingly the quarter-bloke dealt him outanother, while Bourne talked to keep from thinking. "Just before Igot to the control's dugout, there was a man killed on the road. Welifted him to one side. He was a gunner, I think...I can take therum ration in my mess-tin, sir...It made us all a bit windy, Ithink. There's not quite so much of Colincamps left as when youlast saw it, sergeant-major."
"It's my belief Fritz has rumbled us," said the sergeant-majorin a whisper.
"What can you expect?" said Bourne, pointing to the brightyellow material sewn on his haversack. "We are decked out in allthe colours of the rainbow, and then marched over the wholecountryside in order to advertise the show. Anyone can see we arein war paint. We are put into khaki, so as to be more or lessinvisible; and then rigged up in colours, so that we can be seen.It's genius."
"That's so as the artillery can spot us," said thesergeant-major soberly.
"Whose, sergeant-major?"
"You're a sarky devil, you are."
"There's your bag o' rations, and don't lose the bag, see?" saidthe quarter-bloke.
"All right, sir, thank you. I suppose I ought to be moving back.I am sorry about Captain Malet, but I suppose he's lucky. Do youthink there's anything to go back, sir? I might save another man awalk."
"Go and wait inside for a few minutes," said the sergeant-major;they were all in the recess at the foot of the steps. "I shall beseeing the adjutant presently. It's all bloody rot having thatrelay post at Colincamps, in my opinion. The Brigade runners mighteasily come up here, and our runners go down to Courcelles. Wait afew minutes, and I'll see."
Bourne went in and sat by Weeper, who neither moved nor spoke tohim; and after a few minutes the sergeant-major came in.
"You may go back, Bourne; there probably won't be anything butthe report at midnight. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, sergeant-major," he said, and, taking up his rifle,climbed up the stairs into the rain and darkness again.
When he got back to the cellar, he found that Martlow hadbrought in a stray terrier. The dog was obviously suffering fromshellshock, he was trembling in a piteous way, and Martlow saidthat when he had caught him, he had tried to bite. The onlydomestic animal which Bourne had met among these deserted ruins hadbeen a gaunt and savage cat, which, on seeing him, had cursed thewhole human race, and fled precipitately. They had supper, and somehot tea with their rum, persuaded the dog to eat a little bully,and then lay smoking on their beds. They heard trains of limberspassing through the village. Bourne and Martlow curled up to sleep,and Shem waited for the night report to take it back toCourcelles.
In the morning at seven o'clock Fritz sent over his threeshells, and the trench mortar battery barked out the same reply ason the previous night. Fritz's shells had fallen very close.Martlow went out first, and then put his head through the doorwayto announce that the latrine had been blown up; where it had stoodthere was nothing but a large hole.
"Well, what do you want," said Shem; "a bloody bathroom?"
The dog had another fit of shivering when the shells came overbut it recovered later, and Martlow took it outside for a shortwalk. Exploring the ruins a native instinct got the better of thedog's recently acquired caution, and it disappeared out of historyin he pursuit of a cat.
"'E were a good dog, that," said Martlow, regretfully.
Between the acting of a fearful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma or a hideous dream.
—SHAKESPEARE
After three days in the trenches, the battalion was relieved,and moved to Courcelles, where they were to remain for one night ontheir way to rest-billets at Bus. The village had been heavilyshelled from time to time, but had not been damaged to quite thesame extent as Colincamps, which offered, on the crest of the hill,a more conspicuous target. Courcelles was uncovered at one end, butscreened partially by rising ground on two sides. As CorporalWilliams had said of Mailly-Maillet, it was simply lousy with guns.There was visible evidence on every side that the local farmers hadreaped a bountiful harvest. Bourne, carrying messages betweenColincamps and Courcelles, had noticed three haystacks in apicturesque group standing a little way back from the road. Then,one night, he saw a very faint gleam of light coming from insideone of them. It was a lucid explanation of the apparent fertilityof the countryside. Monster guns, too, were secreted somehow in thecourtyards of houses in the village itself. The Hun had hissuspicions, and would explore the possibilities of the situation,rather too frequently, with high explosive.
Their own battalion did not line up or parade for meals. Whenbreakfast or dinner was ready, a couple of orderly-men would carrya dixie or a tea-bucket from the cooker to some convenient place,and the men, coming promptly, but rather casually, for their share,took it away to eat in tents or billets. They came together anddispersed again in a moment. There was practically no crowding.
Battalion headquarters in Courcelles was in a small chateau,which stood, with its farm buildings, on a little hill practicallyencircled by a road. On their first morning there, Bourne and Shem,coming from the barn in which they had slept, to get theirbreakfast from the dixie a few yards away, could see some littledistance beyond the road the men of a Scots battalion, which wasbrigaded with them, lined up with their mess-tins waiting forbreakfast. As Bourne and Shem were returning to their barn, leavingbehind Martlow, who had followed them out, they heard a shellcoming, and, as they dived for cover, a terrific explosion. Therewas an instant's stillness; and then from across the road shoutsand cries. Again a shell whined overhead, and exploded; and then athird. That was apparently the ration. The next moment Martlow,with a white face, appeared in the doorway.
"Them poor, bloody Jocks," he said in a slow, pitifulwhisper.
What the casualties were they did not know, though variousrumours gave precise, and different, details; one shell did all thedamage, the others exploding in an empty field. The sympathy theyfelt with the Scotsmen was very real; the same thing might soeasily have happened to themselves; and as they talked about it,the feeling turned gradually into resentment against an authoritywhich regulated, so strictly, every detail of their daily lives.The shell falling where it did, at that particular time, wouldprobably have caused a certain number of casualties, even if themen had been moving about freely; but this kind of discipline,excusable enough when men have to be kept under control, as with acarrying party lined up at a dump, was unnecessary on thisoccasion. After all, the place was liable to be shelled at anymoment; and, for that reason alone, it was wiser to avoidassembling a large number of men at any one point. They rememberedtheir own experience at Philosophe.
"Bloody swank. They don't care a fuck what 'appens to us'ns."They were angry and restive, as men are who expect that they may beordered to make an attack at any time. That kind of feeling is notwithout value as a military asset, provided that behind thediscipline, against which it is a natural reaction, there issufficient intelligence and foresight to avoid mistakes. It does aman no harm to know that he may be sacrificed with some definiteobject in view, it was the kind of hazard which many Lewis-gunnersfaced continually, with great courage; but no man likes to thinkhis life may be thrown away wantonly, through stupidity or mereincompetence. Officers and men alike grew careless as they becameaccustomed to danger, and then an incident of this kind, an eventalmost inevitable, filled them, with surprise.
Whether it were justified or not, however, the sense of being atthe disposal of some inscrutable power, using them for its ownends, and utterly indifferent to them as individuals, was perhapsthe most tragic element in the men's present situation. It was notmuch use telling them that war was only the ultimate problem of allhuman life stated barely, and pressing for an immediate solution.When each individual conscience cried out for its freedom, thatimplacable thing said: "Peace, peace; your freedom is only in me!"Men recognised the truth intuitively, even with their reasonchecking at a fault. There was no man of them unaware of themystery which encompassed him, for he was a part of it; he couldneither separate himself entirely from it, nor identify himselfwith it completely. A man might rave against war; but war, fromamong its myriad faces, could always turn towards him one which washis own. All this resentment against officers, against authority,meant very little, even to the men themselves. It fell away fromthem in words.
Later in the morning, Sergeant-Major Corbet, speaking to CaptainThompson outside battalion headquarters, saw Bourne crossing theyard. He called him up, and turning to the officer, said bluntly:"Captain Malet was going to send in this man's name for acommission, while he was with A Company, sir."
He looked at Bourne with a stern and critical eye while hespoke. Captain Thompson recognised Bourne as one of the threeculprits who had been before him at Reclinghem, but gave no sign ofremembering the incident. He asked him a few questions, spokesympathetically about Captain Malet, and said he would look intothe matter.
"If Captain Malet thought of recommending you, I have no doubtyou will make a very good officer," he said.
That closed a brief and business-like interview. After it wasover, Bourne confided in Shem, and saw at once that Martlow hadkept his own counsel as to the chance words of Sergeant-MajorRobinson at Vincly. Shem, however, was not surprised.
"I thought you would go sooner or later," he said in amatter-of-fact way.
They moved back to Bus in the afternoon, marching through fine,steady rain. Days passed, and the weather showed no signs ofmending; and as they settled down to the routine of a battalionholding the line, the attack, without fading from their minds, nolonger seemed an imminent trial, becoming only a vague probabilityof the future. It had certainly been delayed. The colours withwhich they had been so gaily bedecked became a little dingy.
Their life was now one unresting struggle against theencroaching mud, which threatened to engulf roads and trenches inliquid ruin. Daily, when out of the line, they were sent off withshovels and brooms to sweep it off the roadway, and shovel it up asa kind of embankment against the barns and stables bordering theroad. What was too liquid to heap up, they trapped in sumps. A manpushing a broom through it would find two converging streamsclosing behind him. A train of limbers or lorries passing seemed tosqueeze it up out of the road-metalling. Earth exuded mud. Most ofit had the consistency of thin cream, and threatened, if it wereneglected for a moment, to become tidal. They had to scrape it fromtheir puttees and trousers with their jack-knives, and what wasleft hardened the serge to cardboard. When they became dry theywere beaten against the corner of a hut, and the dust flew fromthem; but that was seldom. In the line there were trenches whichcould only be kept clear by pumping. Sometimes frost would congealthe mud, and then a quick thaw would cause part of a trench toslide in, and it had to be built up again: sand-bagged andrevetted. They became almost indistinguishable from the mud inwhich they lived.
The weather grew colder too, and they wore their cardigans; thenleather jerkins, lined with fleeces or thick serge, were issued tothem, and in the resulting warmth the lice increased and multipliedbeyond imagining. It was some weeks before they could get a bath;and then necessarily it was a makeshift. Half a company stood undertrickling showers, while the other half-company pumped up wateroutside, and when the men were covered with a lather of soap thewater invariably failed.
The strange thing was that the greater the hardships they had toendure, for wet and cold bring all kinds of attendant miseries intheir train, the less they grumbled. They became a lot quieter andmore reserved in themselves, and yet the estaminets would be sweptby roaring storms of song. It may have been a merely subjectiveimpression, but it seemed that once they were in the front line,men lost a great deal of their individuality; their characters,even their faces, seemed to become more uniform; they workedbetter, the work seeming to take some of the strain off theirminds, the strain of waiting. It was perhaps that they withdrewmore into themselves, and became a little more diffident in thematter of showing their feelings.
Actually, though the pressure of external circumstances seemedto wipe out individuality, leaving little if any distinctionbetween man and man, in himself each man became conscious of hisown personality as of something very hard, and sharply definedagainst a background of other men, who remained merely generalisedas "the others". The mystery of his own being increased for himenormously; and he had to explore that doubtful darkness alone,finding a foothold here, a handhold there, grasping one supportafter another and relinquishing it when it yielded, crumbling; thesudden menace of ruin, as it slid into the unsubstantial past,calling forth another effort, to gain another precarious respite.If a man could not be certain of himself, he could be certain ofnothing.
The problem which confronted them all equally, though some wereunable or unwilling to define it, did not concern death so much asthe affirmation of their own will in the face of death; and oncethe nature of the problem was clearly stated, they realised thatits solution was continuous, and could never be final. Death set alimit to the continuance of one factor in the problem, and peace tothat of another; but neither of them really affected the nature ofthe problem itself.
As neither Bourne, Shem nor Martlow were sufficiently trained totake over the duties of signallers, when they were in the line theywere employed not only as runners, but sometimes on ordinary dutiesas well. Once, when he was on duty with his old company, Bournewent out on patrol with Mr Finch. Under cover, not of darkness, butof a thick fog, they crossed to the enemy wire, and had examined itfor a considerable distance when they heard the movements ofanother party, and Mr Finch signalled desperately to them to keepstill.
"Ach, so!" came in a low voice through the fog; and, movingdiagonally away from them, roughly in the direction of their owntrenches, they saw the vague silhouettes of a German patrol.Crouching, but ready with shot or steel, they watched the vagueshadows moving away in the mist. The enemy were apparently at adisadvantage in the matter of light. They were on slightly higherground, inclined away from them; and not giving a thought to thepossibility of a party of Englishmen being actually between themand their own trenches, they were searching ahead of them in whatseemed the only direction from which danger might be expected.Bourne thought that the mere breathing of his companions would besufficient to give them away, and, while he restrained his own, hefelt an insane desire to laugh.
The enemy patrol faded again into the fog, from which they hadnever completely emerged; and when, after listening intently, oneceased to hear them, Mr Finch, turning to them with a grin over hisshoulder, beckoned for them to follow him. They continued for alittle way along the wire, and then doubled back to their owntrenches, passing over the vestiges of a ruined hovel. Apparentlyit had been one of those mud-walled affairs, with nothing verysolid about it but a brick-built chimney; and already it waspractically merged in earth again; though the smoke-blackenedbricks, most of them not only broken but pulverised, still resistedutter dissolution, and rose in a crescent-shaped heap a few feetfrom the surface of the ground. At a very little distance it mightbe taken for a slight hump in the earth.
They were well pleased with themselves on their return, andstill more pleased to hear, later, that a Hun patrol reconnoitringtheir wire in the mist had been fired on, and had withdrawn, withwhat casualties it was impossible to say. The one thing theyprofessed to regret was that Mr Finch had restrained them fromattacking the enemy patrol; but for him, they would have got thelot, they asserted; and if their dissatisfaction on that point everreached the ears of Mr Finch, he probably smiled and said nothing,because he was quite pleased, too, and wise beyond his years.
The rain continued, broken only by intervals of mist or fog, andspells of cold, which became more intense as the weeks drew on intoNovember. The relay post at Colincamps was abandoned; and they tooktheir messages direct from the trenches to Courcelles. During onetour in the trenches Bourne was attached to Brigade, and tookpossession of a tent just outside Brigade headquarters. Itcontained one bed, of the wooden frame and rabbit-wire type, andBourne placed his things on the bed, establishing a claim to it.Presently a large Jock, who described himself later as a native ofPe'er'ead, as though it were a place of which everybody must haveheard, came into the tent, and looked at Bourne's things on the bedwith displeasure.
"A 'ad yon kip las' time a were 'ere," he said indignantly.
"Did you?" Bourne inquired with mild interest. "Well, you don'texpect your luck to last forever, do you?"
A marked difference in their mode of speech seemed likely toincrease the misunderstanding, and Bourne, rather ostentatiouslydrawing up his legs, and half reclining on the disputed piece offurniture, lit a cigarette, and waited for the situation todevelop. The big Scotsman sat on the ground, and investigating thecontents of his haversack, produced a lump of something wrapped innewspaper. It proved to be an extremely solid piece of plum cake:cutting it in two, he returned half to the newspaper, which he putback into the haversack, and, dividing the other portion in two, heheld one piece out to Bourne.
"Thanks," said Bourne, taking it.
One insuperable bar to conversation with a Scotsman is that itis impossible to persuade him that an Englishman speaks English;but Bourne gave him a cigarette, and they smoked in what was atleast an amiable silence. Then another Scotsman arrived, andBourne's responsibility ended.
He met the man from Pe'er'ead in the line that night. They wereboth taking back a midnight report to Brigade, and, on leaving thetrenches, made a short cut skirting the eastern side of Colincamps.They passed behind several batteries, each with its tiny glow-wormlamp suspended from an upright rod. Passing over the crest of thehill they continued a little way down the reverse slope, and thendecided to rest and smoke a cigarette. There was a tree there,undamaged, and they sat with their backs against it. Then, whenthey had finished their cigarette, the big Scotsman rose.
"Let us no bide lang i' this place, laddie. They're aye shellin'this tree at ane o'clock."
Bourne laughed softly, glancing at his wristwatch, which said itwas within a minute or so to one o'clock; and they set off tostrike the road. They were within a few yards of it when a bigshell landed at the foot of the tree, and left nothing of it butsome slivers. They looked at each other in blank wonderment andhurried down the road.
"Mon," said the Scotsman, after a long silence; "it wereproveedential."
Bourne was always amazed by the superstition and thesentimentality of the ordinary man; he thought both forms ofself-flattery.
"You evidently suffer from second-sight," he said, "and youdon't know it."
He became very bored by the monotony of those frequent journeysto and from the trenches. The attack remained a probability of thefuture, they never seemed to get any closer to it. Rumours floatedamong the men: it had been fixed for the day after tomorrow; it hadbeen postponed again; it had been abandoned. They ceased to befresh troops, becoming indeed, under the influence of bad weather,constant fatigues, and the strain of uncertainty, rather jaded.Nothing had been gained by delay. One rumour said that Hunprisoners captured in a raid had admitted that the Germans knew allabout the proposed attack, having extracted the information fromtwo British prisoners they had taken some weeks earlier.
One day at Courcelles, having come out of trenches on theprevious night, the men were paraded, and asked to volunteer for araid, with the object of securing some prisoners for identificationpurposes. Men volunteered readily enough, but, at the same time,even some of the volunteers grumbled that they should be asked tomake a raid the day after they had been relieved. Work was thrownat them that way, with an implied doubt as to their fightingqualities, and they accepted the challenge resentfully. A party often men with Sergeant Morgan, under Mr Barnes, reached the enemytrenches, bombed a dugout, but had to kill the men theyencountered, as they resisted capture. They brought back somepapers and other evidences of possible value. Perhaps, as theybrought back no prisoner, it may have been an additional cause forblame that they had suffered no casualties.
The men were able to form opinions as to their prospects fromtheir own experience. They knew that the Hun was prepared, and thatthey would meet the same Prussians or Bavarians whose fightingqualities they had tested before on the Somme in July and August;and, if they did not know the strength of the position held by theHun, they knew at least the difficulties of the ground over whichthey would have to attack, and the enormous handicap of the mud.They were neither depressed nor confident; it would probably bemore accurate to say they were determined and resigned. The worstfeature of the business was the delay; it fretted them intoimpatience. A rumour would make them suddenly tense, and then, thestrain relaxing again, they would fall back into the attitude ofpassive endurance. One cannot keep the bow bent indefinitely. Theweather, which was the cause of it all, grew steadily worse.
Then they got their orders; and they knew it, even before theywere officially told. Truth travels as mere rumour does, but hasits own distinguishing quality of unexpectedness. It no longermattered now whether the delay or the subsequent decision wereright or wrong; a decision had been reached and was irrevocable.They were relieved, and went back to billets at Bus. There theorders were to be prepared to move off the next morning. Menshouted across the huts to each other that the attack had beenwashed-out, and were asked derisively what kind of bloody 'opesthey'd got. We're on the move, anyway, they cried in chorus. Yes,where? Blighty, some humorist shouted.
"Yes, you'll go to Blighty in a fuckin' ambulance, if you've anyluck," said Weeper, in a more sardonic vein.
The first excitement subsided into a quieter but continuousmurmur and movement, like the singing of tense strings. Swagger wasthere, but restrained; men tightened their belts, stuck out theirchins, and threw a taunting challenge at fate. Their speech, thoughmainly in undertones, was quick and excited, even their movementsseemed to have more speed, and their faces to grow sharper, asthough whetted by that angry impatience which is a kind of anxiety.How much confidence they felt was the secret of their own hearts;they had enough courage to share with one another. The passion oftheir minds threw an unreal glamour over everything, making day,and earth, and the sordid villages in which they herded, seem briefand unsubstantial as though men held within themselves the mysterywhich makes everything mysterious.
On the march to Louvencourt they passed an Australian driving ahorse-drawn lorry, with a heavy load whereon he sprawled, smoking acigarette with an indolence which Bourne envied. The colonelwheeled his grey, and pursued him with a fire of invectivepractically the whole length of the column, to the man's obviousamazement, as he had never before been told off at such length, andwith such fluent vigour, in language to which no lady would takeexception. He sat up, and got rid of his cigarette, looking bothinnocent and perplexed. The men were delighted. It was quite timesomebody was made to pay a little attention to their bloodymob.
In Louvencourt the signallers were billeted in a barn of a largefarm, on the left-hand side at the corner where the road from Busturned into the main street. The town itself had an inviting andcivilised air compared to Bus, and seemed to promise someopportunities for pleasure.
"Let's have a spree tonight," said Bourne, "even if we neverhave another."
"No use talkin' like that," said Martlow; "we'll 'ave many abloody good spree together yet, me lucky lads."
"Well, we'll have one tonight, anyway," said Shem.
As soon as they were free, they sauntered out to see what thepossibilities were. They soon found that the amenities ofLouvencourt had attracted quite a number of unnecessary brass hats,as well as military police with an exaggerated notion of the valueof discipline. They saw only one estaminet, which was closed forthe greater part of the day, and only supplied the sour, flat beerof the country when it was open. French beer is enough to make anyreasonable man pro-German. Somewhat out of humour, Bourne continuedalong the street until he came to the expeditionary force canteen.The chaplain had cashed him a cheque for five pounds the nightbefore, and the shop window was as rich in delicacies as any inLondon. Hams, cheeses, bottled fruits, olives, sardines, everythingto make the place a paradisal vision for hungry men. Shem andMartlow continued down the street, and Bourne went inside and stoodat the counter. He expected there might be some possible difficultyabout wine, but he intended only to buy food, leaving the wineproblem to be settled later. He wanted sweet things, macaroons,cake and crystallised fruit, all of which he had seen displayed;and when a shopman dignified by uniform came up to him, he began byasking for these things. The man merely asked him for a chit; andwhen Bourne replied that he had not got a chit, that he would paycash, the other man turned away superciliously, saying that theyonly served officers. Bourne stood there immobile for a moment.Another attendant spoke to him in a friendly way, and told him hecould get cocoa and biscuits at a shed in the yard.
"Money has been collected from the public to provideexpeditionary force canteens for the men, and you say you onlyserve officers!" he said in a white heat.
"Well, it's not my fault," answered the other, in a deprecatingtone. "Those are our orders. You can get cocoa and biscuits roundat the back; and you'll only get into trouble if you stay inhere."
Cocoa and biscuits. Bourne strode out of the shop in such ablind rage that he bumped into one of the lords of creation in thedoorway, and didn't stop to apologise. He described him afterwards,while his temper was still hot, as "some bloody officer got up tolook like Vesta Tilley"; and it was a fair comparison, except in sofar as the lady was concerned. The miracle of neatness turned aglance of offended dignity over his shoulder, hesitated, and thencontinued on his way, with an air of Christian forbearance undervery trying provocation. Bourne strode off in the direction Shemand Martlow had taken, and almost collided with young Evans.
"What the 'ell's the matter wi' you?" inquired that cheerfulindividual, looking with an astonished grin at Bourne's congestedface. Bourne grabbed his left arm.
"Look here, Evans; can you go into that bloody canteen and buyme anything I want, if I give you the cash?"
Evans caressed reflectively an unshaven chin.
"Well, I don't know as I could get you a bottle o' whisky," hesaid slowly; "tho' I 'ave faked a chit afore now to get some. Icould get you most anythin' else."
"Oh, I can get whisky more easily another way, if I want it,"said Bourne, truthfully; "but I want you—come in here, andhave a glass of bad beer, while we talk—I want you to get mea couple of bottles of the best champagne they have got; they'lllet you have that more easily than anything else, because they'llfeel quite certain it's for some bloody officer or other..."
"What are you cribbin' the officers for?" exclaimed Evans withamusement. "Aren't you goin' in for a commission yourself?"
"If I were a colonel," said Bourne; "mind you, only a colonel;and a man like that bloody lance-jack, who has never even smelt adead horse in South Africa, turned one of my men out of a canteenstarted for the benefit of the troops by public subscription, Iwould get the battalion together, and I would sack the whole bloodyinstitution from basement to garret, even if I were to be broke forit."
"I'll get you all you want, without sackin' the bloody place,"said Evans reasonably, though he could not stop laughing. "Look'ere, I've only come down to get some cleanin' kit. I'll be downagain later, an' I'll work what you want all right. Don't youworry."
Bourne gave him a list of things apart from the wine, and thenhanded him over some notes.
"I don't want you to chance your arm for nothing," he said; "youkeep twenty-five francs for yourself, and if you can come along toour billet at about half-past eight tonight, you can have anythingwe've got. I don't see why we shouldn't have a good time, even ifwe're not a lot of bum-boys attached to the staff of some bloodygeneral or other. There will only be Shem, Martlow, myself, andperhaps Corporal Hamley. He's not a bad chap, though he had a bitof a down on us at first. Are you going over the top?"
"Too bloody true I am. I'd as lief go as stay be'ind in fuckin'detail camp."
They finished the beer and went into the street, Bourne pointingout where his billet was.
"I'll bring them things along between 'alf-past one an' twoo'clock," said Evans; "but I shan't be able to get down tonight.Look 'ere, there'll be a lot o' stuff to carry, wi' two bottles o'wine an' all. Couldn't you be outside the canteen at 'alf-pastone?..."
"Shem and Martlow may go," said Bourne, with a return to heat."I am not going near the bloody place again. If I see thatlance-jack outside, I'll make his face so that he won't be able tosmile for a week. I don't want to get into the mush for bashing himonly once, but if I could have an uninterrupted threeminutes..."
Evans turned away, laughing; he could not wait longer, as he wasalready a bit behind time. He met Shem and Martlow outside theexpeditionary force canteen, and they asked him if he had seenBourne.
"Seen 'im, yes, I've seen 'im. They 'oofed 'im out o' thecanteen, an' 'e's gone completely off the 'andle about it. What Ilike about ol' Bourne is, that when 'e does get up the pole, 'egoes abso-bloodylutely fanti. 'E 'as been lookin' for you two.Where've you been?"
"We went round the back an' 'ad some cocoa and biscuits," saidMartlow, innocently.
"For Gawd's sake don't mention cocoa an' biscuits to 'im," saidEvans. "You'd better go an' take 'im back to billets, before 'estarts fightin' a policeman. Everybody seems to be in a bloody badtemper today. All got wind-up, I suppose. Meet me 'ere at 'alf-pastone, 'e'll tell you about it. Just because they wouldn't serve 'im,'e wants the best they've got. Well, see you later.'
"Let's find Bourne," said Martlow to Shem, as Evans went intothe shop; "when 'e's like that, 'e'd quarrel with 'is own bloodyshadder."
They found him at last in their own billets, talking to CorporalHamley, who was in a silent humour. He had recovered, but you couldsee he was still sore from injustice. Trying to make cheerfulconversation, Shem inadvertently mentioned the incident of thecolonel and the Australian driver.
"You want a few thousand Australians in the British Army," saidBourne angrily. "They would put wind up some of these bloodydetails who think they own the earth."
"What are you talkin' about? What details?" inquired CorporalHamley, who knew nothing about the matter.
"The whole bloody issue," said Bourne, comprehensively."Officers, and other ranks. You can't put eight hundred fightingmen into the line without having another eight hundred uselessparasites behind them pinching the stores."
He gave them a rapid, and somewhat incoherent, account of theepisode which had ruffled him; and they could not quite make uptheir minds, either from what Evans had said, or from his ownaccount, how far the trouble in the canteen had gone. The arrivalof the orderly-corporal perturbed them still more.
"Bourne 'ere?" he asked, and then seeing his man, added: "You'reto go before Major Shadwell at two o'clock, at 'is billet, by theorderly-room. You'll take 'im up, corporal."
"What's the trouble about?" asked the corporal, alarmed at thepossibility that one of his section might have disgracedhimself.
"Oh, there's no trouble," said Bourne, with a weary impatience."It is probably about my commission."
His interview with Major Shadwell did him a lot of good. It wasan plain, matter-of-fact conversation. The second-in-commandapparently knew all he needed to know about him, merely asking hima few questions and then explaining the procedure. At the sametime, he managed to put into what was only a matter of routine, atouch of humanity. He was quiet, serious, yet approachable. He madeonly one reference to the attack, and that was indirectly, when hetold Bourne that the colonel would see him after it was over. Itseemed to reduce the attack to the right proportions, as beingafter all only a matter of routine too. As he walked back tobillets with Corporal Hamley after the interview was over thecorporal turned to him.
"Anyway," he said, "Major Shadwell's the right kind ofofficer."
"Yes," said Bourne, a little preoccupied. "He's all right. He'sin the cart with the rest of us."
They carried on with their routine training for the next hour;but the work seemed irrelevant, and they were preoccupied anddreamy. After Corporal Hamley told them they might pack up for theday, they wrote letters home, and during this laborious businessthe stable became extraordinarily quiet and pensive. Suddenlyreality cut across the illusion. Weeper turned a lachrymose facefrom one to the other.
"What would our folks think," he said, "if they could see uspoor buggers sittin' 'ere writin' all manner o' bloody lies to'em?"
"I'm not writin' any bloody lies," said Madeley. "I'm tellin''em I'm in the pink, an' so I am. An' I'm tellin' 'em everythin 'sall right, an' so 't is, up to the present."
"What the 'ell are you tellin' 'em?" said Glazier, morebrutally, turning on Weeper. "Nothin' but the bloody truth, eh?'Dear Mother, by the time you get this I'll be dead.'"
"If you do write the truth they rub it out in th' orderly-room,"said Martlow; "so you might just as well write cheerful. Me mothertold me the first letters I sent 'ome was all rubbed out wi'indelible pencil, so as she couldn't read anythin' 'cept that itwere rainin', an your lovin' son Babe: that's the silly name theygive me when I were a kid."
"It's 'igh time they sent you 'ome again, now, to the bloodyVeterans Corps," said Glazier, kindly enough.
Bourne wrote three brief notes, and then lounged back on hisfolded greatcoat and blankets. He could feel with his elbow the twobottles of wine and a tin of sausages in tomato sauce; the rest ofthe provisions had been distributed under Shem's or Martlow's kit.He was in much the same mood as the others were. One did not facethe possibilities quite squarely until they were thrust on one, andyet one never lost completely the sense of them; whatever kind ofhope or imagining held for a moment the restless mind, one heardbehind it the inexorable voice: it must be, it must be; seeming tomark the dripping of time, drop by drop, out the leaky vessel ofbeing. One by one they finished their letters and turned graduallyto quiet conversation, the arrival of tea at last bringing with it,instantly, a general movement as much of relief as of appetite.
After tea, Bourne told Shem he was going to ask Sergeant Tozerto come to their supper; and he set off to A Company's billets. Thesergeant was not there when he arrived, so he waited, talking toPritchard and Minton. Conversation with them was inclined to becomemonosyllabic at the best of times; for, to them, speech was eitheran integral part of action, as it is to the dramatist for instance,or it was an imperfect means of ventilating their grievances. Atthe present moment they were inactive, and they had no grievance,except against war, which had become too much a part of the naturalorder of things to be worth discussing. So Bourne leaned againstthe doorpost and waited. He saw Miller crossing the yard, andlooked curiously at that degenerate face. It had in it a cunningwhich might or might not be insane. He gave Bourne a meaninglessgrin, and went into one of the stables. Minton and Pritchardglanced at him as he passed.
"They ought to 'ave shot that bugger," said Minton,indifferently. "E's either a bloody spy or a bloody coward, an''e's no good to us either way."
The indifference of this judgment was its remarkable feature.Bourne found himself contrasting Miller with Weeper Smart, for noone could have had a greater horror and dread of war than Weeperhad. It was a continuous misery to him, and yet he endured it.Living with him, one felt instinctively that in any emergency hewould not let one down, that he had in him, curiously enough, anheroic strain. Martlow, who had been brought up to read people'scharacters, said of him that he would be just as bloody miserablein peacetime; and perhaps he was right. Bourne, contrasting the twomen, had almost decided that Weeper's defect lay in being tooimaginative, when it flashed on his mind that while his imaginationtortured him with apprehensions, it was actually his strength. Yes:it was Weeper's imagination, not his will, which kept him going.Bourne did not know whether Madeley's or Glazier's tenacity oughtto be described as will, but he was quite certain they had morewill than Weeper had. They had less imagination, though they werenot devoid of it. Miller might be one of those people whoseemotional instability was not far from madness. Perhaps he was nota coward at all, and the men may have been right in their earlierjudgment that he was a spy; though it was possible that he might bean English, and not a German spy; and then, quite suddenly, fromamusing his mind with the puzzle presented to it by Miller'scharacter, Bourne found himself probing anxiously into his own. Itwas only for a moment. As soon as one touched the fringe of themystery which is oneself, too many unknown possibilities confrontedone, everything seemed insecure and unstable. He turned away fromit, with a restless impatience. He would not wait for SergeantTozer any longer; and turning out of the yard he came face to facewith him. He refused Bourne's invitation.
"I must stay in billets tonight and keep an eye on things," hesaid quietly. "There's a lot to do, one way an' another; an' I'lljust 'ave a drink with Sergeant Gallion and the sergeant-major inthe comp'ny office before turnin' in. 'Ow are you keepin', prettyfit?"
Bourne's assent was somewhat qualified, and the sergeant smiledquietly.
"Got the bloody wind-up, eh? Well, we all 'ave. You're goin'over the top wi' us again, ol' son; comin' back to the company forthe show, the three o' you. Don't let on as I said anythin' aboutit to you, you know; but that's what I 'eard. It'll be all right.You know the comp'ny, an' it'll be a dam' sight better than messin'about with the runners or sigs as a spare man."
Bourne agreed, and his relief was quite apparent. Captain Malethad hit on one cause of weakness, when he said that Bourne lookedat a question upside down and inside out, and then did exactly whatthe average man would do in similar circumstances. It did not, as amatter of fact, delay him in action: it was only that heexperienced a quite futile anxiety as to whether he were doing theright thing, while he was doing the only possible thing at thatparticular moment; and it troubled him much more in the intervalbefore action. He had worried for some time as to what his jobwould be in the attack, and, the moment he knew he would be withthe company, his mind cleared.
"I 'eard you were puttin' in for a commission," the sergeantcontinued irrelevantly. "We'll 'ave a spree in Bus, after theshow's over. I'm sorry I can't get down tonight."
They parted; and Bourne walked back to his billet in a quieterframe of mind. He was not very confident, or very cheerful, but forthe moment at least he was free from doubt, and was not gropingforward apprehensively into the future. He had noticed recently inhimself an increasing tendency to fall into moods, not ofabstraction or of rapture, but of blankness; and in a moment ofsolitude he seemed to become a part of it, his mind reflectingnothing but his immediate surroundings, as the little puddles inthe road reflected whatever lees and dregs of light lingered in thesky.
But this mood was not dreaminess, he did not rouse himself outof it with any effort, or with a start, as one wakes again afterlapsing into a moment's sleep. He was instantly aware of thepresence of another in his neighbourhood, and always very keenlyand definitely. After a few minutes, he met a couple of men in thetwilit street. "Goodnight, chum," they called out to him,softly.
"Goodnight."
And they were gone again, the unknown shadows, gone almost asquickly and as inconspicuously as bats into the dusk; and theywould all go like that ultimately, as they were gathering to gonow, migrants with no abiding place, whirled up on the wind of someirresistible impulse. What would be left of them soon would be nomore than a little flitting memory in some twilit mind.
He turned into their billets, and found them deserted except forMartlow, who told him that Shem and Corporal Hamley had gone offtogether for half an hour, leaving him behind to mount guard overthe provisions. Bourne sprawled beside him in the dry dusty litter;it was hay, not straw, the fine stems of it just strong enough toprickle where it touched the skin.
Anyway, they would have some wine, some variation of food, andsome quiet talk, before turning over to sleep. They were themasters of the moment at least, fate could not rob them of whatthey actually had now. Food and sleep they needed, in the intervalremaining to them, as much of both as they could get. Once theywent over the top, with the best of luck the world would beshattered for them, and what was left of it they would have topiece together again, into some crazy makeshift that might lasttheir time. He could not believe that after the show was over, hewould be sent back to Blighty, drilled as though he were a recruitagain, and, after he had been smartened up, dressed in a Bedfordcord suit and Sam Browne and sent back again, to take up anentirely different position in regard to the men. He would have toforget a lot; and, even while he was thinking how impossible itwould be to forget, Martlow looked up at him with a grin on hispuckish face.
"D'you remember the night we pinched all them pertaters an'Swedes out o' the fields at Reclinghem, an' made a stew wi' somebully in a biscuit-tin? 'Twere real good, that stew."
Bourne laughed, a little absently, as one who is being beaten bycircumstances and must make the best of them. Men are boundtogether more closely by the trivial experiences they have sharedthan by the most sacred obligations; and already his memory washaunted by outstretched hands seeking rescue from oblivion, andfaces half-submerged to which he could give no name. Martlow onlygrinned more broadly, thinking he laughed at something funny in theepisode itself.
"When I've got me bellyful, I don't care a fuck if it snowsink," he continued. "The worst o' goin' over the top is that youget tired an' cold, an' empty. It's that empty feeling in the pito' the stomach what gets a man down. You feel as though all yourguts had dropped out."
They both looked up as the corporal and Shem came in, andMartlow turned on them at once with his inevitable questioning,while Bourne took out the bottles and tinned food from under theblankets.
"Oh, they're quite lively down the road," said the corporal. "Itputs you in quite a good skin to 'ear 'em all singin'. Shem an' Ijust went in an' 'ad a glass o' beer."
They each took a tin of sausages in tomato sauce, and afterdebating for a moment whether it would not be better to heat themover the brazier, decided, partly from idleness, and partly fromappetite, to eat them cold. Bourne uncorked a bottle of champagne,and was holding it over a mess-tin into which bubbled the creamingfoam, when they all turned towards the doorway again, and WeeperSmart came in alone. He looked at them in some embarrassment, andcrossing to his own corner, to which the glow from the brazier andthe light from the hurricane lamp scarcely penetrated, sat downdejectedly.
"Give us your mess-tin, Smart, and have a drink with us," saidBourne.
Up went Weeper's flat hand.
"No, thank 'ee," he said abruptly. "Tha needst not think a comeback 'ere just to scrounge on thee. If a'd known a would 'avestayed out yon."
"Give me your tin," said Bourne. "You're welcome. It's share andshare alike with us. Where's the sense of sitting alone byyourself, as though you think you are better than the nextman?"
"A've never claimed to be better nor the next man," said Weeper;"an' a've got nowt to share."
Bourne, taking up his mess-tin without waiting for him to passit, poured out a fair share of the wine: he felt ashamed, in somestrange way, that it should be in his power to give this forlorn,ungainly creature anything. It was as though he were encroaching onthe other man's independence.
"You don't mind taking a share of my tea in the morning," hesaid with a rather diffident attempt at humour.
"A've as much reet to that as tha 'ast," said Weeper sullenly.And then he was ashamed immediately of his surliness. He took upthe mess-tin and drank a good draught before putting it down again,and breathing deeply with satisfaction.
"That's better nor any o' the stuff us poor buggers can get," hesaid with an attempt at gratitude, which could not quite extinguishhis more natural envy; and he moved up closer to them, and to thewarmth and light. The wine may have taken some of the edge off hisbitterness, but if he felt less unfriendly, he remained ratheraloof, only touching on the fringe of their conversation. They werevery conscious of his presence there, but gave no sign of it,merely passing him some food from time to time, as though it were amatter of course. They had finished the wine, and thrown away thebottles, when the rest of the section began to come back, singly orin twos and threes, some of them a little drunk. Bourne handedround the rest of the macaroons, all that remained of their feast;and they made ready to sleep.
He may show what outward courage he will; but I believeas cold a night as 'tis, he could wish himself in Thames up to theneck; and so I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, sowe were quit here.
—SHAKESPEARE
They moved back to Bus on the third day after their arrival atLouvencourt, and were in their usual billets by about four o'clockin the afternoon. They had taken off their packs, and leaned theirrifles up against the boarding of the hut, to rest awhile, when thepost arrived, and they all crowded in front of the but which servedas Headquarter Company's office.
It was a large mail. Shem had gone off on his own somewhere, andone of the first letters was for him, so Bourne took it; Martlowhad a letter and a parcel: but the remarkable feature of thatparticular post was that there were fourteen letters and parcelsfor Bourne. There was no kind of preliminary sorting, everythinglay in a heap on the floor, and the post-corporal dished them outhimself that day. As a rule the orderly-corporal brought theletters up from the post-corporal's billet, and thequartermaster-sergeant called out the name of the man to whomanything was addressed, and then flung it towards him with anindifferent aim. But to get rid of the stuff early, and alsobecause he wanted to talk to the quarter-bloke, the post-corporalhad brought it up to the company before they had arrived back fromLouvencourt; and there, the other N.C.O.'s being busy, he dished itout himself, the quarter-bloke seated at his table, taking only aperfunctory interest in the proceedings, while he continued withsome other work. It was remarkable that so many of his friendsshould have shown their solicitude for Bourne's welfare about thesame time. After a couple of parcels and three letters had beenthrown at him, the repetition of his name was answered by groansfrom the crowd, and even the post-corporal seemed to resent thefact that he should be expected to deliver so many things to oneman.
"Bourne!" he shouted impatiently, and shied another letterthrough the air like a kind of boomerang.
The pile gradually decreased, but Bourne's name was reiteratedat intervals, to be met with a chorus of derisory complaint. "D'youwant the whole bloody lot?" someone cried.
He was childishly delighted, and laughed at the kind of prestigewhich the incident brought to him. At last there were only a fewletters left, and one rather large box of threeply wood, with alabel tacked flat on it. One of the few remaining letters wastossed to him, and at last only the box remained. The post-corporallifted it in both hands and read the label.
"Bourne; 'ere, take your bloody wreath," he cried disgustedly,and the sardonic witticism brought down the house. The box actuallycontained a large plum cake. When Bourne got back to his hut, hedivided the contents of his parcels among the whole section,keeping only the cigarettes, cake, and a pork pie, which a farmer'swife of his acquaintance had sent him, for himself. Most of it wasfood, though there were a few woollen comforters and impossiblesocks, as well as a couple of books, with which one could notencumber oneself.
During their time in Louvencourt, they had not seen much oftheir officers, who had probably been receiving their finalinstructions; but now there was continual wind-up. A hot andexasperated officer would suddenly appear outside the huts, and themen were fallen in to receive his orders. The first was aboutovercoats. Each man was to go over the top with his overcoat, whichwas to be worn en banderole; and as most of the men did not knowhow to roll up their coats in this fashion, they had to learn theart from the few regular soldiers who did. It tried the patience ofeverybody concerned. When the overcoat had been rolled up into atubular form, one end was inserted in the other and fastened there,and a man put his head and one arm through the kind of horse-collarwhich it formed, so that it rested on one shoulder and passed underthe other arm. The first man to achieve this difficult feat of armswas an object of admiration to his fellows.
"Oo's the bloody shit 'oo invented this way o' doin' up afuckin' overcoat?" shouted Glazier indignantly.
"It's a bloody wonder to me 'ow these buggers can think all thisout. 'Ow the 'ell am a to get at me gas mask?" asked Madeley.
"You put on your gas 'elmet afterwards, see," said Wilkins, anold regular who was explaining matters to them. "But it beats me'ow you're goin' to manage. You'll lave your ordinary equipment,an' a couple of extra bandoliers, an' your gas bag, and then thisbloody overcoat."
"A can tell thee," said Weeper, "the first thing a does when agoes over the bloody top is to dump it. What bloody chance wouldus'ns 'ave wi' a bay'net, when we can scarce move our arms."
"It's fair chokin' me," said Madeley.
"Fall in on parade," shouted Corporal Marshall, putting his headthrough the door; and divesting themselves for the moment of thislatest encumbrance, they turned out into the twilight. This time itwas Captain Thompson, with the R. S. M. in attendance, and he wentthrough a list of the things the men would be expected to carry:two extra bandoliers of ammunition, two bombs, and either a pick orshovel. But at least there was one unusual piece of foresight: themen were ordered to go to the shoemaker's shop and have bars ofleather fixed across the hob-nailed soles of their boots, toprevent them slithering in the mud; and, with the initial unreasonwhich so often accompanied orders, they were forbidden to leavebillets until this order had been executed. There were only threecobblers, who started on the work at once, and it was arrangedalmost immediately afterwards that the work should be carried outsection by section, so that the men did not have to wait aboutindefinitely. It was characteristic that the men did not grumble atthis latest order, as they saw at once its utility, and theprecaution seemed to give them some confidence. It soon becameequally clear that the order about overcoats worn in banderole wasa matter for some misgivings with the officers themselves.
"This overcoat business will have to be washed out," saidCaptain Thompson to the regimental sergeant-major.
"They seem to think we're goin' straight through, sir," said theregimental with a short, hard laugh.
And the few men who overheard them spread abroad what had beensaid. The men were all quiet, alert and obedient. They had analmost pathetic anxiety to understand the significance of everyorder, and even in the matter of the banderole, which hampered thefreedom of their movements considerably, after reflection theybecame ready to offset the disadvantages by the advantages ofhaving an overcoat with them. Even the sharp impatience with whicha harassed and overdriven officer spoke to them, or the curses of asergeant bustled by the suddenly increasing pressure of his work,did not cause more than a slight and momentary resentment.
"They're all in it wi' us, now, an' one man's no better noranother," said Weeper, when Humphreys said something about Mr Rhysbeing a bit rattled. "They can do nowt wi'out us'ns; an',gentlefolk an' all, we all stan' the same chance now."
The thought of that equality seemed to console him. The changein him was perhaps more apparent than real; all his pessimism andmelancholy remained, but now his determination emerged from it.Looking at that lean, ungainly, but extraordinarily powerfulfigure, with the abnormally long arms and huge hands, one realisedthat he might be a very useful man in a fight. And yet there wasnothing of cruelty in him. The unbounded pity he felt for himselfdid, in spite of his envious and embittered nature, extend toothers. Glazier was the kind of person who killed automatically,without either premeditation or remorse, but Weeper was a verydifferent type. He dreaded the thought of killing, and was hauntedby the memory of it; and yet there was a kind of fatalism in himnow, as though he were the instrument of justice, prepared for anygruesome business confronting him. There was something in whatBourne, half in jest, had said to him, that he thought himselfbetter than most men. He knew that the others, including perhapsBourne himself, did not face the reality of war squarely. Theyrefused to think of it, except when actually involved in battle,and such thought as they had then did not extend beyond the instantaction, being scarcely more than a spontaneous and irreflectiveimpulse; but most of them had made their decision once and for all,and were willing to abide by the consequences, without reviewingit. It was useless to contrast the first challenging enthusiasmwhich had swept them into the army, with the long and bitter agonythey endured afterwards. It was the unknown which they hadchallenged; and when the searching flames took hold of their veryflesh, the test was whether or not they should flinch under them.The men knew it. We can stick it, they said; and they had toretrieve their own failures, to subdue their own doubts, to mastertheir own pitiful human weaknesses, only too conscious for the mostpart, even when they broke into complaints, that the struggle withtheir own nature was always inconclusive.
Bourne, Shem and Martlow were ordered to report toSergeant-Major Robinson and have their boots barred with the restof A Company. The cobblers worked hurriedly, in a ring of lightsurrounded by a press of waiting men. As each man got his bootsback, he showed them to Mr Sothern, who approved the work, ratherperfunctorily, with a nod. When Bourne and his companions presentedthemselves to the sergeant-major, Mr Sothern wanted to know whythey were there; and when the sergeant-major told him that theywould rejoin the company on the following day until after theattack, the officer said they had better have their boots done atonce, so as to get them out of the way. As soon as the job wasfinished, shouldering his way to the door, Bourne turned irritablyto the other two.
"For God's sake let's get out of this bloody confusion, and gosomewhere where we can see life," he said, almost as though theywere the cause of keeping him waiting about the camp. There wasreally very little confusion, in spite of the haste and strain.
"We'd better see the corporal first," answered Shem quietly.
He and Martlow both noticed the acerbity in Bourne's tone. "Youcan go out for 'alf an hour or so," said Corporal Hamleyindifferently, "but you may be wanted later. There's a carryin'party goin' up the line."
It was not very welcome news, but they accepted the factquietly; and merely walked down to the estaminet for a drink, andreturned. They were detailed for a carrying party sure enough; andset off on limbers for Courcelles, continuing for the rest of theway on foot. It was very misty and cold, and under the moon, neverclearly visible, the cloud and mist seemed curdled milkiness.
While they were drawn up waiting by the dump, they heardsomething ponderous coming towards them, and, looking sidewaysalong the road, saw their first tank, nosing its way slowly throughthe stagnant fog. They drew in their breath, in their firstexcitement, wondering a little at the suggestion of power it gavethem; for its uplifted snout seemed to imply a sense of directionand purpose, even though it was not, in bulk, as formidable as theyhad expected. A door opened in the side, and a gleam of light camefrom it, as a man inside questioned another in the road: there wasa tired note even in their determined voices.
"If a can't be inside one o' them, a don't want to be anywherenear it," said Weeper, with absolute decision.
The carrying party moved off, just as the tank was beingmanoeuvred to change direction; and the men, their eyes searchingthe fog for it on their return, found it gone. They marched thewhole way back to billets, and, tired after a long day, as soon asthey had finished drinking some tea and rum, slept heavily.
When Bourne woke early in the morning, he heard the gunsdrumming in the distance, a continued dull staccato, which had init momentarily, from time to time, a kind of rhythm. He listenedintently, and the bombardment seemed to increase in violence; andbut for a vague reflection that the Hun must have wind-up at theavalanche of shells assailing him, his mind was blank and empty. Hemoistened dry lips with a tongue scarcely less dry. The but smeltdamp and frowsty. He saw Martlow's small face, pillowed on his packbeside him, the brows puckered slightly, and the lips parted, butbreathing quietly in a dreamless sleep; and he looked at him in akind of wonder for a moment. Sleep was the only blessing they had.Bourne drew his knees up, dropping his chin towards them, and satclasping his feet with locked fingers, while he brooded overnothing. Shem stirred on the other side of him, cleared his throat,and then lifted himself to lean on one elbow, listening.
"D'you hear that?" he asked.
"Yes," said Bourne, with dry brevity, and Shem fell back againflat, his eyes contemplating the rafters. Bourne sat immobile for amoment or two, and then drew in a quick deep gasp of air, to exhaleit again in a sigh. He remained still.
"What d'you do that for?" asked Shem.
"Do what?"
"Gasp like that. I had an aunt who used to do that, and she diedo' heart."
"I don't think that I'm likely to die of heart," was Bourne'sdry comment.
He lay down again, pulling the blanket up to his chin. It wasonly about half-past five; and in a few minutes they were bothasleep again, while the rhythmic drumming of the gunscontinued.
After breakfast that morning, Bourne passed by the regimental'stent, and saw his batman, who had just finished shaving, sitting ona box by the doorway. Bourne noticed that his boots had beenbarred.
"I didn't think you were going over the top with us, Barton," hesaid, his surprise giving his words the turn of a question.
"The regimental didn't want me to go," said Barton, blushing andsmiling; "'E tried to work it so as I shouldn't go, but theywouldn't 'ave it."
He was smiling, even as he blushed, in a deprecating way.
"I don't know what 'e wanted to bother for," he said reasonably."It's only right I should go with the rest, and I'd as lief go asstay. You think o' things sometimes as seem to 'old you back; butit's no worse for me than for the nex' man. I think I'd rathergo."
The last words came from him with slow reluctance anddifficulty; and yet the apparent effort he made to utter them,hurrying a little towards the end, did not imply that they wereuntrue, but only that he recognised a superior necessity, which hadforced him to put aside other, only less valid, considerations. Hewas thinking of his wife and children, of the comparative securityin which he had left them, and of what their fate might be in theworst event; but war is a jealous god, destroying ruthlessly hisrivals.
"You're in B Company, aren't you?" Bourne asked him, trying tocarry the conversation over these awkward reflections.
"Yes," said Barton cheerfully. "They're a nice lot in B Company;" N. C. O.'s an' officers, they're a nice lot of men."
"Well, good luck, Barton,' said Bourne quietly, moving away, asthe only means of relief.
"Good luck, Bourne," said Barton, as though he did not believein luck.
All day the business of preparation went on, with the sameapparent confusion, haste and impatience, but with quite apainstaking method underlying all that superficial disorder. Tosome, who did not understand the negligent manner of Britishofficers and men, even the most efficient, the business may haveseemed careless and perfunctory, when as a matter of fact alldetails were scrupulously checked, and all errors and deficienciescorrected. Bourne, Shem and Martlow paraded with A Company, thoughtheir kit and blankets remained in the signals section hut, andwere glad to find themselves in Corporal Jakes's section, underSergeant Tozer. Jakes sometimes gave one the impression of being astupid and stubborn fellow, but, as a matter of fact, he was acool, level-headed fighting man, with plenty of determination, butwith sufficient flexibility of mind to make the best of anycircumstances in which he might find himself. Like most men of hiscounty he was short, broad and ruddy, with plenty of stamina.
Mr Finch was more in evidence than Mr Sothern in the morning. Hewould take a parade, as when he inspected gas helmets, with theutmost seriousness and the most regimental precision, and themoment it was over, he would be laughing like a schoolboy, asthough the excitement had gone to his head. Excitement wascertainly increasing. In the intervals of that appearance ofdisorder, caused, mainly, by the haste with which parades andinspections succeeded one another, there was an apparent stillness,which was equally illusory. It might be broken by Mr Finch'shigh-pitched laughter, suddenly cut off again, or by an explosionof anger from some individual man; but between these interruptionsthere was a glassy quiet.
Men may conceal their emotion easily enough, but it is moredifficult to hide the fact that they are concealing it. Many ofthem seemed oblivious of each other, as they sat, or waited about,with pondering brows, and one might pass a group of two or threehastening on their business, talking quickly together, and onecaught a hint of something sinister and desperate in their faces.That was the oddest thing perhaps, the need for haste whichobsessed them. Other men, recognising one, seemed to warp theirfaces into a nervous grin, showing their teeth as a dog might, andthen it would be wiped out by a pathetic weariness. One only caughtsuch glimpses of the tension beneath the surfaces momentarily, andat unawares; and while it was more or less apparent in eachindividual, the general temper of the men was quiet and grave.
Bourne sometimes wondered how far a battalion recruited mainlyfrom London, or from one of the provincial cities, differed fromhis own, the men of which came from farms, and, in a lessermeasure, from mining villages of no great importance. Thesimplicity of their outlook on life gave them a certain dignity,because it was free from irrelevances. Certainly they had all theappetites of men, and, in the aggregate, probably embodied most ofthe vices to which flesh is prone; but they were not preoccupiedwith their vices and appetites, they could master them with rathera splendid indifference; and even sensuality has its aspect oftenderness. These apparently rude and brutal natures comforted,encouraged and reconciled each other to fate, with a tenderness andtact which was more moving than anything in life. They had nothing;not even their own bodies, which had become mere implements ofwarfare. They turned from the wreckage and misery of life to anempty heaven, and from an empty heaven to the silence of their ownhearts. They had been brought to the last extremity of hope, andyet they put their hands on each other's shoulders and said with apassionate conviction that it would be all right, though they hadfaith in nothing but in themselves and in each other.
The succession of fatigues, parades and inspections barelydistracted their thought, so much a habit obedience had become. Inone of the intervals, Martlow and Shem were sent off on some smallfatigue to the stores, and as Martlow leaned his rifle against theside of the hut, he said something to Bourne, and, turning, hurriedafter Shem. Mr Finch was standing only a few feet away, and heglanced at the boy talking to Bourne, looked after him as he turnedand ran, and then turned to Bourne himself.
"Seems a bloody shame to send a kid like that into a show,doesn't it?" he said, in a kindly undertone.
"He was with us on the Somme in July and August, sir, was allBourne's reply, though that he, too, thought it a bloody shame wassufficiently obvious.
"Was he?" exclaimed Mr Finch appreciatively. "Stout fellow. It'sa bloody shame, all the same."
He struck at a clod of mud with his stick.
"Bloody awful weather to go over in, isn't it?" he said, almostas though he were only thinking aloud. "However, we can only do ourbest."
Some other men coming up, he moved off a few paces, and thedrumming of the distant guns came to them. Bourne thought now thatit did not sound so heavy as some of the bombardments on the Somme.Sergeant Tozer came on the scene, and when he went into the emptyhut, Bourne followed him.
"What do you make of it, sergeant?" he asked.
"I don' know what to make of it. What the bloody hell do youmake of it, yourself? After all, that's what matters. I supposewe'll come through all right; we've done it before, so we can do itagain. Anyway, it can't be more of a bloody balls-up than some o'the other shows 'ave been. Give us over that entrenching toolhandle, that bloody snob drove a nail through my boot."
He had unrolled one of his puttees, taken a boot off, and sat onthe ground while he felt for the offending nail with his fingers, alook of exasperated patience on his face; having found it he triedto flatten, bend or break the point off with the metal-bound end ofthe handle.
"Fuck the bloody thing!" he said fiercely under his breath.Ultimately he succeeded in his object, and after feeling where thepoint had been, critically, with his fingers, he drew on his bootagain.
"You don't want to get the fuckin' wind up, you know," he saidkindly.
"Who's getting wind up?" replied Bourne, resentfully. "Don't youworry about me, sergeant. I can stick it all right. If I do get itin the neck, I'll be out of this bloody misery, anyway."
"That's all right, of son," said the sergeant. "You needn't takeme up the wrong way, you know. I'm not worryin' about you. I'm abit windy myself. It'll be all right when we get started. We'llpull it off somehow or other."
He stood up, and then stooped to pull his trouser down over thetop of his puttee, turning himself sideways with one armoutstretched, and glancing down, afterwards, to see that it hungstraight and neat. Then he chucked out his chest, flinging his headback so that his chin seemed more aggressive, and swung out of thebut into the mist.
"I'll lay our artillery is puttin' the bloody wind up themfuckin' Fritzes," he said to Bourne over his shoulder, so that hefailed to see Mr Finch, who had returned. "If they haven't got asuspish already, they'll be wonderin'...I beg pardon, sir, I didn'tsee you was there."
"Shall we win, sergeant?" said Mr Finch, laughing.
"Oh, we'll win all right, sir," said Sergeant Tozer grimly, "butnot yet."
"Sergeant, about those bombs," began Mr Finch, and Bourne,saluting, walked off to the signallers' hut again.
They didn't do much that night. Going into an estaminet early,they had a bottle of wine between them, and then strolled from oneend of the town to the other. It was a long, straggling town, witha large civilian element, and chinks of light came between theblinds of the windows. On their way back to billets they turnedinto the Y.M.C.A. to get some cocoa. They did not feel likedrinking bad wine or beer in a crowded and noisy estaminet, andargued that in any case they would have a rum ration that night.The Y.M.C.A., however, was as noisy and as crowded as theestaminet; and there was a good deal of clowning. One man wassinging "I Want to Go Home":
Oh, my! I don't want to die,
I want to go 'ome!
dancing, as he sang, with a kind of waltz step. At the nexttable were three men smoking and talking, so close that above themurmuring din one heard snatches of their talk. Bourne orderedcocoa, and paid for it; and they talked a little to Weston, theattendant, who had been in the Westshires at one time. Then he leftthem, and they sat there, smoking. One of the men at the next tablewas talking to the other two.
"'What's the matter wi' the girl?' the officer asked 'im. 'Idon' know, sir,' said Sid, 'she went into one o' them out'ouses wi'Johnson; an' the nex' thing I 'eard was that Johnson 'ad gone forthe doctor. Said she'd 'ad a fit.' 'Oh,' said the officer, 'bloodytight fit, I suppose.'"
They all laughed, and Bourne looked at their sneering faces, andturned away again. He wanted to get out of all this senselessclamour; and as his eyes turned away, he chanced to see over thedoor a red strip on which was printed in white letters: "ANDUNDERNEATH ARE THE EVERLASTING ARMS." It struck him with anextraordinary vividness, that bare text sprawling across the wallabove the clamour of those excited voices; and once again he knewthat feeling of certitude in a peace so profound that all theturmoil of the earth was lost in it.
"Shall we go back?" he asked the others quietly, and theyfollowed him out into the mist and mud.
After they had had their rum ration they took off boots, putteesand tunic, and rolled themselves into their blankets, spreadingtheir greatcoats over them as well, because of the cold. Bournefelt quiet, and was almost asleep, when suddenly full consciousnesscame to him again, and, opening his eyes, he could just see Martlowlooking abstractedly into the dark.
"Are you all right, kid?" he whispered, and put out a hand tothe boy's.
"Yes, I'm all right," said Martlow quietly. "You know, it don'tmatter what 'appens to us'ns, Bourne. It don't matter what 'appens;it'll be all right in the end."
He turned over, and was soon sleeping quietly, long beforeBourne was.
And the next day was the same, in all outward seeming. They gottheir tea, they washed, shaved, and had their breakfast, smoked,and fell in on parade, in the ordinary course of routine. The extraweight they were carrying was marked, but the overcoat wornbanderole had been washed-out, a rumour among the men being thatthe colonel had sent a man up to Brigade, equipped as they hadordered, to show the absurdity of it. As he arrived in front of ACompany's huts, Bourne, Shem and Martlow found groups of mentalking among themselves.
"What's up?" he asked.
"Miller. 'E's 'opped it, again. I knew the bugger would. 'E's abloody German spy, that's what 'e is. They should 'ave shot thebugger when they 'ad 'im! One o' them fuckin' square'eads, an' theylet 'im off!"
There was an extraordinary exultation in their anger; as theyspoke, a fierce contemptuous laughter mingled with speech.
"Yes, they let a bloody twat like 'im off; but if any o' us poorfuckers did it, we'd be for th' electric chair, we would. We'vedone our bit, we 'ave; but it wouldn't make any differ tous'ns."
The angry, bitter words were tossed about from one to another inderision. Bourne was more struck by the severity and pallor ofSergeant Tozer's face, when he saw him in the hut. He did not askany questions; they just passed the time of day, and there was apause broken by Bourne.
"You shouldn't blame yourself, sergeant," he said. "It's notyour fault.'
"That's all right," said Sergeant Tozer. "I'm not blamin'meself. On'y if I saw the bugger in the road I'd put a bullet into'im; an' save 'em any bloody fuss with a court-martial."
The men fell in; and Captain Marsden, with Mr Sothern and MrFinch, came on parade. The final inspection was a very careful one.Bourne noticed that Marsden, who often spoke with a dry humour,restricted himself to a minimum of words. He saw that one ofBourne's pouches didn't fasten properly, the catch being defective.He tried it himself, and then tried the clipped cartridges inside,satisfying himself apparently that they fitted into the pouch sotightly that they would not fall out until one clip had beenremoved. Anyway he ignored it, and loosening Bourne's water bottle,shook it to see if it were full. Bourne stood like a dummy whilethis was going on, and all the time Captain Marsden looked at himclosely, as though he were trying to look into his mind. It angeredBourne, but he kept his face as rigid as stone: in fact his onlyemotion now was a kind of stony anger. Some of the men hadforgotten to fill their bottles, and were told what bloodynuisances they were. Eventually it was over, and they went off totheir huts for what little time was left to them. One had a vaguefeeling that one was going away, without any notion of returning.One had finished with the place, and did not regret it; but acurious instability of mind accompanied the last moments: with asense of actual relief that the inexorable hour was approaching,there was a growing anger becoming so intense that it seemed theheart would scarcely hold it. The skin seemed shinier and tighteron men's faces, and eyes burned with a hard brightness under thebrims of their helmets. One felt every question as an interruptionof some absorbing business of the mind. Occasionally Martlow wouldlook up at Shem or Bourne as though he were about to speak, andthen turn away in silence.
"We three had better try and keep together," said Shemevenly.
"Yes," answered the other two, as though they engaged themselvesquietly.
And then, one by one, they realised that each must go alone, andthat each of them already was alone with himself, helping theothers perhaps, but looking at them with strange eyes, while theworld became unreal and empty, and they moved in a mystery, whereno help was.
"Fall in on the road!"
With a sigh of relinquishment, they took up their rifles andobeyed, sliding from the field into the road, which was about fivefeet lower, down a bank in which narrow steps had once been cut,though rain and many feet had obliterated them. The details crowdedthere, to see them go. They fell in, numbered off, formed fours,formed two deep, and stood at ease, waiting, all within a fewmoments. A few yards on either side, the men became shadows in themist. Presently they stood to attention again, and the colonelpassed along the ranks; and this time Bourne looked at him, lookedinto his eyes, not merely through and beyond him; and the severityof that clear-cut face seemed today to have something cheerful andkindly in it, without ceasing to be inscrutable. His grey horse hadbeen led down the road a few minutes before, and presently the highclear voice rang through the mist. Then came the voices of thecompany commanders, one after the other, and the quick stamping asthe men obeyed, the rustle as they turned; and their own turn came,the quick stamps, the swing half-right, and then something like arippling murmur of movement, and the slurred rhythm of theirtrampling feet, seeming to beat out the seconds of time, while theliquid mud sucked and sucked at their boots, and they dropped intothat swinging stride without speaking; and the houses of Bus slidaway on either side, and the mist wavered and trembled about themin little eddies, and earth, and life, and time, were as if theyhad never been.
We see yonder the beginning of day, but I think weshall never see the end of it...I am afeard there are few die wellthat die in a battle.
—SHAKESPEARE
The drumming of the guns continued, with bursts of greatintensity. It was as though a gale streamed overhead, piling upgreat waves of sound, and hurrying them onward to crash in surf onthe enemy entrenchments. The windless air about them, by its verystillness, made that unearthly music more terrible to hear. Theycowered under it, as men seeking shelter from a storm. Somethingrushed downward on them with a scream of exultation, increasing toa roar before it blasted the air asunder and sent splinters ofsteel shrieking over their heads, an eruption of mud spatteringdown on the trench, and splashing in brimming shellholes. Thepressure among the men increased. Someone shouldering a way throughcaused them to surge together, cursing, as they were thrown offtheir balance to stumble against their neighbours.
"For Christ's sake walk on your own fuckin' feet an' not onmine!" came from some angry man, and a ripple of idiot mirth spreadoutwards from the centre of the disturbance. Bourne got a drink oftea, and though it was no more than warm, it did him good; atleast, it washed away the gummy dryness of his mouth. He wasshivering, and told himself it was the cold.
Through the darkness the dripping mist moved slowly, touchingthem with spectral fingers as it passed. Everything was clammy withit. It condensed on their tin hats, clung to their rough serge,their eyelashes, the down on their cheekbones. Even though itblinded everything beyond the distance of a couple of yards, itseemed to be faintly luminous itself. Its damp coldness enhancedthe sense of smell. There was a reek of mouldering rottenness inthe air, and through it came the sour, stale odour from the foulclothes of the men. Shells streamed overhead, sighing, whining andwhimpering for blood; the upper air fluttered with them; but Fritzwas not going to take it all quietly, and with its increasing roaranother shell leaped towards them, and they cowered under thewrath. There was the enormous grunt of its eruption, the sweepingof harp-strings, and part of the trench wall collapsed inwards,burying some men in the landslide. It was difficult to get themout, in the crowded conditions of the trench.
Bourne's fit of shakiness increased, until he set his teeth toprevent them chattering in his head; and after a deep, gaspingbreath, almost like a sob, he seemed to recover to some extent.Fear poisoned the very blood; but, when one recognised thesymptoms, it became objective, and one seemed to escape partly fromit that way. He heard men breathing irregularly beside him, as hebreathed himself; he heard them licking their lips, trying tomoisten their mouths; he heard them swallow, as though overcoming adifficulty in swallowing; and the sense that others sufferedequally or more than himself, quietened him. Some men moaned, oreven sobbed a little, but unconsciously, and as though theystruggled to throw off an intolerable burden of oppression. Hiseyes met Shem's, and they both turned away at once from the dreadand question which confronted them. More furtively he glanced inMartlow's direction; and saw him standing with bent head. Someinstinctive wave of pity and affection swelled in him, until itbroke into another shuddering sigh, and the boy looked up, showingthe whites of his eyes under the brim of his helmet. They wereperplexed, and his underlip shook a little. Behind him Bourne hearda voice almost pleading: "Stick it out, chum."
"A don't care a fuck," came the reply, with a bitter harshnessrejecting sympathy.
"Are you all right, kid?" Bourne managed to ask in a fairlysteady voice; and Martlow only gave a brief affirmative nod. Bourneshifted his weight onto his other foot, and felt the relaxed kneetrembling. It was the cold. If only they had something to do, itmight be better. It had been a help simply to place a ladder inposition. Suspense seemed to turn one's mind to ice, and bind eventime in its frozen stillness; but at an order it broke. It broke,and one became alert, relieved. They breathed heavily in oneanother's faces. They looked at each other more quietly, forcingthemselves to face the question. "We've stuck it before," saidShem.
They could help each other, at least up to that point where theirresistible thing swept aside their feeble efforts, and smashedthem beyond recovery. The noise of the shells increased to ahurricane fury. There was at last a sudden movement with somepurpose behind it. The men began to fix bayonets. Someone thrust amug into Shem's hands. "Three men. Don't spill the bloody stuff,you won't get no more."
Shem drank some of the rum and passed it to Bourne.
"Take all you want, kid," said Bourne to Martlow; "I don't carewhether I have any or not."
"Don't want much," said Martlow, after drinking a good swig. "Itmakes you thirsty, but it warms you up a bit."
Bourne emptied the mug, and handed it back to Jakes to fillagain and pass to another man. It had roused him a little.
"It'll soon be over, now," whispered Martlow.
Perhaps it was lighter, but the stagnant fog veiled everything.Only there was a sound of movement, a sudden alertness thrilledthrough them all with an anguish inextricably mingled with relief.They shook hands, the three among themselves and then with othersnear them.
Good luck, chum. Good luck. Good luck.
He felt his heart thumping at first. And then, almost surprisedat the lack of effort which it needed, he moved towards the ladder.Martlow, because he was nearest, went first. Shem followed behindBourne, who climbed out a little clumsily. Almost as soon as he wasout he slipped sideways and nearly fell. The slope downward, whereothers, before he did, had slipped, might have been greased withvaseline; and immediately beyond it, one's boots sank up to theankle in mud which sucked at one's feet as they were withdrawn fromit, clogging them, as in a nightmare. It would be worse when theyreached the lower levels of this ill-drained marsh. The fear in himnow was hard and icy, and yet apart from that momentary fumbling onthe ladder, and the involuntary slide, he felt himself moving morefreely, as though he had full control of himself.
They were drawn up in two lines, in artillery formation: C and DCompanies in front, and A and B Companies in the rear. Anothershell hurtled shrieking over them, to explode behind Dunmow with aroar of triumphant fury. The last effects of its blast reachedthem, whirling the mist into eddying spirals swaying fantastically:then he heard a low cry for stretcher-bearers. Some lucky buggerwas out of it, either for good and all, or for the time being. Hefelt a kind of envy; and dread grew in proportion to the desire,but he could not turn away his thought: it clung desperately to theonly possible solution. In this emotional crisis, where the limitof endurance was reached, all the degrees which separate opposedstates of feeling vanished, and their extremities wereindistinguishable from each other. One could not separate thedesire from the dread which restrained it; the strength of one'shope strove to equal the despair which oppressed it; one'sdetermination could only be measured by the terrors anddifficulties which it overcame. All the mean, piddling standards ofordinary life vanished in the collision of these warring opposites.Between them one could only attempt to maintain an equilibriumwhich every instant disturbed and made unstable.
If it had been clear, there would have been some light by now,but darkness was prolonged by fog. He put up a hand, as though towipe the filthy air from before his eyes, and he saw the stupidface of Jakes, by no means a stupid man, warped into a lopsidedgrin. Bloody fool, he thought, with unreasoning anger. It was asthough Jakes walked on tiptoe, stealing away from the effects ofsome ghastly joke he had perpetrated.
"We're on the move," he said softly, and grinned with such ahumour as skulls might have.
Then suddenly that hurricane of shelling increased terrifically,and in the thunder of its surf, as it broke over the German lines,all separate sounds were engulfed: it was one continuous fury, onlyvarying as it seemed to come from one direction now, and now fromanother. And they moved. He didn't know whether they had heard anyorders or not: he only knew they moved. It was treacherous walkingover that greasy mud. They crossed Monk Trench, and a couple ofother trenches, crowding together, and becoming confused. AfterMonk was behind them, the state of the ground became more and moredifficult: one could not put a foot to the ground without skatingand sliding. He saw Mr Finch at one crossing, looking anxious anddetermined, and Sergeant Tozer; but it was no more than a glimpsein the mist. A kind of maniacal rage filled him. Why were they soslow? And then it seemed that he himself was one of the slowest,and he pressed on. Suddenly the Hun barrage fell: the air was splitand seared with shells. Fritz had been ready for them all right,and had only waited until their intentions had been made quiteclear.
As they hurried, head downward, over their own front line, theymet men, some broken and bleeding, but others whole and sound,breaking back in disorder. They jeered at them, and the othersraved inarticulately, and disappeared into the fog again. Jakes andSergeant Tozer held their own lot together, and carried themthrough this moment of demoralisation: Jakes roared and bellowed atthem, and they only turned bewildered faces to him as they pressedforward, struggling through the mud like flies through treacle.What was all the bloody fuss about? they asked themselves, turningtheir faces, wide-eyed, in all directions to search the bafflingfog. It shook, and twitched, and whirled about them: there seemedto be a dancing flicker before their eyes as shell after shellexploded, clanging, and the flying fragments hissed and shriekedthrough the air.
Bourne thought that every bloody gun in the German army waspointed at him. He avoided some shattered bodies of men tooobviously dead for help. A man stumbled past him with an agonisedand bleeding face. Then more men broke back in disorder, throwingthem into some confusion, and they seemed to waver for a moment.One of the fugitives charged down on Jakes and that short butstocky fighter smashed the butt of his rifle to the man's jaw, andsent him sprawling. Bourne had a vision of Sergeant-MajorGlasspool.
"You take your fuckin' orders from Fritz!" he shouted as atriumphant frenzy thrust him forward.
For a moment they might have broken and run themselves, and fora moment they might have fought men of their own blood, but theystruggled on as Sergeant Tozer yelled at them to leave that bloodytripe alone and get on with it. Bourne, floundering in the viscousmud, was at once the most abject and the most exalted of God'screatures. The effort and rage in him, the sense that others hadleft them to it, made him pant and sob, but there was some strangeintoxication of joy in it, and again all his mind seemed focusedinto one hard bright point of action. The extremities of pain andpleasure had met and coincided too.
He knew, they all did, that the barrage had moved too quicklyfor them, but they knew nothing of what was happening about them.In any attack, even under favourable conditions, the attackers aresoon blinded; but here they had lost touch almost from the start.They paused for a brief moment, and Bourne saw that Mr Finch waswith them, and Shem was not. Minton told him Shem had been hit inthe foot. Bourne moved closer to Martlow. Their casualties, as faras he could judge, had not been heavy.
They got going again, and, almost before they saw it, were onthe wire. The stakes had been uprooted, and it was smashed andtangled, but had not been well cut. Jakes ran along it a littleway, there was some firing, and bombs were hurled at them from thealmost obliterated trench, and they answered by lobbing a few bombsover, and then plunging desperately among the steel briars, whichtore at their puttees and trousers. The last strand of it was cutor beaten down, some more bombs came at them, and in the lastinfuriated rush Bourne was knocked off his feet and wentpractically headlong into the trench; getting up, another manjumped on his shoulders, and they both fell together, yelling withrage at each other. They heard a few squeals of agony, and he saw adead German, still kicking his heels on the broken boards of thetrench at his feet. He yelled for the man who had knocked him downto come on, and followed the others. The trench was almostobliterated: it was nothing but a wreckage of boards and posts,piled confusedly in what had become a broad channel for the oozingmud. They heard some more bombing a few bays further on, and thenwere turned back. They met two prisoners, their hands up, andalmost unable to stand from fear, while two of the men threatenedthem with a deliberate, slow cruelty.
"Give 'em a chance! Send 'em through their own bloody barrage!"Bourne shouted, and they were practically driven out of the trenchand sent across no-man's-land.
On the other flank they found nothing; except for the handful ofmen they had encountered at first, the trench was empty. Where theyhad entered the trench, the three first lines converged ratherclosely, and they thought they were too far right. In spite of theparty of Germans they had met, they assumed that the other waves ofthe assaulting troops were ahead of them, and decided to push onimmediately, but with some misgivings. They were now abouttwenty-four men. In the light, the fog was coppery and charged withfumes. They heard in front of them the terrific battering of theirown barrage and the drumming of the German guns. They had onlymoved a couple of yards from the trench when there was a crackle ofmusketry. Martlow was perhaps a couple of yards in front of Bourne,when he swayed a little, his knees collapsed under him, and hepitched forward on to his face, his feet kicking and his whole bodyconvulsive for a moment. Bourne flung himself down beside him, and,putting his arms round his body, lifted him, calling him.
"Kid! You're all right, kid?" he cried eagerly.
He was all right. As Bourne lifted the limp body, the boy's hatcame off, showing half the back of his skull shattered where thebullet had come through it; and a little blood welled out ontoBourne's sleeve and the knee of his trousers. He was all right; andBourne let him settle to earth again, lifting himself up almostindifferently, unable to realise what had happened, filled with akind of tenderness that ached in him, and yet extraordinarilystill, extraordinarily cold.
He had to hurry, or he would be alone in the fog. Again he heardsome rifle-fire, some bombing, and, stooping, he ran towards thesound, and was by Minton's side again, when three men ran towardsthem, holding their hands up and screaming; and he lifted his rifleto his shoulder and fired; and the ache in him became a consuminghate that filled him with exultant cruelty, and he fired again, andagain. The last man was closest to him, but as drunk and staggeringwith terror. He had scarcely fallen when Bourne came up to him andsaw that his head was shattered, as he turned it over with hisboot. Minton looking at him with a curious anxiety, saw Bourne'steeth clenched and bared, the lips snarling back from them inexultation.
"Come on. Get into it," Minton cried in his anxiety.
And Bourne struggled forward again, panting, and muttering in asuffocated voice.
"Kill the buggers! Kill the bloody fucking swine! Kill them!"All the filth and ordure he had ever heard came from his clenchedteeth; but his speech was thick and difficult. In a scuffleimmediately afterwards a Hun went for Minton, and Bourne got himwith the bayonet, under the ribs near the liver, and then unable towrench the bayonet out again, pulled the trigger, and it came awayeasily enough.
"Kill the buggers!" he muttered thickly.
He ran against Sergeant Tozer in the trench.
"Steady, of son! Steady. 'Ave you been 'it? You're all overblood."
"They killed the kid," said Bourne, speaking with suddenclearness, though his chest heaved enormously. "They killed him.I'll kill every bugger I see."
"Steady. You stay by me. I want you. Mr Finch 'as been 'it, see?You two come as well. Where's that bloody bomber?"
They searched about a hundred yards to the right, bombing adugout from which no answer came, and again they collided with somesmall party of Huns, and, after some ineffective bombing, bothsides drew away from each other. Jakes, with about ten men, hadapparently got into the third line, and after similar bombingfights with small parties of Germans had come back again.
"Let's 'ave a dekko, sir," said Sergeant Tozer, taking MrFinch's arm.
"It's all right," said the young man, infuriated; but thesergeant got his arm out of the sleeve, and bandaged a bullet woundnear the shoulder. They were now convinced they could not go on bythemselves. They decided to try and get into touch with any partieson the left. It was useless to go on, as apparently none of theother companies were ahead of them, and heavy machine-gun fire wascoming from Serre. They worked up the trench to the left, and aftersome time, heard footsteps. The leading man held up a hand, andthey were ready to bomb or bayonet, when a brave voice challengedthem.
"Who are ye?"
"Westshires!" they shouted, and moved on, to meet a corporal andthree men of the Gordons. They knew nothing of the rest of theirbattalion. They were lost, but they thought one of their companieshad reached the front line. These four Gordons were four of thequickest and coolest men you could meet. There was some anxiety inthe expression of their eyes, but it was only anxiety as to whatthey should do. Mr Finch ordered them to stay with him; and almostimmediately they heard some egg-bombs. Some Huns were searching thetrench. Sergeant Tozer, with the same party, went forwardimmediately. As soon as some egg-bombs had burst in the next bay,they rushed it, and flung into the next. They found and bayoneted aHun, and pursued the others some little distance, before theydoubled back on their tracks again. Then Mr Finch took them back tothe German front line, intending to stay there until he could linkup with other parties. The fog was only a little less thick thanthe mud; but if it had been one of the principal causes of theirfailure, it helped them now. The Hun could not guess at theirnumbers; and there must have been several isolated parties playingthe same game of hide-and-seek. The question for Mr Finch to decidewas whether they should remain there. They searched the front lineto the left, and found nothing but some dead, Huns and Gordons.
Bourne was with the Gordons who had joined them, and one ofthem, looking at the blood on his sleeve and hands, touched him onthe shoulder.
"Mon, are ye hurt?" he whispered gently.
"No. I'm not hurt, chum," said Bourne, shaking his head slowly;and then he shuddered and was silent. His face became empty andexpressionless.
Their own barrage had moved forward again; but they could notget into touch with any of their own parties. Then, to show howlittle he knew about what was happening, Fritz began to shell hisown front line. They had some casualties immediately; a man calledAdams was killed, and Minton was slightly wounded in the shoulderby a splinter. It was quite clear by this time that the other unitshad failed to penetrate even the first line. To remain where theywere was useless, and to go forward was to invite destruction orcapture.
"Sergeant," said Mr Finch, with a bitter resolution, "we shallgo back."
Sergeant Tozer looked at him quietly. "You're wounded, sir," hesaid, kindly. "If you go back with Minton, I could hang on a bitlonger, and then take the men back on my own responsibility."
"I'll be buggered if I go back with only a scratch, and leaveyou to stick it. You're a bloody sportsman, sergeant. You're thebest bloody lot o' men..."
His words trailed off shakily into nothing for a moment. "That'sall right, sir," said Sergeant Tozer, quietly; and then he addedwith an angry laugh: "We've done all we could: I don't care a fuckwhat the other bugger says."
"Get the men together, sergeant," said Mr Finch, huskily.
The sergeant went off and spoke to Jakes, and to the corporal ofthe Gordons. As he passed Bourne, who'd just put a dressing onMinton's wound, he paused.
"What 'appened to Shem?" he asked.
"Went back. Wounded in the foot."
"'E were wounded early on, when Jerry dropped the barrage onus," explained Minton, stolidly precise as to facts.
"That bugger gets off everything with 'is feet," said SergeantTozer.
"'E were gettin' off with 'is 'ands an' knees when I seed 'im,"said Minton, phlegmatically.
There was some delay as they prepared for their withdrawal.Bourne thought of poor old Shem, always plucky, and friendly,without sentiment, and quiet. Quite suddenly, as it werespontaneously, they climbed out of the trench and over the wire.The clangour of the shelling increased behind them. Fritz wascompleting the destruction of his own front line before launching acounterattack against empty air. They moved back very slowly andpainfully, suffering a few casualties on the way, and they werealready encumbered with wounded. One of the Gordons was hit, andhis thigh broken. They carried him tenderly, soothing him with thegentleness of women. All the fire died out of them as they draggedthemselves laboriously through the clinging mud. Presently theycame to where the dead lay more thickly; they found some helplesslywounded, and helped them.
As they were approaching their own front line, a big shell,burying itself in the mud, exploded so close to Bourne that it blewhim completely off his feet, and yet he was unhurt. He pickedhimself up, raving a little. The whole of their front and supporttrenches were being heavily shelled. Mr Finch was hit again in hisalready wounded arm. They broke up a bit, and those who were freeran for it to the trench. Men carrying or helping the woundedcontinued steadily enough. Bourne walked by Corporal Jakes, who hadtaken his place in carrying the wounded Gordon: he could not havehurried anyway; and once, unconsciously, he turned and looked backover his shoulder. Then they all slid into the wrecked trench.
Hearing that all their men had been ordered back to Dunmow, MrFinch led the way down Blenau. His wounds had left him pallid andsuffering, but he looked as though he would fight anything he met.He made a report to the adjutant, and went off with some otherwounded to the dressing-station. The rest of them went on, crowdedinto a dugout, and huddled together without speaking, listening tothe shells bumping above them. They got some tea, and wondered whatthe next move would be. Bourne was sitting next to the doorway whenJakes drew him out into a kind of recess, and handed him a mess-tinwith some tea and rum in it.
"Robinson's gone down the line wounded, an' Sergeant Tozer'stakin' over," he whispered.
Presently Sergeant Tozer joined them, and looked at Bourne, whosat there, drinking slowly and looking in front of him with fixedeyes. He spoke to Jakes about various matters of routine, and offurther possibilities.
"There's some talk o' renewing the attack," he said shortly.
Jakes laughed with what seemed to be a cynical enjoyment.
"O' course it's all our fuckin' fault, eh?" he asked grimly.
Sergeant Tozer didn't answer, but turned to Bourne.
"You don't want to think o' things," he said, with brutalkindness. "It's all past an' done wi', now."
Bourne looked at him in a dull acquiescence. Then he emptied thetin, replaced it on the bench, and, getting up, went to sit by thedoor again. He sat with his head flung back against the earth, hiseyes closed, his arms relaxed, and hands idle in his lap, and hefelt as though he were lifting a body in his arms, and looking at asmall impish face, the brows puckered with a shadow of perplexity,bloody from a wound in the temple, the back of the head almostblown away; and yet the face was quiet, and unmoved by any trouble.He sat there for hours, immobile and indifferent, unaware thatSergeant Tozer glanced at him occasionally. The shelling graduallydied away, and he did not know it. Then Sergeant Tozer got upangrily.
"'Ere, Bourne. Want you for sentry. Time that other man wererelieved."
He took up his rifle and climbed up, following the sergeant intothe frosty night. Then he was alone, and the fog frothed andcurdled about him. He became alert, intent again; his consciousnesshardening in him. After about half an hour, he heard men comingalong the trench; they came closer; they were by the corner.
"Stand!" he cried in a long, low note of warning. "Westshire.Officer and rations."
He saw Mr White, to whom Captain Marsden came up and spoke. Somemen passed him, details and oddments, carrying bags of rations.Suddenly he found in front of him the face of Snobby Hines,grinning excitedly.
"What was it like, Bourne?" he asked, in passing.
"Hell," said Bourne briefly.
Snobby moved on, and Bourne ignored the others completely.Bloody silly question, to ask a man what it was like. He looked upto the sky, and through the travelling mist saw the half-moon witha great halo round it. An extraordinary peace brooded overeverything. It seemed only the more intense because an occasionalshell sang through it.
...on their watch
In the dread east and middle of the night.
—SHAKESPEARE
All the following day they were heavily shelled, and their ownguns developed a terrific intensity of fire.
"There's too much fuckin' artillery in this bloody war," saidJakes irritably, as though they had all failed to appreciate thefact. "You don't get no sleep."
He had slept placidly through every interval of duty. Towardsevening it became quieter, and they were relieved, marching back toBus. The village, with its chinks of light in the windows, seemedindifferent and unsympathetic. It had a hard, cold reality, and wasas squalid and comfortless as truth.
Bourne was ordered to remain with A Company for the present; andhe went across to the signallers' hut to get his pack and bedding.He saw Corporal Hamley, and faced the inevitable questions. Heheard that Glazier had been killed in their own front line, andMadeley wounded, apparently by the same shell. Weeper, dumping theridiculous flapper, had taken over Madeley's job; he was the onlyman close to the corporal's corner, and he listened without joiningin the conversation. Then Bourne told them about Martlow. He spokein level, almost indifferent, tones; there was not a trace ofemotion in his voice; and yet he seemed to see the boy objectivelyin front of him. Corporal Hamley showed much more feeling; and whenBourne began to tell him about Shem, he rose abruptly, and gotMartlow's kit, which Bourne had tried not to see. There was onething that Bourne did not want to do, and yet he knew he would haveto do it, however strongly he might resist it. Corporal Hamley'sfingers were holding a letter, and Bourne could see the address,and below it, to the left, the firm, rather business-likehandwriting, flowing across the page: My darling Boy. He lookedacross the hut with an indifferent air, and the address seemed tobe scrawled upon the darkness.
"Poor old Shem," he said softly. "I'm glad he got away withit."
"Some buggers 'ave all the bloody luck," said the corporalenviously.
And Bourne wondered why the dead should be a reproach to theliving: they seemed so still, and so indifferent, the dead.Corporal Hamley went out of the but without speaking again, takingthe boy's kit with him; the company office was only next door.Bourne collected his own things to go, and, as he was passing,Weeper Smart put out his hand.
"A'm real grieved," was all he said.
"Thanks. Goodnight, Smart," said Bourne, a little shakily, astheir hands dropped again.
When he got back to A Company's hut, he found Sergeant-MajorTozer with a crown on his sleeve.
"Are you going out tonight, of son?"
"I'm too tired, sergeant-major," he said, reluctantly. "I thinkI'll get down to it early tonight."
"That's all right," said the sergeant-major, approvingly. "Butthere's some buckshee rum in the company office; an' you'll sleepbetter wi' a bit of a skinful. You come along with me."
They found the regimental in A Company's office, talking to thequarter-bloke. The sorrow of men is often angry andrecalcitrant.
"It was bloody hard luck," he was saying in a low, uneven voice."I can tell you I'll go a long way before I find another man likeBarton."
Still shaken and dazed, Bourne tried to realise that someshattered fragments of poor Barton lay out neglected in theengulfing mud, and these men were talking of him with kindlyregretful voices, praising him for the qualities which he hadreally possessed; and then the unreasoning anger of the regimentalbroke out again.
"They might have given him a bloody chance."
"I suppose one man can't expect to have no more chance thananother," said Quartermaster-Sergeant Hales quietly.
"I'm fed up with the bloody life," said the regimental; andBourne knew by his voice that he was looking for trouble; but theyall sat there for some time, drinking rum, and talking about deadmen. They had not suffered very heavily in casualties. When Tozergot up to go, Bourne was glad to follow him, and then surprised tofind himself walking a little unsteadily: that much of the stuffwouldn't have gone to his head six months ago. He undressed partly,and rolled himself up in his blanket, feeling friendless andmiserable. Then he fell into sudden sleep. He became aware ofhimself walking through a fog, only less thick than the mudunderneath; it became almost impossible to breathe in it; and thenhe felt the mud sucking him down, he could not extricate his feetfrom it, and shells burst all round him with jagged red lightnings,and then terrible hands, terrible dead hands came out of thatliving mud and fastened onto him, dragging him down inexorably, andthe mud seemed full of rusty cruel wire, and men with exultantbestial faces rushed at him, and he fought, fought desperately.
"'Ere," said Corporal Jakes, "what's the bloody fuss about?"
Bourne woke to find himself trying to strangle the astonishedman who slept next to him, and Jakes disengaging him from hisvictim.
"It's all right, kid; 'e's on'y dreamin'."
"Dreamin'! What's 'e want to go dreamin' all over the fuckin''ut for?" asked Bourne's exasperated victim.
Bourne muttered some unintelligible apologies, as he rolledhimself up in his blanket.
"If you don't use any bad language when you're awake, you makeup for it in your sleep," observed Corporal Jakes, as he settledhimself again to his disturbed slumbers.
In the morning, almost the first thing Bourne heard was that theregimental, after a quarrel with Reynolds, the orderly-roomsergeant, had insisted on seeing the adjutant, in order to obtainan assurance of his own perfect sobriety. The adjutant had foundthe question too nice a one to be settled without medical advice;and the regimental was a prisoner awaiting a court-martial, as aresult of the doctor's quite unqualified decision against him.Bourne found him in a bell-tent behind the huts, with thesergeant-major of D Company, whose prisoner he was. He wasunrepentant, and full of contempt for life, talking to Bourne onlyof licentious nights in Milharbour. One could not help admiring theway he declined to share his troubles with anyone.
There was only one parade in the morning: rollcall; and Bournehad to give Captain Marsden details of Martlow's end, and ofAdams's; and then to describe Minton's wound. Pritchard told aboutShem's wound, and corroborated Bourne's evidence on some pointsabout the others. It was a long, disconsolate business. In theafternoon they moved up to take over the new front line to theright of Blenau: they were all indifferent; it was a matter ofroutine.
A couple of days later, in the small hours of the morning,Bourne was on the fire-step; and Corporal Jakes was asleep in thesame bay. The weather had become much clearer. After a time Bourneseemed to forget his own existence; not that he was dreaming, orwas unaware of the world about him, for every nerve was stretchedto the limit of apprehension. Staring into the darkness, behindwhich menace lurked, equally vigilant and furtive, hisconsciousness had pushed out through it, to take possession,gradually, and foot by foot, of some forty or fifty yards ofterritory within which nothing moved or breathed without hisknowledge of it. Beyond this was a more dubious obscurity, intowhich he could only grope without certainty. The effort of meresense to exceed its normal function had ended for the moment atleast, not only in obliterating his own identity, and merging itwith those objects of sense which he did actually perceive, but indissolving even their objective reality into something incredibleand fantastic. He had become so accustomed to them that they hadceased to have any reality or significance for him.
The night was quiet. Puddles and flat wet surfaces reflectedwhat was no more than a reminiscence of light. Against the skylinehe could see strands of wire, and the uprights leaning awry; andbeyond them little waifs of diaphanous mist drifting into thedarkness. The darkness itself changed continually, clearing attimes to a curious transparency, and then clouding again. The moonwas behind a bank of cloud in the west; but the stars sparkled withthe brilliance they gain from frost. At intervals the silencebecame so intense that he almost expected it to crack like ice.Then the whine of a shell would traverse it, or several insuccession pass overhead, a pack in full cry; and there were dullexplosions, or the sudden stutter of a machine-gun in the distance.The mind, so delicately sensitive to the least vibration from theouter world, no longer recorded it in the memory, unless it hadsome special relevance. The sound for which he was waiting was thatof a stumble in the dark, or of a shaken, creaking wire; and thatfor which his eyes sought, where darkness swallowed up thetravelling wraiths of mist, was a crawling shadow advancingstealthily towards him.
It was such an unearthly stillness that he almost prayed forsomething to happen, so that he might kill, or be killed. Sooner orlater it would come, out of the hostile night. He waited in motionless expectancy, his tin hat tilted forward slightly over his eyesand gleaming very faintly, as his waterproof groundsheet, worncapewise and tied at the neck with a bootlace through two of itseyelets, gleamed also, from the damp air which had condensed onit.
Corporal Jakes slept. Bourne could hear his breathing; but forthat matter he could hear his own breathing, as though it came froma third man. Then, within that territory, which had become as itwere his whole mind, something shifted; and he drew in his breathquickly, all his previously passive awareness concentrating itselfpurposively on one point. It was almost imperceptible, as though aclod of mud had shifted a little; but it continued, somethingseparated itself from the mass, and the intaken breath escaped fromhim in a sigh of disgust, as a rat came hurrying, with a quickdainty movement of its twinkling feet, towards him. Seeing him, itstopped, a few yards from the parapet, its muzzle twitchingsensitively, sat up, sleek and well-fed, to stroke its whiskerswith its forepaws; and then, avoiding the puddles and shellholes,turned aside in a direction parallel to the trench, not taking astraight path, but picking its way delicately along the ridges, asthough to keep its feet dry.
Rats nauseated him. He shifted his stand slightly, feelingcramped and cold. His mittens were caked with wet mud, and thestock of his rifle was greasy with moisture. A thin stalk of silvershot up into the sky, curved over, and flowered into a sphere oflight, which expanded, pulsating, to flood the pocked earth beneathit; falling slowly, it dwindled, and was engulfed again abruptly indarkness. For those few seconds Private Bourne was motionless, andthen he changed his position, moving towards the other corner ofthe bay. A machine-gun stammered angrily. The sleeper rousedhimself and sat up, pushing his tin hat back from his face.
"Is Fritz gettin' the fuckin' wind, up?" he asked, sleepily.
"It's quiet enough," answered Bourne, carelessly, in little morethan a whisper.
"Stand easy, and I'll take a spell. It's about time theyrelieved you."
He stood up on the step; and then they both swerved, duckingquickly as something ripped up the air between them, flicked astone from the parados, and sang, like the vibration of a tensewire, into the air behind them. Bourne recovered from theinstinctive movement first, slid his rifle into a new position,and, crouching a little closer to earth, waited.
"That bugger's too bloody personal," said Corporal Jakes withsome appreciation.
Bourne said nothing: now that the tension of his solitary watchhad been relieved, he felt tired and irritable. The movements andwhispers of the other man only exasperated his angry nerves. Asniper's bullet has too definite an aim and purpose to be dismissedfrom the mind as soon as it is spent, like the explosion of a moreor less random shell. Even a machine-gun, searching forpossibilities with a desultory spray, did not have quite the sameintimate effect. So Bourne crouched a little lower over hisrifle.
The Hun certainly had become suspicious of that brooding quiet.Lower down the line, on the left, another star-shell rose to spillits hoary light over that waterlogged desolation, and it hadscarcely died when another took its place. Bourne was vainly tryingto regain control over the narrow territory he had possessed sosecurely a little while ago. His impassive face was thrust forward,and the beaky nose between the feverishly bright eyes, the salientcheekbones above the drawn cheeks, the thin-lipped mouth, set, buttoo sensitive not to have a hint of weakness in it, and theobstinate jaw, had a curiously still alertness in its expression.He raised his head a few inches, to get a clearer view, and then,directly to his front, a third shell burst into spectral radiance.He was motionless, in the glare, but his eyes turned searchinglyhalf-right, towards a heap of shattered rubble, something over ahundred yards away, the remains of some farm building. Jakes, too,confronted possibilities with a stolid indifference. Then the lightdied again, and Bourne turned to his companion.
"He, hadn't spotted us," he said under his breath; "he just tooka chance at the trench."
And Jakes looked at Bourne with a solemn face.
"Don't you trust the bastard," he said with pointed brevity.
Sergeant-Major Tozer with the relief came along the trench. Theywere a little overdue. When Jakes mentioned the sniper, thesergeant-major turned to Bourne.
"Where do you reckon he is?" he asked, quietly.
"In that building rubbish," answered Bourne, without conviction."There's a heap of bricks left, where the chimney collapsed: that'swhere I think he is."
"You don't want to think," was Tozer's comment. "If CaptainMarsden asks you anything about it, you want to be sure, see? Theygot Brigadier-General Bullock just about 'ere, an' that will giveour chaps a kind of interest in the matter."
He spoke a few words to the men on the fire-step, and led theway towards the dugout, Jakes and Bourne following him.
"There's a chance you're right," said Tozer, without lookinground; "an' if so, I want 'im shifted."
Stooping in turn, they felt for the steps with their feet. Twohad given, from the wet, and had been converted into a muddy slide.A third of the way down, a blanket, frowsty with damp, shut off thestarlight from them. Groping in darkness they found at the bottomanother blanket, muffling the light within. As Bourne entered, hisnostrils dilated at the reek, as though some instinct of a beastsurvived in him. Each of the fluttering candles had a halo roundit. The smoke from them, and tobacco, and acrid fumes from abrazier, could not mask the stale smell of unwashed men, and sergesinto which had soaked and dried the sweat of months. Some few menwho were awake looked up as they entered, showing impassive faces,with hard, bright eyes. The majority slept, a little restlessly,and were scarcely more than shadows in the uncertain light.
About a third of the dugout, which had two entrances, had beenscreened off from the rest by blankets; and there the officers hadtheir quarters.
"Captain Marsden wants to ask you something, corporal," saidTozer. "Bourne, you'd better come, too."
They passed behind the blankets, and Captain Marsden looked up,exactly as the men had done, and with the same impassive face andhard eyes, while Mr Sothern slept with the same frowning brows.They were all equally damned.
"Corporal Jakes, sir," said the sergeant-major, by way ofintroduction.
"Oh, yes," said Captain Marsden, a trace of anxiety vanishingfrom his face. "Corporal, when you were out on patrol with MrSothern, I hear that you saw a corporal dead in a shellhole. Isthat right?"
"Yes, sir," answered Jakes, with no more than his usualsolemnity; "e were lyin' 'ead down in a shell'ole; with 'is feet onthe rim. It were a fairly fresh 'ole, sir. Not much water init."
"Ah," said Captain Marsden. "Did you know Corporal Evans, of DCompany?"
"No, sir. I 'ad 'eard the name, sir, but I can't say I knew 'im,not personally; 'e 'ad only come to the battalion lately, sir."
"I see. If he had been Corporal Evans, who is missing, you couldnot have identified the body; but you are quite sure the body yousaw was that of a corporal?"
"Yes, sir. I noticed 'e 'ad a couple o' stripes up. What Inoticed was 'is overcoat. It were a good overcoat, nearly new; an'I've been lookin' out for a good overcoat a long while now, but Ididn't lave time to get it. A few shells came over, an' Mr Sothernseemed in a 'urry..."
The officer looked with some severity at a face innocent ofoffence.
"You don't even know his regiment?" he continued,interrogatively. "No; of course, as you say, there was notime."
He spoke in a low even voice, almost as though preoccupied withother matters. Then he looked up again.
"But I suppose you can describe him to some extent, can't you,corporal? Was he a small man? How do you think he had beenkilled?"
"'E were a biggish man, sir, bigger'n I am; seemed tallish,lyin' there. 'E were lyin' on 'is face, an' I could only see theback of 'is 'ead. I thing 'e 'ad been shot."
"Corporal Evans was last seen the day we came up; but for allyou know the man you saw might have been lyin' there for weeks,eh?"
"No, sir. 'E couldn't lave been dead long, because the rats'adn't begun on 'im."
"Ah, I see. Rats are rather bad round here, corporal, eh? Well,that's all we shall ever know, I suppose. I am very sorry aboutEvans, they tell me he was a good man. What do you want,Bourne?"
As he turned to Bourne his manner became perceptibly colder.
"Beg pardon, sir," said Sergeant-Major Tozer. "Just before beingrelieved, Corporal Jakes and Bourne were fired on by a sniper.Bourne thinks he saw him."
Bourne was about to protest; but something in Captain Marsden'smanner prevented him. Both men felt some embarrassment on suchoccasions as these, for although the conventions which separatedofficers from men were relaxed to some extent on active service,between men of roughly the same class they tended to become morerigid. Even when momentarily alone together, they recognised,tacitly, something a little ambiguous in the relation in which theystood to each other; and with a non-commissioned officerintervening, as in the present case, the difficulty became greater.Even before the lie which rounded off Sergeant-Major Tozer'sstatement so effectively had been uttered, Captain Marsden hadtaken up an indelible pencil from the ramshackle table, on whichone of the versatile army blankets did duty as a cloth, and wascontemplating the point with an air of judicial detachment.
"Oh," he said crisply. "Did you see anything, corporal?"
"No, sir," answered Jakes; "but I could swear that bullet cameatween us.'
"Really the only thing you could swear is that a bullet cameunpleasantly close to you," said Captain Marsden with a trace ofsarcasm.
Sergeant-Major Tozer stiffened a little at his company officer'sapparent indifference.
"I'm afraid, sir, I spoke a bit 'asty. Private Bourne didn'texactly see where the shot came from, but as 'e seemed prettycertain, I thought you might like to know about it. Sniping 'asbeen rather troublesome in this sector. It was only about twentyyards from where Bourne was standing that the brigadier was 'it,an' then there's this Corporal Evans, sir."
"Well, Bourne," said Captain Marsden, impatiently, "what haveyou got to say?"
"I think the shot came from that direction, sir. It is the sortof place in which I should post a sniper, if it were my job. It isdifficult to judge from the sound, but I think the bullet camebetween us, and it certainly hit a stone behind us.'
"Well, I had better see for myself, I suppose. You needn't come,sergeant-major. Get a bit of rest before stand-to."
There was a touch of kindliness in his voice, and thesergeant-major, without attaching too much importance to it, feltless ruffled. He found it always a little difficult to guess whathis company officer was thinking, or what effect any of his ownsuggestions might have on Captain Marsden's conduct of affairs.
Bourne followed his officer up the steps, and into the coldstarlight, without speaking. After a few paces, Captain Marsdenspoke.
"You know, Bourne," he said; "Sergeant-Major Tozer thinks I amlikely to pay more attention to what you say, and of course to someextent that is right; but it doesn't do to allow that kind ofimpression to spread. Oh, I know the place you mean. I wondered whyJerry had not included it in his trench system."
Bourne did not see why Captain Marsden should take the troubleto explain to him. He felt rather resentful; but he had beenstrange in his behaviour since the attack.
"There's nothing there, sir," he said. "Nothing but the remainsof the chimney; no cellars..."
"How do you know that?"
"I went out there once, with Mr Finch, sir; to look at theirwire. Almost as soon as we got across we heard a Hun patrol comingtowards us. We crouched down, we were in a dip in the ground, andcould see them through the mist against the light. Mr Finchmotioned us to keep quiet. I expected every second that someonewould loose off a round. Six buck Huns and only the pull of atrigger between them and peace, perfect peace. It was too easy.They looked like shadows on a window-blind. They had crossed theline we had taken, and passed diagonally behind us, between us andour own wire. After they had passed us, we went on for quite a longway, and coming back we passed through those building remains.There was nothing to be seen but a few light tracks."
They were challenged by a low voice; and then Captain Marsdengot up on the fire-step, but could not pick up the mound of rubbleeven with his glasses. It needed a star-shell behind it to make itclearly visible; even by daylight it was almost indistinguishablefrom its surroundings.
"Everything quiet?" he asked the boy beside him.
"Aye, sir; but sergeant-major, 'e said there were a sniperabout. They send up a star-shell now and again, but not close. Acan just see t' place, but th' art not used to t' light yet."
Captain Marsden searched the night again, but could not pick itup. He decided in his mind that as the boy had seen it under astarshell, he imagined he still saw it, an image remaining on theretina, after darkness had hidden the object again. Then a distantstar-shell revealed it, exactly where the boy had said it was.Captain Marsden made the most of his opportunity, and stepped downagain.
"You keep your eyes skinned, m' lad," he said, cheerfully. "Youmay see something interesting over there, yet. All right, Bourne;we shall go back. I suppose you'll get some tea, or something, anda smoke. I'm glad I came out, and glad you knew something about theplace. I knew there were no cellars, but I was wondering how youhad got to know. A good fellow, Finch; always knew how toconcentrate on the job he was doing, and he did a lot of good work.Did very well in the attack, too, and got a nice blighty. I'm gladyou're going to become one of us, Bourne. You should have gone fora commission long ago. Perhaps the colonel will see you after weare relieved."
He acknowledged Bourne's salute, and left him; Bourne going intothe dugout by the other entrance. After duly slipping on the twodamaged steps with the invariable surprise, and curses, Bournefound Sergeant-Major Tozer and Corporal Jakes in their corner.
"There's a drop o' tea still 'ot," said the sergeant-major, "an'your rum ration."
"What's 'e goin' to do about it?" inquired Jakes moredirectly.
"Well, he didn't let me into any secrets," said Bourne; "but Ibelieve, corporal, he wants you to go out and bury that man yousaw."
"It's a funny thing," said Jakes with the utmost seriousness;"but I'd like to think I'd be buried, that is, if I were scuppered,you know. What gets me with the captain is the way 'e talks to you,as though you weren't there. 'Ave you noticed that, sergeant?"
Sergeant-Major Tozer, on principle, disapproved of a corporalexpressing any opinion about his company commander; but for once hecondoned a fault.
"What gets me," he said, with even greater vehemence, "is theway 'e looks at you from be'ind 'is face."
"Orderly," came a voice from behind the blankets, and a runneremerged from stupor and answered in clumsy haste. Bourne lit acigarette, after passing his tin to the other two, and then leanedback against the damp wall. He looked round cursorily on thosefaces, from which sleep had banished all expression save ofhopeless weariness. Pritchard and himself, apart from Tozer ofcourse, were the only two men left of the men composing theirsection on the Somme in July. The rest were all strangers to him.Then he seemed to see Martlow in front of him: a freakishschoolboy, jealous, obstinate in all resentments, but full ofgenerous impulses, distrusting the whole world, and yet open andimpressionable when one had gained his confidence. He had come upto Shem and himself casually at Sandpits, after the last Guillemontshow, and had sat with them ever since. It had been just a chanceencounter. They had been three people without a single thing incommon; and yet there was no bond stronger than that necessitywhich had bound them together. They had never encroached on eachother's independence. If the necessity had been removed, they wouldhave parted, keeping nothing of each other but a vague memory,grateful enough, though without substance. Shem was all right, hehad gone his own way, but Martlow would go no farther: and Bournewould always see those puckered brows, and feel the weight of him.He closed his eyes.
The boy on the fire step watched his front intently. Theexpectation that he would see something move, or a sudden flashthere, became almost desire. But nothing moved. The world grew moreand more still; the dark became thinner; soon they would stand to.He could see the remains of the building now, almost clearly. Therewas nothing there, nothing, the world was empty, hushed, awaitingdawn. And then, as he watched it less keenly, something from theskies smote that heap of rubble, the shadowy landscape in front ofhim blurred and danced, and a solid pillar of darkness rose intothe air even before he heard the explosion, spreading out thickerat the top like an evil fungus; spread, and dissolved again, andthe heap of rubble was no longer there.
"Christ!" said the boy. "That were a good 'un."
Fortune? O, most true; she is a strumpet.
—SHAKESPEARE
After another tour in the trenches, their rest billets werechanged, and they moved to huts in Bus wood. A court-martialreduced the regimental sergeant-major to the rank of a sergeant,and he was sent to A Company under Sergeant-Major Tozer. He took itvery well, but became rather unapproachable, though Bournesometimes succeeded in drawing him out of himself. Tozer handledhim tactfully, never consulting him, and yet taking his opinion,when he offered it, very much as though they were of equal rank. Heknew how to nurse a sorry man. The men, too, no longer bore him anyill-will, his punishment wiped out any score they may have hadagainst him; but his manner did not change perceptibly; even thoughhis conduct became more circumspect, he still faced matters in hisown rather arrogant and scornful way.
Bourne himself had become rather melancholy and unsociable.Chance threw him fairly often in the way of Morgan, the bombingsergeant, and they would go out together from time to time, to ahouse in Bus where they could get rum and coffee, and talk inquiet. Morgan drank very little, and was seldom seen in anestaminet. He was a keen, dapper, confident little man. Sometimes atall man with a gipsy face, one of the bombers, would join them.Bourne had first seen him at Reclinghem, when they had beenbilleted together; and, as he never seemed to get any letters orparcels, Bourne had asked him to share in his occasionally. Theyhad become more or less friendly, and one day Bourne asked him whathe had done in civil life.
"I was at school," he said, after a moment's hesitation.
Bourne looked at him in amazement, as he was at least thirtyyears old, and Whitfield explained quite simply that he had beenserving a sentence in gaol. Apparently he was a burglar, but hemade no attempt to justify his choice of a profession which wasboth hazardous and ill-paid; and Bourne, recovering from amomentary bewilderment, accepted his statement as confidential, andkept the matter to himself. He liked Whitfield, who after all, as abomber, was labouring in his vocation; but though he kept the man'ssecret, he once turned to Sergeant Morgan and asked him whatWhitfield had done before the war.
"'E kept a bicycle repair shop," said Morgan. "E's a bloody goodman, you know; one of the best I've got. I've recommended 'im for astripe once or twice, but they don't seem to take no notice. 'Edoesn't mind, but I'll keep on recommending 'im. You ought to comeout with me some night, when we're up in the tronshay. A lot o' themen don't see it, but it's a good game really. You're free to dovery much as you please. O' course you get your orders, an' theymake up some kind of a plan; but that's all eyewash. You've got toforget all that as soon as you start, an' make your ownarrangements as you go on. I've taken out quite a lot o' officersnow, an' they're all the same, pretty decent chaps as a rule. Theydraw up a plan, an' then they just come to me an' ask me to take aglance at it, an' see if it's all right. It's all right, sir, Ialways say to 'em; you just bung it in at th' orderly-room, an'we'll do what's possible. On'y one officer ever gave me anytrouble, a chap attached to us, no names no pack-drill; but 'e werea bastard, 'e were. Military Cross, an' bar; reg'lar pot-'unter;an' we lost one o' the best corporals we've ever 'ad through thatbloody man. Wouldn't be told, 'e wouldn't."
Bourne knew something of the story, but he was not paying muchattention. Very slowly, and less as a possibility than as a kind ofdream, there woke in him a desire to see and explore a little ofthe Hun trenches again. The desire grew, fascinating him; and thenfaded again, as a dream might, for he knew the reality too well.They finished their rum and coffee, and walked back together to thehuts.
"Where've you been?" said Sergeant-Major Tozer. "I don't seem toget much time these days, but I was lookin' for you tonight.Thought we might go out an' see what was doin' in this bloody'ole."
"Sergeant-major," said Bourne, "we won't go out. I'll try andscrounge a bottle of whisky, and we'll have a spree tomorrow nightin the company office, with Sergeant Hope and Corporal Jakes. Nevermind how I'll get it. You're not supposed to know that: it's not inInfantry Training."
All the talk in the camp on the following morning was aboutMiller the deserter, who had been arrested near Calais, and hadbeen brought back under escort.
"Wish they'd shot the bugger, an' saved us the trouble," was allSergeant-Major Tozer said.
"He gave you the slip all right, sergeant-major," said SergeantHope, with a laugh that sounded a little supercilious.
"He gave me the slip all right," admitted Tozer; "but then hewasn't a prisoner."
A new regimental sergeant-major had come to them from anotherbattalion some days earlier. Hope knew him a little, and said hewas a pukka soldier, reserved and strict, but very reasonable. Hecame into A Company's hut, and asked for Bourne, at half-past fivethat afternoon; and when Bourne came to him at the double, he wastold to make himself look smart, as he was to go before thecommanding officer at six o'clock, about his commission. For themoment Bourne felt an almost uncontrollable desire to draw back, ifpossible; then he accepted the situation, and went to brush up andwash. While he was rolling on his puttees again, Sergeant Hope cameto him.
"D'you mind asking the regimental to come along tonight, too?"he asked.
"You ask him, sergeant," said Bourne characteristically.
"No bloody fear," said Hope. "I don't mind letting him knowwhat's in the wind. He's a jolly good sport, is old Traill, thoughhe does stand a bit on his dignity; it will be all right if youtell him it's just a kind of farewell drink together; but itwouldn't do for us to ask him. He would think we had put you up togetting it; but after you've seen the colonel you could askhim."
A little reluctantly Bourne agreed; but he felt awkward aboutit, because after all he did not know the regimental, and the wholebusiness was, to say the least, irregular. As soon as he wasdressed, the regimental looked him over.
"As you are ready," he said, "we may as well walk down. I wantto have a talk to you."
They set off together, walking slowly, and even stopping; and hehad his talk. He knew as much about Bourne as anybody in thebattalion knew, evidently; and his remarks were very much to thepoint. Discipline was discipline, he said; though one allowed acertain latitude to the reasonable man.
"You're quite right to be friendly with everyone, so long as youbehave yourself, and don't try to take advantage. All the same, youknow, some of the men with whom you're friendly may be all right intheir place, but you don't want to judge the whole army by them.You will have to forget a lot, and begin again; that is, you willhave to take a different view. You know the men. But when you're anofficer you won't know your men. You'll be lucky if you know yourN.C.O.'s, and you'll have to leave a lot of it to them. You'll haveto keep them up to the mark; but you'll have to trust them, and letthem know it."
He went into the orderly-room, and presently resumed to take inBourne. The colonel was sitting at his table, which was covered bythe invariable blanket, and apparently Bourne's business was onlyone of many matters engaging his attention. He seemed thoughtfuland preoccupied rather than tired, and he looked at Bourne with hisinflexible blue-grey eyes, while he questioned him about himselfand his life. His manner seemed to grow a little kindlier, withoutceasing to be detached, as he proceeded. Then, without asking anymore questions, he gave Bourne some advice which did not differsubstantially from the regimental's.
"I shall make you a lance-corporal," he said in conclusion. "Itmay be some weeks before the matter goes through; and you will haveto go before the brigadier-general for his approval. I thinkthey're very lucky to get you, as I feel sure you will make a goodofficer."
Bourne thanked him, saluted, and left. Outside, he waited forthe regimental in a curious state of pleasurable excitement. Thecolonel's praise and encouragement filled him with gratitude, butsomething warred against his elation; he felt through all hisexcitement some intractable regret, and could only say to himselfwhat he had said through all the past months: one is bound to try,one is not bound to succeed. Then the regimental came out tohim.
"Sir," said Bourne, "as I may be going away at any time now, Iasked Sergeant-Major Tozer, and Sergeant Hope and Corporal Jakes tohave a drink with me tonight; and I should be very glad of yourcompany too. I have a bottle of Scotch whisky."
The regimental wondered how he had got it, and noticing Bourne'sanxiety, he concealed a smile with a hand stroking hismoustache.
"I suppose it's an exceptional occasion," he said, quietly."I'll come along at eight. After all, a bottle of whisky will doless harm to five men than to four."
He walked into the dusk, and Bourne went to his hut.
"How did you get on with the C.O.?" said Sergeant Hope. "There'sa letter there for you."
Bourne picked up the letter with a shock of surprise. It was acheap, shiny envelope with a thin black edge to it, addressed in awoman's handwriting which was old-fashioned, precise, and easilyrecognised. He saw the postmark, Squelesby.
"Oh, all right," he said absently.
"Is the regimental coming in tonight?" Hope asked him.
"Yes," he answered, even forgetting to add the customary"sergeant".
Hope looked at him curiously, and said nothing more. Bourne,getting closer to the candle, opened the letter and read it. It wasfrom Mrs Martlow.
He returned it to its envelope and buttoned it into hisbreast-pocket. Martlow had told his mother all about him, even thathe would miss him when he went "to be made an officer"; and Bournefound himself remembering the walk back to Reclinghem from Vincly,and the old priest, hatless in the twilight, and the reproach inthe boy's voice as he asked him whether what Sergeant-MajorRobinson had said were true.
Presently he got up, and walked out between the trees for alittle while. He felt restless. The extraordinary reserve andcourage in this woman's letter, the painful way in which shereached out for Bourne, piecing him together out of her son'sletters, as though he kept something of him which she had lost,that, too, seemed a reproach to him. He had heard nothing of Shem.Shem was in a hospital somewhere, recovering from his wound; but hehad vanished completely, so completely that Bourne did not evenexpect to hear from him again. Men passed out of sight like that,and seemed to leave very little trace. Their term had beencompleted. Martlow, for some reason he could not grasp, persistedin his memory, seemed to be only out of sight, behind the hut, asit were, or even just on the point of coming through the doorway.Bourne went back and sat with Hope.
"You haven't had any bad news, have you?" Hope asked him.
"No, sergeant. Oh, you mean the letter. No, it was only ananswer."
They went off together to the hut used as a company office andstore; and found Corporal Jakes there with Sergeant-Major Tozer.Presently the regimental arrived; and, taking out his jack-knife,Bourne drew the cork slowly and softly, Jakes mimicking the soundof it with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, andimmediately looking as though he had made a breach of good manners.Bourne paid more attention to the regimental and to Corporal Jakesthan to the other two; because apparently the R.S.M. found it alittle difficult to throw off a certain presidential air, andJakes, feeling some constraint, looked rather as though his clotheswere too tight. That awkwardness wore off. Some kind of warmth andexcitement came into Bourne's blood as they laughed at hisstories.
"You seem in a pretty good skin tonight," said Sergeant-MajorTozer.
"Well, I suppose you'll 'ave a lance stripe up tomorrow; an'then it'll be goodbye in no time. Funny thing, life. We just sit'ere an' talk as though we'd sit 'ere for ever, an' when one or twool' friends drop out, an' one or two new uns come along, it don'tseem no different some'ow. All the same, I expect we'll rememberyou longer'n you'll remember us."
"Damn it," said the regimental, very reasonably, "you can'tforget a man who finds a bottle o' Scotch in a place likethis."
"Have some more, sir? Corporal?"
"Just a spot more. Merci blow-through," said the corporal.
"I mean we'll be still 'ere," explained Tozer; "an' you'll beout of it. It won't seem real to you any longer."
"You don't want to think about things," said Corporal Jakes.They all started talking in a desultory way about the war. Theregimental was confident, but had no illusions. It could only endwhen Germany had been beaten; but the end seemed a long way offyet.
"I lost my elder boy," he said quietly.
Bourne looked at him, at once. Here was a man with a personalfeeling against the Hun; and it was curious how seldom one thoughtof men except as soldiers. One forgot that they were husbands, orfathers, or sons; they were just a lot of anonymous men.
They talked and drank together quietly while the whisky lasted.It was a break; they became easy, comfortable, friendly with eachother, and then they went their several ways to sleep.
Bourne was in orders for a stripe next day, and went to thetailors to get it sewn on his sleeve at once. He gave the tailorssome money to wet it.
"I suppose you'll be goin' out on a bit of a spree wi' the S.M.an' Sergeant 'ope tonight," said Snobby Hines, approvingly.
"No, I'm going to kip," said Bourne. "Sergeant Hope's on guardtonight."
In the morning Miller, the deserter, had assumed heroicproportions. He was a prisoner in the police tent, right at theedge of a quarry, with three of the police sleeping there and asentry outside. In the night he had crawled out under the skirt ofthe tent, and climbed down the quarry in the dark; then he hadcrept back into the camp and stolen one of the orderlies'bicycles.
"That bugger deserves to get off," said Sergeant-Major Tozer;but the unlucky Sergeant Hope, who was the person responsible,shoved a revolver into his pocket, took another bicycle, andscoured the country like a desperate man. Even when he returned,empty-handed, he could not say all he felt. In the afternoon theymoved up to the front-line trenches.
Brigade had ordered them to make a raid to secureidentifications, and the various companies were asked to providevolunteers. Weeper Smart, who had been down to the headquartersdugout to get something, had brought back the message. WithLance-Corporal Eames and a man called Jackson, he had been attachedto A Company as signaller for that tour in the trenches. He handedthe message to Sergeant-Major Tozer, who gave it to CaptainMarsden; and they discussed the matter in a low tone of voice. TheHun had become a little troublesome in no-man's-land, and it was amistake to let him have too much of his own way.
"Mr Cross will be in charge, with Sergeant Morgan and tenmen."
Bourne had been out with a fatigue party, draining a low-lyingbit of trench which needed the pump daily. The trenches were rottenwith wet, and when the frost gave the sides tended to collapse. Hehad brought his men back to the dugout by the time Captain Marsdenand Sergeant-Major Tozer had digested the message, and CaptainMarsden looked up and saw him, muddy up to the thighs.
"Lance-Corporal, we're to make a raid tonight. I believe youknow something about the lie of the land up here. Do you wish tomake one of the party? We're asking for volunteers."
"Lance-corporal Bourne is down for a commission, sir,"interposed Sergeant-Major Tozer, "and per'aps..."
"I know all that," said Captain Marsden, shortly. "What do yousay, lance-corporal?"
Bourne felt something in him dilate enormously, and thencontract to nothing again.
"If you wish it, sir," he said, indifferently.
"It's not a question of my wishes," said Captain Marsden,coldly.
"We are asking for volunteers. I think the experience may beuseful to you."
"I am quite ready, sir," said Bourne, with equal coldness. Therewas silence for a couple of seconds; and suddenly Weeper stood up,the telephone receiver still on his head; and his eyes almoststarting from their sockets.
"If tha go'st, a'm goin'," he said, solemnly.
Captain Marsden looked at him with a supercilious amazement.
"I don't know whether your duties will allow of you going," hesaid. "I shall put your name down provisionally."
A young man called Gaymer volunteered; no one else. They gotsome food, and sat in silence, smoking. After some time, Bourne,Smart and Gaymer were told to report themselves outside H.Q. dugoutat once. The trenches by day were as forlorn and desolate as bynight, but without the enveloping mystery. Everything was stark,bare and cold; one crept within the skeleton ribs of the earth. Theparty gradually came together, and the adjutant climbed out of thedugout, and spoke to each man individually. He seemed a littleperplexed as to what he should say. He looked at Bourne ratherdoubtfully.
"Feel you ought to go, Bourne?" he inquired, and passed onwithout waiting for a reply.
Sergeant Morgan smiled at Bourne.
"It'll be all right," he whispered, "just take a peek at 'em,give 'em a bit of a surprise and come back."
Bourne saw Whitfield there, and felt as though he would like tohunt in couples with him. Otherwise he felt quiet, almostindifferent, except for the sense of adventure that thrilled in himoccasionally; and then, with that perversity of mind characteristicof him, he laughed at himself for a fool, and, when that phasepassed, found himself thinking of Captain Marsden with an obscureresentment. Anyway, he argued, probably none of our actions arequite voluntary; if compulsion is not explicit, it is perhapsalways implied; and then he found himself wondering whether thedetermination, which became stronger and stronger in him, was notafter all his real self, which only needed the pressure ofcircumstances to elicit it.
They moved off into an empty stretch of trench, and there theofficer explained to them what they had to do, Sergeant Morganintervening occasionally. They were shown a sketch-plan of theenemy trenches, the point where it was proposed to enter, the postwhich, if occupied, they intended to attack; and then men were toldoff for their several jobs. Bourne found himself paired off withWeeper, with orders to hold the trench at a point where it made ajunction with a communication trench running back to the supportline, and give warning of the approach of any hostile party movingalong the trench.
They were told also that there might be a machine-gun post intheir neighbourhood, but this was not clear. Their duty, in short,was to cover a flank and give protection to the raiders. If theywere obliged to use their bombs, they were to retire immediately onthe rest of the party, without ceasing to give what protectionmight be possible: if a signal were given by whistle, they were togo straight for the lane in the wire, and if unable to rejoin theothers, they were to make their way back to their own trenches asbest they could. They were cautioned as to the danger from theirown sentries, and warned as to the necessity of answering achallenge promptly.
Mr Cross, when he was satisfied that the men understood the planas a whole, as well as their individual parts in it, turned to thesergeant, and asked him if he had forgotten anything. The sergeantseemed to be quite certain that he had not, but thought it as wellto go over the whole plan again himself. He was less insistent thanthe officer on the value of teamwork, and seemed more inclined tostress the fact that while the whole affair was a single action, inwhich their separate parts were co-ordinated, each man was expectedto rely on himself and use his own judgment.
"You want to get the ball out into the loose, an' keep itmovin'," he said by way of metaphor; and they seemed to relish it,even if they didn't quite understand how it applied.
Then they went back to their several companies, with orders toassemble at nine o'clock by the junction of Delaunay and Monktrenches. Weeper and Bourne were alone together after a few paces."What 'opes'ave us poor buggers got!" exclaimed Weeper.
"Why did you come, Smart? I thought it awfully decent of you,"said Bourne.
"When a seed that fuckin' slave driver look at 'ee, a said tomysen, Am comin'. A'll always say this for thee, tha'lt share allth'ast got wi' us'ns, and tha' don't call a man by any foolishnicknames. Am comin'. 'T won't be the first bloody raid a've beenout on, lad. An' 'twon 'a be t' last. Th'ast no cause to worry. Acan look after mysen, aye, an' thee too, lad. You leave it tome."
He was always the same; determination only made him moredesperate. Bourne thought for a moment, and then, lifting his head,turned to his companion.
"I don't suppose Captain Marsden meant to put things that way,you know, Smart. It's just his manner. He would always do what hethought right."
Weeper turned on him a fierce but pitying glance. "Th'ast abloody fool," was all he said.
It was enough. Bourne laughed softly to himself. He had alwaysfelt some instinctive antipathy against his company commander.
"I'll show the bastard," he said to himself in his own mind; "ifI get a chance."
Chance. They were all balanced, equally, on a dangerous chance.One was not free, and therefore there would be very little merit inanything they might do. He followed Weeper down into thedugout.
Sergeant-Major Tozer was at the foot of the stairs, withCorporal Jakes.
"You want to look after yourself, see?" Tozer said, seriously."Captain 'ad no right sendin' you like that."
"E's no bloody bottle, anyway," said Jakes.
"You don't want to talk like that," said the sergeant-major, andthen, turning to Bourne: "there's a drop of 'ot tea there, wi' atot o' rum in it, you can 'ave if you like."
"No thanks, sergeant-major," said Bourne; "but keep my rationfor when I get back. And don't worry about me. I'm all right. Iwant to go."
He knew that he did, then, very definitely. It was a part of hisroad, to whatever place it might lead; and he went to sit down byWeeper Smart. They talked together a little, not very much. Theydid not talk to anyone else; but, from time to time, one of theother men would look at them in a kind of disinterestedspeculation.
The mist was luminous in the moonlight, but very variable,clouding and clearing, hurrying away on the wind, which was notstrong enough to dissipate it entirely. One question was, would itlast long enough? They had daubed their faces with mud. Starting ata walk, they dropped after a little while, and crawled slowly andcautiously forward. The mud had become moderately firm under thefrost, which was not hard enough to coat the puddles with ice tocrack under their weight with the sound of splintering glass.
There were a few pauses, when Sergeant Morgan whispered to theofficer; and once again Bourne felt inclined to laugh, for some ofthe men breathed heavily, like oxen, in the night. At last therewas a definite pause; and Whitfield wriggled forward with anotherman. They waited, listening intently. It was very silent now.Suddenly a machine-gun started to chatter, but it was only anadmonition. Once they heard the vibration of a wire, and a rattle,and, listening intently, they ceased to breathe. Bourne and Weeperwere next to a man with a mace, some of the men called it akosher-stick, and Bourne looked at it curiously. He felt very cool;but it seemed a long time to wait there. At last Whitfield cameback. Then he led the way forward again, the sergeant followingimmediately afterwards, then came Mr Cross, and the men with maces,and the rest of the party.
Bourne found himself crawling over a mat of wire, rusty in themud; loose strands of it tore his trousers to tatters, and it wasslow work getting through; he was mortally afraid of setting someof the strands singing along the line. Every sound he made seemedextraordinarily magnified. Every sense seemed to be stretched to anexquisite apprehension. He was through. He saw Whitfield and theother man slip into the trench, and out the other side. SergeantMorgan gave him the direction with his hand. Weeper passed him, andhe followed, trying to memorise the direction, so that he would beable to find his way back to the gap in the wire. They crossedalmost together, Weeper taking his hand and pulling him up theother side without apparent effort. The man was as strong as anape. Then they wormed their way forward again, until they foundtheir position, where the communication trench formed a rathersharp angle with the fire-trench. The fire-trench itself stillshowed the effects of their bombardment; after passing thecommunication trench it changed its direction in a ratherpronounced way, running forward as though to converge more closelyon the British line. They were now in a shellhole, or rather twoshellholes, which had formed one: Weeper looking down thecommunication trench, and Bourne along the fire-trench.
The mist was very light now, it looked as though it might almostclear. Bourne shifted his position slightly, to get morecomfortable. He already had a bomb ready, with his finger in thering of the safety pin. As he moved, he saw, not ten yards away, afaint gleam of yellowish light, that had none of the spectralpallor of moonlight. He kicked Weeper, and pointed silently. Thegleam came again. It came from a large shellhole curtained over,probably by a camouflaged tarpaulin; and something moving insidepressed against the slit by which men entered, displacing it almostimperceptibly, so that there came from it, every now and then, awinking gleam of light. He heard Weeper mutter something no louderthan a sigh. Farther, much farther, away, a star-shell shot up intothe sky.
Suddenly they heard a shout, a scream, faint sounds of struggle,and some muffled explosions from underground. Almost, immediatelythe machine-gun in front of them broke into stuttering barks; theycould see the quick spurting flashes in front of it; and Bournethrew his bomb, which went straight for the crack in the curtain.Ducking, he had another ready and threw that, but Weeper hadalready thrown. The three explosions followed in rapid succession.They heard a whistle. The machine-gun was out of action, butWeeper, leaping towards its wreckage, gave them another, and rushedBourne into the trench. They saw through the mist their own partyalready by the gap, and Weeper's parting bomb exploded.
The party under Mr Cross had made a slight encircling movement,and then, after creeping forward until within striking distance,rushed the trench. As the sentry turned, one of the maces crashedinto his temple, and another man finished him with a bayonet. Therewere two other Huns in the same bay, and one had his arm brokenwith a mace, and screamed. Simultaneously the dugout was bombed,and a couple of men hurled themselves on the third Hun, a Prussiansergeant, who put up a fight, but was overmastered, and lifted,booted, hustled out of the trench. They killed any survivors in thedugout, and another Prussian had been killed in the next bay.
While they were forcing the sergeant and the man with the brokenarm towards the wire, they heard Weeper and Bourne bombing themachine-gun post, and Mr Cross blow his whistle. Almost immediatelya star-shell went up, and there was some blind desultory riflefire. They had got their men through the wire. Suddenly the Hunsergeant, with a desperate effort, wrenched himself free, and facedthem with lifted hand:
"Halte!' he shouted, and flung himself on SergeantMorgan. They went down together. Mr Cross fired, and fortunatelykilled the Prussian.
"I hope you'll never do that again, sir!" said Sergeant Morgan,rising.
"Get his helmet off."
The chain was tight in the thick fat under the chin. Taking hisbayonet, the sergeant tried to prise it off, and cut through allthe soft part of the neck so that the head fell back. The helmetcame away in the end, and they pushed on, with their other moaningprisoner.
Weeper was ahead when he and Bourne reached the gap in the wire.Star-shell after star-shell was going up now, and the whole linehad woken up. Machine-guns were talking; but there was one thatwould not talk. The rattle of musketry continued, but the mist waskindly to them, and had thickened again. As they got beyond thetrammelling, clutching wire, Bourne saw Weeper a couple of pacesahead of him, and what he thought was the last of their partydisappearing into the mist about twenty yards away. He was glad tobe clear of the wire. Another star-shell went up, and they bothfroze into stillness under its glare. Then they moved again,hurrying for all they were worth. Bourne felt a sense of triumphand escape thrill in him. Anyway the Hun couldn't see them now.Something kicked him in the upper part of the chest, rending itsway through him, and his agonised cry was scarcely audible in therush of blood from his mouth, as he collapsed and fell.
Weeper turned his head over his shoulder, listened, stopped, andwent back. He found Bourne trying to lift himself; and Bournespoke, gasping, suffocating.
"Go on. I'm scuppered."
"A'll not leave thee," said Weeper.
He stooped and lifted the other in his huge, ungainly arms,carrying him as tenderly as though he were a child. Bournestruggled wearily to speak, and the blood, filling his mouth,prevented him. Sometimes his head fell on Weeper's shoulder. Atlast, barely articulate, a few words came.
"I'm finished. Le' me in peace, for God's sake. Youcan't..."
"A'll not leave thee," said Weeper in an infuriate rage.
He felt Bourne stretch himself in a convulsive shudder, andrelax, becoming suddenly heavier in his arms. He struggled on,stumbling over the shell-ploughed ground through that fantasticmist, which moved like an army of wraiths, hurrying away from him.Then he stopped, and, taking the body by the waist with his leftarm, flung it over his shoulder, steadying it with his right. Hecould see their wire now, and presently he was challenged, andreplied. He found the way through the wire, and staggered into thetrench with his burden. Then he turned down the short stretch ofDelaunay to Monk Trench, and came on the rest of the party outsideA Company's dugout.
"A've brought 'im back," he cried desperately, and collapsedwith the body on the duck-boards. Picking himself up again, he toldhis story incoherently, mixed with raving curses.
"What are you gibbering about?" said Sergeant Morgan. "Aven'tyou ever seen a dead man before?"
Sergeant-Major Tozer, who was standing outside the dugout,looked at Morgan with a dangerous eye. Then he put a hand onWeeper's shoulder.
"Go down an' get some 'ot tea and rum, of man. That'll do yougood. I'd like to 'ave a talk with you when you're feelin'better."
"We had better move on, sergeant," said Mr Cross, quietly.
"Very good, sir."
The party moved off, and for a moment Sergeant-Major Tozer wasalone in the trench with Sergeant Morgan.
"I saw him this side of their wire, sergeant-major, and thoughteverything would be all right. 'Pon my word, I would 'ave gone backfor 'im myself, if I'd known."
"It was hard luck," said Sergeant-Major Tozer with a quietfatalism.
Sergeant Morgan left him; and the sergeant-major looked at thedead body propped against the side of the trench. He would have tohave it moved; it wasn't a pleasant sight, and he bared his teethin the pitiful repulsion with which it filled him. Bourne wassitting: his head back, his face plastered with mud, and blooddrying thickly about his mouth and chin, while the glazed eyesstared up at the moon. Tozer moved away, with a quiet acceptance ofthe fact. It was finished. He was sorry about Bourne, he thought,more sorry than he could say. He was a queer chap, he said tohimself, as he felt for the dugout steps. There was a bit of amystery about him; but then, when you come to think of it, there'sa bit of mystery about all of us. He pushed aside the blanketscreening the entrance, and in the murky light he saw all the menlift their faces, and look at him with patient, almost animaleyes.
Then they all bowed over their own thoughts again, listening tothe shells bumping heavily outside, as Fritz began to send a lot ofstuff over in retaliation for the raid. They sat there silently:each man keeping his own secret.
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