HOT WORK
Kenneth had not omitted to report the signalling from the church tower.
The light had not been seen from the trenches of his own battalion, and
it was guessed that the receiver of the messages was at some other point
behind the long British front. But on the first night of their return
to billets it occurred to Harry that the light might possibly be visible
from some post of equal height with the tower in which it shone, and he
suggested to Kenneth that they should go up into the belfry of the
church in their village. In order to give no excuse for a German
bombardment the colonel had refrained from making use of this as an
observation post, which some of his officers regarded as an excess of
scrupulousness. It would be necessary to get permission now before
Harry's suggestion could be acted upon.
Harry put the question to Captain Adams. He saw the colonel, who in view
of the fact that the Germans were certainly using a church tower a few
miles away gave his consent. Finding, therefore, the sacristan, Harry
and Kenneth got him to take them up the belfry at about the same hour as
they had seen the Germans' lamp.
Furnished with Captain Adams' field-glasses, they scanned the country in
turns. For a long time they had no reward, and they were indeed on the
point of quitting the spot when Kenneth caught sight of a twinkle far
away to the south-east. It vanished and reappeared at irregular
intervals, just as the light from the tower had done.
"We are not getting the full rays here," said Kenneth, after Harry had
taken a look. "But it is clear that they are signalling to someone in
this direction, more or less."
"Let us go half way down the tower, and see if the light is visible
there," suggested Harry.
But they found that only at the foot of the belfry itself could they
catch sight of the twinkling light.
"It's very cleverly arranged," Harry remarked. "They are not signalling
to this village, that's clear. There's certainly no observer but
ourselves here, and no other place is high enough to catch the rays."
"Except Obernai's house," said Kenneth, looking round over the village.
Most of the roofs were considerably lower than the spot on which they
stood. Only the attics of the Alsatian philanthropist's house rose
above that level. That large building in its extensive grounds was
about sixty yards to their left. There was a light in one of the lower
rooms, where Captain Adams and several other officers were billeted: the
rest was dark.
"It's not very likely, after that spy business, that any of Obernai's
servants is in German pay," Kenneth continued. "Still I'll tell the
captain what we have seen."
He made his report to Captain Adams next morning. Later in the day the
captain said to him:
"There's nothing in that matter, Amory. I asked Monsieur Obernai whether
his servants were trustworthy, and he assured me that he had had them
for years, and could answer for them all. I didn't tell him why I had
made the enquiry; it's best to keep these things as quiet as possible;
we don't want to make people uneasy. I've no doubt the signals are
directed to some place farther away on our left, and the colonel is
sending word along the front, asking them to keep a look-out."
Nothing more was heard of the signalling for a long time.
When they returned to the trenches, their position was somewhat altered.
The Rutlands were moved a little to the right, and Kennedy's platoon
occupied a portion of the trench which had formerly been held by another
platoon.
Kenneth was making himself comfortable in a dug-out with Harry and
Ginger when he picked up, among the various articles left by its former
occupants, a piece of ruled music paper dotted with notes.
"A relic of your friend Stoneway, Ginger," he said with a laugh. "He's
the only musician in the company."
"Is he, by George!" cried Harry. "You forget I was in the school choir,
old chap."
"So you were! I remember how the mothers used to admire your pretty
little cherub face when you let off your songs on the platform. 'Isn't
he sweet, mother?' I heard a girl say once. You remember how we rotted
you."
"Yes, confound it! I was jolly glad when my voice broke, and I got out
of all that. I haven't sung a note since; if I try, my voice is like a
nutmeg grater."
"You've lost your cherubic mug too, old man. But look here; whistle
over this tune; let's hear what it is."
Harry took the paper, scanned it for a moment or two, then said:
"It's no tune at all. The notes go up and down all anyhow."
He whistled a few notes.
"Oh, for any sake stop it!" implored Ginger. "It's Stoneway's
exercises, by the sound of it. Call that music! It's enough to make a
cat ill."
"I'll give it back to Stoneway next time I see him," said Harry.
"Tear it up," said Ginger. "If he hasn't got it, perhaps he can't----"
A shout interrupted him.
"Stand to! Here they come!"
They seized their rifles and rushed out into the trench, Harry stuffing
the paper into his pocket. The men were posting themselves a yard apart
on the banquette, looking excitedly through the loopholes. Across the
open ground in front the Germans were advancing in a serried mass. It
was a surprise attack, not heralded, in the customary way, by a
bombardment. The testing moment had come for the Rutlands at last.
They stood at their posts, tense, quiet with excitement. Ginger's
features twitched; Harry's lips were parted. With their fingers at the
triggers they awaited breathlessly the order to fire. On came the dense
grey lines. The Germans did not fire; with fixed bayonets they swarmed
forward rapidly. They came to the wire entanglement; with clock-work
precision every man in the first rank plied his nippers, and then, in
the trench, Kennedy cried in a hoarse whisper:
"Three rounds, rapid!"
All along the line sounded the crackle of rifles. On the right a
machine-gun rattled; on the left another. Three times the rifles spoke.
Men were shouting, they knew not what. Other sounds mingled with the
din: yells, groans, guttural orders from the German officers; and at the
wire entanglement lay a long swathe of fallen men.
But behind them another multitude was dashing on. They leapt over their
stricken comrades, only to drop in their turn before the withering
volley from their unseen enemy in the trench. Through the gaps poured
an unending torrent; the grey-clad men were drawing nearer to the
trench. The rifle-fire was now continuous, but it was of no avail to
repel this close-packed horde. There was no longer question of taking
cover. The Rutlands leapt up to meet the charge. They fired as fast as
they could, until their rifles were hot. In spite of their losses the
Germans pressed on until sheer weight of numbers carried them to the
edge of the trench.
It is not for us to describe the scene of carnage there--the hideous
work of the bayonets, the cries of the wounded, the hoarse shouts of
defenders and assailants. The Germans fell back. Kennedy's clear voice
shouted the order for volley-firing. And now came a fierce reply from
the German ranks. Then they fell on their knees and crawled forward
again. Again they were driven back. They began to retreat. And then
Kennedy leapt on the parapet and gave the command to charge. The men
responded with alacrity. Up they scrambled, over the fallen men, and
dashed forward with exultant shouts. There was a whizz and boom
overhead. The British artillery behind was coming into play. From the
front came deafening crashes; columns of earth and smoke rose into the
air. The Rutlands lay on the ground until the guns had ceased fire;
then dashed on. They plunged into the reek about the German trench;
they sprang over the parapet and drove the Germans out; and a storm of
cheers acclaimed their victory.
They were preparing to hold the ground they had won when word was
brought that strong reinforcements were hurrying up to the Germans from
the east. They had no reserve strong enough to hold the new line in
face of a superior force. The colonel ordered them to evacuate the
trench, after doing as much damage as was possible in the short time
available.
The men set to work with their own trenching tools and with those
abandoned by the Germans to hack down the walls of the trench. Kenneth
caught up a pick, and remembering the pond at the right of the
communicating trench, he began to cut a hole through the three or four
feet of intervening earth. Ginger joined him. In a few minutes the
water burst through in spate, flooding the trenches, and driving the
Englishmen out pell-mell.
Laughing, singing, throwing jokes one to another, they returned to their
own trenches. They picked up swords, rifles, helmets, and other articles
of equipment that were scattered over the ground, threaded their way
among the fallen men, stopping here and there to assist wounded
comrades. Meanwhile the British artillery was pounding the German lines
to discourage a renewed attack, and the Red Cross men moved swiftly and
silently over the field.
Kenneth had not seen Harry for some time, and was anxious about him.
But the friends met at the edge of their trench. Each ran his eyes
rapidly over the other; their set faces cleared when they recognised
that neither was hurt.
Settled down once more in their dug-out, the three men talked over their
experiences.
"I felt my blood run cold," said Harry, "but I hadn't time to be afraid.
I feel worse now. Look at my hand shaking."
Ginger, very pale, was mechanically cleaning his rifle. He flung it
down with a curse.
"What have they done to me?" he cried. "What have they done to me? I
killed an officer, a nice young chap as might have been your brother.
What for? What about his mother? And all those poor chaps yonder: why
can't them as make wars let us alone? Men ain't made to kill each other.
What's the good of it all? When the war's over, millions dead, millions
crippled, millions miserable. It didn't ought to be."
"We're serving our country, Ginger," said Kenneth. "It's not a question
of just the present moment. We've got to think of the future. What
would life be worth to our people at home if the Germans had their way?
You can get nothing good without paying the price, and it will be good
if we can teach the Germans and the world that force isn't everything,
that people have a right to live their own lives without being bullied.
For every man that dies, whether English or German, perhaps thousands
may have a better time in days to come. That's worth fighting for, and
dying for, if need be. We've all got our little part to play. It's not
a thing you can argue about: you feel it. Look at what Sir Edward Grey
said: he'd rather cut the old country altogether than be obliged to give
up our good English ways and to put up with German tyranny. Don't you
feel like that too? Well, that's why we are fighting; we're fighting to
call our souls our own, and, please God, we'll win."