What a home-coming that was!
They counted him almost as one returned from the dead, and Mrs Dare and
Lois could hardly let him out of their sight for a moment. He was gift
of the gods and prized accordingly.
And they talked and talked, though of course it was Ray who did most
of the talking, and held them spell-bound and shivering with the mere
telling of the things he had seen.
Auntie Mitt suspended her work to gaze at him with eyes like little
saucers, and finally expressed the opinion that it sounded worse even
than the Crimea.
“And you saw nothing of the boys?” asked Honor disappointedly.
“They hadn’t arrived when I left. General opinion is that they’ve got
mislaid en route, but they’ll probably have turned up by the time I get
back. We’re needing them badly to make up our strength. Losses were
very heavy at Messines, and there’s a certain wastage going on all the
time, of course.”
“Wastage indeed!” sighed Mrs Dare, thinking of her own. “You speak as
if they were no more than goods and chattels, Ray. Every wasted one
means a sore sore heart at home.”
“I know, Mother dear. One gets to speak of it so. War is horribly
callousing. If it were not no man could stick it out. But we think of
them differently, I assure you, and nothing is left undone that we can
do for them. You’ve heard from the boys, of course.”
“We’ve had several letters, just hasty scraps----”
“That’s all one has time for, and we’re not allowed to say much, you
see.”
“How long can it possibly go on, do you think?”
“I can’t imagine how it’s ever going to come to an end. You see they’re
dug in and we’re dug in, and neither of us can make any advance. Seems
to me an absolute stalemate and as if it might go on so for ever.”
“How awful to think of!” said Vic. “Can’t you get round them somehow
and turn them out of their holes?”
“We haven’t a quarter enough men. That’s why it’s been so rough on
those that were there. We can beat them at fighting any day, even at
three to one odds, but they outnumber us many times more than that.
How’s Kitchener’s new lot getting on?”
“They’ve come in splendidly, and they’re working hard and look very
fit--those that have got their uniforms. The rest look like convicts,
but they’ll be all right when they’re decently dressed.”
“Well, I tell you,--we want every man of them, and as quickly as
possible. Our long thin line is terribly pressed, and our losses are
heavier in consequence. It’s rough on the nerves, you see. One day in
and one day out of the trenches would be all right. But five days and
nights on end is a bit tough. Lots have been invalided home almost
dotty with the strain.”
He had a great time and savoured every second of it. He had hot baths
till he felt respectable, and got a cold in the head as a consequence,
and went up and had a Turkish bath in town and thought of the icy water
of the trenches as he sat in the hottest room.
He went up to Head-Quarters, and saw the new chiefs there and some old
chums who had been unable for various good reasons to go out with the
rest.
But most of his time he spent with Lois--golden hours which both felt
might possibly be the last.
Three days later he was back at Brigade Head-Quarters, and one of the
first things he saw was Noel Dare kicking a fine goal in a game of
soccer, Draft _v._ Veterans, and Gregor MacLean, who was better at golf
than at footer, cheering him for all he was worth.
They all three forgathered when the game was over and the crowd had
finished booing the referee, and Noel, in the pride of his goal and
brimful of youthful eagerness, broke out, “I say, Sir Raglan, can’t
you get them to get a move on? We chaps came out to fight and we’ve
done nothing yet but play footer and route-march. It’s almost as bad as
being at home.”
“You wait till you get five days and nights in the trenches, my son,
with water up to your knees and the rest of you nothing but mud, and
you’ll be wishing you were back here having a holiday.”
“Bet you I won’t! We’re just aching to have a slap at those beastly
Boches, aren’t we, Greg?”
“Rather!--Sickening, hanging about round here.”
“You’ll find war’s mostly hanging about round somewhere, with an
occasional scrap thrown in, and overmany shells all the time. You get
used to them, of course, but you’ll come to be grateful to get away
from the sound of them for a bit.”
“Everybody all right at home?” asked Noel. “Suppose you got a sight of
them!”
“Yes, I got all the sight of them I could cram into the time. They were
all first rate, but full of anxieties for all of us. I suppose you
write now and again.”
“Oh, occasionally. But you see there’s really been nothing to tell them
so far.”
“You can’t write often enough to please your mothers. They’re feeling
it sorely.”
The days dragged on and found them still ‘fooling about,’ as Noel put
it,--footer, route-marches, parades, alarm-parades, church-parades,
an occasional sudden order to ‘stand-by’ in case of need, now and
again a bit of musketry-drill, and some educational manœuvering and
trench-digging. But it was all very far short of what the fire-eating
newcomers had looked forward to, and strung themselves up to, and felt
very much let down through the lack of.
Then they heard the King was coming to have a look at them, and they
were set to scraping a foot or so of the surface mud off the road so
that his motor should be able to get through somehow.
And they did it merrily enough. It was a change anyway and all in the
day’s work. But, said Noel,
“Hanged if I ever expected to get down to road-scraping. I feel like
one of the old duffers that pretend to sweep the roads at home, with
W.U.C. in brass letters on their caps, and mouch about most of the time
with their brooms over their shoulders.”
The King duly came and went, which passed one day, and they had more
drills, new double-company drills, more route-marches, more parades,
and came at last to doubt if any real fighting was to the fore at all.
The news of Admiral Sturdee’s sinking of the German Fleet off the
Falklands cheered them up, and later on came word of the bombardment of
Scarborough and Whitby, and they were inclined to think that would help
Kitchener in his recruiting.
It rained most days and they got accustomed to the constant living
in wet clothes. And rumour, as of old, had fine times of it--a fresh
’cert’ each day, but the most persistent and long-lived that they were
presently to go to Egypt;--at which Master Noel growled, “Rotten luck!”
They were constantly ‘standing-by,’ hopeful that it meant business at
last, but the order was always cancelled and they stayed where they
were.
Then, right in the middle of a game of footer, peremptory orders came
and they were really off at last, full of fight and jubilant at the
prospect of fresh fame for the Battalion in the near future.
And presently Noel and Gregor found themselves in a real
fighting-trench, with mud and water almost up to their knees, and the
roaring of big guns and the rattle of musketry somewhere on in front.
It was a reserve trench, and between them and the enemy the front line
men were doing their best to retake a trench that had been lost, and
behind them were several companies in support, so that the new men
were as yet in no great danger.
They felt terribly warlike and anxious to get at them. Huge shells came
hurtling through the darkness and exploded all too close, with terrific
noises and ghastly blasts of lightning.
“Bully!” jerked Noel, with his teeth set tight. “Bit of the real thing
at last, old Greg! Wonder when we do anything?”
“It’s dam damp to the feet,” said Gregor. “I’d jolly well like a run to
get warm.”
There was no chance of a run just then, but presently they were all
ordered out into the open to dig a new trench, and the Germans sent up
star-shells and found them out and gave it them hot.
Bullets pinged past them and over them like clouds of venomous insects
swept along by a gale. Shrapnel burst with vicious claps over their
heads. Life seemed impossible and yet to their surprise they lived,
and, whatever their private feelings, the new men stuck valiantly to
their work and dug for dear life.
Noel and Gregor were alongside one another delving like navvies, while
sweat and shivers chased one another up and down their backs which felt
horribly naked to damage.
“Keep as low as you can, boys,” was their lieutenant’s order, as he
paced the line behind, preaching better than he practised.
“Navvies,” jerked Noel, through his teeth to Gregor, so strung up
with it all that he must speak or burst. “Just jolly old navvies and
grave-diggers and road-scrapers! That’s what we are, my son.”
And then--a gasp alongside him, and a groan, and Gregor was down.
“Greg, old man! What’s it?” and he was down on his knees beside him.
But Gregor did not speak.
Noel rose and hauled him up into his arms and began to stagger back
with his burden towards the rear. A machine-gun somewhere on the flank
opened on them. A hail of bullets swept into them. They both went down
with a crash.
“Stretchers here!” shouted the lieutenant, and then fell himself in a
crumpled heap.
* * * * *
Let Ray’s letter tell the rest.
Lois had rushed to meet the postman, as they used to do at The Red
House, but never so eagerly as now.
He handed her the letters with a grin. He wished all the houses he
went to had a similar practice. It made him feel himself a universal
benefactor.
It was sleeting and the letters were sprinkled with drops--like tears.
Lois picked out her own special, tossed the rest--none of which were of
the slightest consequence compared with this one--onto the table in the
breakfast-room and sped upstairs. She always read Ray’s letters first
in sanctuary.
She sliced it open very neatly, for even envelopes from the front
were precious. And then as she glanced over it, with eyes trained and
quickened to the vitalities, her face blanched and her lips tightened,
and then the tears streamed down without restraint.
“LOIS DEAREST,
I have bad news for you, but you will bear it bravely and help
the mothers. Our two dear lads are gone. They were doing their
duty nobly and their end was quick and I believe painless,--a
grand death for any man to die.
They were trenching at the front on Tuesday night with the
rest. The Germans located them in the dark by star-shells
and directed a heavy fire on them. I was sent to order them
to withdraw as the enemy had crept up on the flank with
machine-guns. I met bearer-parties coming in and they said
casualties were pretty heavy. One stretcher I passed as I
returned had two bodies on it, and one of the bearers explained
that they found them locked together like that. ‘This one
had been trying to carry the other, I reckon,’ he said, and I
flicked my torch on them and found to my great grief that it
was Noel and Gregor. Gregor had been shot dead and Noel had
evidently been trying to get him to the rear.
“We may not mourn overmuch. It is hard to lose the boys but it
was a grand death to die. Gregor died for his country. Noel
died for his friend as well.
Break it to the mothers. It will be a sad task, but tell them
how bravely the boys did their part. They were always cheerful
and happy--anxious only to get to the real work for which they
had prepared themselves so well.
I am very well and fit and have not had a scratch so far. God
be thanked, for both our sakes!...”
* * * * *
Break it to the mothers! What a task for any girl!
She fell on her knees by the bed and buried her streaming face in her
hands, and prayed for help for them all and especially for the mothers.
Her own mother, she knew, would bear it bravely. She had many left. But
poor Mrs MacLean!--her only one!--her all! And she ageing and frail.
And Honor! Oh, Death cut wide swathes in these times. It would be very
sad for Honor. She would get over it in time, no doubt. She was young.
But now it would darken her life and leave a terrible blank in it.
And Vic! She was not quite sure if there had been anything between Vic
and Noel. She had imagined the possibility at times. Oh, Death was
cruel, and War was hateful and horrible.
These dear boys, with no ill-feeling for anyone--done to their deaths
by the evil machinations of the war-makers! In the depth of her sorrow
her anger burned. She prayed God vehemently to requite it in full to
those who had brought all these horrors on the world for their own evil
ends.
But nothing would bring back their boys. And upon her lay the dreadful
task of breaking the news to the rest. She prayed now for strength and
guidance, and they were given to her.
She got up and bathed her face and eyes, and went downstairs.
Vic met her expectantly.
“Any news, Lo?... Why--what is it?” at sight of her eyes, which swam in
spite of herself.
“Very bad news, dear. Come in here,--to the library,” and she closed
the door behind them.
“Noel and Gregor,” she said, with a break in her voice--“They are both
gone----”
“Oh, Lo!”--with a sharp agony which Lois understood. “Not both!”
“Yes, dear, both. It is terrible, but you must help us to bear it.”
Vic gave her one woeful glance, which haunted her for months, and then
put her arms round her neck and broke into sobs. “Oh, Lo! Lo!” and
Lois put her arms round her understandingly and patted her soothingly.
No further word was said between them, and presently Vic disengaged
herself and bowed her head and ran up to her room.
Lois just told the news to Auntie Mitt, whose old face worked and
broke, and then, slipping on her Loden cloak with the hood over her
head, she went across to The Red House.
They knew in a moment by the sight of her face that she brought bad
news. Mrs Dare had all along, while relaxing nothing of her faith and
hope, been prepared for such. Many times a day she had said to herself,
“How is it possible that they can come back alive out of such horrors?
God’s will be done!”
Now she asked quickly, “Who is it, dear?”--as one who was prepared.
“It is the boys, Mother dear.”
“Not both?” with a gasp in spite of herself.
“Both,” said Lois sadly, and dared not look at Honor, who sat rigid
and stricken. “I will read you Ray’s letter.”
“Ray is safe?”
“Thank God, he is safe--so far,” and she read them his letter.
When it was all told, Mrs Dare gave a great sigh as though part of her
very life had gone out of her.
“The--poor--dear--lads!” she said softly.
“We must remember that they are infinitely better off, Mother dear,”
said Lois quietly. “They did their duty and they died nobly.”
Mrs Dare sighed again. “I did not think it possible they could all come
back. How could we expect it when so many are gone? But--oh, how we
shall miss them!--the dear lads!--the dear lads!”
“Who will break it to Mrs MacLean?” said Honor, in a low, strained
voice tremulous with tears. “It will be terrible for her!”
“Perhaps I had better go,” said Lois. “But it will be very trying----”
“I think I will go, Lo,” said Honor, very quietly but very firmly. “He
was very dear to me too. We must comfort one another.”
“Can you stand it, Nor, dear?”
“Yes, I can stand it. We’ve all got to stand it. You will lend me Ray’s
letter? I will be very careful of it,” and Lois handed it to her.
“She is very brave,” said Lois, when Honor had gone off to put on her
things. “I don’t think I could bear it so well if Ray were taken from
me. Oh, Mother, how terrible it all is! It all seems like a horrible
nightmare. I stand and ask myself sometimes--‘Is it real? Is this
really Christmas of 1914,--or shall I wake presently and find it all an
evil dream?’”
“Ah--if it only were!” said Mrs Dare, with the tears running unheeded
down her cheeks. “We must try to bear it as bravely as Honor does. It
will be a great blow to your father too. But we have forecasted it. It
seemed impossible that all of them should come back to us....”
They heard the front door close quietly as Honor let herself out.
“... My heart is very sore for Gregor’s mother,” she said softly. “He
was all she had. I am still rich. She loses all. But if anyone can
comfort her it is Honor.”
“And to think--that a million, perhaps many million, women are feeling
as we are, and suffering as we are--and all because of a little handful
of evil ambitious men! Mother,--it is terrible that any men should have
such evil power. I cannot help wishing they may suffer in their turn.
But they can never suffer enough.”
“They will suffer,” said Mrs Dare quietly. “Since God is a just God. We
may leave them to Him, dear,--and trust the outcome to Him too.... It
is sad to think of our dear lad cut off so soon. But--I have thought
much in the night, when I could not sleep for thinking of them all,--he
is better so, Lois, than growing up like some we know. Oh, far better
so.”
“Yes, indeed, dear!”--It was good, she felt, for her mother to talk.
She would have all the rest of her life for thinking.
“Your father was telling me, a night or two ago, how he came down in
the train with young Nemmowe,--you know,--of ‘The Hollies.’ He had been
drinking, but he was not drunk--only assertive. Someone in the carriage
asked him when he was going to the front. And he chuckled and said,
‘Not me! Not my line at all. I’m a man of peace. Besides we’ve got too
much on. Can’t spare me at this end.’ They’re big army contractors, you
know, and are making a huge fortune out of the war, it is said. And the
man who had asked him, said, ‘If I was as young as you, and as strong
as you, I’d sooner die out there ten times over than stop rotting here.
If England came to grief you’d wring a profit out of it some way, I
presume.’ And the Nemmowe boy laughed and said, ‘Shouldn’t wonder if
you’d like some of the pickings yourself.’ And since then no one will
pass a word with him. Better to be lying dead in French soil than like
that, dear.”
“Far, far better, Mother dear. It is well with our boys. But--oh, it is
sad to have them go! And any day Ray may be with them,” and she fell on
her knees and laid her head in her mother’s lap as she had done when a
child.
“It is in God’s hands,” said her mother, gently stroking her hair.
“But, thanks be to Him, our boys are proving themselves men.”