The Chateau at the Trench End
The wake of the battalion was marked at every stride by enemy dead and
wounded, and when Wetherby overtook them he found them bayoneting and
bombing their way along a zigzag trench, and Harry Hawke in the act of
scoring "2/12th R.R." on the shield of a captured machine-gun with the
point of his dripping weapon.
"Where is Mr. Dashwood?" cried young Wetherby.
"Straight ahead, sir. 'Follow the tram-lines,' and you can't miss him!"
And Harry Hawke pointed with a grin to the zigzag trench.
They ran together along the broken parapet as the explosion of the hand
bombs suddenly ceased, and from the way the battalion was crowded in the
trench below them with a goodly assortment of unwounded prisoners,
progress seemed to have been checked for a moment.
Stumbling over bodies, and every now and then getting entangled among
strands of broken wire; blundering down into some trench-mortar hole and
up again at the other side, Wetherby and Hawke at length came upon Bob
Dashwood and Dennis, where the trench ended abruptly without any
apparent rhyme or reason.
"Hallo, what's up?" Wetherby called, removing his mask and putting on
his helmet, seeing that his brother officers had done the same, the
battalion being now beyond the gas zone.
"Wait a minute," replied Dennis. "They'll send up another flare, and
then you'll see."
Overhead soared a rocket from the German lines, and as the light made
everything grotesquely visible, the outline of a building showed blackly
fifty yards from the trench end.
It was a small chateau, which, from its position in a fold of the ground
behind a little ridge, had somehow escaped the havoc of our bombardment.
The ridge round which the trench end curved had been ploughed and
mangled and heaped up into a ragged contour, but beyond some gaping
holes in the high-pitched slate roof and a yawning gap in the northern
wing, the chateau stood behind a tall wall, with an iron gate obligingly
open, as if inviting them to enter.
"You see what's happened," explained the O.C. "The place would be so
obviously dominated by the capture of this ridge that the beggars
haven't thought it worth while turning it into a redoubt. It's very
tempting, but it might prove a death-trap if they've got their heavy
guns trained on it."
"There's another thing," said Dennis in further explanation to Wetherby.
"We've taken about a couple of hundred prisoners, and killed somewhere
about the same number, but the rest of the enemy battalion has
mysteriously disappeared. We've bombed all the dug-outs we can find, but
there's one we must have missed, and the bulk of them have got clear
away somehow. What are you going to do, Bob?"
Bob Dashwood lit a cigarette before he replied. Then he reloaded his
revolver.
"Those two runners should have reached our supports," he said; "and the
field wire will be coming up now. We'll chance our arm, Den, and take
possession of the place. Come on, Reedshires!" And he climbed out.
Another rush of brown figures ran forward to the big gate, and Hawke,
who was the first to reach it, held up a warning hand as he thrust his
head round one of the brick piers, expecting nothing less than
machine-guns.
But the place seemed deserted, although the trampled garden bore every
sign of recent occupation. A bullock had been slaughtered by the
fountain, and its horns and hide lay there. The flower beds had been
ruthlessly trodden under foot, but a wealth of beautiful blossom still
remained, and Harry Hawke plucked a Gloire de Dijon rose and chewed the
stem between his teeth as he scampered up the grass slope on to the
terrace.
The front door was wide open, as were several of the white casement
windows, and from a magnificent candelabra suspended from the ceiling of
the hall guttering candles threw a blaze of yellow light on to the tiled
floor.
Even Hawke gaped with astonishment at the gorgeous gilded decorations of
the walls and the white marble staircase that led to the upper floor.
"Why, it's like Madame Tussord's arter yer paid yer bob to go in," he
said.
"And they've made a chamber of horrors of it," muttered Dennis, who
overheard him, as he looked at the shattered mirrors, the full-length
portraits fluttering in rags in their frames, and the gilt furniture,
whose upholstery of silk brocade showed the traces of muddy boots and
spurred heels.
One end of the hall was taken up by a huge open fireplace carved with
life-size figures of laughing nymphs and fawns, and, with that coarse
imbecility which passes current in Germany for humour, some wag had
daubed the noses of the figures with vermilion.
Empty wine bottles lay beside a priceless marquetry table, whose top had
been burned with cigar ends; and as the men scattered rapidly through
the adjoining rooms, they found everywhere traces of German "kultur"
which the vandals had left behind them.
Upstairs it was the same thing; hangings torn and slashed for the mere
lust of destruction, smashed china, objectionable caricatures scrawled
upon the walls, and upon the open grand piano in the _salon_ a copy of
the _Hymn of Hate_, with a half-smoked cigarette beside it.
"The beasts!" exclaimed young Wetherby, hot with indignation. "Wouldn't
you like to turn our chaps loose in the Kaiser's palace at Potsdam,
Dashwood?"
"My dear chap," said Dennis, "they wouldn't touch a thing if you did.
It's only the Prussians who behave like this. Our fellows are gentlemen.
At the same time, I know what you mean, and it makes one sick."
They went rapidly from room to room, A Company having been entrusted
with the examination of the chateau, while Bob halted the rest of the
battalion in the grounds until they had satisfied themselves that the
house was empty.
Bob was making a tour of inspection round the high brick wall to
discover what possibilities there might exist of defending it in case of
attack, and he and one of the platoon commanders who accompanied him had
just reached the stabling, which was some distance from the house, when
a sudden hubbub came from the chateau itself.
"Hallo, they've found something," he said to his companion. And they ran
back; but before they could reach the terrace firing mingled with the
roar of voices, and above the rattle of Mausers rose the bark of a
machine-gun.
There were perhaps sixty or seventy men of A Company in the upper part
of the house when that hubbub arose; and, rushing out on to the gallery
that surrounded the entrance hall, Dennis and Wetherby found the floor
beneath them swarming with German infantry in the act of running a
couple of machine-guns forward from the huge fireplace.
They belonged to the same battalion which had so mysteriously
disappeared, and it was obvious that in their subterranean excavations
the Germans must have come upon a secret passage, old as the chateau
itself, and connected it up with their new works.
The back of the fireplace opened and revealed a black cavity, which
vomited a never-ending horde in the wake of the machine-guns, one of
which was slued round to command the garden, while the other was placed
at an open window, and was the first to fire.
"This is going to be very hot stuff!" shouted Dennis above the deafening
din, as the men of A Company came running on to the gallery. "Be
steady, lads, and let 'em have it."
They lined up at the gilded balustrade, and fired down into the mob
below them. A sea of upturned faces was turned to the gallery, and a
stout Prussian officer, who took very good care to jump back under the
shelter of the fireplace, pointed frantically to the marble stair and
bellowed out a command.
"Quick! Lend a hand, Wetherby!" shouted Dennis, seizing the end of a
large settee. "Hawke, Davis, Johnson, bring all the heavy stuff you can
find in that room behind us!" And as they dragged the settee across the
head of the staircase, volunteers rushed into the adjoining rooms,
staggering out again with chairs and tables to add to the barricade.
They were in the nick of time, for the enemy came boldly up the
staircase five abreast.
"Carry on, lads!" cried Dennis. "And you stay here with them, Wetherby.
I'll be back in a brace of shakes." And he ran round the gallery until
he came opposite to the machine-guns, which were pouring their hail of
death into the darkness of the garden.
"This has got to be stopped," he muttered grimly between his teeth. And,
groping in his bomb wallet, he took one out, withdrew the pin, and
pitched the missile to the other side of the hall.
It dropped where he had intended it should drop--immediately beneath the
machine-gun at the open door, one of the gun crew trying to pick it up
with a shout of warning to his comrades; but he was too late, and as his
fingers grasped it there was a terrific explosion.
The man who was firing fell backwards on to the marble floor, both his
legs blown off, and a circle of grey-green heaps surrounded him.
Before another man could spring into his place there was a heartening
yell from the darkness, and the Reedshires poured in, their bayonets
flashing in the candlelight.
Dennis had hoped to put the second gun out of action, but the thing was
too risky for his own men, who were smashing their way into the crowd of
Germans that filled the hall.
Besides, something closer at hand claimed his attention, for, in spite
of A Company's fire, the head of the storming party had reached that
slender barrier, and were already laying hands on the piled-up furniture
at the top of the staircase.
He had two bombs left, and, with a shout of warning, he flung them one
after another on to the crowded stair. The effect was appalling, for
they burst almost simultaneously, rending the gilded balustrade into a
hundred pieces, and pouring an avalanche of mangled bodies on to the
heads of the rest below.
Harry Hawke signalised his delight by hurling a heavy chair down the
staircase, and in a trice the barricade was torn aside, and A Company
went down with the bayonet to do their bit.
Taken in the rear, the crew of the second machine-gun fought gamely
enough; but the thing was a matter of moments, and, seized with
excusable panic, the Prussian battalion fled back again into the passage
behind the fireplace.
There was no need for Bob Dashwood to give any command, for strong arms
had already seized the gun, and, sluing it round, pointed it at the
opening.
A sergeant sprang into the operator's seat, but before he could fire, a
crowd of white-faced men, with hands raised above their heads, came
running out of the secret passage, crying: "Mercy, mercy!"
"Shall I let her go, sir?" said the sergeant, with a red gleam in his
eye.
"Not unless they play any tricks," said Major Dashwood.
He stood there, revolver in hand, and as they filed past him, all the
fight gone out of them now, he counted 580 prisoners, including 20
unwounded officers.
"I am the colonel commanding this battalion," said a black-moustached
Prussian haughtily. "I shall, of course, be permitted to keep my sword."
"No; hand it over and fall in with the rest of your men," said the major
coldly. "And be thankful you are permitted to keep the clothes you stand
in."
Within half an hour, thanks to the magnificent energy of our Royal
Engineers, a message had been 'phoned to the brigadier, and the answer
came back: "Bravo, my boy! Send an officer to me who can explain the
exact position verbally, and one who speaks German, who will be useful
in interrogating your capture. Let me have Dennis if you can spare him."
That was why, very much against his own inclination, Dennis accompanied
the long column of disarmed men that found its way under escort to
brigade headquarters just as the dawn was breaking, passing a joyous
battalion sent up by the brigadier to consolidate the splendid gains of
his beloved Reedshires.
Dennis woke at noon in his father's dug-out.
"I want you to stay here until I get an answer from the general,
Dennis," said the brigadier. "If you've never seen the workings of a
kite balloon, they're just sending one up over yonder. You'll probably
be able to join Bob inside an hour."
Behind a little hollow, close to brigade headquarters, Dennis saw the
section busy about the huge sausage-shaped observation balloon, which
had been hurried up to direct some batteries already concealing
themselves in the vicinity.
"This is the sort of job that would try the nerves of some of you foot
sloggers," said a perky little officer, as the lieutenant approached.
"By Jove, we're a bit too close to be pleasant! Would you like to go up
with me?"
There was something in the observer's tone that rather nettled his
hearer, and Dennis replied promptly: "I should like it very much, if you
mean it?" without giving a thought on the spur of the moment as to how
long the balloon would remain in the air.
"Of course I mean it. Come on!" And as Dennis flung his leg over the
edge of the basket the perky youngster gave the order to let her go.
The steel cable began to unwind as the men of the section loosed their
hold, and Dennis soon enjoyed the novel experience of seeing the
panorama unfold beneath him, and identifying the white-walled chateau
they had captured the night before.
At an altitude of two thousand feet the observer 'phoned down to the men
at the windlass to stop. A stiff wind was blowing, but the "sausage"
behaved itself well until, as the observation officer turned to Dennis
with a cheery laugh, something passed screaming beneath them and burst!
Some fragments of shrapnel struck the bottom of the basket; but that was
not all. The shell had hit the cable fair and square, the observation
officer's laugh changed to a shout of consternation as it snapped, and
with an upward jerk the freed balloon floated away towards the German
lines!