XVIII

"With us it's always a feast or a famine," the men groaned, when

they sat down by the road to munch dry biscuit at noon. They had

covered eighteen miles that morning, and had still seven more to

go. They were ordered to do the twenty-five miles in eight hours.

Nobody had fallen out yet, but some of the boys looked pretty

well wilted. Nifty Jones said he was done for. Sergeant Hicks was

expostulating with the faint-hearted. He knew that if one man

fell out, a dozen would.

"If I can do it, you can. It's worse on a fat man like me. This

is no march to make a fuss about. Why, at Arras I talked with a

little Tommy from one of those Pal Battalions that got

slaughtered on the Somme. His battalion marched twenty-five miles

in six hours, in the heat of July, into certain death. They were

all kids out of school, not a man of them over five-foot-three,

called them the 'Bantams.' You've got to hand it to them,

fellows."

"I'll hand anything to anybody, but I can't go no farther on

these," Jones muttered, nursing his sore feet.

"Oh, you! We're going to heave you onto the only horse in the

Company. The officers, they can walk!"

When they got into Battalion lines there was food ready for them,

but very few wanted it. They drank and lay down in the bushes.

Claude went at once to Headquarters and found Barclay Owens, of

the Engineers, with the Colonel, who was smoking and studying his

maps as usual.

"Glad to see you, Wheeler. Your men ought to be in good shape,

after a week's rest. Let them sleep now. We've got to move out of

here before midnight, to relieve two Texas battalions at Moltke

trench. They've taken the trench with heavy casualties and are

beat out; couldn't hold it in case of counter-attack. As it's an

important point, the enemy will try to recover it. I want to get

into position before daylight, so he won't know fresh troops are

coming in. As ranking officer, you are in charge of the Company."

"Very well, sir. I'll do my best."

"I'm sure you will. Two machine gun teams are going up with us,

and some time tomorrow a Missouri battalion comes up to support.

I'd have had you over here before, but I only got my orders to

relieve yesterday. We may have to advance under shell fire. The

enemy has been putting a lot of big stuff over; he wants to cut

off that trench."

Claude and David got into a fresh shell hole, under the

half-burned scrub, and fell asleep. They were awakened at dusk by

heavy artillery fire from the north.

At ten o'clock the Battalion, after a hot meal, began to advance

through almost impassable country. The guns must have been

pounding away at the same range for a long while; the ground was

worked and kneaded until it was soft as dough, though no rain had

fallen for a week. Barclay Owens and his engineers were throwing

down a plank road to get food and the ammunition wagons across.

Big shells were coming over at intervals of twelve minutes. The

intervals were so regular that it was quite possible to get

forward without damage. While B Company was pulling through the

shell area, Colonel Scott overtook them, on foot, his orderly

leading his horse.

"Know anything about that light over there, Wheeler?" he asked.

"Well, it oughtn't to be there. Come along and see."

The light was a mere match-head down in the ground, Claude hadn't

noticed it before. He followed the Colonel, and when they reached

the spark they found three officers of A Company crouching in a

shell crater, covered with a piece of sheet-iron.

"Put out that light," called the Colonel sharply. "What's the

matter, Captain Brace?"

A young man rose quickly. "I'm waiting for the water, sir. It's

coming up on mules, in petrol cases, and I don't want to get

separated from it. The ground's so bad here the drivers are

likely to get lost."

"Don't wait more than twenty minutes. You must get up and take

your position on time, that's the important thing, water or no

water."

As the Colonel and Claude hurried back to overtake the Company,

five big shells screamed over them in rapid succession. "Run,

sir," the orderly called. "They're getting on to us; they've

shortened the range."

"That light back there was just enough to give them an idea," the

Colonel muttered.

The bad ground continued for about a mile, and then the advance

reached Headquarters, behind the eighth trench of the great

system of trenches. It was an old farmhouse which the Germans had

made over with reinforced concrete, lining it within and without,

until the walls were six feet thick and almost shell-proof, like

a pill-box. The Colonel sent his orderly to enquire about A

Company. A young Lieutenant came to the door of the farmhouse.

"A Company is ready to go into position, sir. I brought them

up."

"Where is Captain Brace, Lieutenant?"

"He and both our first lieutenants were killed, Colonel. Back in

that hole. A shell fell on them not five minutes after you were

talking to them."

"That's bad. Any other damage?"

"Yes, sir. There was a cook wagon struck at the same time; the

first one coming along Julius Caesar's new road. The driver was

killed, and we had to shoot the horses. Captain Owens, he near

got scalded with the stew."

The Colonel called in the officers one after another and

discussed their positions with them.

"Wheeler," he said when Claude's turn came, "you know your map?

You've noticed that sharp loop in the front trench, in H 2; the

Boar's Head, I believe they call it. It's a sort of spear point

that reaches out toward the enemy, and it will be a hot place to

hold. If I put your company in there, do you think you can do the

Battalion credit in case of a counter attack?"

Claude said he thought so.

"It's the nastiest bit of the line to hold, and you can tell your

men I pay them a compliment when I put them there."

"All right, sir. They'll appreciate it."

The Colonel bit off the end of a fresh cigar. "They'd better, by

thunder! If they give way and let the Hun bombers in, it will let

down the whole line. I'll give you two teams of Georgia machine

guns to put in that point they call the Boar's Snout. When the

Missourians come up tomorrow, they'll go in to support you, but

until then you'll have to take care of the loop yourselves. I've

got an awful lot of trench to hold, and I can't spare you any

more men."

The Texas men whom the Battalion came up to relieve had been

living for sixty hours on their iron rations, and on what they

could pick off the dead Huns. Their supplies had been shelled on

the way, and nothing had got through to them. When the Colonel

took Claude and Gerhardt forward to inspect the loop that B

Company was to hold, they found a wallow, more like a dump heap

than a trench. The men who had taken the position were almost too

weak to stand. All their officers had been killed, and a sergeant

was in command. He apologized for the condition of the loop.

"Sorry to leave such a mess for you to clean up, sir, but we got

it bad in here. He's been shelling us every night since we drove

him out. I couldn't ask the men to do anything but hold on."

"That's all right. You beat it, with your boys, quick! My men

will hand you out some grub as you go back."

The battered defenders of the Boar's Head stumbled past them

through the darkness into the communication. When the last man

had filed out, the Colonel sent for Barclay Owens. Claude and

David tried to feel their way about and get some idea of the

condition the place was in. The stench was the worst they had yet

encountered, but it was less disgusting than the flies; when they

inadvertently touched a dead body, clouds of wet, buzzing flies

flew up into their faces, into their eyes and nostrils. Under

their feet the earth worked and moved as if boa constrictors were

wriggling down there soft bodies, lightly covered. When they had

found their way up to the Snout they came upon a pile of corpses,

a dozen or more, thrown one on top of another like sacks of

flour, faintly discernible in the darkness. While the two

officers stood there, rumbling, squirting sounds began to come

from this heap, first from one body, then from another--gases,

swelling in the liquefying entrails of the dead men. They seemed

to be complaining to one another; glup, glup, glup.

The boys went back to the Colonel, who was standing at the mouth

of the communication, and told him there was nothing much to

report, except that the burying squad was needed badly.

"I expect!" The Colonel shook his head. When Barclay Owens

arrived, he asked him what could be done here before daybreak.

The doughty engineer felt his way about as Claude and Gerhardt

had done; they heard him coughing, and beating off the flies. But

when he came back he seemed rather cheered than discouraged.

"Give me a gang to get the casualties out, and with plenty of

quick-lime and concrete I can make this loop all right in four

hours, sir," he declared.

"I've brought plenty of lime, but where'll you get your

concrete?"

"The Hun left about fifty sacks of it in the cellar, under your

Headquarters. I can do better, of course, if I have a few hours

more for my concrete to dry."

"Go ahead, Captain." The Colonel told Claude and David to bring

their men up to the communication before light, and hold them

ready. "Give Owens' cement a chance, but don't let the enemy put

over any surprise on you."

The shelling began again at daybreak; it was hardest on the rear

trenches and the three-mile area behind. Evidently the enemy felt

sure of what he had in Moltke trench; he wanted to cut off

supplies and possible reinforcements. The Missouri battalion did

not come up that day, but before noon a runner arrived from their

Colonel, with information that they were hiding in the wood. Five

Boche planes had been circling over the wood since dawn,

signalling to the enemy Headquarters back on Dauphin Ridge; the

Missourians were sure they had avoided detection by lying close

in the under-brush. They would come up in the night. Their

linemen were following the runner, and Colonel Scott would be in

telephone communication with them in half an hour.

When B Company moved into the Boar's Head at one o'clock in the

afternoon, they could truthfully say that the prevailing smell

was now that of quick-lime. The parapet was evenly built up, the

firing step had been partly restored, and in the Snout there were

good emplacements for the machine guns. Certain unpleasant

reminders were still to be found if one looked for them. In the

Snout a large fat boot stuck stiffly from the side of the trench.

Captain Ovens explained that the ground sounded hollow in there,

and the boot probably led back into a dugout where a lot of Hun

bodies were entombed together. As he was pressed for time, he had

thought best not to look for trouble. In one of the curves of the

loop, just at the top of the earth wall, under the sand bags, a

dark hand reached out; the five fingers, well apart, looked like

the swollen roots of some noxious weed. Hicks declared that this

object was disgusting, and during the afternoon he made Nifty

Jones and Oscar scrape down some earth and make a hump over the

paw. But there was shelling in the night, and the earth fell

away.

"Look," said Jones when he wakened his Sergeant. "The first thing

I seen when daylight come was his old fingers, wigglin' in the

breeze. He wants air, Heinie does; he won't stay covered."

Hicks got up and re-buried the hand himself, but when he came

around with Claude on inspection, before breakfast, there were

the same five fingers sticking out again. The Sergeant's forehead

puffed up and got red, and he swore that if he found the man who

played dirty jokes, he'd make him eat this one.

The Colonel sent for Claude and Gerhardt to come to breakfast

with him. He had been talking by telephone with the Missouri

officers and had agreed that they should stay back in the bush

for the present. The continual circling of planes over the wood

seemed to indicate that the enemy was concerned about the actual

strength of Moltke trench. It was possible their air scouts had

seen the Texas men going back,--otherwise, why were they holding

off?

While the Colonel and the officers were at breakfast, a corporal

brought in two pigeons he had shot at dawn. One of them carried a

message under its wing. The Colonel unrolled a strip of paper and

handed it to Gerhardt.

"Yes, sir, it's in German, but it's code stuff. It's a German

nursery rhyme. Those reconnoitering planes must have dropped

scouts on our rear, and they are sending in reports. Of course,

they can get more on us than the air men can. Here, do you want

these birds, Dick?"

The boy grinned. "You bet I do, sir! I may get a chance to fry

'em, later on."

After breakfast the Colonel went to inspect B Company in the

Boar's Head. He was especially pleased with the advantageous

placing of the machine guns in the Snout. "I expect you'll have a

quiet day," he said to the men, "but I wouldn't like to promise

you a quiet night. You'll have to be very steady in here; if

Fritz takes this loop, he's got us, you understand."

They had, indeed, a quiet day. Some of the men played cards, and

Oscar read his Bible. The night, too, began well. But at four

fifteen everybody was roused by the gas alarm. Gas shells came

over for exactly half an hour. Then the shrapnel broke loose;

not the long, whizzing scream of solitary shells, but drum-fire,

continuous and deafening. A hundred electrical storms seemed

raging at once, in the air and on the ground. Balls of fire were

rolling all over the place. The range was a little long for the

Boar's Head, they were not getting the worst of it; but thirty

yards back everything was torn to pieces. Claude didn't see how

anybody could be left alive back there. A single twister had

killed six of his men at the rear of the loop, where they were

shovelling to keep the communication clear. Captain Owns' neat

earthworks were being badly pounded.

Claude and Gerhardt were consulting together when the smoke and

darkness began to take on the livid colour that announced the

coming of daybreak. A messenger ran in from the Colonel; the

Missourians had not yet come up, and his telephone communication

with them was cut off. He was afraid they had got lost in the

bombardment. "The Colonel says you are to send two men back to

bring them up; two men who can take charge if they're stampeded."

When the messenger shouted this order, Gerhardt and Hicks looked

at each other quickly, and volunteered to go.

Claude hesitated. Hicks and David waited for no further consent;

they ran down the communication and disappeared.

Claude stood in the smoke that was slowly growing greyer, and

looked after them with the deepest stab of despair he had ever

known. Only a man who was bewildered and unfit to be in command

of other men would have let his best friend and his best officer

take such a risk. He was standing there under shelter, and his

two friends were going back through that curtain of flying steel,

toward the square from which the lost battalion had last

reported. If he knew them, they would not lose time following the

maze of trenches; they were probably even now out on the open,

running straight through the enemy barrage, vaulting trench tops.

Claude turned and went back into the loop. Well, whatever

happened, he had worked with brave men. It was worth having lived

in this world to have known such men. Soldiers, when they were in

a tight place, often made secret propositions to God; and now he

found himself offering terms: If They would see to it that David

came back, They could take the price out of him. He would pay.

Did They understand?

An hour dragged by. Hard on the nerves, waiting. Up the

communication came a train with ammunition and coffee for the

loop. The men thought Headquarters did pretty well to get hot

food to them through that barrage. A message came up in the

Colonel's hand:

"Be ready when the barrage stops."

Claude took this up and showed it to the machine gunners in the

Snout. Turning back, he ran into Hicks, stripped to his shirt and

trousers, as wet as if he had come out of the river, and splashed

with blood. His hand was wrapped up in a rag. He put his mouth to

Claude's ear and shouted: "We found them. They were lost. They're

coming. Send word to the Colonel."

"Where's Gerhardt?"

"He's coming; bringing them up. God, it's stopped!"

The bombardment ceased with a suddenness that was stupefying. The

men in the loop gasped and crouched as if they were falling from

a height. The air, rolling black with smoke and stifling with the

smell of gases and burning powder, was still as death. The

silence was like a heavy anaesthetic.

Claude ran back to the Snout to see that the gun teams were

ready. "Wake up, boys! You know why we're here!"

Bert Fuller, who was up in the look-out, dropped back into the

trench beside him. "They're coming, sir."

Claude gave the signal to the machine guns. Fire opened all along

the loop. In a moment a breeze sprang up, and the heavy smoke

clouds drifted to the rear. Mounting to the firestep, he peered

over. The enemy was coming on eight deep, on the left of the

Boar's Head, in long, waving lines that reached out toward the

main trench. Suddenly the advance was checked. The files of

running men dropped behind a wrinkle in the earth fifty yards

forward and did not instantly re-appear. It struck Claude that

they were waiting for something; he ought to be clever enough to

know for what, but he was not. The Colonel's line man came up to

him.

"Headquarters has a runner from the Missourians. They'll be up in

twenty minutes. The Colonel will put them in here at once. Till

then you must manage to hold."

"We'll hold. Fritz is behaving queerly. I don't understand his

tactics..."

While he was speaking, everything was explained. The Boar's Snout

spread apart with an explosion that split the earth, and went up

in a volcano of smoke and flame. Claude and the Colonel's

messenger were thrown on their faces. When they got to their

feet, the Snout was a smoking crater full of dead and dying men.

The Georgia gun teams were gone.

It was for this that the Hun advance had been waiting behind the

ridge. The mine under the Snout had been made long ago, probably,

on a venture, when the Hun held Moltke trench for months without

molestation. During the last twenty-four hours they had been

getting their explosives in, reasoning that the strongest

garrison would be placed there.

Here they were, coming on the run. It was up to the rifles. The

men who had been knocked down by the shock were all on their feet

again. They looked at their officer questioningly, as if the

whole situation had changed. Claude felt they were going soft

under his eyes. In a moment the Hun bombers would be in on them,

and they would break. He ran along the trench, pointing over the

sand bags and shouting, "It's up to you, it's up to you!"

The rifles recovered themselves and began firing, but Claude felt

they were spongy and uncertain, that their minds were already on

the way to the rear. If they did anything, it must be quick, and

their gun-work must be accurate. Nothing but a withering fire

could check.... He sprang to the firestep and then out on the

parapet. Something instantaneous happened; he had his men in

hand.

"Steady, steady!" He called the range to the rifle teams behind

him, and he could see the fire take effect. All along the Hun

lines men were stumbling and falling. They swerved a little to

the left; he called the rifles to follow, directing them with his

voice and with his hands. It was not only that from here he could

correct the range and direct the fire; the men behind him had

become like rock. That line of faces below; Hicks, Jones, Fuller,

Anderson, Oscar.... Their eyes never left him. With these men

he could do anything.

The right of the Hun line swerved out, not more than twenty yards

from the battered Snout, trying to run to shelter under that pile

of debris and human bodies. A quick concentration of rifle fire

depressed it, and the swell came out again toward the left.

Claude's appearance on the parapet had attracted no attention

from the enemy at first, but now the bullets began popping about

him; two rattled on his tin hat, one caught him in the shoulder.

The blood dripped down his coat, but he felt no weakness. He felt

only one thing; that he commanded wonderful men. When David came

up with the supports he might find them dead, but he would find

them all there. They were there to stay until they were carried

out to be buried. They were mortal, but they were unconquerable.

The Colonel's twenty minutes must be almost up, he thought. He

couldn't take his eyes from the front line long enough to look at

his wrist watch.... The men behind him saw Claude sway as if

he had lost his balance and were trying to recover it. Then he

plunged, face down, outside the parapet. Hicks caught his foot

and pulled him back. At the same moment the Missourians ran

yelling up the communication. They threw their machine guns up on

the sand bags and went into action without an unnecessary motion.

Hicks and Bert Fuller and Oscar carried Claude forward toward the

Snout, out of the way of the supports that were pouring in. He

was not bleeding very much. He smiled at them as if he were going

to speak, but there was a weak blankness in his eyes. Bert tore

his shirt open; three clean bullet holes. By the time they looked

at him again, the smile had gone... the look that was Claude

had faded. Hicks wiped the sweat and smoke from his officer's

face. "Thank God I never told him," he said. "Thank God for

that!"

Bert and Oscar knew what Hicks meant. Gerhardt had been blown to

pieces at his side when they dashed back through the enemy

barrage to find the Missourians. They were running together

across the open, not able to see much for smoke. They bumped into

a section of wire entanglement, left above an old trench. David

cut round to the right, waving Hicks to follow him. The two were

not ten yards apart when the shell struck. Then Sergeant Hicks

ran on alone.