replied, holding up a reproving finger, "but you can never make it to us
less than the act of a brave and noble man!"
She left us for a space, but shortly returned to tell us that our rooms
were ready and that we were thrice welcome to what accommodation their
poor house afforded. We were ushered upstairs and along a narrow hall
in which we met several Belgian officers, who bowed low as we passed.
Jack was given a small room to himself.
When Reggy and the colonel and I arrived at the room which was pointed
out as ours for the night we met a tall Belgian officer coming out of
it. We grasped the situation on the instant. These officers, who had
been hastily aroused, were, with their remarkable courtesy and native
hospitality, actually giving up their beds to us. The others had
already disappeared down the stairs, and this officer too would have
passed us with a bow, but we arrested him and protested that he must on
no account deprive himself of his room.
"But you are not disturbing me in the least," he replied in French; "you
are doing me a great pleasure by accepting my bed."
We assured him that we should be able to find accommodation somewhere,
and that we felt very guilty for having been the cause of so much
inconvenience.
"My dear sirs," he protested feelingly, "there is but a very small
corner of Belgium left to us; there is so little opportunity for us to
offer hospitality to a guest, that when such an occasion as this arises
where we have the honour of accommodating our English friends--it would
be unkind if you denied us this poor privilege."
We could not doubt his sincerity, and felt that he would be hurt if we
made any further protest. Where he was to sleep we did not know; but we
thanked him, and after bidding him _bonsoir_, passed inside. There was
a single and a double bed in the room. The tables were strewn with
swords, revolvers, field glasses, prismatic compasses and all the usual
accoutrements of military officers. It was evident the room had been
vacated hastily.
The single bed naturally fell to the lot of the colonel, while Reggy and
I, being a trifle smaller than he, clambered into the other--a high,
old-fashioned one. Reggy sank wearily into the feather mattress and
fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. He had the happy
faculty of being able to sleep anywhere and at any time.
We were to make an early start, and six a.m. came all too soon. A light
French breakfast was prepared for us when we descended. About an hour
later, after expressing our deep thanks to our gracious hostess, we got
into the motor once more and started on the road towards Ypres. There
wasn't a cloud in the sky. The sun shone brightly, and not a warlike
sound broke the stillness of the clear, cool air as we sped along
between the tall poplars which lined the road. One thing only reminded
us that we were approaching close to the battle line--the reserve
trenches dug on either side. These we passed from time to time; but they
were half full of water and uninhabited, and it was apparent there was
little thought of their ever being needed.
Here and there a few horses were tethered in poor canvas-covered
shelters, and in the farmyards near-by we saw numbers of French military
waggons which looked like gipsy carts. Occasionally we overtook a
battalion of French or Belgian troops marching quietly towards the
trenches. Their apparent absence of any definite marching formation
struck us with surprise. They did not walk in line, but ambled along of
their own free will; some with loaves of bread or rolls strapped to
their knapsacks, and one carrying a roast of beef under his arm. They
seemed to have foraged for themselves, and carried along any extras
which appealed to their individual fancy. But they were a tall,
stalwart-looking body of men, and we felt sure were much better trained
than their irregular march would indicate.
We had reached a point about midway between Poperinghe and Ypres. The
morning was still soundless, save for the whir of our motor.
"Looking at this blue sky and the quiet fields, who would ever believe
there is a war so near?" Reggy remarked.
These words had no sooner fallen from his lips than the air was suddenly
rent with the blast of gun after gun, so close on our right that we were
startled and instinctively jumped towards the left of our car. The
sharp bursting of shells over our heads impelled us to look up, and
there directly above us was a German aeroplane.
Shell after shell burst below him, leaving rounded clouds of white smoke
hanging in the still air, and as each exploded the aviator rose higher
and higher. The range of the guns grew longer; some shells burst above
him; some to right or left. Round after round of shrapnel followed his
every movement. We looked in vain for the battery. They were so
carefully hidden that although we could not have been fifty yards away,
there was not the slightest visible sign to indicate their position.
At the same time the whirring rat-tat-tat-tat of a machine gun close
beside us on the left made us turn our heads sharply in that direction.
At first we could not see this gun either, but guided by the sound we
soon discovered it on a platform halfway up the outside of a farmhouse,
against the wall, and manned by a French soldier. We watched the
aviator with the same interest that a quartette of hunters might view
some great bird, hoping to see him winged. But he seemed to bear a
charmed life, and dodged shrapnel and machine-gun bullets alike, soaring
higher and higher until he became a mere speck in the heavens. Then the
firing ceased as abruptly as it had commenced.
Our car had been stopped during this one-sided battle, but now that it
was over we started on again. The cobblestone road had been torn up by
shell fire in many places, and driving was rough and difficult. We
passed batteries of artillery and long lines of army service waggons,
wending their way Ypres-ward. There was no further firing for the
present and we crossed the bridge over the Yser and entered the town
without mishap. From the distance there was little change to be noticed
in Ypres; but now that we entered the streets we soon saw the effects of
the bombardment. For the most part the smaller houses had not at this
time been destroyed; but every large building in the place was in ruins.
Churches, convents, schools and factories had been ruthlessly crushed,
and the railway station was levelled to the earth. The streets were
almost deserted, shops were long since closed, and business was dead.
We arrived at _La Grand Place_--once the scene of a busy market, and
stood beside the ruins of the famous Guild Hall. Its roof had fallen
in; the walls were shattered; piles of stones and mortar had tumbled
into the street. The clock tower alone, as if in defiance of the German
gunners, stood erect and the clock remained untouched. A dead horse
lying close by upon the pavement reminded us that we were now within
easy reach of the enemy's fire.
We turned and walked across to the Cathedral of St. Martin; a short time
since the pride of that beautiful city. Alas! it too was lost. We
clambered over the ruins and got upon the window ledge to look within.
The priceless panes were gone; the marble floor, except in patches here
and there, was buried deep and the great supporting columns of the dome
had toppled over; one lay across the nave, its round flat stones still
clinging obliquely together and lying like _rouleaux_ of coin side by
side. The sacrilegious shells had burst into the chapel of the Holy
Sacrament, had desecrated the altar and piled huge heaps of masonry upon
the floor. The crucifix had disappeared, but the statues of the saints,
by some strange miracle, remained intact.
From the torn paintings upon the walls the faces seemed to have turned
appealingly toward the open roof, their gaze fixed as in a last pitiful
prayer to heaven. They were lost--those wondrous works of Art which
once with magic charm had held the world enthralled. Never again would
humanity come to bow in humble admiration at that shrine of beauty, nor
gather inspiration from the hallowed walls. And as we looked upon the
wreck about us, now but the memories of an irrestorable past, our bitter
thoughts travelled across the lines of trenches to that strange race to
whom no neighbour's hall or home is sacred and to whom the work of
centuries, the irreplaceable monuments of master minds, are naught.
As we looked again upon those time-honoured, tottering walls the great
jagged holes seemed to cry out to us for revenge, and a sudden just but
implacable anger against the perpetrators of these hideous world-crimes
stormed within our hearts and choked our utterance.
With a sigh we turned from the contemplation of this scene of wanton
destruction and started our walk through the desolate streets. Crossing
the Menin road, we entered that little graveyard where so many of our
brave men lay buried. The houses round about lay crumbled, but this
sacred spot, by accident or design, had been spared. As we passed
bareheaded down the path between rows of closely crowded graves, the
new-made wooden crosses seemed to lift their white arms to us in mute
appeal. Here and there the cap of some once gallant French or Belgian
officer hung upon his cross--a crown of glory that no mortal hand dare
touch. Some of these caps had rested there for months, rotted by rain,
torn by the wind, faded by the sun--but dyed with a glory which time
could never dim, and emblazoned with the halo of self-sacrifice. And as
we stood there upon the threshold of the battlefield we saw the conflict
in a clearer light--behind us faith and patriotism; in front patience
and heroism, and at our feet self-sacrifice and deathless love.
A great wreath of purple leaves lay upon the grave of a young prince,
clinging lovingly to the new-made mound. He rested there side by side
with his humbler fellows--they had fought and died together. We
sometimes forget that a prince is human; he seems so far above us--he
lives in a different sphere and appears to be cast in a different mould.
But when we stand beside his grave, we realise at last that he was but a
mortal like ourselves; that he has lived his life like us--the same
desires, the same ambitions and the same need for love. Only one word
was entwined, in white letters, with the purple leaves; only one word,
but it bridged two countries and two souls--heaven and earth were
joined--for the small white flowers clinging together spelled the magic
name of "_Mother_." We may fall unnoticed in the thick of battle, we
may be buried with a host of comrades in a nameless grave, but a
mother's heart will seek us out, no matter where we lie, and wrap our
lonely souls about with the mantle of her undying love.
"You have seen both ends of a battle now--the hospital and the
graveyard," Jack exclaimed, as we left the cemetery; "come with me and I
will show you what it is like to be in the middle."
"Can't we take a little walk along this road, and see the first line
trenches?" Reggy enquired. We were crossing the Menin road again at the
moment.
Jack laughed. "Not if you wish to come further with us. If you step
out of this shelter in daylight there won't be any Reggy to brighten our
trip. No one goes out there in daylight--that is, if he wishes to
attain old age."
"But it seems so quiet here," Reggy protested. "Apart from broken-down
buildings, I can't see a sign of a war--there isn't a soul in sight but
ourselves."
"Jolly good reason," Jack replied. "If you take a peep through the
hedge there you'll see the trenches--we're as close as we dare go at
present."
Reggy looked disappointed. "There isn't even a gun," he complained.
It seemed as if the invisible gunners had heard him, for suddenly the
fields round about us sprang to life and belched forth smoke and shells.
Some cannon in the dark shade of the bushes were actually so close that
we could see the streak of flame from the muzzle light the shadow. The
Germans were not slow to retaliate, and in a few minutes the roar of
their guns and the howl and crash of shells added to the general
clamour. Fortunately they did not appear to have our range, and the
shells fell far afield.
"That's what _you_ brought down upon us--you doubting Thomas," Jack
remarked facetiously to Reggy. "You've started a nice row now that will
last for hours."
"Isn't this great!" Reggy cried like a pleased child. "I wouldn't have
missed this for a million."
"I hope Fritzie will miss you for less," laughed the colonel, "or we'll
be short an ex-Mess Secretary."
Reggy vouchsafed no reply to this hope.
"We'd better get along out of this," Jack said; "the _Bosches_ may
discover their mistake before long and pour a little shower of hate on
us."
We got into the motor and started towards the Dickibusch road. At
Jack's request we stopped for a few minutes at the ruins of a large
schoolhouse which had comprised one city block. The semblance of a
building remained, but the walls stood only in jagged patches.
"These are the remains of our Field Ambulance," Jack explained. "Come
inside and see; you will get a faint idea of what the 'Jack Johnsons'
did to our hospital wards."
We passed into what had once been the main entrance. The doorway had
received one great shell which on bursting had carried the four walls
with it. We stumbled along the floor over heaps of brick and mortar;
through piles of broken chairs and beds, and, climbing the ruins of the
staircase, arrived upon a landing from which we could see the interior
of what had once been a large room.
"This was my ward," Jack told us. "You see that big hole in the roof?
A big shell came through there, and burst right here." He pointed to a
wide, irregular opening in the floor. Every stick of furniture was
smashed to atoms. Daylight came through great gaping holes in the walls
and floor. The beds were merely nests of twisted iron. The greater
part of the ceiling had fallen in and lay in a heap in the centre of the
room.
As we walked about we saw that every other ward was in a similar
condition. We went out into the schoolyard. There were five or six
tremendous excavations in the ground, perfectly round and capable of
holding a baby whale. There was no earth heaped up, for the big shells
which made these hollows left nothing behind.
We were still standing there when suddenly there arose a noise like the
muffled scream of a distant multitude. We stood rooted to the spot,
wondering what grim horror this might be. It grew louder and louder,
coming towards us at terrific speed.
"For God's sake," I cried to Jack, "what is that awful sound?"
"Look into the field--quick--you will see!"
We all looked. The sound became a roar--a crash, and then about a
hundred yards away the earth sprang high into the air in a great black
mass intermingled with clouds of smoke and stones.
"Permit me," Jack remarked coolly, "to introduce you to 'Jack Johnson.'
Now you can understand a little how those poor boys in the hospital felt
when he came crashing through the roof."
"If we stay here a few minutes longer," the colonel remarked, "we may
have it brought even more dramatically to our attention."
Jack laughed. "Oh," he cried, "we're as safe here as anywhere--you
never can tell where the next will drop."
We were soon to verify the truth of this remark.
*CHAPTER XV*
We had turned the corner of the road on which we had just witnessed the
effect of the big shell--the hole was still smoking--when once again we
heard the distant whine. This time there was no need to ask what it
meant; we knew all too well, and for an anxious moment or two we
wondered whether after its arrival the newspapers would speak well of
us, or whether we should be blown into such small pieces that we should
only be reported "missing."
It is recorded that sometimes those who are drowning are able, in a few
brief moments, to rehearse the drama of their lives. Our lives must
have been too complicated for such hasty revision, but as the sound
changed from a whine to a shriek, an unearthly roar, and with a crash
like the crack of doom the ground opened before us and shot a blinding
storm of rocks and mud sky high--when all this occurred far, far faster
than I can pen the lines, we had plenty of time to develop a nasty pain
in the pit of the stomach, to which the mystic torment of an unripe
cucumber is a joy. A great cavity yawned before us where once the road
had been, and belched forth clouds of smoke as if the crust of hell were
riven in twain. At the same moment, lest our tranquillity should be
restored too soon, our own guns opened up with a vicious roar and hurled
their screeching shells over our heads like myriads of fiends possessed.
Reggy's face was a study in black and white--I couldn't see my own.
"Do you think the Germans see us?" he enquired anxiously of Jack.
"No, I think not," Jack reassured him; "it's customary for them to shell
any good road in the hope of picking off a convoy."
"It's a damned uncomfortable custom," Reggy returned earnestly, "and I
could forgive them for not observing it for the next ten minutes."
The chauffeur, who had stopped the car dead by using the emergency
brake, now released it, and we started forward again. But we had
considerable difficulty in navigating the ditch on the side of what had
been the road.
We had just moved in time, for a second shell dropped where we had been
a moment since, and tore the opposite side of the road away.
"Being between two lines of artillery is a little too much like
battledore and shuttlecock," I remarked to Reggy, "with all the odds
against the shuttlecock."
"Object to word 'battledore,'" Reggy retorted; "it's too frivolous and
pun-like for the present dangerous occasion."
We were now making haste towards a small village a few miles ahead, and
we were not sorry as we passed into the poor shelter its brick houses
afforded. As long as we were on the open road it was quite impossible
to rid oneself of the feeling that the car was in full view of the
German gunners.
The streets of this dirty little village were filled with British
Tommies, who, still covered with the mud from the trenches, were as
care-free and happy as were those fifty miles from the front. They
smoked and chatted together in little groups at the entrance or in the
courtyards of the miserable hotels, one at least of which seemed to be
on every block. As we drew up the colonel enquired of a sentry:
"Can you tell me where the 'Princess Patricias' are billeted?"
We had been informed that this famous battalion, which had reached
France just six weeks after us, was somewhere in this neighbourhood. To
discover their whereabouts was the real object of our journey. The
sentry made reply:
"I believe, sir, there is a battalion of that naime 'ere somew'eres.
Hi, Bill!" he called to another Tommy, who was leaning against a near-by
door-post; "w'ere is them Canydians wot wos 'ere t'other day?"
"Bill" banked his cigarette by pressing it against the wall and came
over on the double to the side of our car. He saluted with that
peculiar Jumping-Jack motion so much a part of the real Tommy, and
ejaculated:
"I 'eard they was at the next town, sir; it ayn't far from 'ere, but
it's a funny naime--Runnin'-hell, er somethin' like."
"Would it be Reninghelst?" Jack enquired.
"Ay--that's it, sir; I knowed they was 'hell' in it somew'eres."
"Just since the 'Canydians' came, I'll wager?" Reggy interjected
mischievously.
The Tommy grinned approval of this jest, and volunteered to show us the
direction. He stood on the running board of the car and saw that we got
started on the right road.
"Straight ahead now, sir," he said, as he saluted and sprang down.
The heavy shelling had died away, and for the next two miles the sun
shone on a peaceful country. We had a chance to marvel at the
well-ploughed fields, and wondered what venturesome farmers dared work
in such a place. It was almost noon and we had begun to think that we
had left the war behind us once more, when suddenly the rapid bark of
German guns aroused us, and the sharp crack of shrapnel high above our
heads caused us to look up. A new sight met our gaze.
Three of our own aeroplanes were hovering directly over the German
trenches, and battery after battery of artillery were exhausting
themselves in an angry effort to bring them down. The accuracy of the
enemy gunners startled us. This time we were not the hunters, and our
sympathies were with the aviators. As shell after shell burst, leaving
their white clouds to right or left, we held our breath in suspense.
Time and again, as the explosion occurred directly under one of our
machines, the smoke hid it from view, and, in a tremor of anxiety, we
feared to see it dive to earth. But when the smoke cleared away our
three undaunted birdmen were still on high, swooping over the German
batteries with a persistence and intrepidity which must have been
maddening to the helpless _Bosches_.
It wasn't long before two enemy aviators rose to give battle, and as
they approached our men the firing from below ceased. The five
aeroplanes circled round and round, apparently sparring for position,
and rose to such great height that we could hardly distinguish them.
They were so close together that neither the British nor German
artillery dared fire upon them. At last one of the enemy machines
detached itself from the others and darted towards our lines with the
speed of the wind.
Immediately our batteries opened up, and round after round of bursting
shells followed its every movement; now to right, now to left; now
above, now below, ever closer to their mark. Finally one well-directed
shell burst immediately beneath the aviator. The machine was straight
over our heads; we craned our necks to follow it. It swerved and
fluttered like a wounded bird, slipped sideways, fell for a short
distance, then seemed to stagger like a drunken man; righted itself at
last and swiftly descended towards the German lines. That the aviator
was wounded we did not doubt, but he had somehow escaped death. In the
meantime we had lost sight of the other four machines, and when we
looked for them again they had disappeared from view.
The streets of Reninghelst were crowded with soldiers when we reached
that town, and among them we recognised, to our joy, some stalwart lads
from the "Princess Pats." On the corner was a group of young officers,
and in the crowd we espied the familiar features of Captain Stewart who
had spent his last night in Canada with us. At the same moment he
recognised us and hurried over to the car to greet us.
"Well, well," he cried delightedly, as he shook hands with us two at a
time, "welcome to our city! Where the devil did you chaps spring from?"
We assured him that his question was quite _a propos_, as we had just
passed through the infernal regions. He laughed as he replied:
"Interesting bit of road, that stretch between Ypres and here--been in
the front line trenches ourselves for a week out there--caught blazes,
too!"
His uniform still showed the effects of the trench mud. He was a tall,
thin chap, prematurely grey. Like many others of the Princess Pats, he
was a veteran of the South African War, a crack-shot, and all-round
dare-devil. He spoke in short, quick snatches, starting his sentences
with unexpected jerks, and could keep a regiment in shrieks of laughter.
"How is the trench life out here?" the colonel enquired, with a jerk of
the head towards the battle line.
"Plain hell--with a capital H. Excuse the repetition of the
word--nothing else describes it--a quagmire two feet deep, full of mud
and filth."
"Couldn't you dig it deeper?" Reggy enquired with some concern.
"No chance--everywhere you dig--turn up rotting carcases--farther down
you go the more water you have to stand in."
"The snipers are bad too, are they not?" I asked him.
He laughed again. "_Were_ bad, you mean," he cried; "not many left
around our trench. Poor Fritzie found us a nasty lot--played dirty
tricks on him--organised a 'snipe-the-sniper' squad--put 'em out of
business."
"How did you manage it?" I asked curiously.
"Stalked 'em--like red Indians--dug a tunnel out to a hill too--came up
through the centre of it--hollowed it out inside--and put 'em to sleep
one by one. Fritzie doesn't love us any more, but, by Gad, he respects
us!"
After we had listened to a few more details of this wild and remarkable
life, the colonel enquired: