THE POWER OF BREAD.
_Roadways_ are the mainsprings of an army. They are more precious than
jewels. When captured they have to be jealously guarded. For this
purpose the drill-book says you must have examination posts. These posts
are simply clearing-houses for the liars and laggards of war. It is an
important job, and usually given to important men. As the Glesca
Mileeshy were the most important gentlemen in the Mixed Division, it
fell to them to guard the main highway which led through their lines
right into the heart of General Von Burstem's camp. Captain Coronet's
company, on this occasion, supplied the guard, consisting of Sergeant
Killem, Privates Tamson, Muldoon, and Cameron. This observant detachment
was posted in a little hut at the cross-roads. The point commanded
communication and regulated the flow of spies, patrols, and supplies.
Every waggon, motor, officer, and man had to be halted, examined, and
passed by the man on sentry-go. The job suited the temperament of Spud
Tamson, for he had all the craving for novelty and sensation. He
swaggered up and down the beaten path with the air of a new-born
subaltern. Nothing escaped him, and as night came he grew still more
alert.
"Halt--who goes there?" he challenged out.
"A Gordon!" was the reply.
"Pass, Gordon--all's well."
"Halt--who goes there?" he shouted again.
"Black Watch Picket."
"Pass, Black Watch--all's well."
"Halt--who goes there?" went his challenge once more.
"Wot the 'ell's it got to do with you?" piped some one in the dark.
"Pass, Canadian--all's well," was the apt retort, which in itself
reflects the unruly but otherwise splendid man from the Golden West.
For a time there was silence, during which Tamson puffed the smoke out
of his dirty old cutty-pipe. Between puffs he mused on the mud and
hunger of war, and occasionally switched his fancy back to where his own
Mary Ann would be sitting in anxious dread. During this sort of
meandering he was roused by the flashing lights of a powerful motor-car.
On it came, right up to the barbed wire gate which Spud was guarding.
Gripping his rifle in no uncertain fashion, he came down to the charge
and bellowed out, "Halt--who goes there?"
"Staff officer, you fool--open the gate," said a muffled voice from the
front of the car.
"Step oot and gie the countersign," ordered Spud.
"---- you--open the gate. I'll report you to your colonel."
"Report yer granny--gae me the countersign," persisted Spud, his whole
cunning roused by the well-muffled face of this staff officer.
The officer jumped from the car. As he did so the alert sentry noted his
hand behind his back. Something was wrong.
"Stand and gie the countersign."
The officer whipped the hidden hand round. A revolver banged in the
stilly air. The aim, however, had been turned by a cunning parry,
followed by a dexterous thrust by the nimble Spud. He had pinned his
aggressor right through the breast. The man fell with a groan. As he
tumbled, Sergeant Killem and the guard dashed out. One glance, and the
sergeant staggered a little. "God! Tamson--it's a staff officer. You've
kill't him."
"A spy, ye mean," said the cool sentry, putting his foot on the dying
man's chest, and with a jerk withdrawing his bayonet.
"A spy!"
"Ay--see the revolver! He tried tae shoot me."
"That's queer, man," ejaculated Sergeant Killem, bending down. Lifting
the red-banded cap off the wounded man's head and unwinding the muffler,
he was startled to see a face clearly German, with the usual student
scar. Opening a British warm jacket, the sergeant also found a
close-fitting tunic worn by the German officers.
"You're richt, Tamson. By Heaven! he's got a cheek," muttered Killem, as
he extracted a large six-inch map, a note-book, a woman's photo, and
other things from the dying man's pocket. When this search had been
completed they lifted the almost dead German into the guardroom. Spud
now tore out his own field dressing and tried to stanch the mortal
wound, while the sergeant rang the telephone bell in the Divisional
Headquarters.
"Well?" replied an aide-de-camp.
"I'm the sergint on the examination post. A sentry has jist shot a spy
in a motor-caur. He's dying in the hut."
"Let him die," was the blunt reply. "And I say, sergeant?"
"Yes, sir."
"Search the man and his car. Keep everything till the Intelligence
Officer arrives."
"Very good, sir," said Sergeant Killem, hanging up the 'phone. A further
search revealed many things. Papers showed the amazing daring and skill
of this spy. The strength, guns, morale, and distribution of the Allied
Arms was almost perfect. In the garb of a staff officer he had been
everywhere--an easy thing when one remembers the mighty salaams and
reverential awe which the "Brass Hats" receive from the respectful Tommy
Atkins.
"This is his last trip, onywiy," said the sergeant, casually picking up
the woman's photo which the spy had carried in his pocket. Spud came
forward to view it.
"That's an actress," remarked Tamson.
"Ay. English at that."
"It's the Principal Boy in that big London panto," exclaimed Spud, who
knew the name of every actress, boxer, and racehorse.
"Man, you're richt; but listen----"
"A motor-caur! That'll be the officer," said Spud.
A few minutes afterwards the car stopped at the door, and a major of the
Intelligence Staff came in.
"Here he is, sir," said the sergeant, showing him the wounded German in
the corner of the hut.
"Good Lord! it's Von Darem!" muttered the startled officer.
"Wha, sir?" inquired Killem.
"Oh, the late Military Attache in London," was the off-hand reply of the
officer.
"Here's his papers."
"Thanks," said the major, walking to the lamp. Opening out the
note-book, he quickly read the contents. He was as fascinated as he was
surprised.
"Well, sergeant, this _is_ a good night's work. Who caught him?"
"Me, sir," chirped Spud, clicking his heels and giving a smart salute.
"You know your job. I'll see the General about you. You ought to be a
sergeant. Good-night all."
"Good-night, sir."
Next morning Private Spud Tamson had a paragraph of praise in Divisional
Orders, and at night the colonel of the Glesca Mileeshy informed him
that he was pleased to promote him to sergeant. The examining guard had
brought Spud Tamson fame. A few days later the newly-promoted sergeant
was also given the job of taking out a standing night patrol towards the
enemy's lines. For this purpose he was allowed to select his men.
Muldoon and Micky Cameron were, of course, in the band. It was a
dangerous job, yet Spud was not alarmed. It suited his nature and
whetted his ardour for the all-precious D.C.M.
'The Field Training Manual' has it that patrols are primarily intended
for reconnaissance, not fighting,--in other words, to see without being
seen. Spud remembered this. He was also aware that the German
commissariat was badly managed. Perhaps that accounted for his stuffing
of bread and meat into the haversacks of his party. The men were also
ordered to keep their tongues and rifles from barking, and when the
enemy was spotted--to lie down. Having duly impressed his little band
with these instructions, he gave the order to march. Away they went,
Spud at the head. Like cats, they stalked on the metalled roadway for
almost a mile.
"Halt!" whispered Spud on nearing a long line of trees which he knew
were occupied by the outposts of the enemy. Then all lay down. For a
time they could see nothing in the darkness, but gradually their eyes
grew accustomed to things. A crunching of feet told its own tale of
sentry-go, and a few minutes later the patrol discerned two men at the
edge of the wood.
"Micky, you come wi' me," said Spud to his old friend Cameron. "You
others stiy here. If you think we're gettin' done in, come owre an' len'
a haund. But mind, nae shootin'--the bayonet, every time."
"Right ho, Spud," was the willing response as the sergeant and Micky
crawled away on their hands and knees. For twenty minutes they wriggled
like snakes. Luck and the shadows favoured them. They finished up fifty
yards from the German sentries.
"Here, Spud," whispered Micky, "this is sudden daith for us."
"Are ye feart, ye puddin heid."
"Na, I'm no' feart, but are we no' daft?"
"Blethers! Noo, look here, Micky, get yer haversack haundy, an' mind the
breid."
"What's that for?"
"Catchin' them."
"Catchin' them?" queried Micky.
"Ay, jist like catchin' canaries. But, listen, when thae chaps turn
their backs, mak' a jump for it. Nae killin', though. Haunds up, and
then gie them a lump o' breid."
"Breid?"
"Dae whit yer tell't. I'm fed up wi' yer questions. If yer feart, awa'
hame." This sharp retort ended Micky's fears. For the next ten minutes
they lay watching their prey. Then came their chance. The two sentries
met and turned their backs to have a chat. With a light bounding step,
Spud and Micky reached their men. The startled sentries turned and then
jumped for their rifles, which were leaning against a tree. Too late,
though. A glistening bayonet and a low command, "Haunds up," ended their
service in the German Army. Both held their hands up in terror,
expecting a sudden despatch to the heavenly land, at the same time
tearfully muttering, "Don't hurt me--Don't hurt me," for, like nearly
all Germans, they spoke English well.
"Here," said Spud to his man, handing a lump of bread and a sausage. The
man grabbed it like a hungry wolf. His comrade did the same with Micky's
peace-offering. This bait reduced them to a state of friendliness and
civility. Indeed, the attitude of Spud and Micky amazed them. They had
been told that the British Army were murderers and barbarians. When they
had finished their simple repast, Spud casually inquired--
"Whaur's yer picket?"
"Back there," said one, pointing to the end of the wood.
"Hoo strong?"
"About a hundred."
"Any Maxims?"
"Two."
"Whaur are they?"
"At that end," said the German, showing Spud a sort of earthwork at
their end of the wood, about six hundred yards away.
"Many men there?"
"Plenty."
"All right, come wi' me."
The Germans hesitated.
"Step oot," said Spud, fingering his trigger in a determined way.
"Well, don't kill us."
"Na, we'll no' kill ye. But mind, keep quiet as ye go," he ordered,
pushing his prisoners ahead. The victors followed, carrying the rifles
of the enemy. But they were not to get off scot-free. The clumsy Germans
made a fearful din, rousing their compatriots some distance away. This
and the rising moon told the now vigilant Teutons that something was
wrong. A searchlight was flashed across the danger zone. Spud and his
men were spotted.
"Double," he roared, giving the Germans a prick with his bayonet, but
the crash of rifles and then the patter of feet told the daring sergeant
that he was pursued.
Zip! went a bullet past his ear. Zip! went another, striking Micky in
the leg and smashing a bone. He tumbled with a groan.
"Here, you German waiters--lift him," ordered Spud. The prisoners
hesitated, but the stern look in the sergeant's face, as well as the
danger of death from the rifles of their own friends, made them grab the
wounded man and carry him on. A five minutes' run brought them to the
spot where Spud's reserves were handy.
"Halt!" challenged Muldoon, jumping out of a hole.
"It's me, Pat--haud on here. Stop these scallywags that's chasing us up.
Gie them a dose o' Rapid. They'll think they're up against a hunner
men."
"Roight, sargint," replied Muldoon, assuming command of the reserves.
Spud with his unwilling bearers ran on, glad to be out of the danger
zone. A few minutes afterwards, the German patrol, which had followed
them, came panting and stumbling towards Muldoon's little army.
Z-r-r-p! crashed a volley. Cries of amazement and shrieks of pain rent
the air.
Z-r-r-p! rattled another, and still another. The enemy fled in disorder
towards their startled friends. Muldoon sent more volleys into the
retreating host, and then retired about a hundred yards. Crash went his
rifles again. The Germans were thoroughly checked and their whole line
surprised.
"Back, bhoys, for the love of Saint Patrick," ordered Muldoon, leading
his three men at a trot down the long winding road. They quickly pulled
up on Spud and his burdened prisoners, and in half an hour were marching
in triumph through their own lines.
"Two prisoners, sir," said Spud, jumping into Colonel Corkleg's dug-out.
"Oh! How did you get them, Tamson?"
"Wi' a bit o' breid, sir."
"Bread!"
"Ay, sir. Ye could catch a regiment wi' a twa-pun' loaf."
"Well, that's the limit. Where did you learn that?"
"The Gallowgate, sir."
"Ah! Tell me how you did it."
Spud quickly told of his adventure, and also imparted the useful
information he had received.
"That's good, sergeant. Do you think we could capture the redoubt and
the guns?"
"Ay, sir--easy."
"How?"
"A night attack, sir."
"Sound, very sound, sergeant. I'll put your captain on to it. Thank you,
Tamson."
Spud saluted and jumped out. His company gave him a warm welcome on
entering their dug-outs; indeed, Captain Coronet called him in for a tot
of service rum. After this warm beverage had been devoured, Spud
elaborated his own ideas about the capturing of the enemy's Maxims. The
captain listened attentively and then dismissed him to have a rest
preparatory to the projected assault.
The night affair was arranged by the colonel during the day. Captain
Coronet was to make the attack, supported by another company. The whole
thing was to be led by the now famous sergeant. It was a daring
adventure; but if successful it was worth the risk. Machine guns are
annoying at all times. These would be better out of the way. The
position, too, was desirable. Its capture would allow the Mixed Division
an opportunity to clear the wood of objectionable snipers.
At dusk Coronet and his men sallied out. Spud headed the column, and
from front to rear all were guided by a great, long rope held by each
man so as to ensure direction and avoid straggling. At first they
marched, but on nearing the enemy's line all fell on their knees and
commenced to crawl. This was continued for half an hour, when a
whispered "Halt!" made them lie low.
"It's owre there, sir," said Spud, pointing in the direction of the
redoubt.
"Not much to be seen, Tamson," remarked the captain, placing his monocle
in his eye.
"Listen, sir."
Both lay still, and eventually analysed the many sounds. Some men were
coughing, others appeared to be singing, while here and there "All's
well" rang out in German. During this wait for the light of dawn the
company was surprised by the tramp of a small patrol. On they came
straight towards Coronet's men. It was an anxious moment for all. To
fire would have been madness, revealing the whole plan. The captain held
his breath, uncertain how to act. It was one of those awkward incidents
for which no remedy can be found in infantry training, new or revised.
Captain Coronet could handle a division in a war game and win many a
brilliant battle on regimental staff rides, but this situation was
beyond him, and like a simple British gentleman he whipped out his
sword.
"Na, sir, no' that," whispered Tamson. The flush which suffused
Coronet's cheek could not be seen in the dark. Spud Tamson had presumed
to override the officer class. For a second the captain almost lost his
temper. Another second's reflection, however, told him that this
sergeant from the slums was right.
"Let them come right up, sir, then grab their legs, drap them, and choke
them."
"Very sound--tell the men what's on," commanded the captain, well
pleased to have found a solution to the problem. A few more minutes
brought three figures within view of the attackers' eyes. They tramped
and stumbled forward right into the waiting men. The captain, Tamson,
and Sergeant Killem grabbed the legs of the Germans, and with a jerk
heaved the surprised men to the ground. Only one shout was heard, for,
like a flash, strong hands pounced on to their throats. A spluttering
and low choking broke the stillness of the night.
"Don't kill them--tie them up," whispered the commander. Some mufflers
were quickly produced, and with the aid of rifle-slings, rope, and spare
equipment straps, the German patrol was bound and gagged.
"I wonder if they heard that beggar shout?" whispered the captain.
"Na, sir. Ye wid hae soon heard the bullets if they had."
"I'm glad--it's getting light," said the captain, looking up to the sky.
"Ay, sir,--yonder's the gun pits," said Tamson, pointing to a redoubt
about two hundred and fifty yards away.
"Pretty tough job, Tamson," mused the captain, studying closely the
flanking trenches and some objectionable barbed wire.
"The barbed wire's no' very high, sir."
"High enough for trouble."
"If they tak' aff their coats an' fling them owre the wire it'll no hurt
them sae much."
"Good idea,--tell them to carry their coats in their hands, and get
ready."
Tamson turned and whispered the order. In a few minutes the whole
company was eager for the fray.
"Prepare to charge," whispered the captain, putting his monocle into his
eye. Leaving his sword on the ground he picked up one of the German
rifles and jumped to his feet. The company followed suit, and with a
thundering cheer charged forward towards the German lines.
A sentry outside the barbed wire dropped his rifle and ran towards a
little gateway in the entanglements. Unhooking some loose strands he
dashed through, followed by Coronet, who pinned him with his bayonet in
the back. About twenty more squeezed through this gap. The remainder
flung their coats across the wires and floundered over into the German
trenches. Then the butchery began. Half-sleeping Germans found
themselves face to face with cursing, yelling scions of the Glesca
Mileeshy. These old toughs from the "Model" plugged, stabbed, jabbed,
hacked, and butted the life out of the defenders in the flanking
trenches. Those who tried to escape by jumping out were clubbed to
death. Coronet and Spud were everywhere, and, like others, quickly
covered themselves with German blood. Things went well till a Maxim gun
started its nonsense. A clever gunner opened a traversing fire on the
daring band.
"Lie down, men," roared Coronet. They obeyed, but not before twenty men
had been killed or wounded. It was an anxious moment for the company
commander. The check was serious, and, like a true British officer, he
looked round for his sergeant. He saw Tamson at the far end of a trench
coolly aiming at the German gunner.
Bang! went Spud's rifle. He missed. Muttering an oath, he quickly fired
again. The man dropped back dead. Another sprang to his seat, but before
he could touch the handles Spud despatched him to the Happy Land. This
was good, but not altogether useful, for a host of Germans were sallying
out of their dug-outs and rushing to avenge their dead.
"Rapid fire!" roared the captain.
Click! click! went the bolts, and next a fearful crash, but our musketry
cannot always stem a wild German rush. Remembering he had a company in
support, Coronet signalled them up. Recollecting, too, that he had read
somewhere in Haking's text-book on company training that an assault
should be met by a counter-assault, he ordered his men to charge.
"I'll see tae the guns, sir," shouted Spud to his captain above the din.
"Right, sergeant," answered Coronet, looking back.
"This way for the Gallowgate, lads," was Tamson's order to a few of his
cronies. They followed at his heels, and dashed towards the first gun. A
young German officer met Tamson with his sword. The Teuton made a
furious swipe at his red-coloured head.
"Missed it, young fellow me lad," shouted Tamson, parrying. Still the
point hooked an ounce of good flesh out of the sergeant's arm.
"Got ye," yelled Spud, lunging forward with his bayonet. The officer
writhed in a horrible way at the other end of his rifle. With difficulty
he disengaged, but rather late, for a powerful Teuton made a terrible
blow with his butt. Tamson was struck on the side of the head and
stunned. He fell to the ground. Pat Muldoon saw it all and jumped
forward to guard him from further injury. Standing astride over his
prostrate form this great Irishman faced all odds. He wielded his rifle
in the same easy manner as he had formerly handled his pick. An Irishman
in a fight is a sight for the gods. He is a mixture of the dervish and
the devil. And a strange charm hung over the life of this son of Erin.
Man after man he felled like a woodman cutting pine. As the neighbouring
gun team had no desire to earn such a hurried despatch, they bolted to a
more safe and pleasant region in the dim beyond.
Meantime, Captain Coronet had been getting on with his job. His
counter-attack crushed the first impact of the German host, but at a
terrible cost. Seventy men had bitten the dust, while he himself had
been prodded like a prize pig with German bayonets. Fortunately none of
his gashes were serious. Still, he and his men were about worn out when
a thundering cheer told them that the supporting company had arrived.
Into the fray dashed the eager avengers. Their enthusiasm turned the
tide. Away ran the Germans; the position was won.
Out of the shambles rose Spud Tamson, somewhat dazed with the blow.
"Cheer up, ould pal,--are yis better?" queried Muldoon.
"What wis it?" asked Tamson.
"Begorra, it's the stars ye've been seein'."
"Three star brandy wisnae in it, Pat. It's worse than the D.T.'s."
"Never mind, me bhoy, we've got their ould bullet engines," said Pat,
pointing to the machine guns with the gun team lying round. "But I say,
Spud, have a nip."
"Sure, Pat, whaur is it?"
"Here," he said, drawing a beautiful silver brandy-flask out of his
pocket.
"Whaur did ye get this?"
"In that German officer's pocket."
"Man, it's the rale thing. Did ye get onything else?"
"I did that,--a purse of gould German quids."
"I get hauf o' that. It wis me that kill't him."
"Roight, we'll share it out by-and-by."
"Nae fear. Hauf it the noo."
"Why?"
"A bird in the haun's worth twa in the bush."
"That's what the ould judge said when he gave me thirty days for
stealin' Mike Docherty's pigs," concluded Pat, as he ruefully parted
with half of his bag of gold.
Spud also got his D.C.M.