Where Men fought for Empire
"Halt! I hear men coming! There are troops on the road--listen!"
Bill, who was leading the party of men cut off from the British army--a
party, be it remembered, comprising not only sturdy British soldiers,
but just as sturdy members of the new American army--suddenly thrust
out an arm and brought them to a standstill. There on the paved highway
which runs from Albert to Bapaume, and which the British, with that
thoroughness for which they have now no doubt won world-wide fame, had
macadamized and rolled until it was as smooth as a billiard table,
though but a few months before it had been churned and smashed to
pieces by gun-fire--there, unhappily, the same churning and smashing
process was being repeated between the spot where Bill and his friends
stood and Albert itself, perhaps five miles distant. For in that
direction the thunder of guns was loudest, and even the mist and the
darkness could not hide the flash of hidden batteries and the bursting
of shells from British artillery, nor could the sounds of distant
battle altogether drown other sounds--the deep muffled tread of a mass
of men.
"Coming back towards us from the Albert direction," said Bill.
"Probably men who have been relieved, or perhaps it's a ration party.
Anyway, off we go! Take the road here to the right. Look sharp!"
He stepped off the macadam, to find himself to his arm-pits in a huge
shell-hole--a relic of 1916--in which also reclined what remained of
a shattered tank--one of the land fighting-ships which Britain had
brought to bear against the Germans. Clambering out of it, with two
other men of the party who had been similarly unfortunate, he struck
away from the road, the others following closely. Then, of a sudden,
Larry called to him.
"Say, Bill, here's just the sort of stunt for us! Seems like an old
building."
"Aye, a _sucrerie_. I remember it," came from Nobby. "Here you are,
here's one of the tanks in which they boiled their roots. It's
Pozières--for a hundred! Pozières! don't I know it? Here's where the
Australians did in the Germans what was holding 'em up, and pushed on
towards Courcelette."
Bill recollected the place at once. Not once but a hundred times
probably had he been up or down this Albert-Bapaume road, and, like
everyone who had traversed it, he remembered well that little graveyard
on the left with the crosses to the gallant Australians, and on the
right, here and there, lost almost amongst the tumbled earth and
smashed country-side, solitary little crosses, and farther along on
the left again, as he went to Bapaume or Peronne, that shattered
factory with the old sugar-tanks, smashed and crumbled and perforated
by shrapnel and machine-gun bullets, lying three hundred yards from
the road, sole relic of the once flourishing and pretty village of
Pozières, now relic only of a spot which was the scene of some of the
bitterest fighting in 1916.
"In you go," said Bill. "These ruins will hide us, and we can sit down
and have a feed. Nobby, you know the place you say--tell us all about
it, so that we may know what we're in for. Any good hiding-places?"
"Know the place?" grinned Nobby, as they entered the shattered walls
of the factory and sat themselves down on the floor, which was still
littered with much of the broken material left by the British. "Well
now, when I was here--seems months and months ago--there was a medical
post stationed 'ere, covered up in sand-bags. And, my word, didn't
they want 'em! Shrapnel was comin' over all the time, and you've only
got to see those tanks outside to realize how machine-gun bullets were
buzzing. Yet it was a comfortable enough crib then, though rough, and
gave fair shelter."
"Fair shelter?" said Bill, suddenly pricking up his ears and thinking.
"Supposing now we were forced to protect ourselves, it would----"
The gallant Nobby realized his meaning promptly. "It would," he said
with emphasis. "These 'ere old walls, what you can see of 'em in the
mist and the darkness, are thick--that is, what's left of 'em is--and
there used to be a cellar underneath the floor. If Fritz becomes
inquisitive and tries to round us up, why, believe me, this 'ere place
might do us a treat. Better'n being in the dug-out anyway. 'Sides, as
I remember it, it just tops a rise, and the ground slopes gently away
from it all round. That'ud be nasty for the Boche, eh?"
"It'ud provide us with a hiding-place perhaps," said Bill thoughtfully,
as they all sat down and munched a ration. "Looks to me, Larry, as
though we'd better have another council of war, we fellows, right
forward there. We might with a bit of luck get right through the lines
during the night. On the other hand, we mightn't. We'd stand a better
chance if we could hide up in a place like this, which, as Nobby says,
ain't a dug-out, but gives us shelter. We could then get an observation
post and look round the neighbourhood. Of course the place might be
searched; but then we always stand a chance of being discovered, even
if we move on, eh? What's your idea? What do you say about it?"
"Yep," said Larry, pursing his lips. "Gee! this here's a conundrum! I'd
like to treat it as our folks say in 'judgematical' manner. Supposin'
we move on--well, soon we've got to get off the road, for we've come
somewhere near the line where troops are moving. You may say that the
Germans have pushed right ahead, past the Butte of Warlencourt and
beyond Pozières. They've made a tidy advance in the few hours that have
passed since their offensive opened, and now they're held up, or nearly
held up, let's hope, somewheres just in front of us. But where is
that somewheres? It may be just a mile ahead; it mayn't, on the other
hand. Supposin' we moves on, then we may barge into a whole crowd and
get bayoneted for our trouble; we may get shot down by our own guns;
or we may even find ourselves mixed up in a German offensive and get
done in by German machine-gun bullets, perhaps American machine-gun
bullets--for some of our boys will get rushed up to help the Allied
line. No, siree, I vote that we sits down here for the night, and, come
morning, hides away. Then we'll look up some place from which we can
observe, and will try to get an idea of what's happening."
"And Jim?" asked Bill, for Jim was one of those quiet Americans who
never spoke unless he had something worth saying, but whose opinion was
valuable.
"I'm in with Larry," he said. "There's uncertainty either way, whether
we go forward or remain here. We may get hunted out to-morrow, or caged
in this place like rats in a trap. If so, we can put up a fight at
least, same as I guess many other pockets of soldiers overrun by the
Germans will be doing. Better that than push on and shove our noses
into a noose."
One after another the men gave vent to their own particular personal
opinions, and so it became apparent that the general consensus of
thought was that the party should halt where it was and rest till dawn
came. After that--well, their fortunes lay in the lap of the gods.
It was hardly likely that they would escape from such a predicament
without trouble or danger, but, if it came, they would be better able
to face it after having rested.
Trust the British soldier and his American chum to make the most of any
sort of surroundings and to gain comfort in spite of bleak conditions.
Half an hour later the whole party--with the exception of one man who
watched at the exit of the factory--lay fast asleep, snoring, in their
greatcoats under the blankets, which each of them had carried. The
sentry stood on a piled-up heap of shattered masonry which had once
supported the upper floor of the factory, looking through one of the
exits. We have said one of the exits, though that hardly gives a good
idea of the condition of the place, seeing that British guns and German
guns had each in turn hammered this property, with the result that
walls had been flattened and holed. The upper story had gone entirely,
windows were no more, and but a battered wreck remained, with hardly a
semblance of a factory about it, gaping to the skies with wide rents in
all directions. Its interior was a mass of fallen stones, save where
lay relics of previous British occupation.
Morning found the party, refreshed by their sleep, fit once more
and ready for anything. The mist, too, was not sufficiently thick to
prevent their inspecting their immediate surroundings, and Bill, as
leader of the party, at once proceeded to make himself familiar with
them.
"Good!" he exclaimed. "Some hundreds of sand-bags here. Some of 'em
rotten and going to pieces, but others quite sound. They formed, of
course, the protection to the aid post. And here's the 'elephant'
shelters still standing. Better still! they'll keep the rain out. Now
for a squint all round, and then for the cellar. Seems to me we might
hold out here for some time."
Months before, parties of natives and others employed by the British
had swept over the Somme battle-field, throughout its vast extent, and
had salvaged a great amount of material for future use: guns here and
there, munitions elsewhere, telephone wires, every sort of warlike
material had been gathered in to one collecting centre, even timbers
had been extracted from the deep dug-outs constructed by the Germans.
But sand-bags and this heavy iron sheeting forming the "elephant"
shelter were not worth removing, and were therefore left to rot like
the remainder of their surroundings. To Bill and his friends they
promised a certain amount of security.
"You see," said Bill, "we could set to work now, select the bags that
are in good order, and form a strong post here, out of which no sort
of machine-gun fire could drive us--they'd have to bring guns along,
or bombs, to do us in--eh, Larry? What about it, Nobby? Suppose the
Germans did track us to this spot, are you going to surrender without
putting up a fight?"
Nobby looked distinctly annoyed. He glared at Bill, and looked more
enormous and more formidable in his hairy coat in that morning mist
than he had done previously. He smote himself violently on the chest
and tilted his tin hat forward.
"Me give in to Fritz without a fight?" he asked. "'Ere, young chap,
what d'yer take me for?--a blinkin' blighter?"
Bill didn't. He mollified the great Nobby by placing one hand on his
stalwart shoulder, and then turned to Larry. It was characteristic of
the latter that he merely smiled.
"What should I do? What'ud you do yerself, Bill? Give in, of course!
Walk out and ask Fritz to be friendly! That's you all over, that is.
Just what you'd do, Bill: hob-nob with him--ask him to take a cup of
tea--sit down and be pally."
"Huh!" It was then that Jim laughed--Jim, the usually silent American.
Larry's sarcasm tickled him wonderfully, and then, of course, he knew
Bill so thoroughly. Was it typical of Bill, the young fellow who led
them, cool, quiet, and calm on most occasions, yet already an approved
fire-eater--was it typical of him to suggest surrender without putting
up a strenuous opposition? Jim cackled loudly.
"There'll be trouble here soon, Larry," he went on, "ef you carry on
like that. This here Bill was only asking a polite question, and it's
up to you to answer politely--you and Nobby, who's about the biggest
and most pugnacious man I've come across this side of the water. As ef
we didn't know that both of you are crazy for a fight, and believe me,
yep, you'll be having it soon, to your heart's content. Here we are,
boxed in, we might say, only in nicer surroundings than we was back
there in the dug-out, and d'you mean to say that we're going to give up
these comfortable quarters because Fritz asks us to do so?"
Jim stood up and stretched his hands out on either side, pointing to
their immediate surroundings--those shattered masses of bricks and
mortar, tumbled beams, and wrecked and twisted ironwork--for all the
world as if it were a palace. And, indeed, to these men, accustomed to
the decimated country of France, in which war was now raging, these
shattered factory walls did present the aspect, if not of a palace,
then of a place which offered some sort of protection. Those sand-bags,
for instance, the ironwork of the "elephant" shelter, the heaps of
bricks also, all offered something which would allow them to put up a
formidable resistance. It was not a matter that needed explaining to
any one of the party, it was merely a question of coming to a decision
as to their plans. Not a single one of the party was likely to be
behindhand in his determination; yet it was good to hear Larry talking
so sarcastically to Bill, Jim laughing at them, and to see the huge
Nobby getting red with indignation at the very suggestion of surrender.
It was encouraging to see the spirit of cheerful confidence, as well as
defiance, that animated all.
"In course we all comes in," blurted out one of the party, himself
no inconspicuous person, inasmuch as he stood nearly six feet in his
socks, and was as fine and clean-limbed a young Englishman as one could
wish to find. "I ain't got no particular 'down' on Fritz, I ain't,
though I bears in mind the fact that he's murdered women and children
and old men up and down the country; all I asks for is a clean fight,
if he can give it, which I doubts. If not, then let's have a fight
that'll do for him, and if I don't give Mr. Fritz 'is stomick full,
why, you can send me home to Blighty. Fight, Bill? In course we will!
Nobby knows you will, only he likes a row, he does. What about fixing
the plans up--eh? so as to make ready."
The upshot of it all was that they put their heads together, and very
soon every one of the party, save one particular man, was hard at work
perfecting their defences, selecting the best of the sand-bags and
piling them into the openings in the brickwork, so that the shell of
the factory, no very considerable place, was soon converted into a
species of filter, in the centre of which a ragged hole gave access to
a rotting and severely damaged staircase, and that in turn to a cellar
which would give protection from gun-fire.
In the meanwhile a single man had clambered to a post of vantage on
the walls, where his figure was concealed by a mass of ivy, which
already was invading the interior of the factory. From that point he
could survey the country-side, and, as the mist lifted, was able to
report to his friends what was going forward.
"There's guns and men and carts of all sorts filing along the
road--thousands of 'em--all making towards Albert; and--'arf a mo!
bless me, if there ain't aeroplanes comin' along in this direction!
What's they got, naughts or crosses? Ah, it's naughts! They're British.
Oh, and ain't they givin' 'em 'arf a time! Believe me, they're
a-clearin' this 'ere road from Albert to Bapaume, divin' down and
droppin' things! And Fritz ain't 'arf a-boltin'. Look at them blighters
scuttlin' in among the trees like a flock o' scared chickens!"
The announcement brought every man of the party to some aperture from
which he looked craftily towards the road, but a little way distant;
and there, as he watched, as the sentry had told him, he could see
columns of Germans pressing on after the British line, which had
retreated, some of the battalions marching across the ploughed-up and
shell-destroyed land on either hand. Overhead, flights of aeroplanes
could be seen, and some of these were skimming low over the road,
emptying their machine-guns into the massed infantry, which in turn
either broke up in confusion, and dived from the road, or fired with
their rifles upon the aeroplanes, though with little or no effect.
From the far distance came the muffled roar of guns, sometimes
silenced, as it were, by the nearer staccato rattle of machine-guns,
and then from perhaps five hundred yards away was heard the sharp
report of anti-aircraft weapons.
"And it do yer good," said Nobby, hidden well behind the masonry,
staring up into the sky, "it do yer good to see them boys up there
fightin' their aeroplanes same as ships is fought at sea. Gee! as
our one and only Larry says, if they ain't cleared the road already!
There's not a bloomin' German left on it, which says somethin' for
aeroplanes and more for British machine-guns, lettin' alone the young
chaps as works 'em. If only some of 'em could see us down 'ere and drop
to the ground to take us off! I wouldn't be scared, give you my word,
though I'd rather go through any sort of battle in the front line than
go up in an aeroplane. They don't look safe, and they ain't, that's my
belief, though to see them boys of ours a-goin' off in 'em you'd think
it was just a joy ride. S'welp me! 'Ere, what's happenin'?"
Bill, standing close beside him, gripped his arm.
"Get down!" he said; "they're coming this way. Our machine-guns have
driven them from the road, and they are looking for shelter. This is an
awkward business."
"Awkward! It's--it's--rotten!" said Nobby.
"Yep," they heard the inevitable lisp from Larry. "Gee! it is real
awkward that! Them German chaps don't like your British machine-guns
firing down on 'em, and I don't wonder; but that didn't ought to make
'em want to come poachin' here on our shelter. We ain't got no use for
'em! See here, Bill, it's likely to show us up."
Necks were craned round odd corners, eyes peered out across the broken
ground towards the road, and fixed themselves upon numbers of crawling
figures--the figures of German infantry who a little while before had
been marching full of confidence along the Albert road. But those
swirling aeroplanes which had drawn the admiring glances of Bill and
his friends had swooped down upon them, and, as we have described, they
had cleared the road in little time, but for the men who lay killed
or wounded upon it, and now had shot off towards Bapaume, bombing and
machine-gunning other troops behind. But they might return at any
instant, and, with that in mind, the Germans, swept from the road, were
seeking the closest cover. Some of them had been attracted by the ruins
where Bill and his party hid, and were coming rapidly towards them.
"And there's quite a whole heap of 'em," said Nobby.
"Ah!" he heard Bill exclaim. "If it was a matter of a dozen, or even
two, we might take 'em one by one as they crawled in, and----"
"And do 'em in," whispered Nobby. "Here, let me get down to that place
there for which they are making. I'll do 'em in, 'struth I will!"
"No!" Bill told him abruptly. "Hun or no Hun, we'd play the game and
take 'em prisoners; but there's too many of 'em."
"And a jolly good job too," Nobby growled. "If it's to be a case of
taking prisoners and playing the game, or a case of fightin', let's
fight. There's not one of us as ain't ready for it."
"Not one." A glance round at the assembled men showed them all eager,
some gripping their rifles with bayonets fixed, others already
opening pouches which carried their bombs, while Larry had produced
from amongst the ruins an iron bar some two feet in length, which he
proposed to use as a club. Bill smiled upon them.
"Good boys!" he said. "One of you chaps pitch a bomb over, just to let
'em know that they ain't welcome; then the fight'll start fair. Now,
all the rest get down under cover."
It was Nobby who stepped into the centre of the ruin so as to give his
arm free play, and, pulling the safety-pin from his grenade, measured
the distance with his eye and lobbed it over, all eyes following its
path till presently it struck the ground perhaps twenty yards in front
of the leading German. Then there was a violent explosion; the enemy
advancing upon the ruin halted, looked at one another, discussed the
situation, and even began to retreat. But, a minute later, one, who
proved to be an officer, crawling right behind the others, came to
the head of the column, and, realizing that none but an enemy could
have tossed that bomb, and that here, quite by accident, he and his
men had unearthed a party of the British, sent scouts out to surround
the place, and presently, calling other men to his assistance, opened
rifle-fire upon them. The action had begun. From the numbers engaged
upon it on the enemy's side it looked as though Bill and his friends
had little chance of pursuing their journey.