Holmes paused. There at his feet, unable to move, was one of his chums,
his knees shattered by shrapnel. Holmes had only a brief moment for
reflection. To delay meant certain death. The problem was how best
to help the poor fellow. To take him back into the trench was the
quickest way out of the difficulty, and the easiest. Had he done this,
the Germans would soon have discovered the wounded man, and in all
probability would have put an end to him. Holmes quickly dismissed
this plan and decided upon the nobler and more dangerous course. He
determined to make a dash with the wounded man, trusting to Providence
to reach his lines in safety.
He took the poor fellow in his stalwart arms, no light task, as his
chum weighed twelve stone. Exerting his full strength, Holmes slung
the man across his back. His only thought now was how to escape the
bullets. All around him were the British dead and dying, heroes who had
done their bit in the great battle.
A slight drizzling rain was falling; it made the ground slippery,
so that when Holmes resumed his dangerous journey he had the utmost
difficulty in avoiding treading on the men who were at his feet. With
infinite care he succeeded in reaching more open ground.
After proceeding about one hundred yards he paused to take breath, for
the burden on his back was a heavy load. At this stage his companion
began to complain that Holmes’s equipment hurt him. Holmes laid the man
down and removed the equipment. Knowing that he might have to make a
long journey before he could reach assistance, he decided at the same
time to drop his pack and rifle.
The next few hundred yards were the most difficult, for a hailstorm of
bullets and shells raged around. Holmes could hear them whistling as
he staggered painfully along. Had he not been possessed of a splendid
constitution he must have given in, but he was determined at all costs
not to give in. So he continued on and went doggedly forward, with
clenched teeth and grim countenance.
On the way he came upon a wounded officer seated on the ground, his
head between his hands. The officer looked up as he heard Holmes
approach, and when he saw what the hero was doing suggested to him
to leave the man with him and look after himself. This Holmes could
not bring himself to do. Yard by yard he plodded steadily along. The
poor fellow he was carrying began to lose heart. Holmes, although in
terrible mental anguish himself, had to cheer him all the weary and
dangerous way.
Slowly but surely he made progress. Half a mile, then a mile was
passed. Holmes took another rest. Then on again, until he came to a
church flying the Red Cross. The Germans were shelling this, so he
picked up his chum once more and proceeded to another village, where at
length he was able to deposit his charge in the careful keeping of the
British Red Cross.
In all, Holmes carried his chum three miles, and every inch of the way
was attended by danger from the enemy’s fire. It was certainly one of
the most unselfish of the many courageous deeds which it is the purpose
of this book to record.
In order to rejoin his battalion Holmes had now to make another
dangerous journey across a fire-swept zone. His road lay past a hill,
at the bottom of which was a British 18-pounder quick-firing gun. The
horses were quietly grazing; the gunners and drivers lay around dead.
Nearby was a trumpeter, a lad of seventeen, who was wounded. This lad
shouted that the Germans were coming. Holmes looked round and saw that
the enemy were surrounding the gun. Now, the true soldier has ever had
a fondness for guns, and will die rather than let one fall into the
enemy’s hands. It was in this spirit that Holmes now performed his
second act of heroism.
Placing the trumpeter on one of the horses, he hitched the team to the
gun, then thwacked them with a bayonet he had picked up, and swung into
the saddle. The Germans were all around; some actually grasped at the
reins. Holmes shouted to the horses, and they rushed madly forward. One
after another he bayoneted the nearest Germans, while bullets whistled
by his ears. The horse Holmes rode had its right ear shot off. For
eight miles the ride went on until the rear of a British column was
reached and all danger passed. The poor trumpeter had fallen off in the
furious rush.