KELLY
Kelly is my batman or personal servant.
His name tells his nationality. His
philosophy, especially as regards the war, is
usually interesting and always instructive.
Yesterday he accompanied me to headquarters
out in front of the railway line at Vimy. We
had to cross a few hundred yards in the open,
where the Huns had an annoying habit of
dropping shells at irregular moments.
Suddenly we heard the horrible shriek of an
approaching whizz-bang. It passed over our
heads and banged into the earth twenty feet
or so beyond us. Knowing that others would
probably follow it, and that they might have
twenty feet less of a range, we jumped into a
four-foot-deep shell hole which happily was
beside us. We hugged affectionately the
German side of the hole to take advantage of
whatever protection it afforded. One after another,
in rapid succession, three more of these shells
shrieked toward us. Fortunately our
unuttered prayer that they would not come to
see us in our hole was answered, for they
followed the first and struck twenty or twenty-five
feet past us, just close enough to sprinkle
us well with mud. While we waited a few
more minutes to see if any more were coming,
I turned over and faced Kelly.
"Don't you think, Kelly," I asked seriously,
"that lying in a shellhole like this is rather an
undignified position for two proud Anglo-Saxons?"
"No doubt it is, sor, but it's a good dale
safer than stayin' where we wor. An' if there's
one sound, Cap'n, that I've larned to rispict
more than another in this war, it's the shriek
of an oncomin' shell, whin it sames to be comin'
in yer direction. Now, duds (shells that fail
to explode) is different. D'ye remember, sor,
the day we come in to relave the 28th Battalion
here, as the colonel, the adjutant, and yersilf
were comin' over the crest of the ridge, an'
I bringin' up the rear with that luggage of
yours?" He looked at me reproachfully, for,
though looking after my luggage was part of
his duties, he never pretended to like it. "A
dud landed just besoide us. The sound of a
dud thuddin' into the earth nearboy one is
swater to me than ever was the gurglin' of a
brook on a June day down the banks of the
Lakes of Killarney."
Kelly's advice is often worth taking, for he
has been out there well into his second year,
and, while he has not yet been wounded, no
one ever accused him of lack of courage. He
occasionally does things with a slight, almost
imperceptible, grimace of pained surprise. But
he always does them--when ordered. In my
early days I was prone at times to take a peep
over the front line parapet at the always
interesting No Man's Land.
"Oi wouldn't do too much of that if Oi was
you, docthor," he said respectfully, though at
the time I thought there was also a trace of
pity in his brogue, "fer out here it's not
considered healthy. Me poor ould father, Lord
have mercy on him, always tould me to curb
me curiosity. An' a padre who had been here
a long toime tould me whin first Oi come that
his one bit of advoice to me was, don't be
curious." I always encouraged him to carry on
with his philosophizing, except when the dull
look in his eye and his exaggerated stand-at-attention
told me that he had somehow obtained
my rum ration as well as his own. "Oi
notice, sor, that thim that are here longest
peep the laist; that's why they are here longest."
"Do you dodge when you hear a shell coming, Kelly?"
"It's always woise to duck, sor, fer with very
big shells, which come slower, ye may be quick
enough to get aginst the soide of the trinch
and have the pieces miss ye; an', whin it's a
whizz-bang er bullet, if ye're able to duck ye
know ye're not hit!"
Just at dusk of a warm spring evening as
we crossed an open field, we had the
misfortune to find ourselves bracketed by German
gas shells. That is, some of the shells were
falling just short of us, and others were
passing a little over us. We recognized that they
were gas shells by the whirring noise they
make going through the air and by the soft
thudding sound of their explosion. But, had
we had any doubt, that sweetish, though well
hated, pineapple odor of the gas was reaching
our nostrils. The previous evening we had had
for some hours a heavy gas shelling about our
aid post, during much of which we were either
strangling from the gas fumes, which made
some of the men dreadfully ill, or we were
smothering to death with our gas masks on,
doing dressings for wounded men. So, taking
all this into consideration, we had no desire
for a repetition of the dose.
The shells were thudding into the earth
about seventy or eighty yards on either side
of us, and our dangers were two: a straight
hit by one of the shells, the result of which
would be mutilation or death; or the bursting
of one at our feet, as the inhalation by us of
such concentrated fumes might mean a little
wooden cross above us.
Behind the lines the gas masks or respirators
are worn flung over the shoulder. In the
lines the rule is to wear them in the "alert"
position, that is, on the front of the chest with
the flap open, ready for instant use. We had
them in this position and were carrying the
apparatus in our hands, so as to be able to
insert the tube into the mouth rapidly if need be.
Had we adjusted them at once we should have
found it difficult to avoid falling into the
numerous shellholes, for seeing through the
goggles on a dusky evening is most unsatisfactory.
My companion's practiced eye noted that the
shells, while bracketing us, were falling much
more thickly on our right than on our left.
After he had drawn my attention to this we
turned quickly to the left, and we had the good
fortune soon to be well away from the
explosions--it need hardly be remarked, to our
intense relief.
"That was a happy observation of yours,
Kelly," I remarked when we were out of danger,
and were literally breathing easily again.
"Dunno but what it was, sor. Course a man
shouldn't need a wall to fall on him to know
that somethin's comin' his way." I could
almost see his sly squint in my direction. He
dearly loved to display his hard-earned knowledge,
and, as he was too valuable a man to
get angry with except for good reason, his
remarks were generally accepted good naturedly.
Kelly is a strict disciplinarian, at least so
far as others are concerned. While he takes
liberties in passing his own opinions to me, he
resents any other private doing likewise. In
his presence one day at a sick parade a soldier
who had been marked by me, M & D--medicine
and duty, that is, given medicine but fit for
duty--muttered something to the effect that
one never gets a fair deal from a military
doctor anyway. Before I could reprimand him
Kelly hustled him out of the room, saying
angrily:
"Begobs, ye may have been exposed to
discipline, but it niver took." In his insistence on
everyone else's carrying out all the laws of
military discipline, while breaking most of
them himself, he is the equal of almost any
officer.
On a delightful spring day after the Battle
of Arras, our battalion was holding the front
line out beyond Thelus. My aid post was on a
sunken road near Willerval, one of the many
sunken roads which are talked about by anyone
who has ever been at the front. The wounded
had to be brought to us by stretcher bearers
at night, as the whole front here was a huge
salient with the Huns pumping lead forget-me-nots
from three sides by day on the least
exposure of our men.
So our work was all night work, and I lay
lazily on a stretcher in an abandoned German
gunpit, taking a sun bath. There originally
had been a roof over this gunpit. It was made
up of one-inch boards laid carelessly across
steel supports, and in the remains of this roof
two little swallows were gaily chirping, love-making,
and nest-building for their family-to-be,
ignoring entirely man's inhumanity to man.
Kelly was sitting on his haunches, his gray
head held on one side, thoughtfully watching
these happy little birds.
"Well, Kelly," I demanded, "of what are
you dreaming?"
"I was jest thinkin', docthor," he answered,
without turning his head, "what a puny sinse
of humor man has in comparison with thim
swallows yonder."
"Have swallows a sense of humor, Kelly?"
"Have they a sinse of humor? Whoy, they're
laughin' at ye this very minute"; I turned my
head a trifle sharply in his direction; "an' at
me, an' the rist of humanity. Listen to thim
laugh. An' whoy shouldn't they laugh, whin
they think what a gay world they live in, with
room fer all of thim an' all of us; an' yet
whoile they live, an' love, an' have their young,
an' doie in peace, we min, wid the brains of
gods, so we say, spind our toime invintin' new
manes of killin' aich other? An' fer whoy?
For a few acres of bog land, fer the privilege
of christianizin' an' chatin' the haithin by givin'
him some glass beads in exchange fer his iv'ry,
an' his indy rubber, an' his spoices. Take a
look yander at that skoylark. Wouldn't he
do yer heart good?"
And he pointed to where one of those
joy-giving birds was soaring "higher still and
higher," and lavishly pouring out upon an
ungrateful world his flood of harmony divine.
"What about liberty as opposed to this
cursed German militarism?"
"Oh, yis, Oi'll admit there's a bit o' truth
in that, but at bottom it's mostly commerce
that causes war. Yis, Oi shouldn't loike to have
the Prushin military heel on moy neck. God
knows the Englishman in his toime has left
a heel mark or two on the Oirishman's neck,
but at that Oi'd rather have him, especially of
late years, than that cursed Hun, fer he wears
nails in his boots. An' Oi've hated the
Englishman all me loife----"
"What the devil did you come out here for
anyway, Kelly?"
"Ye're the first person that's ever hinted t'me
that there's anythin' proivate about this f oight.
Ain't the Russhin, an' the Prushin, an' the
Frinch, an' the Eyetalian, an' aven the Turk
in this foight? Is there any just raisin whoy
an Oirishman shouldn't butt in, too?" he asked
in an injured tone. "But ye've intherrupted
me strain of thought."
"Beg pardon."
"Don't mintion it. Oi was goin' to say that,
though Oi've hated the Englishman all me loife,
Oi'd be afeard to live in his counthry, fer Oi'd
get to love him. He's got such a dape sinse
of humor. Whoy he praises ye Canadians till
he actially makes ye belaive ye're winnin' the
war, wid yer two or three hundred thousand
min, whoile he's got a couple of million in the
field."
"Who took Vimy Ridge, Kelly?"
"We did, sor, we Canadians, wid fifty to
sixty percint of British born loike mesilf. An'
a damn foine bit o' fightin' it was, too. Sure,
truly, sor, Oi wouldn't belittle it fer anythin'.
But Vimy Ridge is on'y a couple o' miles long,
an' British troops are defindin' somethin' loike
a hundred and fifty moiles, an' most o' that
is held boy English troops, wid a scatthering
of the hated Oirish and Scotch. Look at the
casialty lists over a period an' ye'll foind who
it is that's doyin' fer liberty. It's mostly the
English and the Frinch as fer as Oi kin see.
The Canadians have done nobly, sor, no one
could denoy it, but they mustn't think they're
winnin' the war all boy thimselves.
"The las' toime Oi was in Lon'on, the
funniest comedy Oi seen was a couple of young
Canadian officers on a bus tellin' an edicated
Englishman how the Empire should be run.
An' the Englishman listened without aven
crackin' a smoile, whoile they criticoized
Lon'on fer not havin' a straight street, an' fer
havin' old-fashioned busses; an' Lide George
fer his lack of firmness wid Oireland; an' so
on, an' so on. An' the Englishman listened
as if they were the woise min o' the aist, bowin'
his assint to all their talk; an' at last he said,
wid a long face:
"'There's no doubt you young gintlemen
are roight. If we had a few more min loike
the Hon, Mr. Hughes of Australia an' Sir
Sam Hughes of Canada, we'd be in better
shape now. Oi'm very happy to have met yez'.
"An' he shook their hands an' left, whoile
they swallied what he said, bait, hook, loine,
an' all. So Oi slips up to thim, an' salutin', Oi
says:
"'Beggin' yer pardon, sors,' says Oi, 'but Oi
happin to know who that man was. It was
Lord Rothchoild, the great international
banker.' It may have bin the Imperor of Choina,
fer all Oi know. But they swallied that, too,
an' ignorin' me, one says, 'An' he shook hands
wid us!' an' on their faces was a bland smoile
of choild-loike satisfaction.
"Oh, ye Canadians are great snobs, so ye
are. Whoy Oi've heard yersilf laud to the
skoies the noble part taken in the war be the
blue-bloods of England. Sure ye're just as
big a snob as any of the others. Er--Oi--Oi
beg per pardon, sor, Oi'm sorry fer sayin' it."
"How about _thinking_ it?"
"The on'y thing Oi kin call me own since Oi
jined the army are me thoughts. But Oi
wouldn't think it aginst yer wishes fer the
world, sor," and he smiled slyly. "Oi agree
that the blue-bloods have fought well, but no
better than the rist of us. An' they have
somethin' to foight fer, whoile Oi'd like to ask ye
what has a poor divil loike me to foight fer?
Who'd support moy childer if Oi was kilt?"
"Your children! I didn't know you were
married."
"Who said Oi was married?"
"Oh!"
"All classes out here foight well. Oi agree
wid that writer who said that all min are aloike
except fer their close. Now, except fer our
close, Oi don't suppose anyone would be able
to tell which was the cap'n, an' which his servant";
with another sly grin.
"Probably not, except for the whiskey you
drink."
"Oi may drink a slightly greater amount
than ye, sor, but Oi notice we drink the same
brand."
"Yes, I've noticed that, too, Kelly. That's
why there's never any to offer any of my
friends when they call."
"Oi assure ye, docthor, there's none of it
wasted."
"Probably not, from your standpoint. Now,
Kelly, I'd like some tea. And see if you can
put a little less candle, currants, and sand in
it than you did this morning."
"If ye'd lave the last half inch in the
bottom of yer cup, sor, ye'd never know there
was any thin' but tea in it"; and he left to
prepare as good a cup of tea as one could desire,
except for these extras which a paternal
quartermaster always inserts into the various
articles of diet. Of course, the fact that the tea
and sugar come in sandbags, and the candles
are put into the sugar to prevent breaking
them, adds to this complication.
Kelly is a good cook, and no mean philosopher.
He continually emphasizes the importance
of what he calls, "a sinse of humor." One
night when he had taken too much of what
he called at various times, "the crather,"
"humor producer," "potheen," or "honey dew," I
heard him say to a companion:
"As me frind, Lord Norfolk, says, there
remain these three, faith, hope, and charity,
and the greatest of these is a sinse of humor."
A day came when Kelly, going for water
with two old gasoline cans slung over his
shoulder, was struck by a shell. He was some seven
hundred yards from my aid post at the time.
Fortunately some stretcher bearers nearby
went to his aid. Though the shortest way out
was rearward, and well he knew it, he
insisted on being carried back "to explain his
absince to the docthor." I saw them bringing
him in, and ran to him for, in spite of any
faults, his never-failing loyalty and his
good-humored and faithful service had endeared him
to me. He had been covered by a coat of a
stretcher bearer, so I could not see at once
what his injuries were.
"Where have you been hit, Kelly?" I demanded
anxiously, for his face was pale.
"Do ye mane, sor, anatomically, or
jayographically?" and a wan smile lit up the pallid
face, as his quick-witted humor got the better
of his suffering. But I had taken the coat
away, and I saw that the wound was fatal.
Keeping my head low so that he could not see
the expression on my face, or the tears in
my eyes, I gently dressed the wound. He bore
the handling without flinching. As I finished
he said bravely:
"Well, docthor, they've done fer me this
toime. Oh, ye naydent throy to hoide it from
me; Oi know; an' Oi'd not care to have on'y
half of me hoppin' about, anyway."
"Oh, we'll pull you through, Kelly, old man.
You promised to be my chauffeur after the
war; but I know you never did like working
for me and now you're trying to dodge," and
I tried to smile, but he saw the tears running
down my cheeks.
"None o' yer jokes, now, docthor. Oi know
it's all over wid me. And, raly, it don't
matther, fer there's no one that cares," and, as I
looked at him reproachfully, "except you, sor.
An' God knows whoy ye do, fer I've been but
an impident servant to ye. But, docthor,"
looking at me imploringly, "ye forgive me now,
don't ye, fer it was on'y taisin' Oi was?"
"Dear old Kelly," I said, as I pressed his
cold hand, "what have I to forgive? You're
the best friend I have in all France." A lump
in my throat prevented me from saying more.
His hand returned the pressure, but there was
no strength in it. Then to cheer me up, he
said:
"Ye know, cap'n, Oi always did respict the
cross, in the abshtract, of course, since Oi knelt
at the knees of me poor ould mother, rest her
soul; but Oi niver had any great desire to look
up at one of thim little wooden crosses through
six fate of earth," and the paling face lit up
with its whimsical smile. "What's worryin' me
though, is who'll look after yersilf. Ye're such
a crank about how yer bacon's cooked, an' the
sand in the tay, an'----" but just at that
moment the padre came in from a neighboring
battalion headquarters.
He had made me promise that if ever
anything should happen to the wayward Kelly
who should have been, but wasn't, a regular
attendant at his church parades, I should send
at once for him. I had done so as soon as I
saw that poor Kelly was hard hit. I laid
Kelly's hand gently down and slipped away.
I was called hurriedly back a few minutes later
by the padre.
"He wants you, doctor," he said briefly.
Kelly's eyes met mine. His were getting
dim. As I took his hand, his fingers feebly
gripped mine. I bent my head to catch the
whispered words that issued from his lips:
"Good-by, docthor; Oi'm lavin' fer the
great beyant. There's no use grumblin' an'
Oi don't, fer Oi've had a full loife--me frinds
often said too full, but sure they didn't know,"
with the faint smile. "But since that day whin
ye showed me the picture ye carry over yer
heart of yer three foine little byes--God bliss
thim--Oi've wanted, whin the war was over, to
go back wid ye and see thim. Will ye do me a
favor, docthor, boy?"
His voice was growing feeble. The tears
were flowing unheeded down my cheeks. I
could not speak, so I squeezed his hand in
assent. "Will ye talk to thim sometimes of
Kelly? An' tell thim that wid all me faults Oi
loved their daddy an' troied to sarve him well;
an' that if Oi was sure me death would cause ye
to be taken safely back to thim, Oi'd doie
happy an' contint. God bless ye an' thim
an'----" His voice died away, his dim eyes
closed, and his soul passed into "that undiscovered
bourne from which no traveler returns."
That night the padre and I buried him in
a shellhole, erecting over his grave a little
wooden cross on which we wrote:
PRIVATE JAMES KELLY
NUMBER A59000,
--st CANADIAN BATTALION.
A LOYAL, GENEROUS, FAITHFUL,
SOLDIER AND FRIEND