HOW A MAN WORKED A MIRACLE
Since then, I have been under some terrific bombardments, but up to
that time I had never experienced anything so terrible. Evidently our
big guns were turned on, and they had located the German trenches to a
nicety. Moreover, I judged that something serious was on hand, for it
continued hour after hour. Before long all lights went out, and I knew
by the hoarse cries which the Germans were making that they were in a
state of panic.
The bombardment had lasted perhaps an hour, when part of the roof of
the cave fell in with a tremendous crash, and I imagined that several
men were buried.
'We'll get out of this,' said the lieutenant who had been left in
charge; 'there's a safer place further down.'
'Yes, sir,' replied the soldier, evidently glad of the order, 'but what
about the prisoners?'
The young officer seemed in doubt about us, and then grumbled something
about his captain's orders.
'Our numbers are up, sergeant,' I said, for Sergeant Smith and I were
the only two who were left alive. 'Either we shall be killed by our
own guns, or else we shall suffer worse than death at the hands of
these fellows.'
'Never say die, sir,' replied Sergeant Smith, who was noted for his
optimistic temperament; 'anyhow, these chaps are all in a blue funk.'
'There can be no doubt about that,' was my reply. 'If we live through
it, and if this bombardment is but the preliminary to an attack,
there's a sporting chance that we may get away.'
'About a hundred to one, sir.'
After this, I have no clear recollection as to what took place. I
remember that we moved along a tunnel until we came to another
dug-out,--after that everything became a blank to me. Either I had
been stunned by my captors, or I had been hurt by falling _débris_.
When I came to my senses again, the guns were still booming, although
they seemed at a greater distance, and I judged that our captors
regarded us as in a safer place. Then, suddenly, I heard a voice which
set my nerves tingling. It was an English voice, too, although he
spoke in German.
'You chaps are in an awful hole,' I heard some one say, in quiet
matter-of-fact tones, as though the situation were of a most ordinary
nature. 'Do you know what I think of you? You are a lot of idiots.'
'We're better off than you, anyhow,' and this time it was a German who
spoke. 'If we come alive out of this, we shall be all right; but you
are our prisoners.'
'Prisoners if you like, my dear fellow, but what's the good of that to
you?'
'Every English prisoner taken is one step nearer to German victory,'
replied the soldier sententiously.
'Nonsense! There'll never be a German victory, and you know it.
You've never been behind the British lines, have you? Why, man, there
are mountains of guns and ammunition--every day is adding to the stock,
and soon, mark you, very soon, all these places of yours will become so
many death-traps.'
The German laughed incredulously.
'Do you know what'll happen soon?' went on the English voice, 'there
will be bombing parties along here; you may be safe for the moment, but
you can't get out,--not one of you dare try. If you did, it would be
all up with you.'
'What are you getting at?' snarled the German. 'You are our prisoner,
anyhow, and if we are killed, so will you be!'
'Just so. But then I don't want to get killed, neither do you.'
'I know it's a beastly business,' said the German, 'and I wish this
cursed war would come to an end.'
'Yes, you see you were mistaken now, don't you?' and the Englishman
with the quiet voice laughed. 'You were told it was all going to be
over in a few weeks, and that it was going to be a picnic. "Bah!" you
said, "what can the English do?" But, my dear fellow, the English have
only just begun. You are just ramming your heads against a stone wall.
You won't hurt the wall, but your heads will get mightily battered. Oh
yes, we are your prisoners, there are just three of us left alive, and
you are thirty. But what is the good of it?'
'What are you getting at, Tommy?' asked another, 'and why are you
talking all this humbug?'
'Because I can get you out of this.'
'Get us out of it! How?'
'Ah, that is my secret, but I can.'
'What! Every one of us, unhurt?'
'Every one of you, unhurt.'
There was a general laugh of incredulity.
'You don't believe me, I know. But I swear to you I can do it.'
'How?'
'By taking you as prisoners to the British lines. I know a way by
which it can be done.'
As may be imagined, I was not an uninterested listener to this
conversation. Evidently another man had been taken prisoner; who I had
no knowledge, but we had somehow been brought together. But it was not
altogether the quiet confidence of the speaker which interested me, it
was the sound of his voice. While it was not familiar to me, I felt
sure I had heard it before. The light was so dim, that I could see
neither his face nor any marks whereby I could discover his rank; but
he spoke German so well that I judged him to be an officer. The
Germans laughed aloud at his last remark.
'Your prisoners!' they shouted, 'and we ten to your one!'
'Why not,' he asked, 'if I take you to safety? Now just think, suppose
you all get out of this, and we are lodged in one of your German prison
camps; you remain here at the front, and be fodder for cannon. How
many of you will come through this war alive, think you? Perhaps one
out of ten. And the end of it will be that your country will be
beaten. I am as sure of that as I am that the sun will rise to-morrow.
Now supposing you adopt my plan, suppose you go with me as prisoners of
war; I will take you to the British lines unhurt, and then you will be
sent to the Isle of Wight, or some such place; you will be well housed,
well clothed, well fed, until the war's over. Don't you think you are
silly asses to stay here and play a losing game, amidst all this misery
and suffering, when you can get away unhurt and enjoy yourselves?'
In spite of the madness of the proposal, he spoke in such a convincing
way that he impressed them in spite of themselves. Indeed I, who am
relating the conversation as nearly word for word as I can remember,
cannot give anything like an idea of the subtle persuasion which
accompanied his words. It might seem as though he were master of the
situation, and they had to do his will; in fact, he seemed to hypnotize
them by the persuasiveness of his voice, and by some magnetic charm of
his presence.
'You may be safe here for the moment,' he went on, 'but I can tell you
what'll happen. By this time your trenches are nearly level with the
ground,--not a man in them will be alive. Your machine-gun
emplacements will be all blown into smithereens, for this is no
ordinary bombardment; it is tremendous, man, tremendous! In less than
two hours from now, either the outlets of these dug-outs of yours will
be stopped up, and you will die of foul air or starvation, or bombing
parties will come, and then it'll be all up with you. I tell you, I
know what I am talking about.'
'Yes, but if we are killed, so will you be!'
'And if we are, what good'll that do to any of us? We are young, we
want to live.'
Just then we heard a terrific explosion, louder even than any which had
preceded it. The ground shook; it seemed as though hell were let loose.
'Do you hear that?' he went on, when there was a moment's quiet.
'That's just a foretaste of what's coming. That's one of the big new
guns, and there are hundreds of them, hundreds. Well, if you won't,
you won't.'
'What do you want us to do?' and one of the Germans spoke excitedly.
'I tell you I know a way by which I can lead you out of this. I know
the country round here, inch by inch; I have made it my business to
study it; and I give you my word I will take you back to the British
lines unhurt. And then your life as an English prisoner will be just a
picnic.'
'Your word!' said one of them scornfully, 'what is it worth? You are
only a Tommy.'
'Yes, my word,' and he spoke it in such a way that they felt him to be
their master. It was one of those cases where one personality
dominated thirty.
'Are you an officer?' said one of the Germans after a pause. 'You
speak like a gentleman, but your uniform is that of a Tommy.'
'No matter what I am, I give you my promise, and I never broke my
promise yet.'
Again it was not the words which affected them, it was the manner in
which he spoke them. He might have been a king speaking to his
subjects.
'Now then, which shall it be?' he went on; 'if we stay here, in all
probability we shall every one of us be killed. Listen to that!
There! there! don't you feel it?--the whole earth is trembling, I tell
you, and all these fortifications of yours will be nothing but so much
cardboard! And our men have mountains of munitions, man, mountains! I
have seen them. It will be rather a horrible death, too, won't it?
Whether we are buried alive, or blown up by bombs, it won't be
pleasant. It seems such a pity, too, when in ten minutes from now we
can be in safety.'
The man was working a miracle; he was accomplishing that which,
according to every canon of common sense, was impossible. He was a
prisoner in the power of thirty men, and yet he was persuading them to
become his prisoners. Even Sergeant Smith, who could not understand a
word of what was being said, knew it. He knew it by the tense
atmosphere of the place, by the look on the faces of the German
soldiers.
We had become so interested, that neither of us dared to move; we just
sat and listened while the unknown man, with quiet, persuasive words,
was working his will on them.
As I said, I could not see his face. For one thing, the light was dim,
and for another his features were turned away from me; but I could hear
every word he said. Even above the roar of the artillery, which
sounded like distant thunder, and in spite of the trembling earth,
every tone reached me, and I knew that his every word was sapping the
Germans' resistance, just as a strong current of water frets away a
foundation of sand. What at first I had felt like laughing at, became
to me first a possibility, then a probability, then almost a certainty.
So excited did I become that, more than once, I longed with an intense
longing to join my persuasions to that of the stranger. But when I
tried to speak, no words came. It might have been as though some
magician were at work, or some powerful mesmerist, who mesmerized his
hearers into obedience.
'I say, you fellows,' said one of the Germans to his companions, 'what
do you say? Our life here is one prolonged hell,--what is the use of
it? Our officers tell us to hold on, hold on. And why should we hold
on? Just to become fodder for cannon? I had four brothers, and every
one of them is killed. Who's to look after my mother, if I am dead?'
Three minutes later he had accomplished the impossible. He was leading
the way out of the dug-out towards the open. Sergeant Smith and I went
with him like men in a dream.
When we came out in the open air, the night had again fallen. More
than twelve hours had elapsed since I had been taken prisoner; most
likely I had been unconscious a great part of the time. I did not know
where we were going. The guns were still booming, while the heavens
were every now and then illuminated as if by some tremendous fireworks.
'Sergeant,' I whispered, 'the man's a magician.'
'Never heard of such a thing in my life, sir. I'm like a man dreaming.
Who is he? He's got a Tommy's togs on, but he might be a field
marshal.'
All this time I had not once caught sight of our deliverer's face, but
the tones of his voice still haunted me like some half-forgotten dream.
I had almost forgotten the wonder of our freedom in the excitement
wrought by the way it was given to us.
When at length we entered the British trenches, and the German
prisoners had been taken care of, I saw the face of the man who had
wrought the miracle, and I recognized him as the stranger whom I had
met at Plymouth Harbour many months before, and who had adopted the
name of Paul Edgecumbe.[1]
[1] The incident related above is not an invention on the part of the
author. It was told me by a British officer, and it took place as
nearly as possible as I have described it.