A NIGHT OF ALARM
SEPTIMUS IN A NEW ROLE. SAVING THE AMMUNITION. THE LAST CARTRIDGE
Just then a movement in the rear of my position attracted my
attention. A number of men were approaching; then halting, they sat on
the ground, while two figures continued on towards me.
They were Second Lieutenant Wade, the intrepid scout officer, and
Second Lieutenant Brady, in command of the battalion bombers. It was
Brady who spoke first:
"Hullo! Getting peppered pretty hot, aren't you?"
"Rather lively! Where are you off to?"
"I've got orders to bomb out that mysterious trench you've heard so
much about, in order to clear the way for your attack to-morrow. I'm
going in front of your line and along the edge of the wood."
I despatched a runner to warn the sentry groups, and presently the
little group of bombers disappeared round the edge of the wood into
the darkness on their adventurous errand, the success of which would
mean so much to me on the morrow.
All this time the work of digging is continued with unabated anxiety,
shells dropping around unceasingly.
All of a sudden I was startled by a rattle of musketry in the
direction of the wood. There was silence; then several more shots
followed by a rushing, tearing noise, and yells.
Almost at the same moment the ammunition party emerged breathlessly
from the wood.
I ran forward to where the men were dropping the ammunition boxes on
the ground, and falling exhausted. For a moment or two they were too
breathless to speak. I counted the men: there were 12 of them, and the
six boxes of ammunition had safely arrived.
But where were Septimus and the corporal? All was silent in the wood.
I turned to the nearest man who was by this time sitting up, holding
his head in his hands.
"Where is Mr. D'Arcy and Corporal Brown?" I asked.
"God knows, sir! They stayed to cover our retirement."
"What happened?"
"We found the ammunition dump, sir, and were just beginning to move
the boxes when we heard some one moving. We grabbed our rifles and
waited. There seemed to be quite a number crawling around us. Mr.
D'Arcy ordered us to retire at once, and get the ammunition away at
any cost; he said he would stay behind and cover our retreat, and
Corporal Brown offered to stay with him. We hadn't got far, sir, when
they opened fire; bullets hit the trees and whizzed over our heads.
Then we heard a rush and some yells. I distinctly heard something in
German, and Mr. D'Arcy's voice shout back: 'Kamarade be damned!' Then
there was a scuffle; that's all I know."
My heart beat wildly as I listened to this story. Good God! what did
that silence mean? There was no further time to be lost.
I ordered a relief party and led the way into the wood. There was not
a sound to be heard as we crept forward on our hands and knees
towards the spot where the ammunition had been found.
What was that? We listened breathlessly, and again we heard a low
groan almost in our midst. There was a shell-hole just in front, and
crawling along on all fours, I found Septimus D'Arcy, wounded and
helpless, with his left leg almost blown away, and bleeding from the
head.
"What's up, D'Arcy? What has happened?" I whispered hoarsely.
A faint smile of recognition came over his pale face as I supported
him in my arms. His words came painfully:
"The ammunition--is it--safe?"
"Yes, quite safe."
"But what happened after they left?"
"I stayed behind--with the corporal--to protect their retirement. We
opened rapid fire--to draw German fire on to us. I saw six creeping
forward. They called to us--to surrender. I refused--demn them! They
threw bombs--killed the corporal--dirty dogs! smashed my leg--nothing
much. I picked off three--with my revolver--never used beastly thing
before; two bolted--last one jumped at me--with bayonet. That's him
there--just got him--last cartridge."
Septimus was lying heavily on my arms. Nothing could be done for him;
I saw the end was at hand.
"Good-bye, captain! Knew you'd come. Don't know much about
soldiering--good sport; shan't have to carry that--demned pack again."
A placid smile came over his chubby face as he gasped out the last
words. His monocle was still firmly fixed between his fat cheek and
his eyebrow. Once more he seemed indifferent to his surroundings.
In front of him, the silent evidence of his plucky stand, were the
dead bodies of four Germans. By his side lay a revolver. I picked up
and examined the chamber; the last cartridge had been fired!
The men had gathered around; their caps were off. Septimus seemed to
be looking up smilingly into their faces.
Septimus was dead! But Septimus was still in Bond Street!