XI

Harry went to France again a month later, after the futile kind of

medical examination he had foretold. I had a letter from him from the

Base, and after that there was silence. I even began to hunt about in

the casualty lists, but he was never there. And seven weeks later they

let me go out again myself, to the astonishment of all but the military

doctors.

At the Base I heard of Harry. Some one had been wanted for some kind of

job down there, an officer to instruct the Details in the mysteries of

Iron Rations, or something of the sort. Harry, happening to be there at

the time, and pleasing the eye of the aldermanic officer in command of

our Base Depot, had been graciously appointed to the post. But he had

caused a considerable flutter in the tents of the mighty by flatly

declining it, and stating insanely that he preferred to go up to the

line. This being still the one topic of conversation in the camp, I did

not linger there longer than was absolutely necessary. Infantry Base

Depots are bad places, and that one was very bad; you had worse food,

worse treatment, and worse company than you ever had in the line--much

discomfort, and no dignity. I never understood why officers should be

treated with such contempt whenever there were a number of them

together. If you went about by yourself, or with another officer or two,

you had a certain amount of politeness and consideration from military

officials; but as soon as you got with a 'herd' of officers you were

doomed--you were dirt. If the intention at the Base was to make the line

seem a haven of refuge and civility, it was highly successful as far as

I was concerned....

I got back to the battalion under the usual conditions ... a long jog in

the mess-cart under the interminable dripping poplars, with a vile wind

lashing the usual rain over the usual flat fields, where the old women

laboured and stooped as usual, and took no notice of anything. The heart

sinks a little as you look at the shivering dreariness of it all. And if

it is near the line you hope secretly that the battalion is 'out' for at

least a few days more, that you may have just two days to get used to

this beastliness again, and not be met by some cheery acclimatized ass

with a 'Glad to see you, old son--just in time--going up to-night, doing

a "stunt" on Tuesday!' Yet, as you come to the village, there is a

strange sense of home-coming that comes with the recognition of familiar

things--limbers clattering and splashing along, and the regimental

postman trudging back with the mail, and C Company cooker steaming

pleasantly under an outhouse, and odd men with waterproof sheets draped

over the shoulders, wet and glistening.... To-day I was lucky, for the

battalion was a long way back, resting, so that this home-coming sense

was strong upon me. And I wanted to see Harry.

When I came near to the usual main street I saw the battalion marching

in by a side road, coming back from a route march. I sent my gear ahead,

and got down to see them pass. It was strangely pleasant. The drums of

the little band were covered because of the wet, and only the bugles

brayed harshly, but very cheerfully. Old Philpott was ahead of them,

riding fatly on his mild black mare, and returned my salute quite

pleasantly. You could see a lot of young recruits among the men, and

there were many officers I had never seen, but the welcoming grins of

the old men we had had from the beginning, mostly N.C.O.'s now, made up

for that. Young Smith I saw, in command of C Company now, and Tarrant,

our late Transport Officer, was squelching at the head of a platoon,

obviously not liking it much. Then came D Company, and I looked eagerly

for Harry. Stephenson I knew, in command (how young the company

commanders were!), but there were only two other officers, and they both

strange. The last of them tramped past, and I was left silent in the

rain, foolishly disturbed.... Where was Harry? Ass--no doubt he is

orderly officer, or away on a course. But I _was_ disturbed; and the

thought came to me that if anything had happened to him I, too, should

be lonely here, with none of the Old Crowd left.

I walked on then, and came to the little flag of D Company headquarters

flapping damply outside an estaminet. In the mess they greeted me very

kindly and gave me tea--but there was still no Harry. But they all

talked very fast, and the tea was good.

'And where's Penrose?' I asked at last. 'I haven't seen him yet?'

I had spoken to Stephenson. He did not answer immediately; but he picked

up his cup and drank, assiduously; then he kind of mumbled, very low and

apologetic:

'He's in his billet--under close arrest.'

'Under arrest! My God, what for?'

Stephenson began to drink again; he was a good fellow, who knew that

Harry and I were friends; also he had known Harry in the Souchez days,

and he did not like having to tell me this.

But one of his young subalterns, a young pup just out, was less

sensitive, and told me, brutally:

'Running away--cowardice in the face of--_et cetera_--have some more

tea?'