A SOUND OVER OUR HEADS (_thirty seconds later_). Whish! Whish! Whish!
SECOND CHATTY SIGNALLER. Did ye hear that, Jimmy?
FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER (_with relish_). Mphm! That'll sorrt them!
THE F.O.O. Is that C Battery?
THE JOVIAL VOICE. Yes. What luck, old son?
THE F.O.O. You have obtained two direct hits on the Boche parapet.
Will you have a cocoanut or a ci--
THE JOVIAL VOICE. A little less lip, my lad! Now tell me all about
your industrious friends in the Coppice, and we will see what we can
do for _them!_
* * * * *
And so on. Apropos of Adjutants and Company Commanders, Private
Wamphray, whose acquaintance we made a few pages back, was ultimately
relieved of his position as a Company Signaller, and returned
ignominiously to duty, for tactless if justifiable interposition in
one of these very dialogues.
It was a dark and cheerless night in mid-winter. Ominous noises in
front of the Boche wire had raised apprehensive surmises in the breast
of Brigade Headquarters. A forward sap was suspected in the region
opposite the sector of trenches held by "A" Company. The trenches at
this point were barely forty yards apart, and there was a very real
danger that Brother Boche might creep under his own wire, and possibly
under ours too, and come tumbling over our parapet.
To Bobby Little came instructions to send a specially selected patrol
out to investigate the matter. Three months ago he would have led the
expedition himself. Now, as a full-blown Company Commander, he was
officially precluded from exposing his own most responsible person to
gratuitous risks. So he chose out that recently-joined enthusiast,
Angus M'Lachlan, and put him over the parapet on the dark night in
question, accompanied by Corporal M'Snape and two scouts, with orders
to probe the mystery to its depth and bring back a full report.
It was a ticklish enterprise. As is frequently the case upon these
occasions, nervous tension manifested itself much more seriously at
Headquarters than in the front-line trenches. The man on the spot is,
as a rule, much too busy with the actual execution of the enterprise
in hand to distress himself by speculation upon its ultimate outcome.
It may as well be stated at once that Angus duly returned from his
quest, with an admirable and reassuring report. But he was a long time
absent. Hence this anecdote.
Bobby had strict orders to report all "developments," as they
occurred, to Headquarters by telephone. At half-past eleven that
night, as Angus M'Lachlan's colossal form disappeared, crawling,
into the blackness of night, his superior officer dutifully rang up
Battalion Headquarters, and announced that the venture was launched.
It is possible that the Powers Behind were in possession of
information as to the enemy's intentions unrevealed to Bobby; for as
soon as his opening announcement was received, he was switched right
through to a very august Headquarters indeed, and commanded to report
direct.
Long-distance telephony in the field involves a considerable amount
of "linking-up." Among other slaves of the Buzzer who assisted in
establishing the necessary communications upon this occasion was
Private Wamphray. For the next hour and a half it was his privilege in
his subterranean exchange, to sit, with his receiver clamped to his
ear, an unappreciative auditor of dialogues like the following:--
"Is that 'A' Company?"
"Yes, sir."
"Any news of your patrol?"
"No, sir."