A FLAG OF TRUCE
Every afternoon, at four o’clock sometimes, sometimes at five o’clock,
sometimes later even, we had our evening battle. The morning rounds
completed, the colonel returned to Headquarters, where I saw no more of
him for an hour or two. That time was my own, when I crawled under the
wretched awning of my funk-hole, and settled down to grill through the
heat of the day. By three or four o’clock invariably the colonel came to
life again, arriving in the open to stretch and collect periscope and
glasses. Then he would call out, “Come on, Lake!” and tread again the
little path up the hill to the valley head.
Sometimes we took the left-hand trenches, where there was an observing
station in Sands’s charge; but more often at the B Battery observing
station the fight had birth.
Every evening we asked for trouble, put in a round here and a round there
until we got it, and with little enough need it seemed; but maybe the
army would have lost hope had nothing like this happened. For through
much of the day—when even the flies fell exhausted into the tea—the
snipers of either army lost heart to snipe, and the gunners lay by their
guns wondering how it was they could not die. But as the sun climbed down
his ladder, and a flagging breeze puffed off the sea, we rose again to
our feet, picked up periscopes and telephones, and goaded ourselves into
another evening hate.
At this time—late spring or early summer—the Turkish army had lately
spent a mighty effort to drive us into the sea. Purging the beach of
our presence, they called it in their newspapers. The old knowledge was
reproven—hopeless to attack well-armed, well-entrenched troops. At the
end of several fierce hours the attempt was spent, and the enemy reeled
to his trenches leaving on a few acres of ground between three and four
thousand dead. Everywhere you looked the dead men lay, and hours later
you might see an arm move or a leg rise, where some poor fellow cried
on Death not to delay. In time the breath of decay searched you out the
length of Shrapnel Valley, and when the wind veered in the trenches it
caught you by the throat. I marvelled how the men there got down their
dinners.
One evening, on the heels of the big attack, we had a pretty little
battle. The colonel observed from B Battery station, and I carried orders
to the telephonist a few yards away.
The major had not turned up, and Mr. Hay was in charge. B Battery was
dusting up “C” or “Collins Street” or one of the usual targets, and the
other batteries banged away elsewhere with more than daily hate. A great
many snipers were at work too on either side. We had woken up this
afternoon.
The great heat of the day had passed, indeed there were one or two signs
of evening. The sun was three parts of the way down the sky, and shadows
started to grow at the bottom of every bush. The high noon haze was
no more, and you could see with great clearness over all the desolate
country. Our shells burst in sudden white clouds on the great hill in
the distance; and here and here, did you know where to look, moved the
puff of the enemy’s return fire. And nearer at hand, you could follow the
Turkish trenches by the vicious, short-lived dust spurts of our bullets.
Where the colonel took his stand, they were tunnelling out a machine-gun
position; and every few moments men came out of the earth with freshly
filled sandbags on their shoulders. They crowded the narrow passage,
blocking me every time I hurried to Mr. Hay or the telephonist.
The colonel stood on a platform, head just under the parapet, periscope
just above. His size caused him to crouch, and his legs were wide apart.
The brisker grew the battle, the more engrossed became he; so that now he
never moved his head, but stayed bent forward staring into the glass. His
exclamations made to himself were to be heard. “That’s a good one! Very
good! Right on the target! That’s pretty shooting! Green’s into ’em now!
Oh, damn! now they’re off! Hay has got off! Are you there, Lake?”
I stood just below watching for the least sign, for when he grew
interested, often a movement of the hand was all his signal, and at best
he would jerk out an abrupt word or two. Now I answered, “Yes, sir,” and
stood ready. “Tell Mr. Hay to come over more. Two degrees more right.
That’s better, that’s better! Still he can come over more. Two degrees
more right, tell him!”
Away went I. Mr. Hay was at the periscope and nodded to show he had
heard. As I moved off again, he called out: “Tell the colonel they seem
to be waving flags over there. They seem to want to attract attention.
They were doing it before, and now they have started again.” I told the
colonel what he said, but got no answer for my pains. I would have looked
myself had there been time.
“That’s better, that’s better!” the colonel started to say. “Now he is
short! Damn it, he’s short! Lake, tell him to add fifty. Say he wants
fifty or a hundred.” I took the message and came back again, finding
time to sit down. The action went on, losing little or nothing of
its briskness. Then came word down the line, passed in a mysterious
unofficial way, that something was happening on the other side; the
enemy was waving flags and looking over the parapets, as if to attract
attention. But it seemed no more was to come of it, as the fire went on
and the moment’s excitement was spent. Yet five minutes later it had
grown again, and methought something must happen now. I itched to see
how matters went, but I must not leave the spot. The firing lost heart,
becoming a number of sharp explosions in place of an unbroken roll.
Again the word came along. The colonel took interest finally and stopped
a passing officer to inquire, and next looked again at the opposite
trenches. Finally he gave word for the batteries to cease fire, and
stepped down on to the floor of the trench. Our part in the battle was
over. I lost no time picking up a periscope and seeing all there was to
see. It was little enough worth the bother. The enemy must have given up
their idea, for not one flag flew, gaze as I would. I soon tired and sat
down on a ledge belonging to some machine gunners who lived round here.
It was their habit to sleep through the day and come out at evening. Each
man had a recess of his own, with a blanket hung before it to cheat the
sun. Their legs only were left in sight. It came about that I knew them
better by their feet than their faces.
When I sat down, the colonel disappeared. Maybe he went to pass the time
of day with an infantry colonel whose dug-out was a few steps down the
path. Commonly he did this, leaving me in the trench to call him if need
be. Just now were several sets of legs showing beyond the blankets, and a
half-hearted argument went forward.
“I joined fer the six bob of course: what else’d a bloke do it fer?”
“I joined ’cos I ’ad a row with the old woman. I went out in a ’urry and
joined right away, and I blasted well wish I ’adn’t.”
“What did you join fer, Darkie? Was it the six bob, or a row with yer
tart, or was the police after yer?” Darkie made no answer. “Wot was it,
Darkie?”
“I joined cos I thought a bloke ought ter join.”
It was like the bursting of an 8·25 shell. Nobody said anything. Nobody
moved at all. I looked around for a museum to put the sentiment in.
We were wide awake this afternoon, and a brisk musketry fire continued.
I sat where I was, hearing the noise and yet not hearing it. The sun had
stepped another rung down his ladder, a few shadows spread about, and
there was even a suggestion of evening cool. I don’t know what I thought
of, nothing probably, for the place had power to destroy one mentally
and morally. Then without warning there woke again the former interest.
“They’re waving the flags,” came down from the right. “There’s something
doing! There’s something up!”
I got up with a yawn and went to the parapet, and there poked up the
periscope, and interest came with a vengeance. Straight before me was a
big white flag charged with a red crescent, moving slowly forwards and
backwards over the enemy parapet, and while I watched a second one rose
up on our right and at odd intervals appeared other streamers which might
have been small flags and might have been rags. Round me all who by hook
or by crook could get hold of a periscope were on the platforms finding
out what was happening, and this must have taken place over a great deal
of the line, as presently the musketry became completely broken up and on
the point of cessation.
I had taken stand among the B Battery men, beside their periscope,
where the parapet was quite low, and it wanted no effort to look over
the top. I fell to debating whether to take the risk and see first hand
how matters went, and while yet I stayed uncertain something happened
to decide me on the moment. There was a movement in the enemy’s trench
beside the largest flag, and a man climbed over the parapet and dropped
on to the open ground. He stood still a moment in uneasy fashion, next
took into his hands the big white flag with the red crescent, held it
overhead, and came forward. I felt like crying out my admiration. Our
snipers shot yet in scores, in hundreds may be; and any moment a stray
shot or the aimed shot of a fool might tumble him over where he stood.
And no one knew the danger better than himself, for he bowed his head and
upper body as does a man advancing in the teeth of a great wind, and came
forward with deliberate steps, moving his wide flag in wider semicircles.
To the devil with caution, said I, and stood right up and looked across
the open. “By Jove!” I must exclaim out loud. “By Jove!” Beside me was
Mr. Hay, and he looked round to know had I gone mad.
News had travelled everywhere that something special was on hand, for
cries went up and down: “Cease fire there! Cease fire!” And the firing
did die away, though unwillingly, lessening and returning again in
gusts, like an April wind or a woman’s last word in an argument. Even
when you might say the musketry had stopped, there was still a splutter
and a cracking here and here, for there are ever fools who cannot help
themselves.
But all this while the man of peace continued on his way, at the same
stride and in the same bent attitude. May be ere starting on the journey
he had delivered his soul into Allah’s safekeeping, for no shot touched
him, and no quick fear turned him from the path. There was something
that moved me deep down as I looked on his unhurried pace and the slow
waving of his flag. It plucked my heart strings to see him alone there,
his life not worth a smoked-out cigarette. I stood right up, all my upper
body above the parapet, so that the countryside was bared before me,
and a draught of evening wind born of wide spaces came a-knocking at my
nostrils. All my heart cried out to him. “My salute, friend, my salute!
Do you hear me over there? It is Gunner Lake who calls. A brave man’s
heart is crying out to a brave man! My salute, friend! In all honour I
offer my salute!”
When the man of peace had advanced halfway, the musketry fire of both
sides was nearly silent, and there was a stir of uncertainty in our
ranks. You heard some crying, “Cease fire,” and others calling out
against it, shouting there was no order, and what the devil was everyone
about. But the firing did not start again, or only in short-lived bursts,
and the men hung by the loopholes, waiting what might befall. There was a
stir on our side now, near Clayton’s trench it seemed from here, and soon
an officer came into the open, with a handkerchief tied on to a stick
or a rifle, I did not notice which. At the same time a couple of Turks
hopped from their trenches, and another of our men went forward; and it
seemed they would hold a parley then and there. While I looked to see, I
found the colonel at my shoulder.
“Get the interpreter, Lake,” he said quickly. “Get Bargi and bring him
here. He may be wanted.” Over I went to the telephonist and sent down
word, then back again I came and told the colonel, and next up I jumped
once more to look over the country.
The little company had come together and were in parley. The distance
was a matter of hundreds of yards, so there was little enough to see
and nothing to be heard. I hoped when Bargi came the colonel would go
over there, and I grew eager for his coming. I had become impatient,
and cursed him for his fatness, when a second big flag was put up to
our right hand, and two men jumped into the open and came towards our
trenches, one empty-handed and one bearing with him the standard. The
colonel looked round sharply, and made as if to go over there, then of a
sudden he turned to me.
“Where’s Bargi, Lake? Where’s Bargi?”
“He’s on the way, sir.”
“Meet him and hurry him up. Say I want him at once!”
I pushed towards the trench mouth as speedily as could be managed, not
the least eager for the run down the hill and back again. But at the
turn I met Bargi blowing with his exertions, and a look half-pleased,
half-scared, on his sweating face. He was a little Italian Jew who spoke
and wrote a dozen languages. By trade he had been art photographer,
traveller for a firm of jewellers, and one or two other things as
best I could make out. War was declared, times grew hard, and he made
up his mind to go a-soldiering. But he mistook his trade. He was the
most cowardly man in the brigade. “My disposition is very nervous,” he
said to me once. “I am too sensitive.” And he shrugged his shoulders
deprecatingly. “Sensitive,” thought I. “Good friend, we call it by
another name.”
He got on badly with the other men, and I was sorry for him, and on the
whole liked him well enough. Now I pulled him up, and he panted and
asked what was wanted. “The colonel wants you in a hurry. He is waiting
a few yards up the trench.” No more was said. Bargi went on without more
speech, and I turned to follow. But Lewis pulled at my sleeve and asked
what was happening. He had been Bargi’s guide up here. “There’s a bit of
an armistice on,” I called out as I turned. “Have a look for yourself. I
have to get after the colonel.” And with no more I left Lewis standing in
the middle of the path, his hands in his pockets, and a silly stare on
his face. Lewis may have been a pretty fellow to look at; but he was a
rank bore.
The couple of seconds’ delay had lost me Bargi; and I did my best to
catch him before he met the colonel and both disappeared. Fortune
nodding, I saw their heels rounding a traverse, and caught up with them
quite soon. The trench was rather empty, and the colonel moved in a great
hurry, so that fat little Bargi, who had not found breath, was hard put
to it to keep up. We dodged round one turning and then another, nobody
speaking all the way. Sometimes Bargi threw timid glances over a shoulder
at me, for it was his first trench journey, and truly he was receiving
a brusque introduction. Presently the press of men grew again, curbing
us to a slower rate; and next we met a crossway, which brought us to a
standstill. Someone put us on to the right road, and we started anew to
elbow forward. Finally we found our way into a sap, and this ending, we
had come as far as was possible. The colonel put up his periscope to find
where we were, and I jumped up on to a platform and poked my head over
the parapet. You could hear the crack of a rifle now and again, but not
often.
We had come to the best spot. The men and the flag were opposite. They
were nearer than before, yet they had not come far over, and at this
moment still looked before them in an undecided fashion. I do not doubt
they cared little for the exposed position. Almost at once Bargi climbed
up beside me, and there were the three of us in a row—the colonel looking
into the periscope, the Jew standing on tip-toe, peeping over the
parapet, and throwing away no chance of protection, and myself at the end
of the line. The two Turks continued to delay, in fact went so far as
to make a motion of retreat. “Call them, Bargi!” the colonel burst out.
“Tell them to come on; say it’s all right!”
The little man looked anxiously about, but pulled himself together and
called out something in Turkish. His words failed to carry all the way,
so that he clapped hands to his mouth and cried out anew, this time at
the top of his voice. At once the Turks were reassured; they scanned
eagerly to find the voice, and after exchange of a sentence or two, came
forward deliberately, the man with the standard bearing it high above his
head. They were entering our half of the debatable country when some fool
to the right hand fired, and set a dozen others pulling triggers. The
Turks turned about, and made for home at a shambling trot; but with the
speed of birth the fire died, and the peacemakers steadied their retreat.
Then Bargi called again, in time to reassure, for the runners doubtfully
came back, the standard-bearer holding his flag at top height. They drew
quite near, near enough for me to see clearly their appearance, when it
was plainly discovered they were men of different rank.
The standard-bearer was a cut-throat-looking fellow with a black
moustache and a complexion scarce lighter. I doubt if he were a pure-bred
Turk. He was small and well shaped; but there was that in his expression
which made me fear for any dog of an unbeliever who might pass his way.
He was dressed in the green uniform, with their strange pleated cap on
his head. Through all the dealings he spoke no word.
The man beside him, the empty-handed man, was quite otherwise. He was
dressed as an officer, and proved a doctor. He was a man of manners, a
man of civilisation, a gentleman. He came to the parley with French on
his lips.
The two men crossed the half-line boundary, and came so close in that the
colonel put up his hand to stop them, lest they should arrive on top of
our works. “Tell them to stay there, Bargi!” he broke out. “Tell them to
come no farther!” Bargi halted them. He had taken courage, the fire being
dead; he spoke fluently, and seemed to enjoy his importance. His dusky
face glowed with satisfaction and sweat.
“Get up, Bargi,” the colonel said of a sudden. “Go out and meet them.
It’s quite safe, man. Go on!”
Poor little Bargi collapsed. It was one matter to peep over a parapet
top, and quite another to stand up in the open like a tree, a target for
all the world. He gave the colonel a look of agony. “Hurry up, man!” was
what he got for his trouble.
He began his climb, and I had scrambled up first and pulled him the last
of the way. He made no attempt to go farther, and it did not matter, the
Turks having arrived within talking distance. Yet it seemed fate would
refuse us our parley, for someone let a machine gun loose—Australian
or Turk I do not know, but may Allah smite him! The bullets sang by my
head like a swarm of mad bees. There was no time for “After you, sir.”
Bargi tumbled back into the trench, and I jumped down on top of him. A
brisk burst of rifle fire broke out on both sides, and then died with all
suddenness. Next I was up on the parapet again. The Turkish peacemakers
had run for their own lines, for now they returned.
Bargi was sadly disinclined for a second re-appearance in the open, but
there was nothing for it, and presently he stood on top beside me. The
Turks were near at hand again, too close for the colonel’s pleasure; and
he waved Bargi forward in abrupt fashion. Openly reluctant, Bargi went.
The meeting was a meeting of dancing masters. They put their hands to
their foreheads and bowed profoundly; they advanced and bowed once
more; they smiled with utmost courtesy and bowed anew. Next they fell
to talking loudly, but in the accents of men who ask the other’s good
health, and who rejoice at the fineness of the day. And while they
talked, I picked out a seat on the mound before the parapet, and sat
down to watch. It was so near evening one might sit at ease out in the
sunlight.
Aye, it was a sight you might seek in vain on many a summer’s day.
There stood up the two great armies, the Turkish army and the troops of
Australasia, filling the mouths of the trenches, and staring one another
in the face. Men that had lived days on end between two narrow, sun-baked
walls, men that had lifted heads above a certain level at risk of their
lives, now looked over the great bare country, and widened their lungs
with breezes new from the sea. The sky was filling with clear white
clouds, the ground was sown with shadows; and endless heights and depths
climbed up and tumbled away. And there were swift greens and blues and
greys splashed over the picture, and earthy reds, and glistening patches
of sand. And for background were the big hills leaning against the sky.
And rank after rank, from foot to skyline, stood soldiers in their
thousands. The reserves were countless. And look you to the right hand,
and look you to the left, you were met by our men, their heads lifted
over the parapets, or themselves a-top swinging their legs. And between
the armies lay the debatable land, pocked with dead men and broken
rifles. Ye gods! it was a sight worth the looking.
Where I sat the ground fell sharply away, and a few yards down the slope
rested three of our dead, lying with heads close together. And look where
you would, you would come on part of a man—a pair of boots pushed from
a mound; a hand; an elbow; or may be it was the flutter of a piece of
coat. The burials had been by night—graves forced from hard ground, with
few minutes to give to the building. The mounds had settled and betrayed
their secrets.
Of Turks fallen in the last attack there was no end: it was a day’s task
to count them.
There came down the line word that General Runner parleyed with the other
group. I looked across. Several men stood together, but no more could I
discover.
No sooner was the fire of both armies well dead than a number of Turks
jumped from their trenches and fell with right good energy to filling
their arms with the rifles which lay in scores about the field. Speedily
men were staggering home loaded to their limit. And a sniper who sniped
from an exposed position fell to digging himself in in generous style.
The colonel let out a bellow. “Stop those men! Stop them this minute!
Bargi, stop those men!” Bargi grasped what was wanted, pointed it out to
the flag-bearers, and with lusty shouting the men were recalled. But the
manœuvre gained the enemy half a hundred rifles, and methinks the sniper
had a more spacious parlour from that hour.
It was our last interruption. It seemed the enemy asked a truce for the
burial of their dead. Bargi ran forwards and backwards, swollen with
importance. The colonel could do no more than receive the message; but
the brigadier was with the other group and would have more power. In
course of time word arrived empowering the colonel to announce the enemy
might send a staff officer by way of Gaba Tepeh next morning, when the
matter would be discussed. Bargi floundered over the explanation, and
a big lieutenant of infantry climbed up to help him. The man must have
been among the largest in the army. “You’ll be a good advertisement for
Australia,” the colonel said. And seeing I was all anxiety to follow, he
added, “No, Lake, this is not your stunt.”
It was all over presently. The men of truce agreed to take back the
message, and fire would open again in a few minutes. Afresh they saluted,
afresh they bowed: and our men came this way, and they turned that. The
colonel gathered up glasses and periscope; and we went off to tea. On the
way we ran into a party placing in position a trench mortar. And farther
on we met men hurrying up with ammunition. We had roared at the Turkish
treachery; but who shall say our honour was over-nice? As I sat at tea,
the firing broke out again in a great roll.
Their staff officer rode into our lines next morning. He reappeared the
morning after also, and the outcome was a truce of half a day. Certain
rules were framed. Parties of so many from either side were allowed over
so many yards, and neither party might penetrate beyond half-way. We
would take their dead to them, and they would bring our dead to us.
The day and the hour came round, and peace fell over the armies. The
silence was very strange. About the middle of the morning the colonel set
off as usual for the trenches, and we started the rounds as on any other
day from the B Battery observing station. No shot was to be heard, and
the trenches were emptier of men than I had seen them. Without delay we
passed to C Battery on the Pimple, and there joined Colonel Irons, Major
Andrews, and Major Green.
Behind C Battery and before A, the five of us climbed from the trenches
on to open ground. The sun was out, but the day was cool; and it was
pleasant to stand up at ease in the open. A great gathering had come
about on the debatable land. It was like a day at the races, with a
shabby crowd in attendance. The rule limiting the number of parties was
slackly enforced, and anyone tying a white bandage to his arm to denote
stretcher-bearer could go where he wanted. In this way there were numbers
exploring on their own account, exchanging mementoes with the enemy, and
seeing what was to be seen. The camera fiend was at large.
The burial of the dead went forward in harmony if not in love. Our
fellows were good willed enough and eager with curiosity; but among the
enemy were many glum countenances. Nor do I wonder, for it is but chilly
amusement gazing into the faces of your own dead.
There were many strange sights to be found in a few hundred yards’
marching; but I have not time to tell a tenth of them. At one place was a
crater in the ground where a shell had burst; and round it, like chickens
come to feed at a basin, lay eight dead men. It was the prettiest bit
of shooting that you might wish to see. And not so very far away was a
gully, maybe twenty yards long, half that wide, and half again that deep.
The Turkish stretcher-bearers had gathered dead from everywhere, and
tumbled them here—the place was a-choke with bodies. Hundreds were there.
They lay a dozen deep. They made me catch my breath. But it was when we
turned to go over to A Battery that we passed the scene it will take me
longest to forget.
Four of our own fellows lay on their backs in the grass, all within
a few paces. They were of those who had fallen in the first rush, and
had been overlooked. Their clothes were little stained, for no rains
had touched them, and their hats were still cocked to one side in the
jauntiest manner.
The first man was a skeleton, picked as clean as a century of waiting
might do. His skull looked out between the tunic and the hat; and through
the bones of his hands grasses had woven a road. One could only gape at
the fellow.
The next man waited on his back too; but the fierce suns had done
otherwise with him. The flesh had decayed under the skin, while the skin
had stayed, becoming a dark parchment drawn tightly over the bones. Every
hair on head and hand remained. Face and hands were tiny, the face and
hands of a child they were: yet the face was full of expression, and more
terrible to look on than the face of any ape.
The third man was as the second.
The fourth man had swollen up and afterwards sunk down again. I had to
turn away and spit.
And those four men had been filled with great foolish hopes but a few
weeks before, Amen! Amen!
Come, hang up the gun by the chimney!
Come, scabbard the sword and the dirk!
And we’ll tip-toe afar,
Where the sunbeams still are,
Leaving spider and mouse to their work.
The moon yet doth ride through the night, friend,
The sun yet doth warden the day:
And we’ll lie down and rest,
On the earth’s ample breast,
While these rivers of blood run away.
Come, loosen the belt and the tunic,
Uncover your head from its steel!
Leave the mess-tin to rust!
Let the flask choke with dust!
There are better things needing our zeal.
The harvest is heavy with waiting,
The eyes of our women are red;
Then stay but an hour,
While the hills break in flower,
And the grasses climb over our dead!
Oh foolish, oh foolish this striving!
Oh empty this passion and hate!
I am laboured of breath:
I am weary to death:
Come, let us forgive ere too late!
Come, lend me your hand for a space, friend!
The hours and the minutes race by!
But we’ve time to lie back
On the side of the track,
Till these channels of blood have run dry.