*This story, which was first printed in June, 1906, is here
reproduced by permission of the author.
"Better is the sight of the eyes than the wandering of the
desire."--(Ecclesiastes.)
I
Three dirty and breathless soldiers scrambled painfully through a gap
in the hedge on the brow of the rounded slope of the hill and, taking
out their maps and field-glasses, lay down prone on their stomachs.
So dirty were they that it was hard to realize that they were
officers. Placing both elbows squarely on the ground, to counteract
the unsteadiness of hand caused by their heaving bodies, their thumbs
were soon busily twisting the focussing-screws as they directed their
glasses on to a large patch of scrub away below, some three miles to
the west. On a rise in this rough country a long line of
intermittent flashes could be seen with the naked eye.
The hedge stretched for some distance along the brow of the hill.
About one hundred yards behind, and parallel to it, between hazel
hedges, ran a country road. This--hardly more than a lane--was, to
the south of this point, sunken, but just here was flush with the
ground. On the near side of it, immediately behind where the
officers were lying, was an open gate, and close to this gate a young
poplar tree, against which was propped a motor-bicycle. In the lane
itself were a motor-cyclist and a couple of orderlies, the latter
dismounted and holding the horses of the party. Down below, in the
direction in which the three were gazing, stretched a peaceful
panorama of undulating country, fading into bluish heat-haze in the
distance. The different crops gave a many-hued appearance to the
landscape, the richer colour of the uncut hay alternating with the
still crude green of the young grain and the reddish purple of the
beetroot fields. The few fleecy clouds floating lazily in the sky
here and there cast vague shadows, which slowly moved over hill and
dale. The white walls and shining roofs of the homesteads dotted
about stood out gleaming in the sunlight, and these, with the patches
of woodland, caught the eye and assisted in some estimation of
distance, otherwise impossible upon the variegated background with
its network of hedges.
It was an almost perfect day in early June. Yet, in spite of the
brilliant sunshine, there was an oppressive sultriness in the air
which gave more than a hint of a coming storm.
Far off, in the same positions they had occupied all day, hung three
war-balloons, motionless in the still air. They were of a curious
shape, and as the sun glistened on their distended skins they had the
appearance of three monstrous and bloated yellow caterpillars. Upon
the youngest of the three men under the hedge they had a disquieting
effect of oppression. He felt that they were the eyes of the
enemy--as indeed they were--and was uneasy under their silent gaze;
at times he even imagined that those menacing eyes could read not
only his actions, but his very thoughts and desires.
Though the elements seemed at peace, there was clear evidence that
man was not, for here and there could be seen the angry glow of a
conflagration with its pall of black smoke. In places the
dirty-white dust-clouds betrayed the movement of masses, though the
masses were not visible, while over certain spots thick clusters of
smoke-puffs, suddenly breaking out like signal flags from the
halliards of a ship, showed where shrapnel shell were raining down
destruction. These puffs were of different colours--the majority
pure white, but others were of a purple and magenta hue as violet as
aniline dyes. An occasional bright flash, followed by a dull
detonation and an upshooting trefoil of black smoke, marked the fall
of high-explosive shell. From the clamour that filled the air, one
might have imagined that the whole countryside formed one large
shipyard or boilermaker's shop, so metallic was the sound of musketry
close at hand. Every moment this body of sound was stabbed by the
nearer rifle-shots which rang out separately, and broken by the
occasional throb of machine-guns, the mechanical beat of pom-poms,
and the booming of artillery. But to an ear used to the noise of
battles, there was one fresh sound--that of the quick-firing
field-guns; for as they seized some fleeting occasion to pour out
their squalls of shell, individual shots could not be distinguished
in the continuous roar.
Notwithstanding this din in the air, it was difficult to see any
signs of life. Of the work of man there was ample evidence; but of
man himself--save those on the hill--there was no trace. Had a
curious observer, however, walked some way down the bellying slope of
the hill, he would have seen the backs of a long line of infantry
digging for dear life near the bottom.
From all this turmoil down below, the little group at the top of the
hill seemed strangely detached. No shell flew screeching over their
heads, no bullet sang near them--they gazed on undisturbed. At last
one put down his glasses and sat up with a grunt.
"We've been looking at the wrong place all along. We've been
watching their flashes and bluff trenches on that rise. The guns are
using flameless powder, and are a good deal closer--more to the left
of the rough. I can just make them out, but cannot see how many
there are."
"I can't see anything except the flashes which appear just where the
trenches are," replied a second.
"Yes, of course, that's their game! D'you see that red and white
farm?"
"Yes."
"Above that there's some water."
"Yes."
"Above that, still more to the left, on that hump covered with--"
"Yes, yes, I have them now; I should say there was more than one
battery. They don't seem to be entrenched, either; but it is hard to
tell on that background."
"There are more like twenty guns there," continued the first. "You
may be certain they're entrenched--they're no fools. They have shown
the dummies and hidden the real emplacements, which would not require
much work on such a place as that--an ideal spot for guns."
"And so is this," added the third, the youngest of the three. "If it
were not for their balloons, we could get a whole brigade up here
unseen all the way, and suddenly open fire from behind this hedge.
Even if they are entrenched, we could enfilade them and give them a
bad time--enough to keep them quiet. If they're not, Lord help them,
once we start!" He chuckled softly, and muttered fervently to
himself, "Yes, Lord help them!" He was a Gunner.
He stared for a minute at the nearest balloon, silently and in deep
thought, then taking off his hat, began absently to mop his head.
Suddenly he stopped quite still, his head turned to one side as if
listening.
"My God! it is rising!"
The two gazed at him in blank amaze, and, startled, at once seized
their repeating-pistols.
"The wind, I mean--the wind. I feel it on my damp head!"
They still looked blank.
"Don't you see? If the wind only rises, down go those cursed
balloons, and then--" There was no need to finish the sentence. The
others jumped to their feet; one sucked his finger and held it up;
the other picked a puff-ball and threw it in the air; all watched it
gently wafted up the hill.
"Yes, look over there; that's more than haze--it's cloud!"
Toward the west there was now a low bank of gray cloud stretched
across the horizon, against which the intermittent flashes showed
bright.
"Whistle up the cyclist!" snapped out the eldest of the three,
sitting down with notebook and pencil.
As the cyclist came up, he said, "Take this as quick as possible to
the General of the 10th Division: he must be found; but if on the way
you get near the officer commanding the Corps Artillery, show it to
him and say I want him to read it."
After a minute they heard, as they got up, the snort of the motor
breasting a rise on their left, and after three minutes there was
nothing but the reek of petrol to show that any one had been on that
hilltop.
They had gone and no one had noticed two small scoops in the
ground--one under the hedge and the other farther along near the
road--where ranging shell had fallen.