ON PATROL
“Hullo, Bill!” from Will Todd, as he passed me going up 76 Street.
“Hullo,” I answered, “where are you off to?”
“Going on patrol,” was the reply. “Oh, by the way, you probably know
something about this rotten sap opposite the Quarry. I’m going out to
find out if it’s occupied at night or not.”
“Opposite the Quarry?” said I. “Oh, yes, I know it. We get rather a
good view of it from No. 1 Post.”
“That post up on the right here? Yes, I was up there this afternoon,
but you can’t see much from anywhere here. The worst of it is I was
going with 52 Jones; only his leave has just come through. You see,
I’ve never been out before. I’m trying a fellow called Edwards, but I
don’t know him.”
“If you can’t get Edwards,” I said suddenly, “I’ve a good mind to come
out with you. Meet me at Trafalgar Square, and let me know.”
As Will disappeared, I immediately repented of my offer, repented
heartily, repented abjectly. I had never been on patrol, and a great
sinking feeling came over me. I hoped with all my might that Edwards
would be bubbling over with enthusiasm for patrolling. I was afraid.
With all the indifference to shells and canisters that was gradually
growing upon me, I had never been out into No Man’s Land. And yet I had
volunteered to go out, and at the time of doing so I felt quite excited
at the prospect. “Fool,” I said to myself.
“Edwards doesn’t seem at all enthusiastic about it,” said Will. “Will
you really come out?”
“Yes, rather. I’m awfully keen to go. I’ve never been before, either.
How are you going?”
We exchanged views on how best to dress and carry our revolvers, which
instantly assumed a new interest.
“What time are you going out?”
“Eight o’clock.”
It was a quarter to already.
In the dug-out I was emptying my pockets, taking off my equipment, and
putting on a cap-comforter. I had my compass with me, and put it in
my pocket. I looked on the map and saw that the sap was practically
due north of the Quarry. And I took a nip of brandy out of my flask.
Will had gone to arrange with Captain Robertson about warning the
sentries. I was alone, and still cursing myself for this unnecessary
adventure. When I was ready, I stodged up 76 Street to the Quarry. It
was certainly a good night, very black.
When I saw Will and Captain Robertson together on the fire-step peering
over, I felt rather bucked with myself. Hitherto I had felt like an
enthusiastic bather undressing, nearly everyone else having decided it
was not warm enough to bathe; now it was as if I suddenly found that
they were watching me as I ran down the beach, and I no longer repented
of my resolution. Next moment I was climbing up on to the slimy sandbag
wall, and dropping over the other side. I was surprised to find there
was very little drop at all. There was an old ditch to be crossed, and
then we came to our wire, which was very thin at this point. While
Will was cursing, and making, it seemed to me, rather an unnecessary
rattling and shaking of the wire (you know how wire reverberates if you
hit a fence by the road), I looked back at our own parapet. I felt it
would be a good thing to see on one’s return; again, it struck me how
low it was, regarded from this side; I saw a head move along the top of
it. This made me jump. Already our trench seemed immeasurably far off.
I looked in front again, as the noise of Will’s wire-rattling had
ceased. In fact he was clean out of sight. This made me jump again, and
I hurried on. It was “knife-rest” wire (see next page).
I stepped over it, and my foot came down on to more wire, which rattled
with a noise that made me stand stock still awaiting something to
happen. I felt like a cat who has upset a tablecloth and all the tea
things. I stood appalled at the unexpected clatter. But really it was
hardly audible to _our_ sentries, much less to the Germans at least a
hundred and twenty yards away.
[Illustration]
At last I got through and flopped down. Immediately Will’s form showed
up dark in front of me. When I was standing up, I had been unable to
see him against the black ground. We lay about a minute absolutely
quiet, according to arrangement.
I had fairly made the plunge now, and I felt like the bather shaking
his hair as he comes up for the first time, and shouting out how
glorious it is. I was elated. The feel of the wet grass was good under
my hands; the silence was good; the immense loneliness, save for Will’s
black form, was good; and a slight rustle of wind in the grass was good
also. I just wanted to lie, and enjoy it. I hoped Will would not go on
for another minute. But soon he began to crawl.
Have you done much crawling? It is slow work. You take knee-steps, and
they are not like footsteps: they are not a hundred and twenty to the
hundred yards They are more like fifty to ten yards, I should think.
Anyway it seemed endless. The end of the sap was, to be precise, just
one hundred and twenty-five yards from our front trench. Yet when I had
gone, I suppose, forty yards, I expected to be on it any minute. Will
must be going wrong. I thought of the map. Could we be going north-east
instead of north? Will halted. I nearly bumped into his right foot,
which raised itself twice, signalling a halt. I took out my compass,
and looked at it. I shaded it with my hand, the luminous arrow seemed
so bright: “rather absurd,” I thought immediately, “as if the Boches
could possibly see it from the trench.” But we were going straight
enough. Then the figure in front moved on, and I came up to where he
had halted. It was the edge of a big shell-hole, full of water; I put
my left hand in up to the wrist, I don’t know why.
Still the figure crawled on, with a sort of hump-backed sidle that I
had got to know by now. It was interminable this crawling....
“Swis--s--sh.” A German flare shot up from ever so close. It seemed to
be falling right over us. Then it burst with a “pop.” I had my head
down on my arms, but I could squint out sideways. It seemed impossible
we should not be seen; for there, hardly twenty yards away, was the
German wire, as clear as anything. Meanwhile the flare had fallen
behind us. Would it never go out? I noticed the way the blades of grass
were lit up by it; and there was an old tin or something.... I started
as a rat ran across the grass past me. I wondered if it were a German
rat, or one of ours.
Then at last the flare went out, and the blackness was intense. For a
while longer we lay still as death; then I saw Will’s foot move again.
I listened intently, and on my right I heard a metallic sound. Quite
close it was; it sounded like the clank of a dixie. I peered hard in
the direction of the sound. Faintly I could distinguish earth above the
ground-line. I had not looked to my right when the flare went up, and
realised, as Will already had done, that we were out as far as the end
of the sap. It was perhaps ten yards off, due right. I lay with my ear
cocked sideways to catch the faintest sound. Clearly there was someone
in the sap. But there was a wind swishing in the grass, and I could not
hear anything more. Then my tense attitude relaxed, and I gradually
sank my chin on my arm. I felt very comfortable. I did not want to
move....
“Bang!!” and then a flame spat out; then came that gritty metallic
sound I had heard before, and another “Bang!” I kept my head down and
waited for the next, but it did not come. Then I heard a most human
scroopy cough, which also sounded _very_ near. The “bangs” were
objectionably near; I literally shrank from them. To tell the truth, I
had the “wind up” a bit. Those bullets seemed to me vicious personal
spits that were distinctly unpleasant and near; and I wanted to get
away from so close a proximity to them. I remembered a maxim of some
famous General to the intent that if you are afraid of the enemy, the
best thing was to remember that in all probability he was just as
afraid of you. The maxim did not seem to apply somehow here. At the
first “bang” I had thought we were seen; but I now realised that the
sentry was merely blazing off occasional shots, and that the bullets
had just plopped into our parapet.
Then Will turned round, and I did the same. Our business was certainly
ended, for there was no doubt about the sap being occupied. Then I
heard a thud behind us, and looking up saw the slow climbing trail of a
canister blazing up into the sky; up it mounted, up, up, up, hovered a
moment, then turned, and with a gathering impetus blazed down somewhere
well behind our front trench.
“Trafalgar Square,” I thought, as I lay doggo, for the blaze lit up the
sky somewhat.
“Bomp.” The earth shook as the canister exploded.
“Thud,” and the process was repeated exactly as before, ending in
another quaking “Bomp!”
I enjoyed this. It was rather a novel way of seeing canisters, and
moreover a very safe way.
Two more streamed over.
Then our footballs answered, and burst with a bang in the air not so
_very_ far over into the German lines. The trench-mortar fellow was
evidently trying short fuses, for usually our trench-mortar shells
burst on percussion.
Then in the distance I heard four bangs, and the Boche 4·2’s started,
screaming over at Maple Redoubt. I determined to move on.
Then suddenly came four distant bangs from the right of our lines (as
we faced them), and with “wang--wang ... wang--wang” four whizz-bangs
burst right around us, with most appalling flickers. “Bang--bang ...
bang--bang” in the distance again, and I braced every muscle tightly,
as you do when you prepare to meet a shock. Behind us, and just in
front, the beastly things burst. I lay with every fibre in my body
strained to the uttermost. And yet I confess I enjoyed the sensation!
There was a lull, and I began crawling as fast as I could. I stopped to
see if Will was following. “By God,” I heard, “let’s get out of this.”
So I was thinking! Then as I went on I saw the edge of a crater. Where
on earth?
I halted and pulled out my compass. Due south I wanted. I found I
was bearing off to the right far too much, so with compass in hand I
corrected my course. Some crawling this time! It was not long before
we could see wire in the distance. Then I got up and ran. How I got
through that wire I don’t know; I tore my puttees badly, and must have
made a most unnecessary rattling. After which I fell into the ditch.
“Thank heaven you’re all right,” was the greeting from Captain
Robertson. “I was just coming out after you. Those d--d artillery
fellows. I sent down at once to ’phone to them to stop....”
And so on. I hardly heard a word. I was so elated, I could not listen.
As we went back to Trafalgar Square for dinner, I heard them warning
the sentries “The patrol’s in.” I looked up at the sandbag parapet.
“In,” I thought. “One does not realise what ‘in’ is, till one’s been
out.”
I have been out several times later. I never had any adventures much.
But always, before going out, I felt the shivers of the bather; and
always, after I came in, a most splendid glow.