We knew that we should lose him. For one thing, we knew that he would
be promoted. It was our great hope that some day he would command the
company. Also we knew that he would be killed. He was so amazingly
unself-conscious. For that reason we knew that he would be absolutely
fearless. He would be so keen on the job in hand, and so anxious for
his men, that he would forget about his own danger. So it proved. He
was a captain when we went out to the front. Whenever there was a
tiresome job to be done, he was there in charge. If ever there were
a moment of danger, he was on the spot. If there were any particular
part of the line where the shells were falling faster or the bombs
dropping more thickly than in other parts, he was in it. It was not
that he was conceited and imagined himself indispensable. It was just
that he was so keen that the men should do their best, and act worthily
of the regiment. He knew that fellows hated turning out at night for
fatigue, when they were in a "rest camp." He knew how tiresome the
long march there and back and the digging in the dark for an unknown
purpose were. He knew that fellows would be inclined to grouse and
shirk, so he thought that it was up to him to go and show them that he
thought it was a job worth doing. And the fact that he was there put
a new complexion on the matter altogether. No one would shirk if he
were there. No one would grumble so much, either. What was good enough
for him was good enough for us. If it were not too much trouble for
him to turn out, it was not too much trouble for us. He knew, too, how
trying to the nerves it is to sit in a trench and be shelled. He knew
what a temptation there is to move a bit farther down the trench and
herd together in a bunch at what seems the safest end. He knew, too,
the folly of it, and that it was not the thing to do--not done in the
best regiments. So he went along to see that it did not happen, to see
that the men stuck to their posts, and conquered their nerves. And as
soon as we saw him, we forgot our own anxiety. It was: "Move a bit
farther down, sir. We are all right here; but don't you go exposing of
yourself." We didn't matter. We knew it then. We were just the rank
and file, bound to take risks. The company would get along all right
without us. But the captain, how was the company to get on without
him? To see him was to catch his point of view, to forget our personal
anxieties, and only to think of the company, and the regiment, and
honor.
There was not one of us but would gladly have died for him. We longed
for the chance to show him that. We weren't heroes. We never dreamed
about the V. C. But to save the captain we would have earned it ten
times over, and never have cared a button whether we got it or not. We
never got the chance, worse luck. It was all the other way. We were
holding some trenches which were about as unhealthy as trenches could
be. The Boches were only a few yards away, and were well supplied with
trench mortars. We hadn't got any at that time. Bombs and air torpedoes
were dropping round us all day. Of course the captain was there. It
seemed as if he could not keep away. A torpedo fell into the trench,
and buried some of our chaps. The fellows next to them ran to dig them
out. Of course he was one of the first. Then came another torpedo in
the same place. That was the end.
But he lives. Somehow he lives. And we who knew him do not forget. We
feel his eyes on us. We still work for that wonderful smile of his.
There are not many of the old lot left now; but I think that those who
went West have seen him. When they got to the other side I think they
were met. Someone said: "Well done, good and faithful servant." And
as they knelt before that gracious pierced Figure, I reckon they saw
nearby the captain's smile. Anyway, in that faith let me die, if death
should come my way; and so, I think, shall I die content.