A PRISONER OF WAR
AN almost similar pilgrimage across No Man's Land had been made by
Private Bartlett, but with a different ending. Before he was aware of
the fact he had blundered into a party of Germans engaged in wiring
the defences, and as he made a vicious jab with his bayonet at the
nearest of the Huns he was felled with a blow of a mallet. Without a
cry he dropped senseless.
In an unconscious condition he was brought in by his captors, and
placed unceremoniously on the fire-step of the hostile trench. At the
first sign of the prisoner's senses returning his guards sent word to
their officers that the Englishman was recovering and could be
interrogated.
"Now you vos tell me der truth," said the German menacingly. "Der
whole truth, mind, or we vos haf you shot. I know plenty about your
trenches, so if you tell der lie den I vos you find out. Now, vot
regiment you vos?"
"The Wheatshires," replied the captive promptly. He knew that the
Huns were fully aware of the composition of the troops engaged
opposite to them.
"Goot!" said the Major. "Dot vos so. Now, der is talk of und mine.
Dot is so?"
"Yes," replied Sidney. "We have sunk a mine gallery."
"In vot direction?" was the next question.
Sidney paused to think. He recalled his father's words. "In business,
Sidney, you can tell a lie." This was a business--one of the grimmest
businesses that fall to the lot of men and nations--scientific
murder, licensed under the name of war.
"Why you no answer?" prompted the Hun.
"Suppose I refuse?" asked the captive. "Men taken prisoner are not
compelled to reply to questions on military matters."
The German laughed gruffly.
"Rules of war for fools are," he chuckled. "We Germans make war, we
no play. You answer vill make now, so."
"All right; if I am compelled to do so," rejoined Sidney. "The mine
runs away to your left--two hundred yards, I should think." In point
of fact, and Private Bartlett was perfectly aware of it, the
explosion chamber was almost immediately beyond that part of the
hostile trench in which he was held prisoner. Although the main force
of the explosion would be directed against the Pumpnickel Redoubt
there was the almost certainty of a swift and terrible death to every
living creature in the German first-line trenches as well.
The Hun officer snapped out some words of command to his men. The
soldiers began to pile up sand-bags across the trench to neutralize,
as they thought, the outlying effects of the impending explosion,
while the locality that Bartlett had purposely and wrongly indicated
was cleared of troops.
"Ach!" continued the Major. "Now you vos tell me dis: at vot hour the
mine goes it off?"
"At six-thirty," replied Sidney promptly. He was entering eagerly
into the "business" by this time. It would result, he had no doubt,
in the extermination of several hundred Germans and his comparatively
insignificant self as well.
"Now, we see," remarked the Prussian officer. "If der truth you haf
said, den all vill well be. We keep you here--in der drench."
Evidently the German had certain misgivings, for, ordering a post to
be driven deeply into the slime and his prisoner to be firmly bound
to it, he scurried off to a remote portion of the reserve trenches.
This much Ralph Setley heard. From other sounds he came to the
conclusion that most, if not all, of the German troops were following
their superior's example.
"Time for me to be getting back," he soliloquized. "There may yet be
an opportunity for our chaps to raid the trench and rescue Bartlett
before the mine is sprung. Wonder how time goes? It seems as if I've
been out for a couple of hours."
He returned in quicker time than he had taken to crawl out to the
barbed wire entanglements. For one thing the Huns were no longer in
the trench, ready to train a machine-gun on any moving object that
they were able to discern in the glare of the star-shells. For
another thing, the artillery duel had increased in violence, the rain
of projectiles from the British guns being unmistakably superior in
velocity to that of the Huns. Perhaps it was a prelude to the
impending advance? If so, the hour fixed for the firing of the mine
was at hand.
"That you, Setley?" came a hoarse whisper almost into his ear.
"Yes," replied Ralph, recognizing Alderhame's voice.
"Thought you had been done in. We've been back some time. I crawled
out to see if I could find you. Come along."
A rifle-bullet whizzed past Setley's head.
Promptly he ducked and crouched in a convenient shell-hole. Somewhere
in No Man's Land a Hun sniper was on the qui vive.
A dozen shots rang out from the British trenches in reply. The flash
of the sniper's rifle had betrayed his position. A squeal, like that
of a stuck pig, showed pretty plainly that the Hun ought to have
stopped a bullet.
The noise was but a ruse on the sniper's part, for as Alderhame and
Setley scrambled over the parapet another shot rang out from the same
spot, the bullet grazing the heel of Ralph's boot and cutting a
slight furrow on his wrist.
It was hard lines on the sniper; for just as he fired his second shot
a German shell, falling short--as defective projectiles are apt to
do--landed fairly on top of his lair. In the flash that followed the
luckless sniper's body was hurled high in the air, and fell with a
sickening thud almost on top of the British parapet.
"What have you been up to?" enquired Sergeant Ferris.
Briefly, Setley told the non-com. of what he had heard.
"Then come along and report to the Colonel," continued the sergeant.
"By smoke, if we get permission to attempt a rescue every man-jack in
the battalion will want to be over the top."
"A very creditable performance," declared the officer commanding the
Wheatshires, when Ralph had made his report. "Private Bartlett is a
brick. No; I do not think it advisable to go out again. The hostile
wire is now intact, I understand. As things go we must leave Bartlett
to take his chances. It would be madness to throw even a platoon
against standing entanglements. One must not allow sentiment to
jeopardize men's lives."
Somewhat crestfallen, Sergeant Ferris and Private Setley left the
C.O.'s dug-out. It was now half-past two--the time fixed for the men
to assemble for the task of occupying and consolidating the
mine-crater.
Like ghostly forms the steel-helmeted Tommies clustered in the
fire-trench. The officers, nervously consulting their watches at
every half-minute, felt the tedious wait as acutely as the men. Once
the whistle blew the excitement of the wild rush would come as a
welcome relief to the dreary and nerve-racking period of waiting,
when men have opportunities to conjure up mental pictures of what
might happen during the dash across No Man's Land.
"Ain't it about time that blinkin' mine went up?" whispered George
Anderson. "Ain't it perishin' cold? If I 'ave to wait much longer I
won't 'ave no feet to carry me over the top."
"Five minutes longer," announced Penfold. "Hullo! What's up with the
company on our right flank?"
The men referred to could be seen filing off along the narrow trench.
In half a minute the three adjacent bays were deserted, except for
the sentries and the men told off for duty in the firing line.
A subaltern floundered along the duck-boards and whispered to the
platoon commander.
The charge was to be deferred pending further orders from
headquarters. Either something had gone wrong with the final
preparations of the mine, or else information had been received that
necessitated the advance being postponed.
"Turn in, you fellows," said Sergeant Ferris. "No more going out
to-night! Sorry for young Bartlett, but you know what the Colonel
said."
"'Ow about our relief, sergeant?" enquired George Anderson. "Thought
the Wheatshires were to be sent back last night?"
"Don't know as you've much cause to grumble," replied the N.C.O.,
"seeing that you haven't been twenty-four hours in the firing trench.
Some of the boys have had six days of it."
"Seems like twenty-four months, sergeant," continued Ginger.
"P'r'aps; but you're a glutton for going out over No Man's Land,"
said Ferris. "You've no call to complain that it hasn't been exciting
enough."
"A chap must do something to keep himself warm," groused the private,
as he followed Setley and Alderhame to their now depleted dug-out.