AN INTERVIEW WITH THE C.O.
IT was close on midnight when Setley and his two companions rejoined
their battalion. Although the distance was not far every foot of the
way was beset with perils, for in spite of the heavier fire from the
British guns the Germans were systematically searching the ground
that had been wrested from them during the day. Every shell hole was
now a miniature lake, covered with a thin coating of ice. A slip on
the steeply sloping edge and the incautious wight would find himself
out of his depth in icy cold water.
The trio met a continuous procession of wounded, most of them having
to be carried by their comrades or else on stretchers or sleighs;
prisoners, too, who had been humanely kept under cover until darkness
fell lest they should be shot down by their own guns, were being
herded across the open--gaunt and hungry men who seemed glad to be
out of the fighting.
Ration and supply parties, units of ammunition columns passed to and
fro, for the firing line had to be fed and provided with bombs and
cartridges. Except for the absence of lights the traffic reminded
Ralph of the Great North Road on the night of Barnet Fair, with the
difference that the predominant colour-scheme was khaki everywhere.
"Hullo, you chaps!" called out a private of the same section,
recognizing the three returning Tommies. "Thought you'd been done in.
You're marked down as missing. Grub? I've a pannikin on the charcoal
fire, and there are some rashers. You've been into the lines of
communication? Heard anything of our being relieved?"
"Not a word," rejoined Ralph, taking possession of a thin cup in
which the tea leaves from the last drinker were still in evidence.
Setley had forgotten to be particular in such matters. "Where's
Sergeant Ferris?"
"Blown to bits," said the other nonchalantly. "We didn't get our
promised share of goose," he added regretfully. "Suppose we are lucky
to get bacon."
The Wheatshires had suffered heavily in the charge. Most of the
officers had either been killed or wounded, while forty per cent of
the rank and file were out of action. Although they had succeeded in
occupying two of the three trenches their failure to reach their
objective was galling to the men. Elsewhere the general plan of
operations had been successful, and now the battle-worn Wheatshires
were consoled with the knowledge that the Huns on their immediate
front were in a position that formed a dangerous salient. Either they
would have to give back or risk almost certain chance of being
surrounded and compelled to surrender.
Dog-tired and bitterly cold, Setley followed the example of his chums
and threw himself down on the fire-step to sleep. Shelter in dug-out
there was none, for so heavy had been the British bombardment that
the remaining shelters were in such a dangerous state that the men
were cautioned not to make use of them.
The constant passing of laden men along the narrow trench, the
ceaseless roar of heavy guns, and the intermittent rattle of
machine-gun fire failed to keep Ralph awake, yet it seemed as if he
had been asleep but a few minutes when he was aroused by a hand
shaking him roughly by the shoulder.
"Turn out, mate," exclaimed Ginger. "We're being relieved. The
bloomin' Downshires are movin' into the trenches."
Setley bestirred himself. Fully equipped he rolled off the fire-step
into a foot of mud and slush that formed the floor of the trench. If
the Huns had had boards they had vanished--probably smashed to atoms
or else covered with debris from the sides of the trench with the
violent concussion of the bombardment.
"Wake that man up!" ordered an officer, indicating a dim form. The
man was dead, shot in his sleep. Ralph remembered that the unlucky
fellow had asked him to move along and give him room. Had Setley not
done so the probability was that he would be lying cold and
motionless.
Silently the depleted battalion moved along the narrow trench, and
with equal caution the goat-skin-clad Downshires filed into the
vacated position. It was now snowing heavily, but the Wheatshires
paid scant heed to the climatic conditions. They were like schoolboys
off for a holiday.
"Hurrah for a good hot bath!" exclaimed Ralph when the men arrived at
the rest-billets. In the trenches he had endured cold, dirt, and all
the horrors of a confined deep ditch of wet clay with a sort of
fatalism; but now the innate desire for cleanliness reasserted
itself.
One of four hundred men, all in a state of _puris naturalibus_,
Setley was ordered to double along a narrow plank gangway. Under one
arm he carried his uniform. Under the other two bundles, one
containing his personal effects, the other his underclothing.
At the end of the gangway were three separate sheds, with a sort of
counter across the open doors. As each man passed the first he threw
in his uniform, receiving in exchange a metal disc. At the second he
parted company with his personal effects, again taking up a metal
token. The third but received his underclothing.
Thence the Tommies entered a large building in which were rows of
tubs filled with hot water. Laughing, shouting, and cracking jokes
the men revelled in the rare luxury, until the stern admonition of
the non-com. to "get a move on" reminded them that there is an end to
all good things, not omitting bathing parades.
Again the procession was re-formed, and at the double the men hurried
along another corridor, passing the other end of the buildings in
which their belongings had been deposited.
Each soldier received a change of underclothing at the first hut, his
personal gear at the second, and his uniform, steam-cleaned and
liberally coated with insect powder at the third. With the regularity
of clockwork the battalion was thus furbished up for its stay at the
rest-billet--a striking testimony to the efficient organization and
to the care and attention given to the troops after their arduous
work in the firing line.
"Private Setley!"
The gruff voice of the platoon sergeant brought Ralph to a halt.
"You're wanted at the orderly-room at three p.m.," continued the
sergeant. "An' don't you forget it."
"Say, sergeant----"
"Well?"
"Do you know what I'm wanted for?"
"Dunno, me lad; you'll find out when you are told an not a minute
before."
Ralph received the message with certain misgivings. The word
"orderly-room" had an unpleasant significance. Vainly he racked his
brains to try to remember if he had done anything for which he might
be "crimed." Then, perhaps, it might be that he was to be detailed
for clerical work. Perish the suggestion! He had had enough of that
at the bank. He hadn't come out to the Front to follow the irksome
routine of doing orderly-room correspondence.
At the hour Ralph reported himself and was brought before the colonel
of the Wheatshires.
The C.O. lost no time in coming to the point,
"I've had a report concerning you," he began. "I understand that you
were in charge of a small squad, that you rushed a machine-gun
emplacement, and that you rendered material assistance under heavy
fire to a disabled Tank. The officer making the report states that
you behaved with admirable bravery, intelligence, and discretion
under highly dangerous circumstances."
The colonel placed the paper on his desk and searched amongst a pile
of documents for another. Setley, in the meanwhile, stood rigidly at
attention, inwardly ill at ease. He had merely done his duty. The
subsequent eulogy from his C.O., although highly gratifying, quite
bewildered him.
"Let me see," continued the colonel, glancing over Ralph's "history
sheet." "You've served a hundred and fifty-six days with the Colours.
You have never been crimed. Your occupation, previous to enlisting,
was banking?"
"Yes, sir," replied Ralph.
"Where were you educated?"
Setley told him, mentioning the name of a well-known West-country
school. The C.O. nodded approval.
"Wonder why he wants to know that?" thought the lad.
He was not long left in doubt.
"You have been recommended for a commission, Private Setley," resumed
the C.O. "I have much pleasure in stating my opinion that you are in
every respect fitted to take up commissioned rank. Being recommended,
of course, does not necessarily mean that you will get it, but in all
probability you will. ...I wish you the best of luck."
"Thank you, sir," replied Ralph.
The colonel made an annotation on the margin of the report.
"In the event of your obtaining this commission," he went on, "have
you any particular choice of a regiment? The decision is entirely in
the hands of the Army Council, you understand, but as far as
practicable the wishes of the individual concerned is taken into
consideration."
"Must it be a Line regiment, sir?"
"Unless you have special qualifications for any other branch of the
Service."
"I would like to try for the Tank Section, sir."
The colonel raised his bushy eyebrows.
"Dash it all!" he ejaculated. "You aim high, young man. However,
since you gained distinction in the Tank affair, perhaps your wishes
will be gratified. Meanwhile, if you take my advice you'll keep this
matter strictly to yourself as far as your comrades are concerned."
The colonel nodded dismissal. Ralph saluted and left the presence of
the commanding officer.
He felt as if he were treading on air. He could hardly realize his
good fortune. It seemed like a dream that would be rudely dispelled
with the dawn. He wanted to pinch himself to be certain that he was
really awake.
On his way back to his billet he encountered Private Anderson looking
smarter than he had ever been known before. Ginger's boots shone
brightly, despite the "dubbin" under the polish. His buttons, a few
hours previously dull and tarnished by the clammy air of the trenches
and the chemical effect of the bursting shells, now glittered
resplendent in the sunshine. His reddish moustache had been brushed
and coaxed into a certain state of subservience, although subduing
the stubbly bristles had taken the private almost an hour of hard
work. His cap was tilted on the back of his head revealing a
well-oiled and studiously arranged "quiff" of fiery-tinted hair.
"Wot cheer, mate!" exclaimed George. "Where 'ave you been?"
"Orderly-room," replied Ralph.
"Blimey, that's where I'm off to," rejoined Anderson. "Your pal the
hacter bloke is warned too. It's abart that bloomin' Tank business.
Ain't this yere child correct?"
"It is," assented Setley.
"I knowed it," declared Ginger with conviction. "Wot did yer get?"
"The colonel complimented me," replied Ralph tactfully.
"That all? Blow me tight! I was reckonin' on 'aving seven days'
special leave an' a free ticket to Blighty an' back."
Ginger walked away, his step a little less jaunty than before.
At tea-time the three comrades met. Ginger was radiant.
"The old man 'e told me I was a bloomin' corporal, and that I was to
'ave the bloomin' D.C.M.," he reported.
"'Any chance of getting back to Blighty on leave just ter show me
medal off, sir?' I asked; an' blow me if 'e didn't get the
orderly-room sergeant to make me a pass straight away. I'm off
to-night, an' chance me arm over them U-boats. 'E's a toff is the
colonel."
"And he thought fit to bestow a sergeant's chevrons on your humble,"
announced Alderhame. "The distinction of the D.C.M. is also thrown in
as a makeweight."
"Congratulations, both of you," said Ralph heartily.
"Thanks; and what did you get?" asked Alderhame pointedly.
"'E swears 'e only got complimented," interjected Ginger. "All my
bloomin eye, eh, wot?"
Alderhame winked solemnly.
"Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice," he quoted. "I can
guess--you lucky young dog!"