I had finished breakfast half an hour, and now loafed by my funk-hole while the colonel shaved. The corporal came over to me, dirty and very tired. He looked at me, head on one side, until I wondered what he wanted. At last he said: “Have you heard about Lewis?” “What about Lewis?” I answered.
“Had his head blown off this morning.”
“My God!” I said. We looked at each other a little while. “How did it happen?”
“He was Sands’s telephonist first shift. When Sands got to the other end there was no sign of Lewis, and I was told to ask about him on my road. An infantry bloke said there was a dead artilleryman round the corner. I found Lewis there all right, covered with a sack. Half his head’s blown off.” The corporal felt his chin, which badly wanted a shave.
“Damned bad luck for poor Lewis,” I said, after a silence. And what more was there to say? The corporal shrugged his shoulders, lingered a moment, and went off to his dug-out.
I sat down on the ground to wait for the colonel.[266] It was early yet; but already the sun menaced us. It was the start of another heartbreaking day. The flies in their tens of thousands blackened every shady place, and made ready to drowse and drone through the noon. For the thousandth time since breakfast, I brushed them from my lips. While I sat there with drooped head, thinking a little of Lewis and a good deal of nothing at all, Sands climbed down the path towards me. I got up.
“Lake, the colonel won’t want you this morning. You are to wait here for Bombardier Norris and the stretcher, and guide him to Lewis. You know where Lewis is: in the communication trench leading to Clayton’s. Afterwards you can go on to the B Battery observing station. The colonel is going that way.”
I answered, “Yes, sir,” and he said nothing more, yet he did not go away, but stayed on smiling vacantly and looking at his fingers. I think he had a sneaking liking for me, as had I for him. And thinking of Lewis, at last I said: “There won’t be any of the first lot left by the time this is over. We joined too soon.”
He answered with a snort of appreciation. “Yes, it will be the hundredth battalion which comes back. And the girls will hooray and the papers will talk about heroes, and it will be forgotten we ever went.” He waved the flies from his face, and then he said: “Well, you understand about Lewis?” And away he went.
I sat down again and dozed as before. Norris[267] did not turn up for a long while, and I had no quarrel against him on that score. It was between ten and eleven when he and the two stretcher-bearers came climbing up the hill. The sun was high up, and very threatening. Sands sent the party to me, and they came and dropped on to the ground to pant and perspire. Then we lit cigarettes, and smoked a little while and talked wearily. I exchanged my news for theirs, and at the finish of the cigarettes I said: “How about it now?” Norris said, “Right-o,” and the other men picked up the stretcher. We started to climb the hill.
The mail had arrived, and half-way up men sorted a heap of bags, and all with nothing to do loafed round on the chance of spotting something of their own. Letters were the one interest remaining to this drooping army. A good or bad mail made or marred a fellow’s temper for the week. This collection was for the infantry, and we passed it by Without interest. We climbed past the Infantry Headquarters, and up the next pinch to the mouth of the communication trench where Lewis was said to be. The place was quite deserted, except for hosts of flies. The trench was high and narrow, with many turns, and safe enough from shrapnel fire. We tramped along, panting and perspiring, and presently came on the body of Lewis on its back on the ground, three parts covered over with sacks. Lying thus, it looked no different from a sleeping man, for all covered themselves after this manner for shade and to escape the flies. But the trench walls[268] told the truth. For a dozen yards the brains of Lewis clung to them. They could be traced by the flies settled there. It was a sight sickening to see. And on the trench floor were pieces of scalp and bits of raw flesh.
We said nothing as we stopped, but we brushed the flies from our faces, and somebody put down the stretcher. Out came cigarettes. The heat and the stiffness of the hill forced a rest before beginning work. The stretcher-bearers sat on the stretcher. I settled opposite, and Norris crouched at the head of the body. The flies, which had been disturbed by our coming, settled again at their task. We were at the straightest part of the trench; it ran a dozen yards without a turning, and it was because of this the shell had found a way in. It was a chance in fifty—in a hundred; but the ballot had been against Lewis. Well, he had gone, and we had stayed behind to sweat and curse the flies.
The blue smoke of our cigarettes curled into the air, for there was no breeze to scatter it. The flies camped in black masses on the sacking, the sacking lay wearily over the corpse, and the boots and leggings poked from underneath. They were big boots: Lewis was a tall fellow, and his feet had not been the least part of him. There was a shovel near, and I got up and collected pieces of his head, and put them on the sacking by his body, and covered them over. I took care not to explore underneath the sack. I had no relish for what might be there.
So this was the end of Lewis, the beloved of[269] his family, the fellow whose face had been the face of a girl. The golden hair was blotted with blood and dirt, and the worms were to make a bridal chamber of the sockets which had held his blue eyes. Presently there would be tears shed for him when the news went home, but he himself needed no pity. He had done his guard, and now he was off duty till Gabriel’s réveillé. Our cigarettes ended at the same time.
“What about it?” Norris said to the others.
“Right-o!” And the four of us got to our feet. I spoke next.
“I’ll give you a hand as far as the valley.”
We spread out the stretcher, and laid on it the body. This was done without moving the sack. A last search was made for remains that might have escaped us. And then began the tiresome journey to the beach.
We had stirred up a regular hornet’s nest, and we had ourselves to blame. The colonel had said: “If you hit a man right and hit him left, and then kick him in the behind, he is generally too surprised to do anything. That’s our stunt for this afternoon.” And so we had fixed up this little show. Our three batteries, two Scottish howitzer batteries and a New Zealand battery, were agreed to engage the enemy at the same moment. Directly he opened his mouth for the afternoon battle we were to slap at him. We had extra ammunition to spend. The colonel was like a schoolboy on holiday. He invited a couple of infantrymen, and we went away to a new observing station connected by telephone[270] with the old place. I sat by to take messages in case of emergency.
The battle had opened well. Their guns no more than sniped at us, and very soon we shut them up altogether. The colonel peered into his periscope and chuckled to himself. Then all of a sudden they woke up and answered with big shells along our first line of trenches. It was our turn to be surprised. Our laughter lost its hearty ring. Our little party, the engineers of this business, had chosen a safe place for the present; but matters looked uncomfortable to the left hand, and the blameless infantry suffered. I sat by the colonel’s feet, gathering how matters went from his brief remarks, from the explosions, and from the voices of our own shells tearing overhead. To and fro before me men pushed past on some duty or other, with lively faces and lively movements. The telephonist was crouched at my back, receiver strapped to his head. He repeated the colonel’s orders In monotonous voice, and called out the replies. I was sleeping partner in the fight. I crossed my legs and put my chin in the cup of my hand, waiting what might happen. The colonel’s face was crimson from the sun and from his feelings. Something was going wrong, for he was losing patience. He shifted from one leg to the other and frowned, and stared through the periscope, and snapped out orders at the telephonist. Just now I took the cigarette from my mouth, and looked at it. It was half-smoked.
“Why have the New Zealanders shut up shop?”[271] the colonel burst out. “What’s happened to them? Find out from Mr. Sands what’s happened to them!”
The telephonist buzzed the call, but got no answer. He buzzed again with like result. Alternately he buzzed and called for the next minute. Then he said: “Can’t raise them, sir.” The colonel was too busy to hear, and he went on calling.
“Have you got that through?” said the colonel, all of a sudden.
“No, sir. Can’t raise them.”
“What’s up?”
“Don’t know, sir. The line must be cut.”
“Oh, damn!” The colonel chewed his top lip. “Are you there, Lake?”
“Yes, sir.” I got up.
“Go along to Mr. Sands, and ask what’s happened to the New Zealanders. Tell him the line is cut, and he must send someone along to mend it at once. Hurry, man, there’s no time to lose!”
I knocked the ash from my cigarette, and put the butt into my mouth. Then I turned to the left hand and hurried along the trench. Almost at once I passed the traverse corner, and the group I had left were lost to sight.
I went at a trot wherever the trench was empty, but this was seldom, as much of the way the men were wide awake and in places they stood to arms. There was anxiety on most faces. Usually I progressed at a fast walk; but there were times when I must elbow the way forward. The fellows[272] talked hard to one another, and those who knew me for an artilleryman called out to know what we were up to. In good truth I was advancing into the danger zone; the roar of the bursting shells was more terrible, and there were frequent marks of damage. All at once I came on a wrecked machine-gun emplacement where a shell had come in. The spot suggested the passage of an earthquake, ............