CHAPTER XI

A SCRAP

We're well in the doin's. No more to be said-- The orficer wounded; the sergeant is dead. If somethin' don't 'appen and that very soon, We'll not have a man in the blurry platoon-- Blurry platoon, Pore ole platoon, Always it's for it; this blurry platoon.

(_From "A Soldier's Song."_)

It was not yet dawn, and the rain dropped sullenly into the wet trench where the soldiers stood to arms on the banquette, yawning and shivering with the cold. The bayonets showed clear cut and ominous when the blazing star-shell caught them. The men on watch shook themselves, rubbed their eyes with clay-encrusted fingers, and hummed monotonous tunes. All was very quiet. The dawn was oppressive, the dark, mysterious levels had an ominous threat in their incomprehensible silence. The support trench into which the soldiers had come was a great mysterious alley filled with spectres as impalpable as air.... The dawn came imperceptibly, men stood down and spoke of breakfast. But there was no fire; the loaves and biscuits were sodden with rain. Spudhole, who tried to open a tin of bully-beef with his clasp knife, cut his finger and swore dreadfully. His mates stared at him and nodded their heads, but did not speak....

Captain Thorley came along the trench speaking to the men on sentry-go.

"Cut your finger, Spudhole?" he asked when he came into the bay in which Bowdy and Bubb were stationed. The captain knew every man by nickname.

"Cut it," said Bubb. "Course I've cut it, sir. My fingers are so damn cold. Wot about this 'ere mine, sir?"

"It may go up now at any moment," said Captain Thorley. "You've all got to keep a good look-out. When it goes up every man cross the top and man the crater. Just as you did on Christmas morning. Bowdy will go with us this time. On the last occasion he was away, making love to some dear French girl."

Bowdy blushed.

"Pore ole Fitz 'as gone west," said Bubb. "'E's under the ground wiv a dozen tons o' muck on top o' 'im. There are five or six o' our boys buried wiv 'im. Round the corner in the next bay."

"I was looking at the dug-out that fell in," said Bowdy. "They're buried deep enough anyhow. It's no good digging them out."

"We've no time for that," said Thorley. "It's a long day's work for a big squad if it's ever attempted. Of course there's not a soul alive. Fitzgerald was coming with a message too. But it's all right, Flanagan brought the message in."

"Did you see a bay'net stickin' up froo the roof?" asked Bubb. "The dug-out fell down round it, and there it's stickin' up as if it wanted to stab somebody."

At that moment the earth trembled like a wind-shaken leaf. The men rushed to the parapet and looked over. Out in front a great lump rose on the level like a whale breaking up from the sea, and a livid flash lit the world. The soldiers sank into cover, mute, pale, hesitating. The roar of an earthquake filled their ears, and a million flying fragments filled the sky.... An almost incoherent order passed along the trench, and on the right men clambered over the sandbags into the open field.... They had to take possession of the mine crater. Snogger, Bowdy Benners and Bubb were across and in the next minute they were conscious of many things. Bubb slipped twice in getting over the top, and panted wearily as he rushed towards the spot where the earth was lumped up black and raw. Other men rushed along at his side, shouting and yelling. Rifles were discharged wildly at no particular objective, and a group of voluble guns chorused in dizzy harmony.

The men clambered down the steep sides of the newly-formed valley, a hundred feet deep or more, and up the crest again, where it looked over the enemy's trenches. The Germans were already advancing in extended order several hundred strong. The advance was done at the double through the lurid flashes of curtain fire which the English guns had opened. The Germans were falling, and the sight steadied the men somewhat, and they trained their rifles with precision and a certain amount of calmness on the oncomers.

The English guns were now speaking with furious vehemence and the shrapnel hissed at the grey forms which were still rising over the rim of the trench in front. Bubb and Benners lay down with their mates on the slope of the parapet and fired, a bit wildly perhaps, but it was impossible to miss. A machine-gun, already in position, swayed its snout from side to side, snapped viciously, and extracted its toll from the attackers.

They came forward, rushing wildly, their bayonets in air, their legs clumsily cutting off the distance between their trench and the crater. Many in the first line of attackers were falling and several were crawling back to their own lines on their bellies. Our bombers stood waiting, fingering their bombs nervously. The stench of explosives was suffocating. Several who were overcome with the gases dropped to the ground and rolled down the slope into the bottom of the pit. Bill Hurd stood up on the verge of the crater, where the wet, glistening machine-gun peeped forth.

"Steady, boys, steady!" he cried. "Take careful aim! Don't waste a round! Make every bullet tell! We'll beat them off! We'll beat them back, back, well back! Begorrah we'll show them."

He looked enormous, standing there, shouting vehemently and waving his arms.

"Beat them back!" he yelled, repeating the same remark over and over again. His rifle lay against the rim of the crater; the bayonet, rusty and grim, peered over the top as if in waiting.

"Take good aim," he shouted, running along the rim of the crater. "Be sure of your min.... Don't get flurried.... We'll bate thim back easily!... Keep cool and don't get flurried. If ye do you'll be damned unlucky. Don't get excited," he shouted. "If you do it won't be no good."

He held his peace then and Bubb looked round to see where he had sought cover. He was lying on his face and a very tiny red scar showed on his forehead.

Although the enemy advanced at the double, the time dragged slowly for the men on the parapet. They waited in agonised suspense for closer combat; somehow the firing seemed to have very little effect on the attackers. Hundreds fell and hundreds took the place of the fallen. The rim of the foemen's parapet was like the lip of a waterfall; the men came across in waves, got dashed to pieces, and waves followed only to meet with a similar fate. The successive lines of men were endless, eternal as a running brook.

The German first line drew nearer, the English could almost see the expressions of the men's faces; felt that the soul of the attackers was not in their work. It was impossible to miss them now. The attacking lines withered like waves on a beach. One man who came in front flung down his rifle, raced towards the crater with his hands in air and jumped in on top of Bill Hurd's bayonet, a ludicrous fixture.

"Pull it out!" he yelled in agony, speaking in good English. "Pull it out, for Gott's sake!"

But there was no time to spare at that moment; the English were fighting to save their own skins. The German rolled down to the bottom of the crater with the bayonet on which he had sat still stuck in his body.

A second and a third wave of attack followed; but the concentrated fire of the defenders cut great gaps in the attackers' lines, which became merged one with the other, when half way across. The men had no heart for further movement; they drew themselves to earth, and dug holes in the ground for safety. The English artillery fire prevented them from going back, the rifles would not allow them to come forward; they were caught between two fires.

Now and again an entrenching tool could be seen rising in air, and it was fired at. When a figure in grey moved, a questing bullet reminded it forcibly of the indiscretion. At times one would rise and walk around in an unconcerned and indifferent manner, probably he had gone insane, or perhaps the pain of a wound put death out of reckoning. The end was in all cases the same, the bullet found the man, and the ghastly fury of destruction held its sway.

On the right they reached the wires and the boys went out and met them: there the bayonet was at work.

They came up in big droves and some fumbled through. The defenders rushed out and gave fight.... An excited machine gunner played for a minute on the crush of friend and foe....

The Germans lost heart, retreated and were followed with bayonet, bludgeon and bomb. Tripping on the wires and stepping in flesh and blood, they went back, tramping on dead and wounded. The latter groaned piteously and shrieked for mercy.

The retreat became general, the front wave of attackers receded, those which followed stood still undecided. Here and there isolated parties made great fight, holding out until the last men fell....

Some of the Irish followed them across: a large party of prisoners were surrounded near the hostile trench. The German gunners had shortened their range and were now shelling the ground between the lines.

Fighting was even more severe on the right. There a confused and struggling mass reeled round the wires in a last wild effort, and the German artillery dealt death impartially to friend and foe alike. On all sides the wounded covered the field, lying in huddled heaps, in rows, singly and in pairs. In front of the mine a German moved on his stomach, then rose to his feet and flung a bomb at a party which went out to succour the wounded. A youngster, a boy newly out, named Ryan, rushed forward with his rifle, fired and missed. Still advancing, he slid a round into the breach of his weapon, shoved the rifle close to the German's forehead and pulled the trigger. The upper part of the man's head was blown off....

All day long the men stopped in the crater, always on the alert, and in front of them a long line of earth gradually took shape on the field, which showed that the enemy worked hard digging himself in. Towards dusk the dark line took on a whitish colour; the diggers had reached the chalk and were well under cover. When darkness fell the trench was raided and the occupants taken prisoners. Then graves were dug and the dead were buried.