CHAPTER XVII

YOUNG BLOOD

Over the top is cold, matey; You lie on the field alone-- Didn't I love you of old, matey, Dearer than blood of my own? You were my dearest chum, matey, (Gawd, but your face is white) And now, though reliefs have come, matey, I'm going alone to-night.

(_From "Soldier Songs."_)

At one o'clock in the morning the London Irish were in occupation of the trenches; the battalion which they had relieved were just moving away. Reynolds' section were lucky enough to find a dug-out, and here they threw down their loaves and other luxuries which the Government had not supplied.

"Now we must make ourselves as comfortable as we can," said Flanagan as he lit a cigarette. "I'm for a sleep until it's my turn for sentry."

Snogger, who came to the dug-out door at that moment, heard the remark and chuckled. Having some work to do which needed volunteers, he saw scope for his peculiar type of humour.

"Goin' to 'ave a kip, Flanagan?" he asked in a gentle voice. "Turnin' in fer a spell?"

"Just for a while," said Flanagan; "an hour or two."

"Well ye're damned unlucky," said the sergeant with a chuckle. "We're goin' ter raid the henemy's trenches. We want to see what they're doin'. Indefication purposes ye know. They're too damned quiet 'ere. And you know when the German is keepin' quiet ye've got to oil yer hipe."

The section was up and alert in an instant; anticipation flushed every face.

"I'm in this 'ere game," said Bubb in a vehement voice. "Larst time I was out o' it."

"All's in it, that is, every man in this platoon 'cept them just out," said the sergeant. "They'll stay 'ere an' mind the 'ouse while we're away."

"I'm going out in the raid," said Reynolds in an eager voice. "I want to be in the fun."

"Yer do, do yer?" asked the sergeant, scratching his head. "Ye never do wot ye want in this 'ere crush, my boy," he bellowed. "Ye just do wot I tell you; an' you'll find that quite enuff, 'fore ye're 'ere very long. If ye do wot I tell you and do it well ye're all right. I'll make it easy for you. That's me, Snogger."

Reynolds lay back against the wall of the dug-out, his fair, youthful face lit by the glow of the candle which Flanagan had just placed in a niche of the wall. The boy was bitterly disappointed; the others were going over the top and he was to be left alone. He opened his lips to say something and his voice faltered; he was on the verge of tears.

"Is there any means of getting out with you?" he asked. "Couldn't somebody stay back and let me go in his place?"

"The bloke as doesn't want ter go isn't in this 'ere regiment," said Bubb.

The sergeant, who had just gone outside, returned carrying a tin filled with a substance black and soft like soot.

"Now boys," he said, as he placed the tin on the floor; "cover yer faces over with this an' be like niggers. A white face can be seen a good distance on a moonlight night, an' if ye're seen on this 'ere job, it'll be all up with the party--they'll be damned unlucky.

"An' when ye've done that, get arf a dozen bombs apiece and bring 'em wiv you," the sergeant continued. "Also, get some brushwood--ye'll find it out 'ere ready for yer--and ye'll g'over disguised as a shrubbery. We'll crawl across, get up to the German trench and fling the bombs in. Then we'll come back again, the 'ole lot of us, if we're lucky.... What the devil's that?"

The stretcher-bearers brought him in from the trench, a rifleman with a wound showing in his shoulder, and placed him on the floor.

"One of the party that was to cross," said the sergeant; then asked: "Much 'urt, old man?"

"Not much wrong," was the reply of the wounded man. "I'm sorry I'm not in the raid.... I looked across and then my shoulder burned...."

"Well, I must get another man," said the sergeant. "You'll do, Reynolds. Get yer face blacked and get some bombs."

The men set to work in the dug-out and blackened their faces, procured their bombs and branches, and got into raiding order. In ten minutes' time they were out on the open, thirty men making towards the German trenches.

Flanagan lit a cigarette, put his hands in his trousers pockets and leant his back against the wall of the dug-out. Bubb looked at him.

"Yer bloomin' old phizz is sooty enough, Flan," he said; "but yer teeth don't arf look white; they'll be seen miles away."

"I suppose I should black them," said Flanagan. "It would be for my own good. Natural selection has not fashioned me for this war environment. Raiding by night is a job for chimney sweeps. They could walk over to the German trenches and they would not be seen in the darkness. Darwin would be very interested in these raids. If he saw one he would write a treatise on Artificial Selection and call it The Survival of the Fittest Disguised. We are disguised; we're one with the night. We accommodate ourselves to our environment like the fox that changes its coat to white when the snow comes."

"These 'ere branches ain't arf a barney," said Bubb, who understood only a little of what Flanagan was saying.

"Birnam Wood! Copied from Macbeth," said Flanagan with an air of scorn. "There's nothing new in the world. There were trenches and dug-outs at the siege of Sebastopol."

Sergeant Snogger came in at that moment, his body festooned with bombs, his face the colour of ebony. He looked at his men.

"Wot are yer waitin' for?" he asked. "Gawd, ye are slummicky. Come on, we've got to get across to-night. To-morrow won't do for this 'ere job."

The party went out, crossed the parapet into No Man's Land and advanced in open order, six yards' interval between each man and his neighbour. Reynolds near the centre of the line, had Flanagan on his right, Bowdy Benners on his left, whilst the sergeant, who led the party, moved warily along, a few yards in advance. From time to time he halted and waited for those who followed to come abreast and issued orders which were passed from the centre to the flanks in whispers. He used the words "damned unlucky" whenever he spoke.

"Spread out from the centre," he cautioned. "The whole party's bunchin' up. If the henemy flings some dirt across, yer'll be damned unlucky."

Again he gave the order "Close in in the centre! You're losing touch. Some of yer'll be goin' in to the German trench all alone; then yer'll be damned unlucky."

Whenever a star-shell rose in air, the raiders flung themselves flat to the ground and waited for the flare to die out. As they went down, they placed the branches over their heads and held them there until the order to advance was given. Lying thus, they were immune from discovery, for an enemy patrol ten yards away would mistake the prone bundles under their covering of branches for derelict bushes which the fury of incessant shell fire had spared.

Star-shells rose at frequent intervals from the enemy lines; the British sent up very few. This was the case all along the line. The enemy, in eternal dread of raids, kept up a continual watch over No Man's Land.

The party, now half way across, lay down, for a starshell rose from the German trench, stood high and lit the derelict levels with the brilliance of day. Then oscillating sleepily from side to side, it dropped a myriad petals of flame and sank lazily to earth.

"They're getting the wind up," said Bowdy Benners, whispering across to Reynolds. "We'll have some dirty work 'fore we come back."

The boy made no answer. Lying prone, he listened to the silence. How calm it was under the great, glorious moon. The levels were in a dream, a dream of Fairyland, and everything save the starshells and the glint of light that played on his rifle barrel was as motionless as though in a realm of frozen enchantment. The night drew closer to the boy; it seemed caressing his young head and body. He even felt sleepy. It would be good to lie there and rest.

His eyes looked out in front on a dead man who lay there, scarcely a yard away. The boy did not feel afraid. That a dead soldier should be there seemed quite natural, in keeping with the new life which the youth had entered.

"I suppose he was killed on a raid," he thought. "I wonder if he was going out or coming back.... What would mother...." He looked at the dead soldier with a fresh interest and his eyes filled with tears.

He saw that the man was dressed in khaki and he lay on his back, his knees up and his bayonet pointing in air. From the bayonet standard to the man's head stretched an unfinished cobweb on which the spider was still busily working, fashioning circle and line. Under the moonlight the web was a brilliant and beautiful dream....

"Come out o' it, Reynold," said the sergeant, who was annoyed because the boy had not heard the first order to advance. "Spread out a little on both sides, for we've got to keep a look-out for a henemy patrol. We're not out on a six months' tour now," he added. "If yer ---- think so, ye're damned unlucky."

The men spread out at the double and lay down again, leaving an interval of some twelve yards between each man and his neighbour. Reynolds lay flat, his hand gripping his rifle. Now and then a breeze rustled across the levels, set the poppy flowers nodding to one another, and died away again. The smell of the wet grasses and the damp earth was in his nostrils, and the narcotic odour of the soil almost lulled him into slumber.

A mouse rustled along the ground in front, in and out amongst the nodding poppy flowers and disappeared. Near him somebody stifled a cough, but the sound struck harshly on his ears. Apart from that, silence and suspense.

He lay flat, his face on his hands, his legs stretched out to their full extent, and listened. Well to the left a mate whistled; something had aroused his suspicions, probably the enemy patrol. A bird rose from the grass, shrieking as if in pain, and flew away. The lights died out; the level fields looked deathlike.

A starshell rose up to the sky and settled over Reynolds' head. Under its light the country seemed to become more immense, it stretched out on all sides into endless distances.... He lost consciousness for an instant.

"Well, the night is very long in passing," he said in an audible voice, opening his eyes for a moment. "I am very sleepy, but if I doze off something may happen."

He had a desire for something exciting to take place, something that would keep him awake. He even felt hungry, and did not particularly want to fight. Even a sleepy boy does not like fighting at two o'clock in the morning on an empty stomach when there was so much to eat near at hand.... How strange that he had not noticed it before. Probably he had been looking in the wrong direction. But there out in front in the midst of the poppies stood a house with the windows brilliantly lighted up and a girl standing at the door. From the way she laughed when he approached he knew that she was glad to see him. She made way and he entered the dining-room, where the table was spread out for dinner. The food was not laid yet, but on a table in the corner he could see a grand array of steaming dishes.

"It's splendid," he said. "Not like army stuff. It's...."

The girl whom he met at the door came into the room, approached the table in the corner, and brought over a plate of soup, which she placed in front of him. He looked for a spoon, but could not find one.

"You've forgotten," he said to the girl. "I haven't got a spoon."

"How stupid of me," she replied. "I'm awfully sorry. I was thinking of something else. But now I'll get a spoon. I always carry a spoon no matter where I go."

"So do I," was Reynolds' answer. "I always carry a knife, fork and spoon in my pack. They're gone now."

The girl disappeared for a moment. When she came into the boy's world again she carried a spoon in her hand.

"This is for you," she laughed. "It's silver-plated with a monogram--your own monogram."

As she spoke she lifted his soup and rushed off with it.

"Come back with the plate," cried Reynolds, rising to his feet. "I haven't eaten yet."

"Don't get excited," she called back over her shoulder, "I'll pass it along in a moment. I'll pass it along, pass it along."

A strange harshness had crept into her voice, and the youth swept back into reality. The man on his right was calling to him.

"Pass it along," he called out in a loud whisper. "Pass it along."

"What's the message?" Reynolds asked.

"The right flank reports seeing an enemy patrol,"

was the answer.

The boy passed the message to the left but got no acknowledgment.

"I suppose the man there is asleep," he muttered. "I'll go along and see him."

He lifted his rifle and stumbled along through the gloom. When a light went up he stood still and waited for the darkness to resume his journey.

"Yes, here he is," he said, when a flare lit up the night and showed him a figure in khaki lying flat on the ground. "Asleep, of course."

"Wake up, man," he shouted, when he reached the motionless figure, bringing his hand down with a smack on the man's back. The shoulders gave way beneath the force of the blow. His hand seemed to sink into the soldier.

"Good God!" he gasped. "It's a dead man."

He left the poor thing hurriedly, found a man asleep, woke him up, delivered the message and made his way back to his post.

The strange experience had unnerved him and he lay down again, feeling that a huge dark form was standing behind him watching every movement on his part. A breeze had risen and the waving grasses wailed a dirge in dismal unison. From somewhere far away a dog whined mournfully.... The order to advance was given.

The men went forward at the double for a space and flung themselves down flat when they reached the enemy's barbed wire entanglements. Those in the centre of the party could not get across; the wires in front of them stood sturdily, untouched by artillery fire.

"Lie low," the sergeant whispered to Bowdy Benners, "and pass the word along to the left. Ask them if there's an openin'. The same message to the right."

The seconds crawled by until the answer came back from the left. "Opening here. Shall we go through?"

"Pass the message to the right and tell them to close up," said the sergeant to Benners. "Also, those on the left, get through and lie down on the other side of the wires until we join them. Pass it along."

The message went its way and the men in the centre followed it, stumbling and crouching low to avoid the eyes of the enemy sentinels. Reaching the opening, they lay down, their heads under the branches, and waited for the party to close in.

Reynolds had a good view of the enemy's trench as he lay on the ground a dozen yards away from the reverse slope of the parapet. He saw the sandbags tilted at strange angles looking for all the world like dead men huddled together in heaps. Immediately in front lay an unexploded shell perched on the rim of a small crater, and near it was a wooden box and a heap of tins. Somebody in the trench was singing a song in a low but clear voice. The night was full of the smell of burning wood; probably the Germans were cooking a meal.... Bowdy Benners and the sergeant lay in front of Reynolds, immovable as statues,--both might have been dead.... Benners turned slowly round and crawled back again with a message.

"When the sergeant lifts his branch and holds it over his head, prepare to advance," he whispered. "Get your bombs ready to throw.... Pass it along to right and left."

Fascinated Reynolds watched the sergeant, saw him lie still as ever for a full minute, then he raised the branch and held it over his head for an instant, brought it down again and got to his feet. As one man the party rushed forward to the rim of the trench and began to fling their bombs in on the occupants. There was one explosion, then a second, a third and a fourth.... The Germans, taken unawares, raced from one bay to another, but the bombers waited for them at every turning. In their eyes the attack might have been delivered by an army corps. Death had crept up in the night out of the unknown. Men fell, yelled in agony, and became silent, their white faces showing ghastly on the floor of the trench when the smoke of the explosions died away.

"Damned good work! Keep at it, boys!" yelled the sergeant, standing on the parapet and drawing a pin from the shoulders of a bomb. "They're damned unlucky this 'ere time."

He threw his missile at a German who was trying to enter the door of a dug-out, and stepped back to avoid the explosion.

"Blimey, it's a barney!" said Bubb, looking down in the trench. He had come to his last bomb, and wanting to "make it tell," he threw it into a dug-out door which showed in the wall of the parados. Followed an explosion accompanied by agonised yelling....

Twenty yards away Reynolds stood on a sandbag, a bomb in his hand, his eyes fixed upon a boy about his own age who, crouching against the wall of the trench, was looking up at him. Reynolds, full of military ardour, had rushed up to the attack when the order was given, and was on the point of flinging the bomb into the trench when he noticed the young German standing motionless, paralysed with fear. Reynolds raised the bomb with the intention of throwing it, then brought it down again. The terrified foe frightened him. In the heat of passion, Reynolds would have killed him, but to take away the life of that shivering, terrified creature was not a job for the youngish newly-out. He gazed at the German, the German returned the gaze, perplexity looked at dread and became horrified. Killing was not an easy matter.

Reynolds drew back a pace, his eyes still fixed on the foe. The battle raged around him; the flash of the bursting bombs almost blinded him, the explosions shook the ground ... the flying splinters sang through the air.

Suddenly the order to retire came down the line; a brown figure rushed up to Reynolds shouting something about "getting out o't," seized the bomb which the youngster held and flung it into the trench on the youthful German.

The party retired hurriedly; their work was completed. "The sooner back the safer," the sergeant yelled. "They'll open up a machine gun now and we'll be damned unlucky if we don't grease back."

Already the enemy's rifles were speaking and bullets swept by with a vicious hiss. The men stumbled through the opening in the barbed wires and rushed into the levels. Benners and Reynolds ran out together chuckling, pleased, no doubt, at the success of their enterprise. Bubb and Flanagan followed; the latter had lost his rifle and vowed that he was always unlucky.

Suddenly Reynolds fell headlong to the ground. He was on his feet immediately and rushing forward again.

"It's the damned wires," said Flanagan. "They're scattered all over the place."

As he spoke, Reynolds went down for the second time, but did not rise again. Benners came to a halt and stooped over him.

"Are you hit, chummy?" he asked.

"I got it through the breast," the boy replied. "It was that which brought me down the last time, not the wires."

Reynolds was surrounded now by his comrades. He was sitting half upright, his head sinking towards his knees, the martial elation of a few minutes ago utterly gone.

"Well, chummy, you'll be all right in time for breakfast," said Bubb, who expected that these words would buoy up the youngster's courage. But Reynolds seemed to pay no heed, a cold and sorrowful expression settled on his white face, which looked strange and unearthly in the light of the moon. The sergeant cut open the youth's tunic and looked at the wound, which showed red over the heart. There was very little bleeding.

"Oh! you'll be all right in no time," said the sergeant in a voice which was strangely soft and kind.

"No, no," said the boy, in a scarcely audible whisper. "Leave me to myself, please.... I'll not live very long.... It's too near the heart."

These were the last words which the men heard him speak. Ten minutes later he had passed away.

* * * * *

"I knowed it would pan out that way," said Bubb, as he sat in his dug-out two hours later drinking hot tea from his sooty messtin.

It was dawn, the sun came up red in the east and the dewdrops glittered like diamonds on the levels.

"'Twas the same wiv old Stumpy. 'E was the third man to light 'is fag wiv the same match," said Bill. "Then 'e went up to the trenches an' 'e was shot dead."

"It's all damned rot," said Flanagan. "I knew men getting killed who never smoked a fag."

"I had a feeling that Reynolds was going under, anyway," said Benners. "And he was such a good boy, too."

"I liked him better than I cared to say," said Flanagan. "He was as eager as hell. And he's dead. He didn't have much of a run for his money."

"Takin' it all in all, we're not so blurry badly off," said Bubb. "I wunner if we're goin' ter get relieved soon. I 'ope so, anyway."