A Lively Bit of the Front Part 14

"Although it was night, the place was lit up as brightly as anything; a continuous slap-up of bursting sh.e.l.ls and streams of liquid fire. I heard afterwards that our battalion was given orders to fall back and adjust the line, but certain it was that we never had any commands to retire."

"Then I got it properly. Shrap in the left arm and both legs. Went down like a felled ox, and lay there until my puttees--which I started to unroll but didn't finish--began smouldering. Things were looking and feeling bit warmer than usual when your brother nipped up. Remember, none of the boys were firing. There was nothing to let rip at. The Boche guns simply let us have it, and their counter-attack hadn't developed. If they were about to counter-attack we couldn't see them. The smoke was too thick for that, although, as I said before, we could see everything within twenty yards or so. Our only indication of the Huns trying to rush us was when their guns lifted and put up a barrage behind us.".

"Peter never said a word. For one thing, there was such a terrific din going on that you'd have had to shout close to a fellow's ear to make him understand; for another, your brother had got it in the jaw. Nothing much, I should say, as buckshies go nowadays, but still it was enough to look unpleasant."

"He finished unwinding my puttees and threw them away. I can smell them now, smouldering under my nose. Then he began hauling me towards a sh.e.l.l-hole, when down he went, all of a heap, shot through the ankle."

"After a bit he raised himself and pointed towards the crater we were making for, and we both started to crawl for it. By Jingo, didn't that journey give me gee-up while it lasted! Then, just as we were close to the sh.e.l.l-hole, a 'crump' burst somewhere close, and I remembered nothing more until I found myself in the advance dressing-station. Two men of C Company, Pat O'Connor and Sandy Anderson--both from Taranaki--brought me in, I was told afterwards, and I met them while I was in hospital at Brockenhurst. They were certain they never saw Sergeant Peter Carr."

"The Germans drove us in with their counter-attack, didn't they?"

asked Fortescue.

"Aye, but we ousted them next morning," replied Travers, "and out of Flers as well. That's when Pat O'Connor copped it; but he swears that none of our fellows were left alive during the retirement in the woods."

"Then you think that Peter was killed?" asked Malcolm.

Travers squared his shoulders.

"Speaking as man to man," he replied, "I don't think there can be the faintest doubt about it. And Peter Carr was a downright good sort... . How about it, you fellows? Good for a game of a 'hundred up'?"

CHAPTER XIV

The Anzacs' Hoax

For the next few weeks events moved rapidly. With the belated arrival of the Thirty-somethingth reinforcement, Malcolm Carr and d.i.c.k Selwyn found themselves reverted to the ranks. Fortescue, by virtue of having seen active service, still retained his stripes.

Rumours of something great in the nature of a stunt about to take place gained credence from the fact that the men were put through their final training as quickly as possible. The "Diggers" accepted the "speeding up" with alacrity. They realized that the sooner they completed their arduous "field exercises" the sooner they would attain their ambition to "put it across Fritz".

The spring gave place to early summer, a spell of beautifully fine weather, so much so that the mud of Salisbury Plain vanished, and the green gra.s.s of the rolling downs turned russet for lack of rain.

Yet, in spite of the heat, bayonet practice, bombing instruction, and long route marches kept the men lean, active, and in the very pink of condition.

"_Ehoa!_ It's Sling."

The announcement ran like wildfire along the line of huts. It meant that the transfer of the brigade to Sling Camp was another milestone in the long trek to the Front.

It is futile to attempt to find Sling on the pre-war maps of Salisbury Plain. A large town of mushroom growth, it had been one of the places inseparably a.s.sociated with New Zealand's part in the Great War. To the man who had yet to undergo his baptism of fire, Sling meant proficiency for the firing-line. To the wounded New Zealander recovering from wounds, being ordered to Sling meant that he was considered fit to "I get one back on Fritz". In brief, Sling Camp was a piece of New Zealand soil planted in England, where the pick of the manhood of the Southern Dominion forgathered for the final polishing touches of the n.o.ble profession of arms.

Before June was far advanced word went round that the brigade was to cross the Channel and go into camp at "Etaps"--as etaples is almost uniformly designated by the khaki lads. Again rumour spoke truthfully, for at four o'clock the next afternoon the "Diggers"

were ordered to entrain for Southampton.

"Wonder if there's any chance of looking round Southampton?" asked Selwyn. "I've a second cousin there."

Fortescue smiled grimly.

"No, you don't, my d.i.n.ky lad," he replied. "After Muizenberg we steer clear of your relations. As a matter of fact, they'll push us straight on board a transport, and she'll sail as soon as it gets dark."

The train, upon arrival at the place of embarkation, ran straight into the docks, and brought up close to one of the many transports that were berthed there with banked fires ready to sail at any hour of the day or night.

In full marching order the men trooped up the gangways, divested themselves of their packs, and made themselves as comfortable as possible for their twelve or fourteen hours' voyage. Within the s.p.a.ce of two hours twelve hundred troops, both Australians and New Zealanders, were embarked.

"Good-bye, Blighty!" shouted an Anzac. "Shan't see you again for many a long day."

"Stow your jaw and get your life-belt," ordered a non-com. "You'll be in the soup if the platoon commander finds you without it."

The wire hawsers were cast off. A couple of tugs began straining at their huge charge, and slowly the transport drew away from the side of the dock. Then, gathering speed, she slipped down the land-locked expanse of Southampton Water, through the fort-guarded Spithead, and gained the English Channel.

"We'll be airing our French by this time tomorrow," declared Malcolm.

"For the preservation of the Entente we would be wise to keep our mouths shut," said Selwyn. "From what I remember, Malcolm, you were last but one in French at the Coll."

"And you?"

"Absolutely the last," admitted Selwyn.

"Talking of French," began Fortescue, "reminds me of something that happened to me at Plug Street. Hallo, what's the move now?"

Fortescue's narrative, or rather attempted narrative, of what occurred at Plug Street was somewhat remarkable. On three previous occasions Malcolm and Selwyn had heard him commencing the tale, and each time something had occurred to "switch him off."

It was no ordinary interruption on this occasion. The transport had altered helm and was turning to starboard, with her bows pointing towards the Foreland end of The Wight. Still porting helm, she swung round until she reversed her former direction, then, standing on her course, began to make for Spithead once more.

"What's up now?" was the enquiry on the lips of hundreds of men.

"One of the bra.s.s hats' has dropped his toothbrush overboard and we're going back to look for it," declared a South Australian.

"Corker, my boy, you were too sharp on your bead when you chortled, 'Good-bye, Blighty!'"

Presently it transpired that the transport had received a wireless message ordering her to return to Southampton, as four German submarines had been reported lying in wait at a distance of ten Miles south of the Nab Lightship. Since the night was pitch dark, the escorting ships could not carry out their protective duties with the same degree of efficiency as usual. In the circ.u.mstances prudence directed the temporary abandonment of the cross-channel voyage.

It was one o'clock in the morning when the transport berthed in the Empress Dock. Orders were given for the troops to disembark and proceed to the large rest camp on the outskirts of Southampton.

Disappointed though they were, the men maintained their cheerfulness, and before the long column was clear of the dock gates they were cheering, laughing, and shouting frantically, despite all attempts on the part of their officers to enforce silence.

Up the long High Street the khaki-clad troops marched boisterously.

The inhabitants, roused from their sleep by the unusual clamour, flocked to the windows. Many a time had they seen troops fully equipped proceeding _towards_ the docks; never since the outbreak of hostilities had they seen soldiers in heavy marching order tramping in column of fours away from the place of embarkation.

"What's up?" was the oft-repeated enquiry from the invisible heights of many a darkened window in the High Street.

"Haven't you heard?" shouted a bull-voiced Anzac. "Peace is declared, and we're the first troops home from the Front."

At the prospect of a gigantic hoax others took up the mendacious parable, and long before the men reached their destination for the night the startling news had spread far and wide. It was not until the arrival of the morning papers that the good folk of Southampton realized that they had been "properly had".

The enforced detention at Southampton, was, however, not without certain compensations. The men were allowed out of camp during the following afternoon, a boon they thoroughly appreciated.

Selwyn had seized upon the opportunity to visit his relations, but when fie again invited Malcolm and Fortescue to accompany him they begged to be excused, and wandered round the town instead.

Old Southampton was both a surprise and a revelation to Malcolm Carr. Coming from a country where a fifty-year-old building is considered to be old, the sight of the fourteenth-century walls and fortified gates filled him with enthusiasm, while Fortescue was able to explain the nature of the various architectural features.