A Lively Bit of the Front Part 27

Gradually the sensation of dizziness diminished, and it dawned upon Malcolm that he was still a prisoner. Everywhere the field-grey uniforms were conspicuous, but even that discovery did not explain the deep silence.

Making another effort, the rifleman sat up. The blanket that covered him had slipped off. From the waist upwards he was dest.i.tute of clothing. His skin was as yellow as that of a Chinese.

On the straw to his right was a Hun whose right leg had been badly injured. The man was trying to attract Malcolm's attention, but although his lips were moving no words fell upon the lad's ears.

In vain the New Zealander tried to reply. If he spoke he was unaware of it. The sound of his own voice was absent. He was deaf and dumb.

When Malcolm was thrown by the concussion of the bursting sh.e.l.l, he alighted in the trench he had left, unconscious, his uniform partly torn off, and his face and body dyed with the yellow fumes. In this state he lay insensible for several hours. When the bombardment cleared, the threatened infantry a.s.sault did not materialize. It was not intended that it should, the object of the artillery activity being to keep the Germans pinned to that section of their defences while other operations were being carried out in another part of the line. So, when the guns died down to a desultory sh.e.l.ling, the Huns set to work to clear up the badly-damaged trenches.

While the wounded were being removed, a couple of Prussian Poles, who were employed as ambulance-men, placed Malcolm on a stretcher, and threw a discarded greatcoat over his legs, not realizing that he was an enemy, since the remnants of his khaki uniform were indistinguishable from the field-grey after they had been "chromed"

by the fumes of bursting sh.e.l.ls. Otherwise it is doubtful whether the stretcher-bearers would have removed a wounded enemy. Without the discovery being made, the New Zealander was taken to the German advance dressing-station, and his injuries dressed, and thus he found himself wounded and a prisoner.

It was later in the evening when Malcolm was taken by motor-ambulance to a railway station twenty miles behind the lines.

With him were about twenty Prussians, Saxons, and Wurtemburgers, whose demeanour was one of extreme dejection. Their wounds, although serious, were not of a nature to debar them from further military service. They realized that they were going to be patched up in order to be again sent to the front, more than likely to the terrible Ypres district. Now that they were wounded they bemoaned the fact that their injuries were not greater, and envied those of their comrades who were permanently disabled and unfit for further service in the field.

"Wonder what Fortescue would say if he saw me in these togs?"

thought Malcolm as he surveyed the German greatcoat and trousers with which he was provided on arriving at the station. "And Selwyn?

'Not too much of that, Digger'--that's what he'd chuck at me. I shouldn't be surprised if the Huns take me for one of themselves."

Which was exactly what they were doing.

For two hours the ever-increasing throng of wounded waited in the station. Momentarily men dropped, to be left to the rough-and-ready attentions of their comrades. The few doctors and their a.s.sistants, utterly fatigued by reason of the long and continual strain, were almost useless as far as their duties were concerned. Once again the German machine of thoroughness and precision had broken down.

At last a hospital train drew up just outside the station. To Malcolm's surprise the Red Cross carriages disgorged a battalion of fully-equipped troops. Fearing attacks from British airmen, the German High Command had given orders that, as far as possible, troops were to be moved toward the Front in hospital trains, while, to bring up additional machine-guns with the least danger and delay, the motor-ambulances, still displaying the symbol that all unkultured nations respect, were employed to their utmost capacity.

The train then ran into the station, and the entrainment of the wounded commenced. Beyond the red cross on the sides and tops of the carriages there was nothing to distinguish the train from any other.

Marshalled in military formation, the "walking cases" boarded the carriages, which were similar to the fourth-cla.s.s compartments of the German State Railways--hard wooden seats not excepted.

Of the next twelve hours Malcolm had no clear recollection. Frequent stoppages were the only respite to the otherwise incessant jolting.

At one station very inferior bread and watery soup were served out.

Beyond that the wretched "cannon-fodder" went hungry until the train drew up at a large town that Malcolm afterwards knew to be Frankfort.

Here the conditions in hospital were pa.s.sable, although food was poor and meagre; but Rifleman Carr made progress, and in less than a week he had recovered from the effect of his wounds except for his speech and hearing.

Several times doctors and nurses wrote questions for him to answer, but, not understanding German, he could only shake his head. Taken for a Saxon suffering from sh.e.l.l-shock, he was afterwards left severely alone as far as conversation was concerned.

One morning an orderly went round the ward distributing postcards to enable the patients to write to their relations and friends.

"Wonder if I can get a letter through to New Zealand?" thought Malcolm. "I'll have a cut at it anyhow."

Greatly to the curiosity of an observant nurse, the lad obtained a postcard, and wrote to his father, signing himself "R/m 99,109, Malcolm Carr, N.Z.R.B., prisoner of war."

The nurse, puzzled that the patient could write and yet be unable to read, called a doctor's attention to the fact, and Malcolm's postcard was kept back for examination.

Within five minutes the hospital ward was in a state of uproar, for the discovery had been made that an enemy was enjoying the same treatment and attention as a good German. After being subjected to a searching and protracted examination, the questions being written in English, Malcolm was summarily "fired out" to an unknown destination.

Escorted by two Landsturmers, and garbed in very motley attire, the New Zealander was marched through the streets to the railway station, and after a six-hour journey the train stopped at a small station that, from the name on the _Fahrkartenausgabe_, was called Duren. In what part of Germany Duren was situated Malcolm had not the faintest idea. He had yet to learn that it was a small town in Rhenish Prussia roughly midway between Aix-la-Chapelle and Cologne.

The prisoner kept his eyes open during his progress through the narrow streets. Everywhere were signs of industrial activity. The workshops were disgorging their occupants--old men, women, and children, whose emaciated features contrasted vividly with those of the prosperous munition-workers in Great Britain. At the outskirts of the town was a large, newly-erected factory, from which Gotha machines, their wings folded for transit, were being taken away in large motor-lorries, while sandwiched between the building and the outskirts of the town proper was a large barbed-wire compound within which were rows of wooden huts.

This was Malcolm's prison camp. So great was the Huns' fear of air raids over the industrial towns of the Rhine valley that several of the larger places of detention for prisoners of war had been broken up, and the men sent to numerous small camps in close proximity to towns within the radius of hostile airmen.

"This will be a tight hole to squeeze through," soliloquized the new arrival, as he noted the elaborate precautions taken against any attempt on the part of the prisoners to escape. The double gateway was strongly guarded by armed troops, a.s.sisted by a particularly ferocious-looking type of dog. Between the outer and inner rectangular fences, a distance of fifty feet, more guards kept vigilant watch; while at frequent intervals tall look-out boxes had been erected to enable the sentries to keep the whole of the camp under observation. Both fences were made of barbed wire, supported by ma.s.sive posts, and so Criss-crossed that even a cat would have had considerable difficulty in creeping through without injury from the sharp spikes.

Having handed over their charge, the two Landsturmers were given a receipt for the delivery of the prisoner, and then dismissed.

Malcolm's latest jailers were four stolid-looking Prussians, who, badly wounded in Flanders, had been retained as guards at the camp.

By them the New Zealander was conducted to a building just within the second or inner gate. Here he was registered and given a number, and afterwards subjected to perfunctory examination by a doctor, who, finding that the prisoner exhibited no trace of infection or contagious disease, pa.s.sed him as a fit inmate of the camp. In an adjoining room he was given a large sack and a filthy horse-cloth.

The former, when filled with straw, was to serve as a bed; the latter was his one and only blanket. A printed list, in English, of the numerous rules and regulations was then handed to him, and the initiation ceremony of the new member of the Duren Prison Camp was completed.

Escorted by an armed orderly, Malcolm was taken down the broad central road. A few prisoners in khaki rigs were standing disconsolately at the doors of the huts. Most of them shouted a rough but well-meaning greeting to the new arrival, to which Malcolm, understanding the purport of the unheard words, replied by a wave of his hand. In vain Rifleman Carr looked for a New Zealand uniform: these were mostly Tommies and Jocks, a sprinkling of Canadians, and two West Indians; Anzacs seemed to be unrepresented in the motley throng of captives.

Presently Malcolm's escort halted, pointed to one of the numbers on the prisoner's card, and then to a corresponding number on the door of a hut. It was an intimation to the effect that, during the pleasure of the All Highest, Rifleman Carr was to be his guest in hut No. 7 of the Duren Detention Camp.

"What's the latest, chum?" enquired a Tommy as Malcolm entered.

"Blow me if 'e ain't barmy!"

"Rot!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed another. "He's deaf. What's his regiment, I wonder? Come on, chaps, let's make the poor beggar comfortable."

"A jolly hard thing to do in this rotten hole," added a third.

"Who's got a pencil?"

A stump was presently forthcoming, and, writing upon a piece of brown paper, the last speaker, a sergeant of an English line regiment, contrived to get in touch with the new arrival.

"He's a New Zealander," he announced to his companions. "Isn't there one of their chaps in No. 4? I'll give him the tip."

So saying, the good-natured non-com. left the hut, to return with a tall, bearded man, whose uniform was sufficiently intact to indicate that he belonged to the New Zealand Rifle Brigade. Even his hat was tolerably well preserved, even to the encircling red cord.

For a few minutes the two men from "Down Under" stood facing each other, astonishment and incredulity written in their faces. Then, with a loud bang, something seemed to give way in Malcolm's ears.

With a vehemence that surprised himself, Malcolm Carr almost shouted the name of "Peter!"

The next instant the brothers were shaking hands and rapping out questions, to the surprise of the other occupants of the hut, who had suspicions that they were the victims of a practical joke.

"I don't know that it's so very remarkable after all," declared the Sergeant. "Plenty of fellows, deaf and dumb through concussion, have recovered speech and hearing by a shock of some sort. My word, those Diggers can talk!"

He crossed the room to where the brothers were exchanging experiences.

"Look here," he said. "I'm in charge of this hut, and my pal Jeffson is responsible for No. 4. After roll-call I'll arrange for you (indicating Malcolm) to doss in No. 4, and get another man from there to take your place here. Only, if you don't want to get me into a regular row with the camp commandant, take care to slip back before morning roll-call."

Peter Carr's greatest concern was the fact that he had never received a letter or parcel from New Zealand. He had written several times, but Malcolm was able to inform him that, up to a comparatively recent date, their father had not heard anything about Peter beyond the official statement that he was wounded and missing.

"I say," remarked the elder Carr in the course of the evening, "we'll have to make a change--a shift round. I've a Canuk for my linked man."

"Linked man?" echoed Malcolm. "What's that?"

"We're expecting and hoping for a raid," explained Peter. "Only three nights ago we heard bombs dropping on Julich, which is but a few miles away. So if some of our airmen do make a stunt, we'll take our chances of being blown up and make a dash for liberty. Since it would be madness for the whole crush to keep together, we've arranged to separate, if we do get clear, and work in pairs.

Everything's all cut and dry, and we are told off in twos; but I'll push the Canadian on to the previous odd man out, and we'll stick together."

It was long after midnight when the reunited brothers ended their conversation. Nor did sleep follow quickly as far as Malcolm was concerned. It was not the constant clatter of machinery and the rasping of dozens of circular saws in the adjoining factories that kept him awake, but the excitement of the day, culminating in the discovery of his elder brother, whom he had regarded as dead for months past.