On the right of the British line Part 16

I did not know at the time, of course, what had become of Arnold; but I found out later.

Fearing I was dying when I lapsed into unconsciousness again, after my fit of vomiting, he decided under cover of darkness to try and find his way back to the British lines to bring me aid.

After stumbling about in and out of sh.e.l.l-holes, he suddenly saw the barrel of a rifle pointing at him from a trench close by, and following him as he moved; and a moment later he was a prisoner.

Understanding German, he told his captors that I was lying out in No Man's Land, and begged them to send me medical aid; and they answered that stretcher-bearers would be sent to make a search.

Whether the stretcher-bearers were sent or not I do not know; but if they were, they were not successful in finding me; for to the best of my belief it was on the Monday morning that I again regained consciousness, to find myself alone--two days after I had been shot.

It is difficult for me to describe my feelings when I found myself alone. I had no pain, I seemed to feel very small and the world very large. I sat up and felt my head; my face felt twice its usual size, and seemed sticky and clammy with earth and blood.

Everything was so silent.

There was a great lump of hardened blood where the rough field dressing covered my right eye; my left cheek, nose, and lips were swollen tremendously.

Whether it was night or day I did not know. But I knew I was blind. I tried to collect my thoughts and to reason out my position.

Where was the German line, and where was the British? I knew that I must be a considerable distance from the British line; but which direction it was in, I could not tell.

If I were to crawl, which way should I go and where should I find myself? Better to make the attempt and take my chance, than lie where I was. On my hands and knees I tried to crawl up the side of the sh.e.l.l-hole. But I had not reckoned on my weakness; the world was so large and I was so small.

Before I could reach the top my strength gave out, and I slid to the bottom. Again and again I tried, and with each attempt I kept slipping back, each time, bringing with me a pile of loose earth.

At last I realised how hopeless it all was, with so little strength.

And unable even to reach to the top of the sh.e.l.l-hole, how could I hope ever to reach the British line across the sea of sh.e.l.l-holes which intervened? I seemed so far from everything; though little did I dream at the time that German soldiers were within a few yards of me in the trench from which I had driven them by such desperate efforts two days before--two days! Surely it was two years!

Then my fate dawned upon me. Of course the end was quite logical. This was the end; it could not be otherwise. Had I not made up my mind it would come? Surely I did before I started? Was I not shot through the head and left to die? Well, this was the proper place to die. But what surprised me was that the thought of dying seemed so comforting.

I was so weary, and death seemed so peaceful.

I have heard people say that when a person is drowning, after the first frantic struggles are over, a delightful sensation of peacefulness comes over him, and he ceases to desire to help himself.

That was how I felt at that moment. This sh.e.l.l-hole was my grave.

Well, it seemed quite right and proper.

The idea of getting back to life after suffering so many deaths seemed very unreasonable. My sensations were those of one who had awakened to find himself buried alive. To be alive at all was cheating death, which held me firmly in its grip. Better to accept it and wait calmly for the end.

The life of the world seemed so far away from me. My family, my home, my friends and scenes that I used to know so well seemed in a misty past, a long, long way away--a different age.

After all, it did not matter very much. It was all so very long ago.

It had all happened long ago. My absence was an accepted fact; I was now a memory.

Now, I have already said that I awoke refreshed. I will say, further, that I was never so clear-headed in my life. I had little power in my limbs. My brain was never more calm and calculating and indifferent to the death which I knew was at hand.

It was not nerve, because I had none. It had nothing to do with the question of pluck or cowardice. It was simply the state of the brain before its last kick. I had ceased to resist my fate; I accepted it. I was not dead yet--but I was to die there, and that was to be my grave.

I began to think out calmly in what way my life would flicker out, and I concluded that it would come as a result of my wound during a period of unconsciousness, or by the slower process of thirst, starvation, and exposure. In the latter case I should probably have violent spasms or struggles. I had better prepare myself.

I was lying in a very uncomfortable position. There was a pile of loose earth, which stuck against my body awkwardly. With my hands and feet I scooped it out until my body lay comfortably in a hollow, with the loose earth forming a sort of bed. In doing this I found a water-bottle. Arnold must have left it behind for me. There was only a drain in it, which I drank, and threw the bottle away.

I next searched my pockets for food and found a small crust, the remains of what had been my food the day before the attack. I placed this carefully in my pocket for use at the time when I should experience the final pangs of starvation. My own water-bottle still contained about half a pint of water. I placed this on the ground, close to where my face would be, so that I could clutch it readily.

These preparations over, my brain began to get tired. There was nothing else to be done; everything was ready. I would lie down now and wait for the end. I laid my head on the ground, using the side of the sh.e.l.l-hole as a pillow.

I was very comfortable, the soft earth seemed almost like a bed. After all, I was a lucky fellow to be able to die in a comfortable way like this. I wondered how long it would really be--days more, perhaps, but still I could wait. Yes, the life of the world was a very long way away; after all, it did not matter.

How long I waited in this position I do not know, but it suddenly occurred to me that I was pa.s.sing away, and for a moment all the old scenes came closer. They were pa.s.sing by in a sort of procession.

A sudden impulse caused me to raise myself into a sitting position. I waved my hand above my head and shouted out, "Good-bye." The procession was over. I lay down again and waited for the end.

CHAPTER XX

AT THE MERCY OF THE HUN--AND AFTER

A BASIN OF SOUP. HOSPITAL AT ST. QUENTIN. THE "OPEN SESAME"

A moment or two later something occurred which caused my wearied brain to be roused again into activity. What could it mean?

I was again thinking hard, listening intently; something undefinable had happened to suddenly revive my mental condition. Had I pa.s.sed away, and was this the next life? I felt like one who had awakened out of a dream in the dead of night, conscious that some one or something was moving near him.

"Englishman! Kamarade!"

Great G.o.d! I was found!

Had I the strength I should probably have screamed with joy, for that was my impulse at hearing a human voice. A second later and my feeling was to shrink from discovery. Surrender? Was it then to come to this, after all?

I did not answer; it was not necessary.

He must have heard me shout; he must know where I am. I was unarmed and helpless; what need to answer such a call? He would probably seek me, and I should be found without need to foul my lips with an answer.

And then I felt that it was not my life that was being saved, but a lingering death avoided by a murderous, but quick despatch. Well, perhaps it was better it should come that way.

Presently I heard some one crawling towards me. A few pebbles rolled down the slope, and there was silence again. I felt that he was looking down at me. Again a shuffle, and a quant.i.ty of loose earth rolled down the slope, and he was sliding down towards me.

The supreme moment had arrived. Would it be a bullet or a bayonet thrust; and where would it strike me?

I lay perfectly still. He seemed to be bending over me undecidedly. I thought he might believe me dead and go away without finishing me off, to seek the cause of the shout elsewhere.

I raised myself on my elbow and turned my face towards him. Then, to my astonishment he put his arms around my body and raised me up. What strange wonder was this? He put my arm around his neck, and with his own arm around my body, he raised me to my feet. But I could not stand. Then, placing both arms firmly around me, he dragged me out of the sh.e.l.l-holes. I felt myself being dragged several yards, and then he stopped.

I heard many voices talking below me. What would happen next. Then several hands caught hold of me, and I was lifted into a trench.

Some one gave an order, and I was dragged along the trench and around a corner. More voices seemed to come from still farther below. Some one picked hold of my feet, and I was carried down several steps. I was in a dugout.

It seemed warm and cosy. There were officers around me. Here must be the company commander whom I had driven away two days before. Now he could take his revenge. What mercy could I hope from him?