With Haig on the Somme Part 28

"No, you go first, old man."

"See you hanged before I do," was Dennis's blunt response, and with an "Oh, very well," Bob Dashwood grabbed the leather sling, and, lowering himself to the ground, was caught by Tiddler in his outstretched arms.

The other two dropped at the same moment, Dennis smothering a groan as his head seemed to open and shut from the jar.

"It'll save time, sir, if you'll carry my pack," said Harry Hawke, with a backward glance at the brewery. "Make a chair, Tid, and look slippy"; and before he quite knew what was happening the two privates had joined hands, and Bob Dashwood was being carried forward at a run across that deadly No Man's Land.

"First stop, British trench, Tiddler!" sang out the irrepressible Hawke, as they blundered along the side of a crater. "We'd given you up as a bad job, sir. Lord! You ought to see A Company. Don't believe there's more than thirty of us left." And a strain of gloomy seriousness vibrated in the speaker's voice.

"Yes, I know," said Captain Bob savagely, adding sharply, "Bear away to the left here."

"Beg pardon, sir, but that's our trench yonder," expostulated his bearers.

"Quite so," said Bob Dashwood. "But do you hear that?"

Under the perpetual thunder of the guns a sudden low roar came out of the darkness at right angles to the trench for which they had been making--the eager clamouring of hoa.r.s.e voices, and many of them.

"That's the Australian Division on its way to storm that infernal brewery, and we must stop them at any cost."

"Lumme! They'll want a bit of stopping," muttered Tiddler through his nose. "They're more likely to stop us. Them Anzac blokes don't let much gra.s.s grow in front of their bayonets."

"Dennis," sang out the Captain, "get on ahead and see what you can do with them; and you, lads, put me down and go forward with my brother.

I'm only an incubus."

"No, sir," replied Harry Hawke firmly. "You ain't no nincomp.o.o.p. It's only an orficer's voice those chaps will listen to. We'll carry you right enough."

The trench from which the Australian Division was advancing branched off northward, and as Dennis sprinted forward to meet them he could make out the first rush tearing across the broken ground, yelling like fiends.

Still running, he shrilled out the order to halt on his whistle again and again, without result, and then as a hand gripped his throat, he felt the cold barrel of a revolver clapped to his throbbing forehead, and an angry voice with a colonial tw.a.n.g in it cried, "Who are you, blowing calls on our front? Is this another German wheeze?"

"I am an officer of the Reedshires, and we've had it badly!" shouted Dennis, as he clutched his opponent in his turn. "We're pretty well wiped out, but it's nothing to what you'll get if you don't stop your men. That building you're making for is mined. The moment you reach it they'll blow the whole show sky high."

"Nonsense, you're pulling my leg," said the voice incredulously. "Don't you know we're making history?"

"History be blowed! You're making fools of yourselves!" cried the lad.

"Loose my throat, or I'll let you have it!"

"Hallo, that sounds like Dennis Dashwood!" said another voice out of the surge that raced by them, and a broad-shouldered corporal pulled up short.

"What, Dunn--do you know this man?" said the Australian Captain, releasing his grip.

"Yes, sir, he's my cousin," said Dan Dunn. "What's wrong, Dennis?"

Dennis hurriedly repeated his warning, and as three rockets sailing up from the German lines showed Bob and his bearers shouldering their way perilously forward within an ace of being bayoneted at every step, Captain Dashwood lifted up his voice, and the two privates joined in.

The testimony was overwhelming, and although the fire-eating Anzacker was only half convinced, he reluctantly blew a call, and told Corporal Dunn to find the C.O.

"If you've made a fool of us you'll have to go through the hoop," said the Australian savagely, as the call was taken up along the charging line, which flattened out and said things loudly.

And then the angry Captain suddenly thrust out his hand.

"Sorry, old man," he said. "You were right, and I take it all back."

There was no malice in the hearty squeeze with which Dennis met the proffered fingers as they all flung themselves on their faces.

Von Dussel, half blinded by a British sh.e.l.l which dropped close beside him as he knelt, knew that to stay any longer was to court death.

Something had happened to delay the expected division, but he had a little matter of private revenge which must not be neglected.

"Now, you Dashwoods, you! You have interfered with me too long," he muttered with a vindictive glitter in his grey eyes. "Up you go!" And he fired the fuse!

There was a dull boom. A strange shiver seemed to pa.s.s over all that sh.e.l.l-torn ground, and with an extraordinary roar the earth lifted skyward, thousands of tons of it rising in a weird black ma.s.s flecked with tongues of crimson flame. Higher and higher it mounted, preceded by dense black smoke that afterwards hung for an hour or more above the battlefield. Woods and trenches, men lying out dead in the open--the whole landscape was reddened by the glare, and as it faded out the debris from the explosion rained over a wide radius in a deadly shower.

Chimney, buildings, barbed wire, everything had disappeared, and where the brewery had stood the moment before a huge crater now yawned.

"You admit there was something in it, after all," said Dennis, unable to repress a ring of exultation in his voice.

"Gee-whiz! I'll admit anything you like," replied his new acquaintance.

"There would have been some heavy hearts in Queensland if you hadn't come along to-night. But, say, there goes the order for us to occupy that hole. See you later on, I hope, Dashwood."

"I hope so," responded Dennis, as the Australian Division sprang up and bolted forward to dig themselves in.

"Now, lads, if you don't mind giving me another lift," said Bob. "It's about time we were getting home. What do you say, Dennis?"

Dennis said nothing. He was holding his head in both hands; that last explosion had left him more than ever convinced that it would fall into two halves if he were not very careful.

And meanwhile, Von Dussel, with an evil grin, was making his way to the German headquarters to report to General Von Bingenhammer that an English sh.e.l.l had exploded the mine before the Anzac Division had reached the brewery.

"Ah, you Dashwoods, you!" he murmured, rolling the name round his tongue as though it were a sweetmeat, "I should like to go to sleep, for I am very tired, but I should not like to be sleeping as sound as you.

Himmel! You must have lived a lifetime in that last half-hour on earth!"

Somewhere about the moment when the scoundrel was indulging in those pleasant reflections, Bob's bearers had reached the British parapet, and, helping the Captain over, they set him down for a moment with a grunt of relief.

"I have no words for you, boys," he said. "But your devotion shall not be forgotten."

"'Arf a mo, sir," interrupted Harry Hawke, with an expressive wink at Tiddler, and they had him up again between them in the twinkle of an eye.

"No, no," expostulated Bob Dashwood. "I shall do very well now."

"Yus, sir, but we shan't!" said Hawke, with a sheepish grin. "We must carry you a bit farther to save our skins"; and a light began to dawn on their officer.

Farther along the trench, which spades and feverish hands were strengthening, two men stood, and the Senior Captain knew that the moment he dreaded had come.

Brigadier-General Dashwood, very set and stern, his heart struggling between pride at the fine fight his battalion had put up and sorrow at the heavy losses they had sustained, cleared his throat as he put a question to the other man.

With the Brigadier it was duty first and private interest afterwards, but now that everything had been done he spoke.

"By the way, Littlewood, I don't see either of my boys," he said; and a spasm crossed the face of the Senior Captain as he looked out over the parapet.