With Haig on the Somme Part 36

Dennis's blood boiled at the coa.r.s.e indignity, but the man stood rigid without the slightest sign of resentment; and when the beast had pa.s.sed, he quietly wiped his face with his chalk-stained sleeve.

A sharp command came down the line, everyone turned to his right, and away they shuffled--that grey-green battalion, with Dennis in the middle of them!

For a long distance they stumbled mechanically through trenches and a labyrinth of mystifying communications, until the head of the column reached a light railway, where a train of open trucks was waiting.

The sound of escaping steam mingled with the perpetual thunder of guns, and the train seemed to stretch away in never-ending perspective along a chalk cutting.

Hoping against hope to the last minute that something would happen, almost praying in his heart that one of those whistling sh.e.l.ls might fall in their midst and, tearing up the lines, so stop their going, he realised how lonely one can be even in the midst of a crowd.

Already the leading companies were entraining, and a hum of voices rose as the non-commissioned officers drove the men like sheep, with their rifles held crosswise, now and then pounding some bungler in the ribs with the b.u.t.t end.

Even if he had been able to slip aside, he knew that to stay in that place was to court certain discovery; and now no alternative was left him, as half a dozen shouting sergeants cut off his retreat, and with a wildly beating heart Dennis Dashwood climbed up into the nearest truck with a herd of unwashed, unshaven enemies, packed tightly almost to suffocation.

Then he grasped the side of the wagon as a great jolt ran along the train from end to end, and the couplings tightened.

The 307th Reserve Battalion was on its way to fight the French, and Dennis was going with them!

CHAPTER XXVII

On the Part Dennis Played in the Recapture of Biaches

It was growing dark now, and the rolling country through which they pa.s.sed became rapidly blurred. The white excavations that here and there marked the presence of a trench were like a child's scribbling on a slate, if the occasional glow of a brazier had not told Dennis that those trenches were full of men, all waiting to repulse the great Allied push.

He was happier now that the night was at hand, for it lessened his chances of being recognised; but most of all was he pleased that no one seemed to bother his head about him--no one entered into conversation.

For all that his condition was one of cramped discomfort, apart from its peril. The tightly packed ma.s.s of human beings smelt offensively, for the German, even in peace time, is a dirty animal, not fond of washing himself.

The train moved so slowly--it was one of half a dozen similar trains all using a single line--that he seriously contemplated trying to escape when it should become quite dark, only the obvious presence of large bodies of troops in every direction made him abandon the idea.

He was conscious that a feeling of sullen discontent was present in the battalion.

"'Tis a blessing we're not going to Verdun, or to Hindenburg's command,"

said one of his neighbours in a low voice. "I myself have been spirited three times to Poland and back, until the very sight of a troop train gives me a feeling of sickness."

"And I can go one better than that," grunted another voice. "I have been wounded five times, and they've patched me up and sent me back again, and my wife has died since I have been at the front. I am waiting for my sixth wound, and I hope it will find the heart."

Dennis gathered from such and other sc.r.a.ps of conversation all around him that the little British cavalry dash had been witnessed from the trench they had just left, and that the spirits of the battalion had not been improved by the sight. They obeyed their orders like sheep, but they were sheep that had gone astray, and their confidence in their leaders' powers to lead them back into the path of victory was growing less every day.

Stopping every now and then, and waiting sometimes a quarter of an hour at a stretch, the train took a terrible time to reach the vicinity of Peronne, although the distance was little more than ten miles, and Dennis found it difficult to keep his patience under control; but at last glimmering lights showed in the distance, lights that were reflected in wavy lines on the marshes that surrounded the town, and speculation became rife in the truck.

"I wonder if they will put us in the barracks, or shall we go into billets?" said somebody in the darkness. "Billets, I hope. It would be heaven to sleep in a bed again with soft pillows, and to make the housewife clean one's things, and kick her if she did not do them properly."

Everyone watched the lights with keen interest, but to their disappointment they pa.s.sed away behind. The train went swaying and clinking on; and when it reached its destination at last, there was nothing to be seen but a wood of tall trees topping a ridge against the fitful moonlight.

Somewhere beyond the ridge was the sound of gunfire again, striking strangely familiar on the ears that had almost lost it at times during the journey.

"Get out!" shouted the sergeants. "Have you pigs gone to sleep? Fall in here beside the line!" And, extricating their legs with some difficulty, they scrambled over the edge of the trucks, dropped down, and sorted themselves somehow into sections and companies after much bullying and some blows struck.

Dennis found himself between the repeatedly wounded man and the private who had been three times to Poland, and presently the battalion was formed up four deep and marched.

As they swung off it began to rain.

For an hour they continued their route, getting uncomfortably damp during the process; and then they were halted and told that they might lie down. Some of the men lit their pipes, and Dennis would have dearly loved a cigarette; but he was afraid that the odour might betray him, so he contented himself with curling up between his two new acquaintances and went to sleep.

He had no plans; everything must depend upon chance and what the daylight showed him; and when the man on his right shook him and he rose to his feet, he saw that they were on the bank of a navigation ca.n.a.l.

Behind them the mist was curling from the water meadows of Picardy, and along the river tall poplars lifted their heads above the fog.

"Do you know what we are going to do, Kamerad?" he said to the much-wounded man.

"Die, I hope," was the response.

Circ.u.mstances had not unnaturally made him a pessimist.

The roll was being called, but the fog was so thick that one could hardly see the sergeant and his notebook; and keeping his lips tight, Dennis was overlooked, and n.o.body noticed it.

It so happened that the real Carl Heft belonged to another company, and was marked absent on duty at Divisional Headquarters.

There was a bread distribution, and Dennis got his share. It was black, but distinctly palatable, and was better than the coffee that was served out later on.

He knew the masquerade could not last for ever, and at kit inspection the moment he had been dreading came.

Luckily for him the sergeant was a good-humoured fellow, although he opened his eyes with a start when he saw that the boyish-looking private in front of him had no belts.

"Where is your equipment?" he said.

"I left it behind me, sergeant," replied Dennis. "We were mustered so quickly that I had no time to go to our dug-out, which was at the other end of the trench close to the big crater."

"Ha! We have cause to remember that crater, is it not so?" said the sergeant gravely. "Eighteen men and two officers it cost us, and that was why I was appointed to this company three days ago. What is your name?"

"Carl Heft, sergeant."

"Carl Heft? Were you not attached to headquarters? What are you doing here?"

Dennis lowered his voice.

"It is like this, sergeant," he said. "I want to be a soldier, not a clerk. I have not fired a shot at the enemy for two months, and when the order came to fall in I could not resist it."

The sergeant raised his eyebrows, and then a smile crept into his face.

"My boy, you are in the way to get into trouble, but never mind; I like your spirit, and I will see what I can do for you. Can you throw bombs?"

"Ja."