S.O.S. Stand to! Part 2

There was no sleeping that night; we were too excited and chattered away like school girls over our experiences, and to pa.s.s the time the inevitable card game started. During the game the sniping was active and continuous, the bullets chipping the building in all quarters. Our light was from a candle jammed into a jam tin and set between a couple of sand bags that we used for a table. Our mate, who had not yet taken his turn on the gun-watch, was inclined to be rather skeptical about our story of the sniper, declaring it couldn't be possible that Fritzie could be carrying on such work in the very midst of our lines, and that our imaginations had been running riot with us. We had been playing about three-quarters of an hour when a gust of wind blew the door open, throwing the faint gleam of the candle out in front. I jumped to close the door, the light blowing out as I did so, and at the same instant I heard a report from the same direction as before. I closed the door, telling Blaisdell to light the candle. He fumbled for his matches and lit it, and we were both stricken dumb for the moment; our chum was lying stone dead with a hole squarely in his forehead. The gentleman in the haystack was surely doing good work for his Kaiser.

Just before daylight we had a call from the O.C., accompanied by three or four men; he had phoned us he was coming. He wanted all particulars regarding my previous message. Under cover of the hedge we got to within fifty yards of the stack and everybody was convinced of the certainty of the information I had given, for, as we watched, two more flashes came from the stack. Not a particle of doubt was left and the officer ordered a bomb thrown into the haystack. Inside of a minute the red flames began shooting out from all sides, in another minute it was ablaze, and in five minutes we had the joy and satisfaction of hearing the m.u.f.fled shriek of the soldier who had so well served his Kaiser.

This ended for me a busy first night in the front line.

When the ashes of the fire were searched we found the charred body of a man, the remains of a rifle and a complete set of telephone apparatus, which was traced to our trenches, and from there to the German lines.

Wilhelm for a certainty lost an ace in the haystack. Besides our chum and heavens knows what others, he had sniped the road along which relief parties were pa.s.sing up and down; and that same night one of the soldiers of an infantry battalion of the Warwicks, winding its way to the front trenches, got his death from a bullet squarely in the neck; and the Germans having through him gotten an absolutely accurate range, our gun was wiped out by a single sh.e.l.l, together with two members of the crew.

Next afternoon, while resting in billets to where I had been ordered, a sh.e.l.l struck the building, a splinter knocking out the eye of Ed.

Jackson, who was sitting beside me. He was not killed, but his wound was a blighty, taking him out of the game for good. The unwelcome visitors continuing to come, we were rushed to our battery of three guns in an orchard near by; a curtain of sandbags was placed in front to prevent the flash being seen. As soon as we started firing, rifle shots from our left scattered the mud on all sides, coming at intervals of five or ten minutes. Speculation was aroused and we set a man to watch, and suspicion fastened on a farmer who was working his plow. Nothing was found on him. Next day the same thing happened and again the watch was set. This time our efforts were rewarded; the scout saw the farmer shoot and throw the rifle down. He reported to the officer and we went over.

The h.o.r.n.y-handed son of toil was very busy at the plow as he saw us coming. He couldn't speak English. The officer sent to the nearest French battery and presently a French soldier came who interpreted the officer's questions and the man's replies. He knew nothing, whatever, he said, about the rifle shots coming from his direction.

A search was then made for the rifle where the scout had seen him throw it and not only one rifle, but several, including English, French and German makes, were found in various parts of the field, partly buried in the soil. When the guns were discovered the farmer threw up his hands, wildly gesticulating and vehemently protesting that he knew nothing whatever as to how they came there. His was a short shrift. He was tried on the spot, tied to the pump of his own farm and shot.

CHAPTER III

YPRES

I remained in this spot with the guns until March, when the costly victory of Neuve Chapelle was fought. My battery was playing on their northern flank. The objective of the British Tommies was the city, which they took, but at a terrible toll; 6,000 Indian troops, mostly Ghurkas, were slain. The fearful mortality exacted from these troops was due to their impetuosity; they do not know fear; it was impossible to hold them; they rushed out before their time and some of them suffered from the fire of our own guns. It was in this fight that our own famous and gallant regiment, the "Princess Pats," was decimated, sustaining a loss of over 700 men. This magnificent body of fellows went into the war 1,150 strong and at the last roll call but 22 of the original men answered. The price paid was too much for what was accomplished.

We were then ordered to billets and stayed there until April 20th, when we were ordered to Ypres, arriving there April 21. My battery was stationed at St. Julien, one and a half miles northwest of the city.

Here I was detailed as observer, my duty being to get into the front-line trench and from the most advantageous nook that I could find, try to discover whatever I could about the movement of the enemy, communicate my knowledge to the telephonist who would in turn send it to headquarters.

Late in the afternoon I reported to the telephonist that a big fire was in progress somewhere on our left, as an immense smoke cloud was rising there and coming toward us. As sh.e.l.ls had burst his wire, rendering it useless, he started out to deliver the message by word of mouth, running on top of the parapet as he started. That was the last I ever saw of him; he did not come back; Fritz was coming and ahead of him rolled the sinister-looking cloud on our left. Then happened the strangest thing!

The line trembled from one end to the other, as the Algerian troops immediately on our left, jumped out of their trenches, falling as they ran. The whole thing seemed absolutely incomprehensible--until I got a whiff of the gas. They ran like men possessed, gasping, choking, blinded and dropping with suffocation. They could hardly be blamed. It was a new device in warfare and thoroughly ill.u.s.trative of the Prussian idea of playing the game.

When the great yellow clouds came rolling toward us, orders were roared to wet our handkerchiefs and stuff them in our mouths, and half choked and blinded we held for a day and a half. The b.u.t.tons on our uniforms were tinged yellow and green from the gas, so virulent was the poison.

Cooks and everybody else had been ordered into the line, as the giving way of the Algerians necessitated our lengthening out so as to take over their ground. Scotty of Mons fame was in the trench bay a few yards away from me, and when the cloud had pa.s.sed by I saw him rolling on the ground, apparently blinded, tears streaming from his eyes. I helped him to his feet and when he got his voice back his courage returned and, yelling, "Let the barbarians come," he seized his rifle, rushed to the parapet and fired point blank every cartridge in his rifle in the direction of Fritz.

At the end of the second day another wave of h.e.l.l's atmosphere came across, more deadly than any of the others, followed by a smothering fire from the German batteries, and the Germans broke in upon us on our right and left. Yard by yard we retreated, fighting as we went, and they occupied some of our front trenches--for a time.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A Chlorine Gas Attack from the Trenches]

That night Scotty and I received orders to report to a French dressing station for treatment. I half-dragged and half-walked him to the doctor; I had a feeling that he ought to have been able to make the trip without my help as I was certain he wasn't suffering any more than I was. After we left the doctor and got outside the dressing station, Scotty swayed from side to side, groaning like a man who had lost his last hope on earth, and the doctor told him to get away as quickly as he could as he was playing the devil with the nerves of the men who were lying around there half-dead from the poison fumes. He staggered over and sat down beside me on the side of the road, still wringing his hands. I remonstrated with him and told him that bad as it was it could not be anything like Mons, and to my amazement he stopped his moaning all at once and said with a twinkle in his eye, "Let's beat it to the dugout; the doc won't see us." We took the chance and started. On the way Fritz shot up the road and with a spring like an india-rubber man, Scotty jumped behind a tree. We finally reached our destination and Scotty proceeded to get something to eat. He lit a fire while I brought the water. The cookhouse here was in the house of a farmer who had vacated, and as the smoke coming from the chimney got thicker every moment, I was apprehensive lest Fritz would see it and send over a sh.e.l.l message, but Scotty pooh-poohed the idea.

Dinner was almost ready when--Kr-kr-kr-p! Kr-kr-kr-p! Bang! and a sh.e.l.l shot clean through the joint. The concussion threw me to the floor, covering me with lime and plaster-of-paris from the walls and ceiling. I got up and looked around for the cook. The hero of Mons had been knocked down, with the stove on top of him, and he was lying in the corner praying like a good fellow. "Oh, Lord! look down in pity and save me!

Thou knowest, Lord, I am unworthy o' thy mercy, but please control the sh.e.l.ls o' those barbarians and send them in anither direction, and Thine shall be a' the glory." Then he saw me standing there and he yelled, "Do you think there'll be any more?" "No, that was merely a stray sh.e.l.l.

Let's get this grub, I'm starving." "Stray sh.e.l.l be d.a.m.ned," said he, "they've seen the smoke and they'll be putting more over."

No sooner said than Kr-kr-kr-p! Kr-kr-kr-p! Kr-kr-kr-p! and three or four more sh.e.l.ls banged about the place, one of them blowing the pump from outside through the shack past Scotty, out through the other wall, and Scotty, ducking and dodging like a man trying to buck the line in a football game, shot through the door and vanished in the night.

The pan of bacon he had been cooking was still intact except that it had a coating of plaster-of-paris from the walls and ceiling of the room, and I proceeded to put it under my belt as fast as my jaws would work, and then made for my dugout. I was just settling down to a quiet smoke when I heard the Major calling for Scotty at the top of his voice.

Getting no response, he called for me and I hastened to his quarters.

"Grant, go down and see if that Scotch cook has fallen in the soup; find out if cookhouse is ready." "Yes, sir." I said nothing about what had happened and returned to the cookhouse to find six Algerians devouring the officers' rations in such fas.h.i.+on as to make one think of the man in the side show who was advertised in letters twenty feet deep as the original snake-eater of South America; there wasn't enough left for a one-man meal. I reported to the O.C. that there were no signs of Scotty but that the cookhouse had been hit by a sh.e.l.l.

"Go and see if he is at the dressing station." I went back to the station. For nearly a mile the wounded and ga.s.sed men were lying on each side of the road waiting for conveyances to remove them. I spoke to a Tommy who had met with a peculiar accident; he had two plates in his mouth and the concussion of a sh.e.l.l explosion in his immediate vicinity had broken the plates into four pieces, leaving him practically toothless.

Strongly suspecting by that time that if Scotty were anywhere on earth he was at the rear in the wagon line, I waited around the station just long enough to lend plausibility to my search before reporting to the O.C. The Major was in a towering rage over our losses, and, d.a.m.ning the cook, he dismissed me. The officers that night had to look to another cookhouse for their evening meal.

Next morning I was sent for by the Major and dispatched to the wagon lines on an errand;--at that time I was fulfilling the duties of a runner for our unit;--he also told me to have a lookout for the cook while there and make some inquiries about him. I saluted and left. The first place I went to in the wagon lines was the cookhouse and as I got there I thought I noticed the swish of someone quickly disappearing round the corner and the c.o.c.kney-cook there informed me that Scotty had spent the previous evening with them and had only left a minute ago.

"'E's no slouch, that cook of yours," he said, "'e's a fighter, 'e is."

"That so?"

"You're right, 'e is. Wy, where 'e was stationed, when the Germans rushed 'em in the trench, 'e 'eld 'em back, killin' two of 'em single-handed until the others had retreated. 'E ought to get the D.C.M., 'e ought; that's what hi say. By Gawd! when it comes to the real thing, give me the Scotch! An' honly last night 'e was in his cookhouse with some blighter by the name of Grant when the sh.e.l.ls came along, and this fellow must have 'ad a streak of yellow for he promised to 'elp Scotty with the meal, but bolted like a bullet at the first sh.e.l.l."

"How did he come to be down here?" I asked.

"Wy, he got relieved."

"Where is he now?"

"Hover in the dugout."

I learned that the hero of Mons had regaled them with accounts of his feats of valor in the trenches, very similar to the tales he had recounted to us at Salisbury Plain of his achievements in the Great Retreat, and the cook had given him a meal befitting a hero of his caliber, which Scotty had devoured with the relish and avidity of four heroes, while the others had shown him the due and necessary deference becoming a man of action.

For the benefit of the cook I informed him that Scotty was a d.a.m.ned liar; that it was I who had been with him; that he ran like a white-livered cur under fire from his cookhouse and didn't stop until he had reached the wagon lines; that he was there without being relieved and that he would shortly have another tale to tell.

I hastened to the dugout he had indicated as Scotty's retreat and found him in the innermost corner, pretending to be asleep; he didn't answer until I called him three or four times.

"Scotty, the O.C. wants to know why you left the cookhouse without guard permitting some Algerians to eat up his bacon and stuff, and, further, why you ran away under fire. You are in for h.e.l.l as sure as there is heather in your hair." His countenance took on a greenish hue and he mumbled something about being sh.e.l.l-shocked and refused to come. I persuaded him, however, to come over to the Quartermaster of the wagon line, and that officer asked him what he was doing there.

"Weel,--I was wounded and couldna' fight anither stroke; I was jeest tired oot wi' killin' Boches and hadna' the strength to stand anither minute; I jeest had to get away."

"Well, you've had a d.a.m.ned good rest now and you can get back to the O.C. and tell him what you have told me and he will see that you get a fitting decoration." This latter was spoken very grimly, and I could see the great fighter's face fall. "You will see to it, Grant," said the Q.M. "that Henderson doesn't hide his heroism from the O.C.; that he gives it to him in detail, just as he has to me." "Yes, sir," and I left with my prisoner.

We hurried along as night was falling and the German flares were commencing to fly. On the way back we met two Algerian troopers and in the gleam of a star sh.e.l.l and the fading twilight they looked more like two escaped denizens of the chamber of horrors than anything I could well imagine. Indeed, their appearance was so ghastly under the weird light of the flares and the fading day, that I involuntarily s.h.i.+vered, hardened though I was by that time to grim sights. Each of them carried on his shoulder the hind-quarter of a cow that had been killed by a sh.e.l.l at a nearby farm, and the dripping blood from the beast had slopped all over their uniforms; under each arm was tucked a ham they had "swiped" from the farmhouse and each had a young suckling pig running ahead, squealing and grunting, tied by a string on the hind leg and held by the left hand, while in the right hand each man carried a sharply pointed stick to prod the pig when it veered from a straight line, which was about every other step or so.

Just as we got immediately opposite the looters a burst of sh.e.l.l fire from the German guns, followed by a hail of shrapnel, blazed all about us, and the hero-cook jumped like a bullfrog, b.u.mping plumb into one of the Algerians, and he and the cook and the pig tumbled over and over, the pig squealing like mad, the Algerian rolling out deep-throated oaths in his native tongue, and Scotty cursing as only a redheaded gabby Scotchman can, all amid an ear-splitting din of shrieking sh.e.l.ls and flare-gleams completing a _mise en scene_ as striking as anything ever created by a master artist of stagecraft.

When Scotty extricated himself from the tangle his face and clothes were smeared from the blood of the dripping beast, so that he could indeed have pa.s.sed for the blood-stained hero he had proclaimed himself in the cookhouse, and in spite of his plight Scotty grinned as I suggested the thought to him and the twinkle returned to his eye, and his spirits took a decidedly upward turn until we reached the Major's quarters.

The Major was still cursing mad over the loss of the trenches in the gas attack and I felt the moment he spoke that Scotty's fate looked black.

"Where have you been, Henderson?"

"I was in the cookhouse, sir, when a sh.e.l.l struck it, smas.h.i.+ng everything in sight, and I lost complete control o' my nerves and started for the wagon lines wi'out knowing what I was doing or where I was going, and didna' come to mysel' until Grant ran across me in the dugout."

"That won't go, Henderson. Orderly room at ten-thirty in the morning.

It's the first case of cowardice in this unit and I'll take d.a.m.ned good care that it will be the last. Grant, escort the prisoner back to the wagon lines."