The Red Horizon Part 22

The farmhouse stood in the centre of the village; the village rested on the banks of a sleepy ca.n.a.l on which the barges carried the wounded down from the slaughter line to the hospital at Bethune. The village was sh.e.l.led daily. When sh.e.l.ling began a whistle was blown warning all soldiers to seek cover immediately in the dug-outs roofed with sandbags, which were constructed by the military authorities in nearly every garden in the place. When the housewifes heard the sh.e.l.ls bursting they ran out and brought in their was.h.i.+ng from the lines where it was hung out to dry; then they sat down and knitted stockings or sewed garments (p. 217) to send to their menfolk at the war. In the village they said: "When the sh.e.l.ls come the men run in for their lives, and the women run out for their was.h.i.+ng."

The village was not badly battered by sh.e.l.l fire. Our barn got touched once and a large splinter of a concussion sh.e.l.l which fell there was used as a weight for a wag-of-the-wall clock in the farmhouse. The village was crowded with troops, new men, who wore clean s.h.i.+rts, neat puttees and creased trousers. They had not been in the trenches yet, but were going up presently.

Bill and I were sitting in an _estaminet_ when two of these youngsters came in and sat opposite.

"New 'ere?" asked Bill.

"Came to Boulogne six days ago and marched all the way here," said one of them, a red-haired youth with bushy eyebrows. "Long over?" he asked.

"Just about nine months," said Bill.

"You've been through it then."

"Through it," said Bill, lying splendidly, "I think we 'ave. At Mons we went in eight 'undred strong. We're the only two as is left."

"Gracious! And you never got a scratch?"

"Never a pin p.r.i.c.k," said Bill, "And I saw the sh.e.l.ls so thick (p. 218) comin' over us that you couldn't see the sky. They was like crows up above."

"They were?"

"We were in the trenches then," Bill said. "The orficer comes up and sez: 'Things are getting despirate! We've got to charge. 'Ool foller me?' 'I'm with you!' I sez, and up I jumps on the parapet pulling a machine gun with me."

"A machine gun!" said the red-haired man.

"A machine gun," Bill went on. "When one is risen 'e can do anything.

I could 'ave lifted a 'ole battery on my shoulders because I was mad.

I 'ad a look to my front to get the position then I goes forward.

'Come back, cried the orficer as 'e fell----"

"Fell!"

"'E got a bullet through his bread basket and 'e flopped. But there was no 'oldin' o' me. 'Twas death or glory, neck 'an nothin', 'ell for leather at that moment. The London Irish blood was up; one of the Chelsea Cherubs was out for red blood 'olesale and retail. I slung the machine gun on my shoulder, sharpened my bayonet with a piece of sand-paper, took the first line o' barbed wire entanglements at (p. 219) a jump and got caught on the second. It gored me like a bull. I got six days C.B. for 'avin' the rear of my trousers torn when we came out o' the trenches."

"Tell me something I can believe," said the red-haired youth.

"Am I not tellin' you something," asked Bill. "Nark it, matey, nark it. I tell Gospel-stories and you'll not believe me."

"But it's all tommy rot."

"Is it? The Germans did'nt think so when I charged plunk into the middle of 'em. Yer should 'ave been there to see it. They were all round me and two taubes over 'ead watching my movements. Swis.h.!.+ and my bayonet went through the man in front and stabbed the ident.i.ty disc of another. When I drew the bayonet out the b.u.t.t of my 'ipe[3] would 'it a man behind me in the tummy. Ugh! 'e would say and flop bringing a mate down with 'im may be. The dead was all round me and I built a parapet of their bodies, puttin' the legs criss-cross and makin' loop 'oles. Then they began to bomb me from the other side. 'Twas gettin'

'ot I tell you and I began to think of my 'ome; the dug-out in (p. 220) the trench. What was I to do? If I crossed the open they'd bring me down with a bullet. There was only one thing to be done. I had my boots on me for three 'ole weeks of 'ot weather, 'otter than this and beer not so near as it is now----"

[Footnote 3: Rifle.]

"Have another drink, Bill?" I asked.

"Glad yer took the 'int," said my mate. "Story tellin's a dry fatigue.

Well as I was sayin' my socks 'ad been on for a 'ole month----"

"Three weeks," I corrected.

"Three weeks," Bill repeated and continued. "I took orf my boots.

'Respirators!' the Germans yelled the minute my socks were bare, and off they went leavin' me there with my 'ome-made trench. When I came back I got a dose of C.B. as I've told you before."

We went back to our billet. In the farmyard the pigs were busy on the midden, and they looked at us with curious expressive eyes that peered roguishly out from under their heavy hanging cabbage-leaves of ears.

In one corner was the field-cooker. The cooks were busy making dixies of bully beef stew. Their clothes were dirty and greasy, so were their arms, bare from the shoulders almost, and taut with muscles. (p. 221) Through a path that wound amongst a medley of agricultural instruments, ploughs harrows and grubbers, the farmer's daughter came striding like a ploughman, two children hanging on to her ap.r.o.n strings. A stretcher leant against our water-cart, and dried clots of blood were on its shafts. The farmer's dog lay panting on the midden, his red tongue hanging out and saliva dropping on the dung, overhead the swallows were swooping and flying in under the eaves where now and again they nested for a moment before getting up to resume their exhilirating flight. A dirty barefooted boy came in through the large entrance-gate leading a pair of sleepy cows with heavy udders which shook backwards and forwards as they walked. The horns of one cow were twisted, the end of one pointed up, the end of the other pointed down.

One of Section 4's boys was looking at the cow.

"The ole geeser's 'andlebars is twisted," said Bill, addressing n.o.body in particular and alluding to the cow.

"It's 'orns, yer fool!" said Section 4.

"Yer fool, yerself!" said Bill. "I'm not as big a fool as I look----"

"Git! Your no more brains than a 'en." (p. 222)

"Nor 'ave you either," said Bill.

"I've twice as many brains, as you," said Section 4.

"So 'ave I," was the answer made by Bill; then getting pugilistic he thundered out: "I'll give yer one on the moosh."

"Will yer?" said Section 4.

"Straight I will. Give you one across your ugly phiz! It looks as if it had been out all night and some one dancing on it."

Bill took off his cap and flung it on the ground as if it were the gauntlet of a knight of old. His hair, short and wiry, stood up on end. Section 4 looked at it.

"Your hair looks like furze in a fit," said Section 4.

"You're lookin' for one on the jor," said Bill closing and opening his fist. "And I'll give yer one."

"Will yer? Two can play at that gyme!"

Goliath ma.s.sive and monumental came along at that moment. He looked at Bill.

"Looking for trouble, mate?" he asked.

"Section 4's shouting the odds, as usual," Bill replied.

"Come along to the Ca.n.a.l and have a bath; it will cool your (p. 223) temper."

"Will it?" said Bill as he came along with us somewhat reluctantly towards the Ca.n.a.l banks.

"What does shouting the odds mean?" I asked him.