On the right of the British line Part 10

"What's up?" I asked, sliding into the sh.e.l.l-hole beside the corporal.

"There seemed to be a patrol moving about in front; it's all quiet now, sir."

"All right; double the sentries for the next hour."

I returned to the line and ordered the men to continue digging.

The bombardment continued, but by and by we began to grow accustomed to the din. Several casualties occurred; but still the work of digging in continued.

Time was getting on, and I must make my plans for to-morrow's attack.

A few minutes later I chanced to notice a figure sitting leisurely in a sh.e.l.l-hole.

"Why, Septimus, is that you?"

"I think so; I say, I think so. Unearthly row; devilishly dangerous place, this--what?"

"But what are you doing in there?"

"I was just coming to talk to you about ammunition. A sh.e.l.l burst, and my face is simply covered with dust. Has the ammunition arrived yet?"

"No; there's an ammunition dump in the wood somewhere."

"Like me to go and find it?"

I looked at him in amazement. It wasn't funk then, that made him seek safety in that sh.e.l.l-hole. Was it possible that dear old Septimus, this bland, indifferent tubby, blase old thing of Bond Street, was anxious to go into that creepy, mysterious wood to look for ammunition?

"All right; take a corporal and 12 men, and bring back six boxes.

Don't take unnecessary risks; we shall need every man to-morrow."

Septimus sprang out of the sh.e.l.l-hole, saluted in the most correct manner--something quite new for him--and disappeared in the darkness.

This was a new side of Septimus's character which had not shown itself before. Only the stoutest heart would have chosen to wander about in that wood at midnight, with enemy patrols lurking about. Septimus was a man, after all.

Five minutes later he pa.s.sed me, leading his men. He gripped my hand as he pa.s.sed, with the remark: "Well! Ta-ta, old thing."

"Cheer oh!"

And Septimus was gone. We may call men fops, simple vacant fools, or what we like; but the war has proved over and over again that the man within the man is merely disguised by his outer covering. Many a Bond Street Algy, or ballroom idol has proved amidst the terrors of war that the artificial covering of a peace-time habit is but skin-deep; and the real man is underneath.

CHAPTER XIII

A NIGHT OF ALARM

SEPTIMUS IN A NEW RoLE. SAVING THE AMMUNITION. THE LAST CARTRIDGE

Just then a movement in the rear of my position attracted my attention. A number of men were approaching; then halting, they sat on the ground, while two figures continued on towards me.

They were Second Lieutenant Wade, the intrepid scout officer, and Second Lieutenant Brady, in command of the battalion bombers. It was Brady who spoke first:

"Hullo! Getting peppered pretty hot, aren't you?"

"Rather lively! Where are you off to?"

"I've got orders to bomb out that mysterious trench you've heard so much about, in order to clear the way for your attack to-morrow. I'm going in front of your line and along the edge of the wood."

I despatched a runner to warn the sentry groups, and presently the little group of bombers disappeared round the edge of the wood into the darkness on their adventurous errand, the success of which would mean so much to me on the morrow.

All this time the work of digging is continued with unabated anxiety, sh.e.l.ls dropping around unceasingly.

All of a sudden I was startled by a rattle of musketry in the direction of the wood. There was silence; then several more shots followed by a rus.h.i.+ng, tearing noise, and yells.

Almost at the same moment the ammunition party emerged breathlessly from the wood.

I ran forward to where the men were dropping the ammunition boxes on the ground, and falling exhausted. For a moment or two they were too breathless to speak. I counted the men: there were 12 of them, and the six boxes of ammunition had safely arrived.

But where were Septimus and the corporal? All was silent in the wood.

I turned to the nearest man who was by this time sitting up, holding his head in his hands.

"Where is Mr. D'Arcy and Corporal Brown?" I asked.

"G.o.d knows, sir! They stayed to cover our retirement."

"What happened?"

"We found the ammunition dump, sir, and were just beginning to move the boxes when we heard some one moving. We grabbed our rifles and waited. There seemed to be quite a number crawling around us. Mr.

D'Arcy ordered us to retire at once, and get the ammunition away at any cost; he said he would stay behind and cover our retreat, and Corporal Brown offered to stay with him. We hadn't got far, sir, when they opened fire; bullets. .h.i.t the trees and whizzed over our heads.

Then we heard a rush and some yells. I distinctly heard something in German, and Mr. D'Arcy's voice shout back: 'Kamarade be d.a.m.ned!' Then there was a scuffle; that's all I know."

My heart beat wildly as I listened to this story. Good G.o.d! what did that silence mean? There was no further time to be lost.

I ordered a relief party and led the way into the wood. There was not a sound to be heard as we crept forward on our hands and knees towards the spot where the ammunition had been found.

What was that? We listened breathlessly, and again we heard a low groan almost in our midst. There was a sh.e.l.l-hole just in front, and crawling along on all fours, I found Septimus D'Arcy, wounded and helpless, with his left leg almost blown away, and bleeding from the head.

"What's up, D'Arcy? What has happened?" I whispered hoa.r.s.ely.

A faint smile of recognition came over his pale face as I supported him in my arms. His words came painfully:

"The ammunition--is it--safe?"

"Yes, quite safe."

"But what happened after they left?"