But there was no rest for the weary. We had lost at least a third of our strength, and we had to man the same long line. We consolidated it as best we could, started to replace the wiring that had been destroyed, found touch with the division on our right, and established outposts. Then, after a conference with my brigadiers, I went back to my headquarters, too tired to feel either satisfaction or anxiety. In eight hours the French would be here. The words made a kind of litany in my ears.
In the cowshed where Wake had lain, two figures awaited me. The talc-enclosed candle revealed Hamilton and Amos, dirty beyond words, smoke-blackened, blood-stained, and intricately bandaged. They stood stiffly to attention.
‘Sirr, the prisoner,’ said Hamilton. ‘I have to report that the prisoner is deid.’
I stared at them, for I had forgotten Ivery. He seemed a creature of a world that had passed away.
‘Sirr, it was like this. Ever sin’ this mornin’ the prisoner seemed to wake up. Ye’ll mind that he was in a kind of dwam all week. But he got some new notion in his heid, and when the battle began he exheebited signs of restlessness. Whiles he wad lie doun in the trench, and whiles he was wantin’ back to the dug-out. Accordin’ to instructions I provided him wi’ a rifle, but he didna seem to ken how to handle it. It was your orders, sirr, that he was to have means to defend hisself if the enemy cam on, so Amos gie’d him a trench knife. But verra soon he looked as if he was ettlin’ to cut his throat, so I deprived him of it.’
Hamilton stopped for breath. He spoke as if he were reciting a lesson, with no stops between the sentences.
‘I jaloused, sirr, that he wadna last oot the day, and Amos here was of the same opinion. The end came at twenty minutes past three – I ken the time, for I had just compared my watch with Amos. Ye’ll mind that the Gairmans were beginning a big attack. We were in the front trench of what they ca’ the battle-zone, and Amos and me was keepin’ oor eyes on the enemy, who could be obsairved dribblin’ ower the open. Just then the prisoner catches sight of the enemy and jumps up on the top. Amos tried to hold him, but he kicket him in the face. The next we kenned he was runnin’ verra fast towards the enemy, holdin’ his hands ower his heid and crying out loud in a foreign langwidge.’
‘It was German,’ said the scholarly Amos through his broken teeth.
‘It was Gairman,’ continued Hamilton. ‘It seemed as if he was appealin’ to the enemy to help him. But they paid no attention, and he cam under the fire of their machine-guns. We watched him spin round like a teetotum and kenned that he was bye with it.’
‘You are sure he was killed?’ I asked.
‘Yes, sirr. When we counter-attacked we fund his body.’
There is a grave close by the farm of Gavrelle, and a wooden cross at its head bears the name of the Graf von Schwabing and the date of his death. The Germans took Gavrelle a little later. I am glad to think that they read that inscription.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Summons Comes for Mr Standfast
I slept for one and three-quarter hours that night, and when I awoke I seemed to emerge from deeps of slumber which had lasted for days. That happens sometimes after heavy fatigue and great mental strain. Even a short sleep sets up a barrier between past and present which has to be elaborately broken down before you can link on with what has happened before. As my wits groped at the job some drops of rain splashed on my face through the broken roof. That hurried me out-of-doors. It was just after dawn and the sky was piled with thick clouds, while a wet wind blew up from the south-west. The long-prayed-for break in the weather seemed to have come at last. A deluge of rain was what I wanted, something to soak the earth and turn the roads into water-courses and clog the enemy transport, something above all to blind the enemy’s eyes… For I remembered what a preposterous bluff it all had been, and what a piteous broken handful stood between the Germans and their goal. If they knew, if they only knew, they would brush us aside like flies.
As I shaved I looked back on the events of yesterday as on something that had happened long ago. I seemed to judge them impersonally, and I concluded that it had been a pretty good fight. A scratch force, half of it dog-tired and half of it untrained, had held up at least a couple of fresh divisions… But we couldn’t do it again, and there were still some hours before us of desperate peril. When had the Corps said that the French would arrive?… I was on the point of shouting for Hamilton to get Wake to ring up Corps Headquarters, when I remembered that Wake was dead. I had liked him and greatly admired him, but the recollection gave me scarcely a pang. We were all dying, and he had only gone on a stage ahead.
There was no morning strafe, such as had been our usual fortune in the past week. I went out-of-doors and found a noiseless world under the lowering sky. The rain had stopped falling, the wind of dawn had lessened, and I feared that the storm would be delayed. I wanted it at once to help us through the next hours of tension. Was it in six hours that the French were coming? No, it must be four. It couldn’t be more than four, unless somebody had made an infernal muddle. I wondered why everything was so quiet. It would be breakfast time on both sides, but there seemed no stir of man’s presence in that ugly strip half a mile off. Only far back in the German hinterland I seemed to hear the rumour of traffic.
An unslept and unshaven figure stood beside me which revealed itself as Archie Roylance.
‘Been up all night,’ he said cheerfully, lighting a cigarette. ‘No, I haven’t had breakfast. The skipper thought we’d better get another anti-aircraft battery up this way, and I was superintendin’ the job. He’s afraid of the Hun gettin’ over your lines and spying out the nakedness of the land. For, you know, we’re uncommon naked, sir. Also,’ and Archie’s face became grave, ‘the Hun’s pourin’ divisions down on this sector. As I judge, he’s blowin’ up for a thunderin’ big drive on both sides of the river. Our lads yesterday said all the country back of Peronne was lousy with new troops. And he’s gettin’ his big guns forward, too. You haven’t been troubled with them yet, but he has got the roads mended and the devil of a lot of new light railways, and any moment we’ll have the five-point-nines sayin’ Good-mornin’… Pray Heaven you get relieved in time, sir. I take it there’s not much risk of another push this mornin’?’
‘I don’t think so. The Boche took a nasty knock yesterday, and he must fancy we’re pretty strong after that counter-attack. I don’t think he’ll strike till he can work both sides of the river, and that’ll take time to prepare. That’s what his fresh divisions are for… But remember, he can attack now, if he likes. If he knew how weak we were he’s strong enough to send us all to glory in the next three hours. It’s just that knowledge that you fellows have got to prevent his getting. If a single Hun plane crosses our lines and returns, we’re wholly and utterly done. You’ve given us splendid help since the show began, Archie. For God’s sake keep it up to the finish and put every machine you can spare in this sector.’
‘We’re doin’ our best,’ he said. ‘We got some more fightin’ scouts down from the north, and we’re keepin’ our eyes skinned. But you know as well as I do, sir, that it’s never an ab-so-lute certainty. If the Hun sent over a squadron we might beat ’em all down but one, and that one might do the trick. It’s a matter of luck. The Hun’s got the wind up all right in the air just now and I don’t blame the poor devil. I’m inclined to think we haven’t had the pick of his push here. Jennings says he’s doin’ good work in Flanders, and they reckon there’s the deuce of a thrust comin’ there pretty soon. I think we can manage the kind of footler he’s been sendin’ over here lately, but if Lensch or some lad like that were to choose to turn up I wouldn’t say what might happen. The air’s a big lottery,’ and Archie turned a dirty face skyward where two of our planes were moving very high towards the east.
The mention of Lensch brought Peter to mind, and I asked if he had gone back.
‘He won’t go,’ said Archie, ‘and we haven’t the heart to make him. He’s very happy, and plays about wi
th the Gladas single-seater. He’s always speakin’ about you, sir, and it’d break his heart if we shifted him.’
I asked about his health, and was told that he didn’t seem to have much pain.
‘But he’s a bit queer,’ and Archie shook a sage head. ‘One of the reasons why he won’t budge is because he says God has some work for him to do. He’s quite serious about it, and ever since he got the notion he has perked up amazin’. He’s always askin’ about Lensch, too – not vindictive like, you understand, but quite friendly. Seems to take a sort of proprietary interest in him. I told him Lensch had had a far longer spell of first-class fightin’ than anybody else and was bound by the law of averages to be downed soon, and he was quite sad about it.’
I had no time to worry about Peter. Archie and I swallowed breakfast and I had a pow-wow with my brigadiers. By this time I had got through to Corps H.Q. and got news of the French. It was worse than I expected. General Péguy would arrive about ten o’clock, but his men couldn’t take over till well after midday. The Corps gave me their whereabouts and I found it on the map. They had a long way to cover yet, and then there would be the slow business of relieving. I looked at my watch. There were still six hours before us when the Boche might knock us to blazes, six hours of maddening anxiety… Lefroy announced that all was quiet on the front, and that the new wiring at the Bois de la Bruyère had been completed. Patrols had reported that during the night a fresh German division seemed to have relieved that which we had punished so stoutly yesterday. I asked him if he could stick it out against another attack. ‘No,’ he said without hesitation. ‘We’re too few and too shaky on our pins to stand any more. I’ve only a man to every three yards.’ That impressed me, for Lefroy was usually the most devil-may-care optimist.
‘Curse it, there’s the sun,’ I heard Archie cry. It was true, for the clouds were rolling back and the centre of the heavens was a patch of blue. The storm was coming – I could smell it in the air – but probably it wouldn’t break till the evening. Where, I wondered, would we be by that time?
It was now nine o’clock, and I was keeping tight hold on myself, for I saw that I was going to have hell for the next hours. I am a pretty stolid fellow in some ways, but I have always found patience and standing still the most difficult job to tackle, and my nerves were all tattered from the long strain of the retreat. I went up to the line and saw the battalion commanders. Everything was unwholesomely quiet there. Then I came back to my headquarters to study the reports that were coming in from the air patrols. They all said the same thing – abnormal activity in the German back areas. Things seemed shaping for a new 21st of March, and, if our luck were out, my poor little remnant would have to take the shock. I telephoned to the Corps and found them as nervous as me. I gave them the details of my strength and heard an agonized whistle at the other end of the line. I was rather glad I had companions in the same purgatory.
I found I couldn’t sit still. If there had been any work to do I would have buried myself in it, but there was none. Only this fearsome job of waiting. I hardly ever feel cold, but now my blood seemed to be getting thin, and I astonished my staff by putting on a British warm and buttoning up the collar. Round that derelict farm I ranged like a hungry wolf, cold at the feet, queasy in the stomach, and mortally edgy in the mind.
*
Then suddenly the cloud lifted from me, and the blood seemed to run naturally in my veins. I experienced the change of mood which a man feels sometimes when his whole being is fined down and clarified by long endurance. The fight of yesterday revealed itself as something rather splendid. What risks we had run and how gallantly we had met them! My heart warmed as I thought of that old division of mine, those ragged veterans that were never beaten as long as breath was left them. And the Americans and the boys from the machine-gun school and all the oddments we had commandeered! And old Blenkiron raging like a good-tempered lion! It was against reason that such fortitude shouldn’t win out. We had snarled round and bitten the Boche so badly that he wanted no more for a little. He would come again, but presently we should be relieved and the gallant blue-coats, fresh as paint and burning for revenge, would be there to worry him.
I had no new facts on which to base my optimism, only a changed point of view. And with it came a recollection of other things. Wake’s death had left me numb before, but now the thought of it gave me a sharp pang. He was the first of our little confederacy to go. But what an ending he had made, and how happy he had been in that mad time when he had come down from his pedestal and become one of the crowd! He had found himself at the last, and who could grudge him such happiness? If the best were to be taken, he would be chosen first, for he was a big man, before whom I uncovered my head. The thought of him made me very humble. I had never had his troubles to face, but he had come clean through them, and reached a courage which was for ever beyond me. He was the Faithful among us pilgrims, who had finished his journey before the rest. Mary had foreseen it. ‘There is a price to be paid,’ she had said – ‘the best of us.’
And at the thought of Mary a flight of warm and happy hopes seemed to settle on my mind. I was looking again beyond the war to that peace which she and I would some day inherit. I had a vision of a green English landscape, with its far-flung scents of wood and meadow and garden… And that face of all my dreams, with the eyes so childlike and brave and honest, as if they, too, saw beyond the dark to a radiant country. A line of an old song, which had been a favourite of my father’s, sang itself in my ears:
There’s an eye that ever weeps and a fair face will be fain
When I ride through Annan Water wi’ my bonny bands again!
*
We were standing by the crumbling rails of what had once been the farm sheepfold. I looked at Archie and he smiled back at me, for he saw that my face had changed. Then he turned his eyes to the billowing clouds.
I felt my arm clutched.
‘Look there!’ said a fierce voice, and his glasses were turned upward.
I looked, and far up in the sky saw a thing like a wedge of wild geese flying towards us from the enemy’s country. I made out the small dots which composed it, and my glass told me they were planes. But only Archie’s practised eye knew that they were enemy.
‘Boche?’ I asked.
‘Boche,’ he said. ‘My God, we’re for it now.’
My heart had sunk like a stone, but I was fairly cool. I looked at my watch and saw that it was ten minutes to eleven.
‘How many?’
‘Five,’ said Archie. ‘Or there may be six – not more.’
‘Listen!’ I said. ‘Get on to your headquarters. Tell them that it’s all up with us if a single plane gets back. Let them get well over the line, the deeper in the better, and tell them to send up every machine they possess and down them all. Tell them it’s life or death. Not one single plane goes back. Quick!’
Archie disappeared, and as he went our anti-aircraft guns broke out. The formation above opened and zigzagged, but they were too high to be in much danger. But they were not too high to see that which we must keep hidden or perish.
The roar of our batteries died down as the invaders passed westward. As I watched their progress they seemed to be dropping lower. Then they rose again and a bank of cloud concealed them.
I had a horrid certainty that they must beat us, that some at any rate would get back. They had seen thin lines and the roads behind us empty of supports. They would see, as they advanced, the blue columns of the French coming up from the south-west, and they would return and tell the enemy that a blow now would open the road to Amiens and the sea. He had plenty of strength for it, and presently he would have overwhelming strength. It only needed a spear-point to burst the jerry-built dam and let the flood through… They would return in twenty minutes, and by noon we would be broken. Unless – unless the miracle of miracles happened, and they never returned.
Archie reported that his skipper would do his damnedest and that our machines were now goin
g up. ‘We’ve a chance, sir,’ he said, ‘a good sportin’ chance.’ It was a new Archie, with a hard voice, a lean face, and very old eyes.
Behind the jagged walls of the farm buildings was a knoll which had once formed part of the high-road. I went up there alone, for I didn’t want anybody near me. I wanted a viewpoint, and I wanted quiet, for I had a grim time before me. From that knoll I had a big prospect of country. I looked east to our lines on which an occasional shell was falling, and where I could hear the chatter of machine-guns. West there was peace for the woods closed down on the landscape. Up to the north, I remember, there was a big glare as from a burning dump, and heavy guns seemed to be at work in the Ancre valley. Down in the south there was the dull murmur of a great battle. But just around me, in the gap, the deadliest place of all, there was an odd quiet. I could pick out clearly the different sounds. Somebody down at the farm had made a joke and there was a short burst of laughter. I envied the humorist his composure. There was a clatter and jingle from a battery changing position. On the road a tractor was jolting along – I could hear its driver shout and the screech of its unoiled axle.
My eyes were glued to my glasses, but they shook in my hands so that I could scarcely see. I bit my lip to steady myself, but they still wavered. From time to time I glanced at my watch. Eight minutes gone – ten – seventeen. If only the planes would come into sight! Even the certainty of failure would be better than this harrowing doubt. They should be back by now unless they had swung north across the salient, or unless the miracle of miracles –
Then came the distant yapping of an anti-aircraft gun, caught up the next second by others, while smoke patches studded the distant blue sky. The clouds were banking in mid-heaven, but to the west there was a big clear space now woolly with shrapnel bursts. I counted them mechanically – one – three – five – nine – with despair beginning to take the place of my anxiety. My hands were steady now, and through the glasses I saw the enemy.