CHAPTER IV
PRIVATE SILL ACTS
ON the night of September 15, 1915, the brigade of which the 26thBattalion was a unit crossed from Folkstone to Boulogne withoutaccident. All the ranks were in the highest spirits, fondly imaginingthat the dull routine of training was dead forever and that the practiceof actual warfare was as entertaining as dangerous.
The brigade moved up by way of the fine old city of Saint Omer and thebig Flemish town of Hazebrouck. By the fourth day after landing inFrance the whole brigade was established in the forward area ofoperations, along with the other brigades of the new division. On thenight of the 19th the battalion marched up and went into hutments andbillets close behind the Kemmel front. That night, from the hill abovetheir huts, the men from New Brunswick beheld for the first time thatfixed, fire-pulsing line beyond which lay the menace of Germany.
The battalion went in under cover of darkness, and by midnight had takenover from the former defenders the headquarters of companies, thedugouts in the support trenches and the sentry posts in the fire trench.There were Dick Starkley and his comrades holding back the Huns from thethroat of civilization. It was an amazing and inspiring position to bein for the first time. In front of them, just beneath and behind thesoaring and falling star shells and Very lights, crouched the mostruthless and powerful armies of the world.
To the right and left, every now and then, machine guns broke forth inswift, rapping fire. When the fire was from the positions opposite, thebullets snapped in the air like the crackings of a whip. The white starswent up and down. Great guns thumped occasionally; now and then a highshell whined overhead; now and then the burst of an exploding shellsounded before or behind. It was a quiet night; but to the new battalionit was full of thrills. The sentries never took their eyes from themysterious region beyond their wire. Every blob of blackness beyondtheir defenses set their pulses racing and sent their hands to theirweapons.
Dick Starkley and Frank Sacobie stood shoulder to shoulder on the firestep for hours, staring with all their eyes and listening with all theirears. Hiram Sill sat at their feet and talked about how he felt on thisvery particular occasion. His friends paid no attention to him.
"This is the proudest moment of my life," he said. "We are historicfigures, boys--and that's a thing I never hoped to be. In my humble way,I stand for more than George Washington did. This is a bigger war thanGeorge ever dreamed of, and I have a bigger and better reason forfighting the Huns than Gen. Washington ever had for fighting the foolBritishers."
"Did you see that?" asked Dick of Sacobie. "Over in the edge of theirwire. There! Look quick now! Is it a man?"
"Looks like a man, but it's been there right along and ain't moved yet,"said Frank. "Maybe it's a stump."
Just then Lieut. Scammell came along. He got up on the fire step and,directed by Dick, trained his glass on the black thing in the edge ofthe enemy's wire. A German star shell gave him light.
"That's a German--a dead one," he said. "I've been told about him. Therewas a bit of a scrap over there three nights ago, and that is one of thescrappers."
Hiram forgot about Gen. Washington and mounted the fire step to have alook. He borrowed the officer's glass for the purpose.
"Do his friends intend to leave him out there much longer, sir?" heasked. "If they do, it's a sure sign of weakness. They're scart."
"They are scart, right enough--but I bet they wouldn't be if they knewthis bit of trench was being held now by a green battalion," replied Mr.Scammell. "They'd be over for identifications if they knew."
"Let them come!" exclaimed Private Sill. "I bet a dollar they wouldn'tstay to breakfast--except a few who wouldn't want any."
At that moment a rifle cracked to the right of them, evidently fromtheir own trench and not more than one hundred yards away. It wasfollowed close by a spatter of shots, then the smashing bursts ofgrenades, more musketry and the _rat-tat-tat_ of several machine guns.Bullets snapped in the air. Lights trailed up from both lines. Dullthumps sounded far away, and then came the whining songs of high-flyingshells. Flashes of fire astonished the eye, and crashing reports stunnedthe ear.
"They're at us!" exclaimed the lieutenant. "Open fire on the parapetopposite, unless you see a better target, and don't leave your posts.Keep low. Better use the loopholes."
He left the fire step and ran along the duck boards toward the heart ofthe row.
Dick and Frank Sacobie and Hiram Sill, firing rapidly through theloopholes, added what they could to the disturbance. Now and again abullet rang against the steel plate of a loophole. One or another ofthem took frequent observations through a periscope, for at that timethe Canadian troops were not yet supplied with shrapnel helmets. DaveHammer, breathless with excitement, joined them for a few seconds.
"They tried to jump us,--must have learned we're a green relief,--butwe've chewed them up for fair!" he gasped. "Must have been near ahundred of 'em--but not one got through our wire. Keep yer heads downfor a while, boys; they're traversing our top with emmagees."
At last the enemy's artillery fire slackened and died. Ours drubbed awaycheerily for another fifteen minutes, then ceased as quick and clean asthe snap of a finger. The rifle fire and machine-gun fire dwindled andceased. Even the up-spurting of the white and watchful stars diminishedby half; but now and again one of them from the hostile lines, curvingfar forward in its downward flight, illuminated a dozen or moremotionless black shapes in and in front of our rusty wire. Except forthose motionless figures No Man's Land was again deserted. The big ratsran there undisturbed.
Sacobie looked over the parapet; Hiram Sill and Dick sat on the firestep at the Malecite's feet. They felt as tired as if they had beenwrestling with strong men for half an hour. Dave Hammer came along thetrench and halted before them.
"Those Huns or Fritzes or whatever you call them are crazy," he said."Did you ever hear of such a fool thing as that? They've left a dozendead out in front, besides what they carried home along with theirwounded--and all they did to us was wound three of our fellows with thatfirst bomb they threw, and two more with machine-gun fire."
"Their officers must be boneheads, for sure," said Hiram. "War's abusiness,--and a mighty swift one,--and you can't succeed in businesswithout knowing something about psychology. Yes, gentlemen, psychology,queer as it may sound."
"Sounds mighty queer to me!" muttered Sacobie, glancing down.
"You must study men," continued Private Sill, not at all abashed, "theirsouls and hearts and minds--if you want to make a success at anythingexcept bee farming. Now, take this fool raid of the Huns. They weresmart enough to find out that a bunch of greenhorns took over thistrench to-night. So they thought they'd surprise us. Now, if they'dknown anything about psychology, they'd have known that just because wewere new and green we'd all be on our toes to-night, with our eyessticking out a yard and our ears buttoned right back. Sure! Every man ofus was on sentry duty to-night!"
"I guess you've got the right idea, Old Psychology," said the sergeant.
The 26th spent five days in the line on that tour. With the exception ofone day and night of rain they had fine weather. They mended their wireand did a fair amount of business in No Man's Land. The enemy attemptedno further raids; his last effort had evidently given him moreinformation concerning the quality of the new battalion than he coulddigest in a week. At any rate he kept very quiet.
At the end of the tour the battalion went back a little way to huts onthe bushy flanks of Scherpenberg, where they "rested" by performingsquad, platoon and company drill and innumerable fatigues. The timeremaining at their disposal was devoted to football and base-ball andinvestigations of villages and farmsteads in the neighborhood.
Their second tour in was more lively and less comfortable than thefirst. Under the drench of rain and the gnawing of dank and chilly miststheir trenches and all the surrounding landscape were changed from dryearth to mud. Everything in the front line, including their persons,became caked with mud. The duck boards became a chain o
f slippery traps;and in low trenches they floated like rafts. The parapets slid in andrequired constant attention; and what the water left undone in the wayof destruction the guns across the way tried to finish.
It was hard on the spirit of new troops; they were toughened to severework and rough living, but not to the deadening mud of a front-linetrench in low ground. So their officers planned excitement for them, tokeep the fire of interest alive in their hearts. That excitement wasobtained in several ways, but always by a move of some sort against theenemy or his defenses. Patrol work was the most popular form of relieffrom muddy inaction. Lieut. Scammell quickly developed a skill in thatand an appetite for it that soon drew the colonel's attention to himselfand his followers.
* * * * *
By the end of September, even the medical officers of New Brunswick hadto admit that Corp. Peter Starkley was fully recovered from his wound.As for Peter himself, he affirmed that he had not felt anything of itfor the past two months. He had worked at the haying and the harvestingon Beaver Dam and his own place without so much as a twinge of pain.
Peter returned to his military duties eagerly, but inspired only by hissense of duty. His heart was more than ever in his own countryside; butdespite his natural modesty he knew that he was useful to his king andcountry as a noncommissioned officer, and with that knowledge hefortified his heart. He tried to tell Vivia Hammond something of what hefelt. His words were stumbling and inadequate, but she understood him.And at the last he said:
"Vivia, don't forget me, for I shall be thinking of you always--morethan of anyone or anything in the world." And then, not trusting hisvoice for more, he kissed her hastily.
Vivia wept and made no attempt to hide her tears or the reason for them.
Shortly before Peter's return to the army he had received a letter fromCapt. Starkley-Davenport, telling of the reunion of the cousins inLondon and virtually offering him a commission in the writer's oldregiment. Peter had also heard something of the plan from Dick a fewdays before. He answered the captain's letter promptly and frankly, tothe effect that he had no military ambition beyond that of doing hisduty to the full extent of his power against Germany, and that acommission in an English regiment was an honor he could accept only ifit should come to him unavoidably, in the day's work.
Peter reached England in the third week of October and with threehundred companions fresh from Canada was attached to a reserve battalionon St. Martin's Plain for duty and instruction. Peter was given theacting rank of sergeant. Early in December he crossed to France andreached his battalion without accident. He found that the 26th hadexperienced its full share of the fortunes and misfortunes of war.Scores of familiar faces were gone. His old platoon had suffered manychanges since he had left it in St. John a year ago. Its commander, aLieut. Smith, was an entire stranger to him, and he had known theplatoon sergeant as a private. Mr. Scammell was now scout officer andexpecting his third star at any moment. Dave Hammer, still a sergeant,and Dick, Sacobie and Hiram Sill also were scouts. Dick, was a corporalnow and had never been touched by shot, shell or sickness. Sacobie hadbeen slightly wounded and had been away at a field ambulance for a week.
Peter rejoined his old platoon and, as it was largely composed at thistime of new troops, was permitted to retain his acting rank of sergeant.He performed his duties so satisfactorily that he was confirmed in hisrank after his first tour in the trenches.
On the third night of Peter's second tour in the front line, DaveHammer, Dick and Frank Sacobie took him out to show him about. Allcarried bombs, and Sergt. Hammer had a pistol as well. They were hopingto surprise a party of Germans at work mending their wire.
Hammer slipped over the parapet. Peter followed him. Dick and Sacobiewent over together, quick as the wink of an eye. Their faces and handswere black. With Dave Hammer in the lead, Peter at the very soles of hisspiked boots and Dick and Sacobie elbow to elbow behind Peter, theycrawled out through their own wire by the way of an intricate channel.When a star shell went up in front, near enough to light that particulararea, they lay motionless. They went forward during the brief periods ofdarkness and half light.
At last they got near enough to the German wire to see it plainly, andthe leader changed his course to the left. When they lay perfectly stillthey could hear many faint, vague sounds in every direction: far, dullthuds before and behind them, spatters of rifle fire far off to theright and left, the bang of a Very pistol somewhere behind a parapet andnow and then the crash of a bursting shell.
A few minutes later Dave twisted about and laid a hand on Peter'sshoulder. He gave it a gentle pull. Peter crawled up abreast of him.Dave put his lips to Peter's ear and whispered:
"There they are."
A twisty movement of his right foot had already signaled the sameinformation to the veterans in the rear. Peter stared at the blotches ofdarkness that Dave had indicated. They did not move often or quickly andkept close to the ground. Sometimes, when a light was up, they becamemotionless and instantly melted from view, merging into the shadows ofthe night and the tangled wire. Now and then Peter heard some faintsound of their labor, as they worked at the wire.
"Only five of them," whispered the scout sergeant. "They are scaredblue. Bet their skunks of officers had to kick them out of the trench.Let's sheer off a few yards and give 'em something to be scared about."
Just then Dick and Frank squirmed up beside them.
"Some more straight ahead of us," breathed the Indian. "Three or four."
Hammer used his glass and saw that Sacobie's eyes had not fooled him. Hetouched each of his companions to assure himself of their attention,then twisted sharp to the left, back toward their own line, and crawledaway. They followed. After he had covered about ten yards, Dave turnedend for end in his muddy trail, and the others came up to him and turnedbeside him. They saw that the wiring party and the patrol had joined.
"Spread a bit," whispered Dave. "I'll chuck one at 'em, and when itbusts you fellows let fly and then beat it back for the hole in ourwire. Take cover if the emmagees get busy. I'll be right behind you."
They moved a few paces to the right and left. Peter's lips felt dry, andhe wanted to sneeze. He took a plump, cold, heavy little grenade in hismuddy right hand. A few breathless, slow seconds passed and then_smash!_ went Dave's bomb over against the Hun wire. Then Peter stood upand threw--and three bombs exploded like one.
Turning, Peter slithered along on all fours after Dick and Sacobie. Thestartled Huns lighted up their front as if for a national fete; butPeter chanced it and kept on going. A shrapnel shell exploded overheadwith a terrific sound, and the fat bullets spattered in the mud allround him. He came to another and larger crater and was about to skirtit when a familiar voice exclaimed:
"Come in here, you idiot!"
There was Dick and Frank Sacobie standing hip-deep in the mud and waterat the bottom of the hole. Peter joined them with a few bushels of mud.A whiz-bang whizzed and banged red near-by, and the three ducked andknocked their heads together. The water was bitterly cold.
"Did you think you were on your way to the barns to milk?" asked Dick."Don't you know the machine guns are combing the ground?"
"I'll remember," said Peter. "New work to me, and I guess I was a bitflustered. I wonder where Dave Hammer has got himself to."
"Some hole or other, sure," said Sacobie. "Don't worry 'bout Dave. Heput three bombs into them. I counted the busts. Fritz will quiet down ina few minutes, I guess, and let us out of here--if our fellows don't getgay and start all the artillery shootin' off."
Our fellows did not get gay, our artillery refrained from shooting off,and soon the enemy ceased his frenzied musketry and machine gunning andbombing of his own wire and the harmless mud beyond. So Peter and Dickand Sacobie left their wet retreat and crawled for home. They foundSergt. Hammer waiting for them at the hole in the wire. He had alreadygiven the word to the sentry; and so they made the passage of the wireand popped into the trench. Hammer report
ed to Mr. Scammell, who was allready to go out with another patrol; and then the four went back totheir dugout in the support trench, devoured a mess of potatoes andonions, drank a few mugs of tea and retired to their blankets, mud andputties and all.
That was the night of the 3d of December. In the battalion's summary ofintelligence to the brigade it read like this:
"Night of 23d-24th, our patrols active. Small patrol of four, under106254 Sgt. D. Hammer, encountered ten of the enemy in front of theGerman wire. Bombs were exchanged and six of the enemy were killed orwounded. Our patrol returned. 2.30 A. M. Lieut. Scammell placed tube inhostile wire which exploded successfully. No casualties."
The next day passed quietly, with a pale glimmer of sunshine now andthen, and between glimmers a flurry of moist snow. The Germans shoutedfriendly messages across No Man's Land and suggested a completecessation of hostilities for the day and the morrow. The Canadiansreplied that the next Fritz who cut any "love-your-enemy" capers on theparapet would get what he deserved.
"Peace on earth!" exclaimed the colonel of the 26th. "They are thepeople to ask for it, the murderers! No, this is a war with areason--and we shoot on Christmas Eve just as quick as on any otherday."
The day passed quietly. Soon after sunset Mr. Scammell sent two of hisscouts out to watch the gap in the German wire that he had blown withhis explosive tube. They returned at ten o'clock and reported that theenemy had made no attempt to mend the gap. The night was misty and theenemy's illumination a little above normal.
At eleven o'clock Lieut. Scammell went out himself, accompanied byLieut. Harvey and nine men. They reached the gap in the enemy wirewithout being discovered, and there they separated. Mr. Harvey and twoothers moved along the front of the wire to the left, and a sergeant andone man went to the right. Mr. Scammell and his five men passed throughthe wire and extended a few yards to the left, close under the hostileparapet.
The officer stood up, close against the wet sandbags. Dave Hammer, Dick,Peter, Hiram Sill and Sacobie followed his example.
Then, all together, they tossed six bombs into the trench. Theshattering bangs of six more blended with the bangs of the first volley.From right and left along the trench sounded other explosions.
Obeying their officer's instructions, Scammell's men made the returnjourney through the wire and struck out for home at top speed, trustingto the mist to hide their movements from the foe.
Scammell rid himself of three more bombs and then followed his party.The white mist swallowed them. The bombers ran, stumbled and ran again,eager to reach the shelter of their own parapet before the shaken enemyshould recover and begin sweeping the ground with his machine guns.
Sacobie and Dick were the first to get into the trench. Then came Sergt.Hammer and Lieut. Scammell, followed close by Lieut. Harvey and hisparty. By that time the German machine guns were going full blast.
"Are Sergt. Starkley and Private Sill here?"
"Don't see either of 'em, sir," Sergt. Hammer said in reply to Mr.Scammell's question.
"Perhaps they got here before any of us and beat it for their dugout,"said Mr. Scammell. "Dick, you go along the trench and have a look forthem. If they aren't in, come back and report to me. Wait right here forme, mind you--on _this_ side of the parapet. Get that?"
Then the officer spoke a few hurried words to Sergt. Hammer, a few tothe sentry, and went over the sandbags like a snake. Hammer went out ofthe trench at the same moment; and Frank Sacobie took one glance at thesentry and followed Hammer like a shadow. The mist lay close and coldand almost as wet as rain over that puddled waste.
Mr. Scammell found Peter and Hiram about ten yards in front of the gapin our wire; the private was unhurt and the sergeant unconscious. Sillhad his tall friend on his back and was crawling laboriously homeward.
"Whiz-bang," he informed Mr. Scammell. "It got Pete bad, in the leg. Iheard him grunt and soon found him."
They regained the trench, picking up Hammer on the way, and sent Peterout on a stretcher. Sacobie came in at their heels; and no one knew thathe had gone out to the rescue.
That happened on Christmas morning. Before night the doctors cut offwhat little had been left below the knee of Peter's right leg.