CHAPTER VI
DAVE HAMMER GETS HIS COMMISSION
BY the middle of January, 1916, Peter was in London again, now minus oneleg but otherwise in the pink of condition. Davenport, with his crutchand stick and shadowing valet, visited him daily in hospital. He andPeter wrote letters to Beaver Dam--and Peter wrote a dozen to Stanley.
Capt. Starkley-Davenport had power. Warbroken and propped between hiscrutch and stick, still he was powerful. A spirit big enough to animatethree strong men glowed in his weak body, and he went after the medicalofficers, nursing sisters and V. A. D.'s of that hospital like alieutenant general looking for trouble. He saw that Peter received everyattention, and then that every other man in the hospital received thesame--and yet he was as polite as your maiden aunt. Several medicalofficers, including a colonel, jumped on him--figurativelyspeaking--only to jump back again as if they had landed on spikes.
As soon as he regarded Peter as fit to be moved he took him to his ownhouse. There the queer servants waited on Peter day and night in orderof seniority. They addressed him as "Sergt. Peter, sir."
Over in Flanders things had bumped and smashed along much as usual sinceChristmas morning. Mr. Scammell had read his promotion in orders and theLondon Gazette, had put up his third star and had gone to brigade asstaff captain, Intelligence; and David Hammer, with the acting rank ofsergeant major, carried on in command of the battalion scouts. HiramSill had been awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal for his work onChristmas morning and the two chevrons of a corporal for his work ingeneral. A proud man was Corp. Sill, with that ribbon on his chest.
The changes and chances of war had also touched Dick Starkley and FrankSacobie. Lieut. Smith had persuaded Dick to leave the scouts and becomehis platoon sergeant; Sacobie was made an acting sergeant--and the nightof that very day, while he was displaying his new chevrons in No Man'sLand, he received a wound in the neck that put him out of the line fortwo weeks.
Henry Starkley--a captain now--managed to visit the battalion abouttwice a month. It was in the fire trench that he found Dick one mild andsunny morning of the last week of February. The brothers grinnedaffectionately and shook hands.
"Peter has sailed for home, wooden leg and all," said Henry. "I got aletter yesterday from Jack Davenport. Except for the sneaking Hunsubmarines, Peter is fairly safe now."
"I hope he makes the farm," said Dick. "He was homesick for it everyminute and working out crop rotations on the backs of letters everynight, in the line and out--except when he was fighting."
"There was something about you in Jack's letter. He says that offerstill stands, and he seems as anxious as ever about it."
Dick sat down on the fire step, thrust out his muddy feet on the duckboards and gazed at them. He scratched himself meditatively in severalplaces.
"I'd like fine to be an officer," he said at last. "Almost any onewould. But I don't want to leave this bunch just now. Jack's crowd willwant officers in six months just as much as now--maybe more; and if I'mlucky--still in fighting shape six months from now--I'll be better ableto handle the job."
"I'll write that to Jack," said Henry. "He will understand--and yourplatoon commander will be pleased. He and the adjutant talked to meto-day as if something were coming to you--a D. C. M., I think. Whathappened to your first adjutant, Capt. Long, by the way?"
"Long's gone west," replied Dick briefly.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Shell get him?"
"No, sniper. He took one chance too many."
"I heard at the brigade on my way in that your friend, Dave Hammer, hashis commission. I wonder if they have told him yet."
"Good! Let's go along and tell him. He is sleeping to-day."
They found Dave in his little dugout, with the mud of last night'sexpedition still caked on his person from heel to head. His blanketswere cast aside, and he lay flat on his back and snored. His snores hadevidently driven the proprietors of the other bunks out of that confinedplace, for he was alone. His muddy hands clasped and unclasped. Heceased his snoring suddenly and gabbled something very quickly andthickly in which only the word "wire" was recognizable. Then he jerkedup one leg almost to his chin and shot it straight again with terrificforce.
"He is fighting in his dreams, just the way my old dog Snap used to,"said Dick. "We may as well wake him up, for he isn't resting."
"Go to it--and welcome," said Henry. "It's an infantry job."
Dick stooped and cried, "Hello, Dave!" but the sleeper only twitched anarm. "Wake up!" roared Dick. "Wake up and go to sleep right!" Thesleeper closed his mouth for a second but did not open his eyes. Hegroaned, muttered something about too much light and began to snoreagain. Dick put a hand on his shoulder--and in the same breath of timehe was gripped at wrist and throat with fingers like iron. Grasping thehand at his throat, Dick pulled a couple of fingers clear. Then thesleeper closed his mouth again and opened his eyes wide.
"Oh, it's you, Dick!" he said. "Sorry. Must have been dreaming."
He sat up and shook hands with Henry. When he heard of his promotion heblushed and got out of his bunk.
"That's a bit of cheering news," he said "I'll have a wash on thestrength of that, and something to eat. Wish we were out, and I'd give alittle party. Wonder if I can raise a set of stars to wear to-night,just for luck."
Henry went away half an hour later, and Dick returned to the firetrench. Capt. Keen, the adjutant, came looking for Hammer, found himstill at his toilet and congratulated him heartily on his promotion.
"Come along and feed with me, if you have had enough sleep," said theadjutant. "The colonel wants to see you. He had a talk with youyesterday, didn't he--about to-night's job?"
"Yes, sir; and it will be a fine job, if the weather is just right.Looks now as if it might be too clear, but we'll know by sundown. I wasdreaming about it a while ago. We were in, and I had a big sentry by theneck when Dick Starkley woke me up. I had grabbed Dick."
"The colonel is right," said Capt. Keen. "You're working too hard,Hammer, and you're beginning to show it; your eyes look like themischief. This fighting in your sleep is a bad sign."
"The whole army could do with a rest, for that matter," replied Hammer,"but who would go on with the work? What I am worrying about now is rankbadges. I'd like to doll up a bit for to-night."
They went back to the sandbagged cellar under the broken farmhouse thatserved as headquarters for whatever battalion held that part of theline. On their way they had borrowed an old jacket with two stars oneach sleeve from Lieut. Smith; and in that garment Dave Hammer appearedat the midday meal. The colonel, the medical officer, the padre and thequartermaster were there. They congratulated Dave on his promotion, andthe colonel placed him at his right hand at the table on an upendedbiscuit box.
The fare consisted of roast beef and boiled potatoes, a serviceableapple pie and coffee. The conversation was of a general character untilafter the attack on the pie--an attack that was driven to completesuccess only by the padre, who prided himself on the musculardevelopment of his jaws. The commanding officer, somewhat daunted inspirit by the pastry, looked closely at the lieutenant.
"You need a rest, Hammer," he said. "Keen, didn't I tell you yesterdaythat Hammer must take a rest? Doc, just slant an eye at this youngofficer and give me your opinion. Doesn't he look like all-get-out?"
"Looks like get-out-of-the-front-line to me, sir," said the medicalofficer. "A couple of weeks back would set him on his feet. You say theword, sir, and I'll send him back this very day."
"But the show!" exclaimed Hammer. "I must go out to-night, sir!"
"Hammer is the only officer with his party, sir," said Capt. Keen to thecolonel. "As you know, sir, we held the organization down this time toonly one officer with each of our four parties--because officers are notvery plentiful with us just now."
"That's the trouble!" exclaimed the colonel. "They hem and haw and chewthe rag over our recommendations for commissions and keep sending usgreen
officers from England who don't know the fine points of the game.So here we are forced to let Hammer go out to-night, when he should bein his blankets. But back he goes to-morrow!"
Dave had intended to sleep that afternoon, but the excitement caused bythe news of his promotion made it impossible. He who had never missed aminute's slumber through fear of death was set fluttering at heart andnerves by the two worsted "pips" on each sleeve of his borrowed jacket.The coat was borrowed--but the right to wear the stars was his, his veryown, earned in Flanders. He toured the trenches--fire, communication andsupport--feeling that his stars were as big as pie plates.
Sentries, whose bayonet-tipped rifles leaned against the parapet,saluted and then grasped his hand. Subalterns and captains hailed him asa brother; and so did sergeants, with a "sir" or two thrown in. As Davepassed on his embarrassed but triumphant way down the trench his heartpounded as no peril of war had ever set it pounding. No emperor had everknown greater ache and uplift of glory than this grand conflagration inthe heart and brain of Lieut. David Hammer, Canadian Infantry.
He visited his scouts; and they seemed as pleased at his "pips" as ifeach one of them had got leave to London. Even Sergt. Frank Sacobie'sdark and calm visage showed flickers of emotion. Corp. Hiram Sill, D. C.M., who visioned everything in a large and glowing style, saw in hismind's eye the King in Buckingham Palace agreeing with some mightygeneral, all red and gold and ribbons, that this heroic and deservingyoung man should certainly be granted a commission for the fine work hewas doing with the distinguished scouts of that very fine regiment.
"I haven't a doubt that was the way of it," said Old Psychology. "Peoplewith jobs like that are trained from infancy to grasp details; and I betKing George has the name of everyone of us on the tip of his tongue. Youcan bet your hat he isn't one to give away Distinguished Conduct Medalswithout knowing what he is about."
Hiram joined in the laughter that followed his inspiring statements; notthat he thought he had said anything to laugh at, but merely to besociable.
That "show" was to be a big one--a brigade affair with artillerycooperation. The battalion on the right was to send out two parties, oneto bomb the opposite trench and the other to capture and demolish ahostile sap head--and together to raise Old Ned in general and so holdas much of the enemy's attention as possible from the main event. Thebattalion on the left was to put on an exhibition of rifle, machine-gunand trench-mortar fire that would assuredly keep the garrison oppositeoccupied with its own affairs.
As for the artillery, it had already worked through two thirds of itselaborate programme. Four nights ago it had put on a shoot at two pointsin the hostile wire and front line, three hundred yards apart, short buthot. Then it had lifted to the support and reserve trenches. Threenights ago it had done much the same things, but not at the same hours,and on a wider frontage. The enemy, sure of being raided, had turned onhis lights and his machine guns on both occasions--on nothing. He coulddo nothing then toward repairing his wire, for after our guns hadchurned up his entanglements our machine guns played upon the scene andkept him behind his parapet. The batteries had been quiet two nightsago, and Fritz, expecting a raid in force, had lost his nerve entirely.Our eighteen pounders had lashed him at noon the next day, and again atsunset and again at eleven o'clock; and so he had sat up all night againwith his nerves.
At four o'clock in the afternoon of this day of Dave Hammer's promotionthe batteries went at it again, smashing wire and parapets with fieldguns and shooting up registered targets farther back with heavier metal.When hostile batteries retaliated, we did counter-battery work with suchenergy and skill that we soon had the last word in the argument. Thedeeds of the gunners put the infantry in high spirits.
The afternoon grew misty; shortly after five o'clock there was a shower.At half past seven scouts went out from the 26th and the battalion onthe right and, returning, reported that the wire was nicely ripped andchewed. At eight the battalion on the left put on a formidabletrench-mortar shoot, which quite upset the nerve-torn enemy. Then allwas at rest on that particular piece of the western front--except forthe German illumination--until half past twelve.
Half past twelve was Zero Hour. A misty rain was seeping down from aslate-gray sky. Six lieutenants in the fire trench of two battalionstook their eyes from the dials of their wrist watches, said "time" totheir sergeants and went over, with their men at their heels and elbows.The two larger parties from our battalion were to get into the oppositetrench side by side, there separate one to the left and one to theright, do what they could in seven minutes or until recalled, then getout and run for home with their casualties--if any. They were to passtheir prisoners out as they collared them. The smaller parties were madeup of riflemen, stretcher bearers and escorts for the prisoners. Theraiding parties were commanded by Mr. Hammer, with Sergt. Sacobie secondin command, and Mr. Smith, with Sergt. Richard Starkley second incommand. Corp. Hiram Sill was in Hammer's crowd.
Captain Scammell from brigade, the colonel and the adjutant stood in thetrench at the point of exit. Suddenly they heard the dry, smashingreports of grenades through the chatter of machine-gun fire on the left.The bombs went fast and furious, punctuated by the crack of rifles andbursts of pistol fire. S. O. S. rockets went up from the Germanpositions; and, as if in answer to those signals, our batteries laid aheavy barrage on and just in rear of the enemy's support trenches. Thecolonel flashed a light on his wrist.
"They have been in four minutes," he said.
At that moment a muddy figure with blackened face and hands and a slungrifle on his back scrambled into the trench, turned and pulled somethingover the parapet that sprawled at the colonel's feet.
"Here's one of them, sir; and there's more coming," said the man of mud."Ah! Here's another. Boost him over, you fellers."
"'HERE'S ONE OF THEM, SIR; AND THERE'S MORE COMING,' SAID THE MAN OF MUD."]
Into the trench tumbled another Fritz, and then a third, and then aCanadian, and then two more prisoners and the third Canadian.
"Five," said the last of the escort. "Us three started for home witheight, but something hit the rest of 'em--T-M bomb, I reckon."
"Sure it was," said the Canadian who had arrived first. "Don't I know? Igot a chunk of it in my leg." He stooped and fumbled at the calf of hisright leg. The adjutant turned a light on him, and the man extended hishand, dripping with blood.
"You beat it for the M. O., my lad," said the colonel.
Five more prisoners came in under a guard of two; and then six more ofthe raiders arrived, two of whom were carrying Lieut. Smith. Thelieutenant's head was bandaged roughly, and the dressing was alreadysoaked with blood.
"We did them in, sir," he said thickly to the colonel. "Caught them inbunches--and bombed three dugouts."
He was carried away, still muttering of the fight. By that time themajority of the other parties were in. Several of the men werewounded--and they had brought their dead with them, three in number. TheGermans had turned their trench mortars on their own front line fromtheir support trenches.
"They're not all in yet," said Capt. Keen. "Hammer isn't in."
Just then Dick Starkley slid into the trench.
"That you, Dick? Did you see Mr. Hammer? Or Frank Sacobie? Or BruceMcDonald?"
"I have McDonald--but some one's got to help me lift him over," saidDick breathlessly. "Heavy as a horse--and hit pretty bad!"
Two men immediately slipped over the top and hoisted big McDonald intothe trench. Hiram Sill put a hand on Dick's shoulder.
"Dave Hammer and Sacobie," he whispered, "are still out. Hadn't webetter--"
"Right," said Dick. "Come on out." He turned to Capt. Scammell. "Pleasedon't let the guns shorten for a minute or two, sir; Sill and I have togo out again."
Without waiting for an answer they whipped over the sandbags. Hiram wasback in two minutes. He turned on the fire step and received somethingthat Dick and Frank Sacobie lifted over to him. It was Dave Hammer,unconscious and breathing hoa
rsely, with his eyes shut, his borrowedtunic drenched with mud and blood and one of his bestarred sleeves shotaway. Capt. Scammell swayed against the colonel and, for a second, puthis hand to his eyes.
"Steady, lad, steady," said the colonel in a queer, cracked voice."Keen, tell the guns to drop on their front line with all they'vegot--and then some."
To the whining and screeching of our shells driving low overhead and thetumultuous chorus of their exploding, passed the undismayed soul ofLieut. David Hammer of the Canadian Infantry.
Heedless of the coming and going of the shells and the quaking of theparapet, Sacobie sat on the fire step with his hands between his kneesand stared fixedly at nothing; but Hiram Sill and young Dick Starkleywept without thought of concealment, and their tears washed whitefurrows down their blackened faces.