CHAPTER XII
"THE BEST OF LUCK"
A WEEK later Ralph Setley was given his commission and appointed tothe Tank Service. He shrewdly suspected that the colonel of theWheatshires had put in a strong recommendation on his behalf, and inthis surmise he was not mistaken.
With the commission ten days' leave was granted to enable the newlyfledged subaltern to obtain his kit, and in high spirits Ralph setout for England.
He parted with his former comrades with genuine regret. Despitedanger, discomforts, and the rough life he had had a rattling goodtime in the ranks. Looking back he dwelt only on the bright side of aTommy's existence. The men of his late platoon were equally heartyand embarrassingly outspoken in their appreciation of Ralph's goodluck, because he deserved it. It was not a case of promotion throughfavouritism: individual merit and devotion to duty had earned afitting reward.
At Boulogne he alighted in company with hundreds of officers and men,the former clad in "warms," the latter in goatskin coats with thetrench mud adhering to their uniforms and boots. All were in highgood humour, for were they not bound back to Blighty. A long hospitaltrain had come in, and hale and wounded were cheek by jowl until theyset out on the sea-journey--the former by returning transports, thelatter in the distinctively painted hospital ships that areoccasionally marked down as victims by the recreant and despicableU-boat pirates.
"Hullo, Setley!"
Ralph stopped and turned his head, unable at first to locate thedirection from which the hail proceeded.
A man lying on a stretcher resting on the platform had attracted hisattention. Ralph failed to recognize the voice, nor could herecognize the speaker. The latter was partly covered with a blanket.His left arm was bandaged, while his head was swathed with dressingsto such an extent that only the nose and one eye were visible.
"Hullo, yourself!" replied Setley. "Sorry, but I can't recognizeyou."
"What, forgotten your old platoon sergeant?" rejoined the woundedman.
"Sergeant Ferris!" exclaimed Ralph. "Why, we were told that you hadbeen done in--blown to bits."
"Not so very far wrong," replied Ferris, as Ralph placed a cigarettebetween the sergeant's lips and lighted it. "I copped it properly.Lifted off my feet by a shell, then a machine-gun played the deuce. Igot in the next night and here I am."
Ferris's brief statement hardly did justice to the man's grit. Thecalf of the right leg had been pulverized by half a dozenmachine-guns bullets, although the shin bone had escaped injury. Twobullets had completely pierced the left ankle. These wounds, combinedwith shell-shock, rendered the sergeant unconscious. When he came to,the Wheatshires had retired to the captured second line trench and hefound himself in the open. Indomitably he started to crawl back.Every inch of the way was fraught with agony. At length he approacheda sunken road, but just as he was about to drag himself over the edgea sniper shot him through the chest. At the time he was almostunaware of the fact, except that he felt a sharp twinge, which he putdown to a scratch from part of his equipment, but when he gained thesunken lane he again swooned from loss of blood.
Upon regaining consciousness he found that it was night. A burningthirst gripped his throat, and increased his physical torments.Doggedly he began to crawl again, although he could hardly hold hishead up clear of the mud. The contents of a water-bottle that hadbelonged to a dead German revived him considerably, and in spite offrequent rests his progress along the sunken lane was slowly andsteadily maintained, until through sheer exhaustion he fell into afitful sleep.
With daybreak his troubles increased. The Huns begun shelling thesunken road, while the British guns also began to pound the samespot. Crawling into a crater Ferris hugged the muddy earth, expectingevery minute to be blown to atoms by the bursting high explosives. Itwas then that he received a scalp wound and a fragment of shell inhis wrist. Throughout the long-drawn day he lay in his frail shelterwhile the mutual "strafe" continued. At night he resumed hispilgrimage of agony and finally reached the British lines to findthat his regiment had been relieved by the Downshires.
"Yes," he continued, puffing contentedly at the cigarette Ralph hadgiven him. "I'm just off to Blighty for a rest cure, then I guessI'll be back in time for the Final Push. Wouldn't miss that forworlds, and the boys are doing great things, I hear. Where are youoff to, Setley? Blighty, too. You're mighty lucky to get away. Somechaps have been months out here without having a sniff of home. Got acommission, eh? Well, sir, the best of luck."
Two bearers raised the stretcher and Sergeant Ferris was borne off onanother stage of the journey of pain, yet happy at the thought that aguerdon awaited him--the sight of his native land.
The Cross-Channel passage was accomplished in safety, thanks to theefficient escort provided by the Senior Service, and just as it wasgetting dark Ralph landed at Folkestone. The train from Charing Crossconveying leave-expired men had just arrived, and the double streamof troops, some with their faces Francewards, others with their backsto the Front for a few brief days, jostled on the landing-stage.
"Blimey, if it ain't young Setley!" exclaimed a well-known voice."'Ere, Aldy, where are yer?"
And Ginger Anderson gripped Ralph's hand and jerked it like apump-handle.
"So they let yer off? Lucky blighter! you've got your leave to come.We've 'ad ours, worse luck."
"Cheer-o!" was Alderhame's greeting. "How are things?"
Briefly Ralph explained the nature of his hurried visit home.
"Told you so," said Alderhame. "I knew it meant a pip on your collar.Well, the best of luck."
"Judging by the number of times I've been wished that I ought to haveit," rejoined Ralph. "And I believe I was born on a Friday."
"Suppose we ought to salute?" said Ginger.
"I believe the idea is that one salutes the King's uniform, and Ihaven't got it yet," replied Ralph.
"You salute the uniform not the man," agreed Alderhame.
"Don't know so much abart that," added Ginger reminiscently. "I gotseven days C.B. for not saluting my company officer, an' e was inplain clothes; so 'ow abart it? If it's the bloomin' uniform yousalutes then why the dooce don't a Tommy kow-tow to every blesseduniform he sees in a tailor's shop?"
"Give it up," declared Sergeant Alderhame. "Well, Ralph, we'll besorry to lose you, but jolly glad you've pulled off a commission.With the Tanks, too. That's good business. If there's a chance andyou're want of a sergeant then you might bear in mind your old pal."
"I won't forget," replied Setley. "So long."
"Shan't be sorry to get across ter France," declared Ginger. "Notthat I want ter find myself in those blinkin' trenches: the chap wotswears 'e likes that sort o' life is a bloomin' prevaricator. When weget a move on it's different. But wot I wants ter get across for is agood square bust-out: bully beef an' spuds. Honest, I ain't 'ad meteeth inside a tater the whole time I've bin 'ere. Fed up withBlighty, that's wot I am."
"You're not the only one who had to go without potatoes," addedAlderhame. "There's an artificial shortage everywhere; those rascallyprofiteers have been at it again. Just fancy, our little town wasquite without spuds, and yet a neighbouring landowner had thirty tonsof potatoes under straw--to feed his brothers later on."
"His brothers?" queried Ralph.
"Ay," continued Alderhame, with a laugh. "In other words, his pigs."
The order to "Fall in" ended the interview. The heavily ladenTommies, bent under the weight of their packs and equipment, preparedto embark while Setley made his way to the train.
The next few days passed only too quickly. Hurried visits to theStores, receiving the congratulations of his numerous acquaintances,modestly relating his adventures to his admiring relatives and goinginto dozens of personal matters that claimed his attention--thesewere but a few of the things that occupied the youngsecond-lieutenant's time. The while he was consumed with impatienceto take up his new duties. Reports from the Front hinted of importantevents in the immediate future. Something big was in the air. A"push," long-promis
ed and compared with which the previousoperations, magnificent though they were, would be entirely dwarfed,was imminent. At last the British Empire, ever backward inpreparation, had more than caught up with her Germanic rival, andwith quiet confidence millions of the subjects of King George awaitedthe news that at last the Huns were being thrown back towards thebanks of the Rhine.