CHAPTER XIV Where Men fought for Empire
"Halt! I hear men coming! There are troops on the road—listen!"
Bill, who was leading the party of men cut off from the British army—a party, be it remembered, comprising not only sturdy British soldiers, but just as sturdy members of the new American army—suddenly thrust out an arm and brought them to a standstill. There on the paved highway which runs from Albert to Bapaume, and which the British, with that thoroughness for which they have now no doubt won world-wide fame, had macadamized and rolled until it was as smooth as a billiard table, though but a few months before it had been churned and smashed to pieces by gun-fire—there, unhappily, the same churning and smashing process was being repeated between the spot where Bill and his friends stood and Albert itself, perhaps five miles distant. For in that direction the thunder of guns was loudest, and even the mist and the darkness could not hide the flash of hidden batteries and the bursting of shells from British artillery, nor could the sounds of distant battle altogether drown other sounds—the deep muffled tread of a mass of men.
"Coming back towards us from the Albert direction," said Bill. "Probably men who have been relieved, or perhaps it's a ration party. Anyway, off we go! Take the road here to the right. Look sharp!"
He stepped off the macadam, to find himself to his arm-pits in a huge shell-hole—a relic of 1916—in which also reclined what remained of a shattered tank—one of the land fighting-ships which Britain had brought to bear against the Germans. Clambering out of it, with two other men of the party who had been similarly unfortunate, he struck away from the road, the others following closely. Then, of a sudden, Larry called to him.
"Say, Bill, here's just the sort of stunt for us! Seems like an old building."
"Aye, a sucrerie. I remember it," came from Nobby. "Here you are, here's one of the tanks in which they boiled their roots. It's Pozières—for a hundred! Pozières! don't I know it? Here's where the Australians did in the Germans what was holding 'em up, and pushed on towards Courcelette."
Bill recollected the place at once. Not once but a hundred times probably had he been up or down this Albert-Bapaume road, and, like everyone who had traversed it, he remembered well that little graveyard on the left with the crosses to the gallant Australians, and on the right, here and there, lost almost amongst the tumbled earth and smashed country-side, solitary little crosses, and farther along on the left again, as he went to Bapaume or Peronne, that shattered factory with the old sugar-tanks, smashed and crumbled and perforated by shrapnel and machine-gun bullets, lying three hundred yards from the road, sole relic of the once flourishing and pretty village of Pozières, now relic only of a spot which was the scene of some of the bitterest fighting in 1916.
"In you go," said Bill. "These ruins will hide us, and we can sit down and have a feed. Nobby, you know the place you say—tell us all about it, so that we may know what we're in for. Any good hiding-places?"
"Know the place?" grinned Nobby, as they entered the shattered walls of the factory and sat themselves down on the floor, which was still littered with much of the broken material left by the British. "Well now, when I was here—seems months and months ago—there was a medical post stationed 'ere, covered up in sand-bags. And, my word, didn't they want 'em! Shrapnel was comin' over all the time, and you've only got to see those tanks outside to realize how machine-gun bullets were buzzing. Yet it was a comfortable enough crib then, though rough, and gave fair shelter."
"Fair shelter?" said Bill, suddenly pricking up his ears and thinking. "Supposing now we were forced to protect ourselves, it would——"
The gallant Nobby realized his meaning promptly. "It would," he said with emphasis. "These 'ere old walls, what you can see of 'em in the mist and the darkness, are thick—that is, what's left of 'em is—and there used to be a cellar underneath the floor. If Fritz becomes inquisitive and tries to round us up, why, believe me, this 'ere place might do us a treat. Better'n being in the dug-out anyway. 'Sides, as I remember it, it just tops a rise, and the ground slopes gently away from it all round. That'ud be nasty for the Boche, eh?"
"It'ud provide us with a hiding-place perhaps," said Bill thoughtfully, as they all sat down and munched a ration. "Looks to me, Larry, as though we'd better have another council of war, we fellows, right forward there. We might with a bit of luck get right through the lines during the night. On the other hand, we mightn't. We'd stand a better chance if we could hide up in a place like this, which, as Nobby says, ain't a dug-out, but gives us shelter. We could then get an observation post and look round the neighbourhood. Of course the place might be searched; but then we always stand a chance of being discovered, even if we move on, eh? What's your idea? What do you say about it?"
"Yep," said Larry, pursing his lips. "Gee! this here's a conundrum! I'd like to treat it as our folks say in 'judgematical' manner. Supposin' we move on—well, soon we've got to get off the road, for we've come somewhere near the line where troops are moving. You may say that the Germans have pushed right ahead, past the Butte of Warlencourt and beyond Pozières. They've made a tidy advance in the few hours that have passed since their offensive opened, and now they're held up, or nearly held up, let's hope, somewheres just in front of us. But where is that somewheres? It may be just a mile ahead; it mayn't, on the other hand. Supposin' we moves on, then we may barge into a whole crowd and get bayoneted for our trouble; we may get shot down by our own guns; or we may even find ourselves mixed up in a German offensive and get done in by German machine-gun bullets, perhaps American machine-gun bullets—for some of our boys will get rushed up to help the Allied line. No, siree, I vote that we sits down here for the night, and, come morning, hides away. Then we'll look up some place from which we can observe, and will try to get an idea of what's happening."
"And Jim?" asked Bill, for Jim was one of those quiet Americans who never spoke unless he had something worth saying, but whose opinion was valuable.
"I'm in with Larry," he said. "There's uncertainty either way, whether we go forward or remain here. We may get hunted out to-morrow, or caged in this place like rats in a trap. If so, we can put up a fight at least, same as I guess many other pockets of soldiers overrun by the Germans will be doing. Better that than push on and shove our noses into a noose."
One after another the men gave vent to their own particular personal opinions, and so it became apparent that the general consensus of thought was that the party should halt where it was and rest till dawn came. After that—well, their fortunes lay in the lap of the gods. It was hardly likely that they would escape from such a predicament without trouble or danger, but, if it came, they would be better able to face it after having rested.
Trust the British soldier and his American chum to make the most of any sort of surroundings and to gain comfort in spite of bleak conditions. Half an hour later the whole party—with the exception of one man who watched at the exit of the factory—lay fast asleep, snoring, in their greatcoats under the blankets, which each of them had carried. The sentry stood on a piled-up heap of shattered masonry which had once supported the upper floor of the factory, looking through one of the exits. We have said one of the exits, though that hardly gives a good idea of the condition of the place, seeing that British guns and German guns had each in turn hammered this property, with the result that walls had been flattened and holed. The upper story had gone entirely, windows were no more, and but a battered wreck remained, with hardly a semblance of a factory about it, gaping to the skies with wide rents in all directions. Its interior was a mass of fallen stones, save where lay relics of previous British occupation.
Morning found the party, refreshed by their sleep, fit once more and ready for anything. The mist, too, was not sufficiently thick to prevent their inspecting their immediate surroundings, and Bill, as leader of the party, at once proceeded to make himself familiar with them.
"Good!" he exclaimed. "Some hundreds of sand-bags here. Some of 'em rotten and going to pieces, but others quite sound. They formed, of course, the protection to the aid post. And here's the 'elephant' shelters still standing. Better still! they'll keep the rain out. Now for a squint all round, and then for the cellar. Seems to me we might hold out here for some time."
Months before, parties of natives and others employed by the British had swept over the Somme battle-field, throughout its vast extent, and had salvaged a great amount of material for future use: guns here and there, munitions elsewhere, telephone wires, every sort of warlike material had been gathered in to one collecting centre, even timbers had been extracted from the deep dug-outs constructed by the Germans. But sand-bags and this heavy iron sheeting forming the "elephant" shelter were not worth removing, and were therefore left to rot like the remainder of their surroundings. To Bill and his friends they promised a certain amount of security.
"You see," said Bill, "we could set to work now, select the bags that are in good order, and form a strong post here, out of which no sort of machine-gun fire could drive us—they'd have to bring guns along, or bombs, to do us in—eh, Larry? What about it, Nobby? Suppose the Germans did track us to this spot, are you going to surrender without putting up a fight?"
Nobby looked distinctly annoyed. He glared at Bill, and looked more enormous and more formidable in his hairy coat in that morning mist than he had done previously. He smote himself violently on the chest and tilted his tin hat forward.
"Me give in to Fritz without a fight?" he asked. "'Ere, young chap, what d'yer take me for?—a blinkin' blighter?"
Bill didn't. He mollified the great Nobby by placing one hand on his stalwart shoulder, and then turned to Larry. It was characteristic of the latter that he merely smiled.
"What should I do? What'ud you do yerself, Bill? Give in, of course! Walk out and ask Fritz to be friendly! That's you all over, that is. Just what you'd do, Bill: hob-nob with him—ask him to take a cup of tea—sit down and be pally."
"Huh!" It was then that Jim laughed—Jim, the usually silent American. Larry's sarcasm tickled him wonderfully, and then, of course, he knew Bill so thoroughly. Was it typical of Bill, the young fellow who led them, cool, quiet, and calm on most occasions, yet already an approved fire-eater—was it typical of him to suggest surrender without putting up a strenuous opposition? Jim cackled loudly.
"There'll be trouble here soon, Larry," he went on, "ef you carry on like that. This here Bill was only asking a polite question, and it's up to you to answer politely—you and Nobby, who's about the biggest and most pugnacious man I've come across this side of the water. As ef we didn't know that both of you are crazy for a fight, and believe me, yep, you'll be having it soon, to your heart's content. Here we are, boxed in, we might say, only in nicer surroundings than we was back there in the dug-out, and d'you mean to say that we're going to give up these comfortable quarters because Fritz asks us to do so?"
Jim stood up and stretched his hands out on either side, pointing to their immediate surroundings—those shattered masses of bricks and mortar, tumbled beams, and wrecked and twisted ironwork—for all the world as if it were a palace. And, indeed, to these men, accustomed to the decimated country of France, in which war was now raging, these shattered factory walls did present the aspect, if not of a palace, then of a place which offered some sort of protection. Those sand-bags, for instance, the ironwork of the "elephant" shelter, the heaps of bricks also, all offered something which would allow them to put up a formidable resistance. It was not a matter that needed explaining to any one of the party, it was merely a question of coming to a decision as to their plans. Not a single one of the party was likely to be behindhand in his determination; yet it was good to hear Larry talking so sarcastically to Bill, Jim laughing at them, and to see the huge Nobby getting red with indignation at the very suggestion of surrender. It was encouraging to see the spirit of cheerful confidence, as well as defiance, that animated all.
"In course we all comes in," blurted out one of the party, himself no inconspicuous person, inasmuch as he stood nearly six feet in his socks, and was as fine and clean-limbed a young Englishman as one could wish to find. "I ain't got no particular 'down' on Fritz, I ain't, though I bears in mind the fact that he's murdered women and children and old men up and down the country; all I asks for is a clean fight, if he can give it, which I doubts. If not, then let's have a fight that'll do for him, and if I don't give Mr. Fritz 'is stomick full, why, you can send me home to Blighty. Fight, Bill? In course we will! Nobby knows you will, only he likes a row, he does. What about fixing the plans up—eh? so as to make ready."
The upshot of it all was that they put their heads together, and very soon every one of the party, save one particular man, was hard at work perfecting their defences, selecting the best of the sand-bags and piling them into the openings in the brickwork, so that the shell of the factory, no very considerable place, was soon converted into a species of filter, in the centre of which a ragged hole gave access to a rotting and severely damaged staircase, and that in turn to a cellar which would give protection from gun-fire.
In the meanwhile a single man had clambered to a post of vantage on the walls, where his figure was concealed by a mass of ivy, which already was invading the interior of the factory. From that point he could survey the country-side, and, as the mist lifted, was able to report to his friends what was going forward.
"There's guns and men and carts of all sorts filing along the road—thousands of 'em—all making towards Albert; and—'arf a mo! bless me, if there ain't aeroplanes comin' along in this direction! What's they got, naughts or crosses? Ah, it's naughts! They're British. Oh, and ain't they givin' 'em 'arf a time! Believe me, they're a-clearin' this 'ere road from Albert to Bapaume, divin' down and droppin' things! And Fritz ain't 'arf a-boltin'. Look at them blighters scuttlin' in among the trees like a flock o' scared chickens!"
The announcement brought every man of the party to some aperture from which he looked craftily towards the road, but a little way distant; and there, as he watched, as the sentry had told him, he could see columns of Germans pressing on after the British line, which had retreated, some of the battalions marching across the ploughed-up and shell-destroyed land on either hand. Overhead, flights of aeroplanes could be seen, and some of these were skimming low over the road, emptying their machine-guns into the massed infantry, which in turn either broke up in confusion, and dived from the road, or fired with their rifles upon the aeroplanes, though with little or no effect.
From the far distance came the muffled roar of guns, sometimes silenced, as it were, by the nearer staccato rattle of machine-guns, and then from perhaps five hundred yards away was heard the sharp report of anti-aircraft weapons.
"And it do yer good," said Nobby, hidden well behind the masonry, staring up into the sky, "it do yer good to see them boys up there fightin' their aeroplanes same as ships is fought at sea. Gee! as our one and only Larry says, if they ain't cleared the road already! There's not a bloomin' German left on it, which says somethin' for aeroplanes and more for British machine-guns, lettin' alone the young chaps as works 'em. If only some of 'em could see us down 'ere and drop to the ground to take us off! I wouldn't be scared, give you my word, though I'd rather go through any sort of battle in the front line than go up in an aeroplane. They don't look safe, and they ain't, that's my belief, though to see them boys of ours a-goin' off in 'em you'd think it was just a joy ride. S'welp me! 'Ere, what's happenin'?"
Bill, standing close beside him, gripped his arm.
"Get down!" he said; "they're coming this way. Our machine-guns have driven them from the road, and they are looking for shelter. This is an awkward business."
"Awkward! It's—it's—rotten!" said Nobby.
"Yep," they heard the inevitable lisp from Larry. "Gee! it is real awkward that! Them German chaps don't like your British machine-guns firing down on 'em, and I don't wonder; but that didn't ought to make 'em want to come poachin' here on our shelter. We ain't got no use for 'em! See here, Bill, it's likely to show us up."
Necks were craned round odd corners, eyes peered out across the broken ground towards the road, and fixed themselves upon numbers of crawling figures—the figures of German infantry who a little while before had been marching full of confidence along the Albert road. But those swirling aeroplanes which had drawn the admiring glances of Bill and his friends had swooped down upon them, and, as we have described, they had cleared the road in little time, but for the men who lay killed or wounded upon it, and now had shot off towards Bapaume, bombing and machine-gunning other troops behind. But they might return at any instant, and, with that in mind, the Germans, swept from the road, were seeking the closest cover. Some of them had been attracted by the ruins where Bill and his party hid, and were coming rapidly towards them.
"And there's quite a whole heap of 'em," said Nobby.
"Ah!" he heard Bill exclaim. "If it was a matter of a dozen, or even two, we might take 'em one by one as they crawled in, and——"
"And do 'em in," whispered Nobby. "Here, let me get down to that place there for which they are making. I'll do 'em in, 'struth I will!"
"No!" Bill told him abruptly. "Hun or no Hun, we'd play the game and take 'em prisoners; but there's too many of 'em."
"And a jolly good job too," Nobby growled. "If it's to be a case of taking prisoners and playing the game, or a case of fightin', let's fight. There's not one of us as ain't ready for it."
"Not one." A glance round at the assembled men showed them all eager, some gripping their rifles with bayonets fixed, others already opening pouches which carried their bombs, while Larry had produced from amongst the ruins an iron bar some two feet in length, which he proposed to use as a club. Bill smiled upon them.
"Good boys!" he said. "One of you chaps pitch a bomb over, just to let 'em know that they ain't welcome; then the fight'll start fair. Now, all the rest get down under cover."
It was Nobby who stepped into the centre of the ruin so as to give his arm free play, and, pulling the safety-pin from his grenade, measured the distance with his eye and lobbed it over, all eyes following its path till presently it struck the ground perhaps twenty yards in front of the leading German. Then there was a violent explosion; the enemy advancing upon the ruin halted, looked at one another, discussed the situation, and even began to retreat. But, a minute later, one, who proved to be an officer, crawling right behind the others, came to the head of the column, and, realizing that none but an enemy could have tossed that bomb, and that here, quite by accident, he and his men had unearthed a party of the British, sent scouts out to surround the place, and presently, calling other men to his assistance, opened rifle-fire upon them. The action had begun. From the numbers engaged upon it on the enemy's side it looked as though Bill and his friends had little chance of pursuing their journey.