CHAPTER VI
A PRISONER OF WAR
"An almost similar pilgrimage across No Man's Land had been made by Private Bartlett, but with a different ending. Before he was aware of the fact he had blundered into a party of Germans engaged in wiring the defences, and as he made a vicious jab with his bayonet at the nearest of the Huns he was felled with a blow of a mallet. Without a cry he dropped senseless.
In an unconscious condition he was brought in by his captors, and placed unceremoniously on the fire-step of the hostile trench. At the first sign of the prisoner's senses returning his guards sent word to their officers that the Englishman was recovering and could be interrogated.
"Now you vos tell me der truth," said the German menacingly. "Der whole truth, mind, or we vos haf you shot. I know plenty about your trenches, so if you tell der lie den I vos you find out. Now, vot regiment you vos?"
"The Wheatshires," replied the captive promptly. He knew that the Huns were fully aware of the composition of the troops engaged opposite to them.
"Goot!" said the Major. "Dot vos so. Now, der is talk of und mine. Dot is so?"
"Yes," replied Sidney. "We have sunk a mine gallery."
"In vot direction?" was the next question.
Sidney paused to think. He recalled his father's words. "In business, Sidney, you can tell a lie." This was a business—one of the grimmest businesses that fall to the lot of men and nations—scientific murder, licensed under the name of war.
"Why you no answer?" prompted the Hun.
"Suppose I refuse?" asked the captive. "Men taken prisoner are not compelled to reply to questions on military matters."
The German laughed gruffly.
"Rules of war for fools are," he chuckled. "We Germans make war, we no play. You answer vill make now, so."
"All right; if I am compelled to do so," rejoined Sidney. "The mine runs away to your left—two hundred yards, I should think." In point of fact, and Private Bartlett was perfectly aware of it, the explosion chamber was almost immediately beyond that part of the hostile trench in which he was held prisoner. Although the main force of the explosion would be directed against the Pumpnickel Redoubt there was the almost certainty of a swift and terrible death to every living creature in the German first-line trenches as well.
The Hun officer snapped out some words of command to his men. The soldiers began to pile up sand-bags across the trench to neutralize, as they thought, the outlying effects of the impending explosion, while the locality that Bartlett had purposely and wrongly indicated was cleared of troops.
"Ach!" continued the Major. "Now you vos tell me dis: at vot hour the mine goes it off?"
"At six-thirty," replied Sidney promptly. He was entering eagerly into the "business" by this time. It would result, he had no doubt, in the extermination of several hundred Germans and his comparatively insignificant self as well.
"Now, we see," remarked the Prussian officer. "If der truth you haf said, den all vill well be. We keep you here—in der drench."
Evidently the German had certain misgivings, for, ordering a post to be driven deeply into the slime and his prisoner to be firmly bound to it, he scurried off to a remote portion of the reserve trenches.
This much Ralph Setley heard. From other sounds he came to the conclusion that most, if not all, of the German troops were following their superior's example.
"Time for me to be getting back," he soliloquized. "There may yet be an opportunity for our chaps to raid the trench and rescue Bartlett before the mine is sprung. Wonder how time goes? It seems as if I've been out for a couple of hours."
He returned in quicker time than he had taken to crawl out to the barbed wire entanglements. For one thing the Huns were no longer in the trench, ready to train a machine-gun on any moving object that they were able to discern in the glare of the star-shells. For another thing, the artillery duel had increased in violence, the rain of projectiles from the British guns being unmistakably superior in velocity to that of the Huns. Perhaps it was a prelude to the impending advance? If so, the hour fixed for the firing of the mine was at hand.
"That you, Setley?" came a hoarse whisper almost into his ear.
"Yes," replied Ralph, recognizing Alderhame's voice.
"Thought you had been done in. We've been back some time. I crawled out to see if I could find you. Come along."
A rifle-bullet whizzed past Setley's head.
Promptly he ducked and crouched in a convenient shell-hole. Somewhere in No Man's Land a Hun sniper was on the qui vive.
A dozen shots rang out from the British trenches in reply. The flash of the sniper's rifle had betrayed his position. A squeal, like that of a stuck pig, showed pretty plainly that the Hun ought to have stopped a bullet.
The noise was but a ruse on the sniper's part, for as Alderhame and Setley scrambled over the parapet another shot rang out from the same spot, the bullet grazing the heel of Ralph's boot and cutting a slight furrow on his wrist.
It was hard lines on the sniper; for just as he fired his second shot a German shell, falling short—as defective projectiles are apt to do—landed fairly on top of his lair. In the flash that followed the luckless sniper's body was hurled high in the air, and fell with a sickening thud almost on top of the British parapet.
"What have you been up to?" enquired Sergeant Ferris.
Briefly, Setley told the non-com. of what he had heard.
"Then come along and report to the Colonel," continued the sergeant. "By smoke, if we get permission to attempt a rescue every man-jack in the battalion will want to be over the top."
"A very creditable performance," declared the officer commanding the Wheatshires, when Ralph had made his report. "Private Bartlett is a brick. No; I do not think it advisable to go out again. The hostile wire is now intact, I understand. As things go we must leave Bartlett to take his chances. It would be madness to throw even a platoon against standing entanglements. One must not allow sentiment to jeopardize men's lives."
Somewhat crestfallen, Sergeant Ferris and Private Setley left the C.O.'s dug-out. It was now half-past two—the time fixed for the men to assemble for the task of occupying and consolidating the mine-crater.
Like ghostly forms the steel-helmeted Tommies clustered in the fire-trench. The officers, nervously consulting their watches at every half-minute, felt the tedious wait as acutely as the men. Once the whistle blew the excitement of the wild rush would come as a welcome relief to the dreary and nerve-racking period of waiting, when men have opportunities to conjure up mental pictures of what might happen during the dash across No Man's Land.
"Ain't it about time that blinkin' mine went up?" whispered George Anderson. "Ain't it perishin' cold? If I 'ave to wait much longer I won't 'ave no feet to carry me over the top."
"Five minutes longer," announced Penfold. "Hullo! What's up with the company on our right flank?"
The men referred to could be seen filing off along the narrow trench. In half a minute the three adjacent bays were deserted, except for the sentries and the men told off for duty in the firing line.
A subaltern floundered along the duck-boards and whispered to the platoon commander.
The charge was to be deferred pending further orders from headquarters. Either something had gone wrong with the final preparations of the mine, or else information had been received that necessitated the advance being postponed.
"Turn in, you fellows," said Sergeant Ferris. "No more going out to-night! Sorry for young Bartlett, but you know what the Colonel said."
"'Ow about our relief, sergeant?" enquired George Anderson. "Thought the Wheatshires were to be sent back last night?"
"Don't know as you've much cause to grumble," replied the N.C.O., "seeing that you haven't been twenty-four hours in the firing trench. Some of the boys have had six days of it."
"Seems like twenty-four months, sergeant," continued Ginger.
"P'r'aps; but you're a glutton for going out over No Man's Land," said Ferris. "You've no call to complain that it hasn't been exciting enough."
"A chap must do something to keep himself warm," groused the private, as he followed Setley and Alderhame to their now depleted dug-out.