CHAPTER XI
AN INTERVIEW WITH THE C.O.
"It was close on midnight when Setley and his two companions rejoined their battalion. Although the distance was not far every foot of the way was beset with perils, for in spite of the heavier fire from the British guns the Germans were systematically searching the ground that had been wrested from them during the day. Every shell hole was now a miniature lake, covered with a thin coating of ice. A slip on the steeply sloping edge and the incautious wight would find himself out of his depth in icy cold water.
The trio met a continuous procession of wounded, most of them having to be carried by their comrades or else on stretchers or sleighs; prisoners, too, who had been humanely kept under cover until darkness fell lest they should be shot down by their own guns, were being herded across the open—gaunt and hungry men who seemed glad to be out of the fighting.
Ration and supply parties, units of ammunition columns passed to and fro, for the firing line had to be fed and provided with bombs and cartridges. Except for the absence of lights the traffic reminded Ralph of the Great North Road on the night of Barnet Fair, with the difference that the predominant colour-scheme was khaki everywhere.
"Hullo, you chaps!" called out a private of the same section, recognizing the three returning Tommies. "Thought you'd been done in. You're marked down as missing. Grub? I've a pannikin on the charcoal fire, and there are some rashers. You've been into the lines of communication? Heard anything of our being relieved?"
"Not a word," rejoined Ralph, taking possession of a thin cup in which the tea leaves from the last drinker were still in evidence. Setley had forgotten to be particular in such matters. "Where's Sergeant Ferris?"
"Blown to bits," said the other nonchalantly. "We didn't get our promised share of goose," he added regretfully. "Suppose we are lucky to get bacon."
The Wheatshires had suffered heavily in the charge. Most of the officers had either been killed or wounded, while forty per cent of the rank and file were out of action. Although they had succeeded in occupying two of the three trenches their failure to reach their objective was galling to the men. Elsewhere the general plan of operations had been successful, and now the battle-worn Wheatshires were consoled with the knowledge that the Huns on their immediate front were in a position that formed a dangerous salient. Either they would have to give back or risk almost certain chance of being surrounded and compelled to surrender.
Dog-tired and bitterly cold, Setley followed the example of his chums and threw himself down on the fire-step to sleep. Shelter in dug-out there was none, for so heavy had been the British bombardment that the remaining shelters were in such a dangerous state that the men were cautioned not to make use of them.
The constant passing of laden men along the narrow trench, the ceaseless roar of heavy guns, and the intermittent rattle of machine-gun fire failed to keep Ralph awake, yet it seemed as if he had been asleep but a few minutes when he was aroused by a hand shaking him roughly by the shoulder.
"Turn out, mate," exclaimed Ginger. "We're being relieved. The bloomin' Downshires are movin' into the trenches."
Setley bestirred himself. Fully equipped he rolled off the fire-step into a foot of mud and slush that formed the floor of the trench. If the Huns had had boards they had vanished—probably smashed to atoms or else covered with debris from the sides of the trench with the violent concussion of the bombardment.
"Wake that man up!" ordered an officer, indicating a dim form. The man was dead, shot in his sleep. Ralph remembered that the unlucky fellow had asked him to move along and give him room. Had Setley not done so the probability was that he would be lying cold and motionless.
Silently the depleted battalion moved along the narrow trench, and with equal caution the goat-skin-clad Downshires filed into the vacated position. It was now snowing heavily, but the Wheatshires paid scant heed to the climatic conditions. They were like schoolboys off for a holiday.
"Hurrah for a good hot bath!" exclaimed Ralph when the men arrived at the rest-billets. In the trenches he had endured cold, dirt, and all the horrors of a confined deep ditch of wet clay with a sort of fatalism; but now the innate desire for cleanliness reasserted itself.
One of four hundred men, all in a state of puris naturalibus, Setley was ordered to double along a narrow plank gangway. Under one arm he carried his uniform. Under the other two bundles, one containing his personal effects, the other his underclothing.
At the end of the gangway were three separate sheds, with a sort of counter across the open doors. As each man passed the first he threw in his uniform, receiving in exchange a metal disc. At the second he parted company with his personal effects, again taking up a metal token. The third but received his underclothing.
Thence the Tommies entered a large building in which were rows of tubs filled with hot water. Laughing, shouting, and cracking jokes the men revelled in the rare luxury, until the stern admonition of the non-com. to "get a move on" reminded them that there is an end to all good things, not omitting bathing parades.
Again the procession was re-formed, and at the double the men hurried along another corridor, passing the other end of the buildings in which their belongings had been deposited.
Each soldier received a change of underclothing at the first hut, his personal gear at the second, and his uniform, steam-cleaned and liberally coated with insect powder at the third. With the regularity of clockwork the battalion was thus furbished up for its stay at the rest-billet—a striking testimony to the efficient organization and to the care and attention given to the troops after their arduous work in the firing line.
"Private Setley!"
The gruff voice of the platoon sergeant brought Ralph to a halt.
"You're wanted at the orderly-room at three p.m.," continued the sergeant. "An' don't you forget it."
"Say, sergeant——"
"Well?"
"Do you know what I'm wanted for?"
"Dunno, me lad; you'll find out when you are told an not a minute before."
Ralph received the message with certain misgivings. The word "orderly-room" had an unpleasant significance. Vainly he racked his brains to try to remember if he had done anything for which he might be "crimed." Then, perhaps, it might be that he was to be detailed for clerical work. Perish the suggestion! He had had enough of that at the bank. He hadn't come out to the Front to follow the irksome routine of doing orderly-room correspondence.
At the hour Ralph reported himself and was brought before the colonel of the Wheatshires.
The C.O. lost no time in coming to the point,
"I've had a report concerning you," he began. "I understand that you were in charge of a small squad, that you rushed a machine-gun emplacement, and that you rendered material assistance under heavy fire to a disabled Tank. The officer making the report states that you behaved with admirable bravery, intelligence, and discretion under highly dangerous circumstances."
The colonel placed the paper on his desk and searched amongst a pile of documents for another. Setley, in the meanwhile, stood rigidly at attention, inwardly ill at ease. He had merely done his duty. The subsequent eulogy from his C.O., although highly gratifying, quite bewildered him.
"Let me see," continued the colonel, glancing over Ralph's "history sheet." "You've served a hundred and fifty-six days with the Colours. You have never been crimed. Your occupation, previous to enlisting, was banking?"
"Yes, sir," replied Ralph.
"Where were you educated?"
Setley told him, mentioning the name of a well-known West-country school. The C.O. nodded approval.
"Wonder why he wants to know that?" thought the lad.
He was not long left in doubt.
"You have been recommended for a commission, Private Setley," resumed the C.O. "I have much pleasure in stating my opinion that you are in every respect fitted to take up commissioned rank. Being recommended, of course, does not necessarily mean that you will get it, but in all probability you will. ...I wish you the best of luck."
"Thank you, sir," replied Ralph.
The colonel made an annotation on the margin of the report.
"In the event of your obtaining this commission," he went on, "have you any particular choice of a regiment? The decision is entirely in the hands of the Army Council, you understand, but as far as practicable the wishes of the individual concerned is taken into consideration."
"Must it be a Line regiment, sir?"
"Unless you have special qualifications for any other branch of the Service."
"I would like to try for the Tank Section, sir."
The colonel raised his bushy eyebrows.
"Dash it all!" he ejaculated. "You aim high, young man. However, since you gained distinction in the Tank affair, perhaps your wishes will be gratified. Meanwhile, if you take my advice you'll keep this matter strictly to yourself as far as your comrades are concerned."
The colonel nodded dismissal. Ralph saluted and left the presence of the commanding officer.
He felt as if he were treading on air. He could hardly realize his good fortune. It seemed like a dream that would be rudely dispelled with the dawn. He wanted to pinch himself to be certain that he was really awake.
On his way back to his billet he encountered Private Anderson looking smarter than he had ever been known before. Ginger's boots shone brightly, despite the "dubbin" under the polish. His buttons, a few hours previously dull and tarnished by the clammy air of the trenches and the chemical effect of the bursting shells, now glittered resplendent in the sunshine. His reddish moustache had been brushed and coaxed into a certain state of subservience, although subduing the stubbly bristles had taken the private almost an hour of hard work. His cap was tilted on the back of his head revealing a well-oiled and studiously arranged "quiff" of fiery-tinted hair.
"Wot cheer, mate!" exclaimed George. "Where 'ave you been?"
"Orderly-room," replied Ralph.
"Blimey, that's where I'm off to," rejoined Anderson. "Your pal the hacter bloke is warned too. It's abart that bloomin' Tank business. Ain't this yere child correct?"
"It is," assented Setley.
"I knowed it," declared Ginger with conviction. "Wot did yer get?"
"The colonel complimented me," replied Ralph tactfully.
"That all? Blow me tight! I was reckonin' on 'aving seven days' special leave an' a free ticket to Blighty an' back."
Ginger walked away, his step a little less jaunty than before.
At tea-time the three comrades met. Ginger was radiant.
"The old man 'e told me I was a bloomin' corporal, and that I was to 'ave the bloomin' D.C.M.," he reported.
"'Any chance of getting back to Blighty on leave just ter show me medal off, sir?' I asked; an' blow me if 'e didn't get the orderly-room sergeant to make me a pass straight away. I'm off to-night, an' chance me arm over them U-boats. 'E's a toff is the colonel."
"And he thought fit to bestow a sergeant's chevrons on your humble," announced Alderhame. "The distinction of the D.C.M. is also thrown in as a makeweight."
"Congratulations, both of you," said Ralph heartily.
"Thanks; and what did you get?" asked Alderhame pointedly.
"'E swears 'e only got complimented," interjected Ginger. "All my bloomin eye, eh, wot?"
Alderhame winked solemnly.
"Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice," he quoted. "I can guess—you lucky young dog!"