“Right-oh,” said Duncan with sudden decision. “Let’s try for the Artillery.”
“Yes. We’ll call that settled,” said Morrison; and both stood a few minutes looking with a new interest at the picture, already with a dawning sense that they “belonged,” that these gallant gunners and leaping teams were “Ours,” looking forward with a little quickening of the pulse to the day when they, too, would go whirling into action in like desperate and heart-stirring fashion.
“Come on,” said Morrison. “Let’s get it over. To the recruiting-office—quick march.”
And so came two more gunners into the Royal Regiment.
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When the long, the heart-breakingly long period of training and waiting for their guns, and more training and slow collecting of their horses, and more training was at last over, and the battery sailed for France, Morrison and Duncan were both sergeants and “Numbers One” in charge of their respective guns; and before the battery had been in France three months Morrison had been promoted to Battery Sergeant-Major.
The battery went through the routine of trench warfare and dug its guns into deep pits, and sent its horses miles away back, and sat in the same position for months at a time, had slack spells and busy spells, shelled and was shelled, and at last moved up to play its part in The Push.
Of that part I don’t propose to tell more than the one incident—an incident of machine-pattern sameness to the lot of many batteries.
The infantry had gone forward again and the ebb-tide of battle was leaving the battery with many others almost beyond high-water mark of effective range. Preparations were made for an advance. The Battery Commander went forward and reconnoitred the new position the battery was to move into, everything was packed up and made ready, while the guns still continued to pump out long-range fire. The Battery Commander came in again and explained everything to his officers and gave the necessary detailed orders to the Sergeant-Major, and presently received orders of date and hour to move.
This was in the stages of The Push when rain was the most prominent and uncomfortable feature of the weather. The guns were in pits built over with strong walls and roofing of sandbags and beams which were weather-tight enough, but because the floors of the pits were lower than the surface of the ground, it was only by a constant struggle that the water was held back from draining in and forming a miniature lake in each pit. Round and between the guns was a mere churned-up sea of sticky mud. As soon as the new battery position was selected a party went forward to it to dig and prepare places for the guns. The Battery Commander went off to select a suitable point for observation of his fire, and in the battery the remaining gunners busied themselves in preparation for the move. The digging party were away all the afternoon, all night, and on through the next day. Their troubles and tribulations don’t come into this story, but from all they had to say afterwards they were real and plentiful enough.