"Next man!" The conversation stopped while the next man went across, but having once begun to tell their experiences, the men would not stop altogether, and after a brief silence an elderly little man with a bandaged foot said:
"What I couldn't get over was insomnia. I could never sleep at the right time and I was always dead tired on duty. Once I worked forty-three hours at a stretch and after that I had to do a guard in our trench. I felt sleepy all of a sudden. I pinched myself and banged the butt of my rifle on my toes, but everything seemed to swim round me. Then, I don't know how, I went off to sleep. I was awakened by an officer who shook me and swore at me. I was a bit dazed at first and then suddenly it struck me what had happened. I never had the wind up so much in all my life and I implored him not to report me. I don't remember what happened next, I was in such a state. But he did report me. I got a court martial and was sentenced to death for sleeping at my post. They put me into the guard-room and I expected to be shot the next day. It was a rotten feeling, I can tell you. I didn't think about myself so much as about the wife and the little boy. I wouldn't go through a night like that again for anything. But I went to sleep all the same. I woke up the next morning when someone came into the guard-room. I didn't know where I was for a second or two, and then in a flash I realized I'd got to die. I don't mind admitting that I rested my face against the wall and blubbered like a kid. Anyone would have done the same, I don't care what you say. But the man who'd just come in said:
"'Pull yourself together, old chap—you're all right for to-day, anyhow.' I sat bolt upright and stared at him.
"'They're not going to shoot me?'
"'Not to-day,' he answered. 'Cheer up, all sorts of things might happen before to-morrow.'
"The joy I felt was so big that I can't tell you how big it was. But I soon felt miserable again. I couldn't understand what had happened. I didn't know whether I was going to die or live. The uncertainty became so terrible that I wished I'd been shot that morning—all would have been over then. They brought me a meal, but I couldn't eat. I asked them what was going to happen, but they didn't know. Another night came, but I didn't get any sleep at all. I lay tossing about on my bed, now hoping, now despairing. I thought of home mostly, but once or twice I thought of the kids in the school where I taught—to die like this after the send-off they gave me! Still, they wouldn't know, they'd think I was killed in an accident, and that was some consolation to me. And the next morning—I can't bear to think of it—nothing happened: that was just the terrible thing about it—nothing happened. The day passed and then another day. At times I longed to be taken out and shot, and once or twice I felt I didn't care about anything. I didn't care whether I died or not. A week passed and then another week. I don't know how I lived through it. Then, one day, I was told to pack up and rejoin my unit. I don't know exactly what I did, but I think I must have gone hysterical. I remember some N.C.O. saying I ought to stay a bit because I wasn't well enough to go up the line. He said he'd speak to the officer and get me a few days' rest. But the thought of staying in that place made me shiver. I said I was absolutely all right and went back to my unit.
"But I never found out what had happened—you see, I was only a common soldier, so they didn't trouble to tell me—until I got a letter from the Captain who was in charge of me when I was on that forty-three hour job. He said he'd heard I was in for a court martial for sleeping when on guard, so he wrote to our headquarters to tell them I'd worked forty-three hours on end and wasn't fit to do a guard after a spell like that. Then they must have made a lot of inquiries—I expect there's a whole file of papers about me at headquarters. Anyhow, that's how I got off—it's more than a month ago now. Well, yesterday morning I was put on guard again. I tried to get out of it, but the officer said I was swinging the lead and he wouldn't listen to any excuses. I told him I'd had insomnia overnight and could hardly keep my eyes open. I said I'd do anything rather than a guard—a fatigue job or a patrol, no matter how dangerous, as long as it kept me on the move. The very thought of doing a guard made me tremble all over. He swore at me and said he'd heard these tales before and told me to shut up and get on with it. Well, I had to stand in the trench in front of a steel plate with holes in it through which I had to peer. It was just about daybreak. There was a tree growing about fifty yards off. It had been knocked about pretty badly, but there were plenty of leaves left on it. I stared at it, trying hard to keep awake. But soon the trunk began to quiver, then it wobbled with a wavy motion like a snake. Then the leafy part seemed to shoot out in all directions until there was nothing but a green blur, and I fell back against the trench wall and my rifle clattered down. I pulled myself together, absolutely mad with fear, because I kept on thinking of the last time I went on guard and the court martial and the death sentence. I ground my teeth and stared at the tree again. But the trunk began to wobble with snaky undulations and the green blur grew bigger and bigger in sudden jerks, while I tried frantically and desperately to keep it small. But it got the better of me and all at once it obscured everything with a rush and I dropped forward and knocked my forehead against the steel plate. I pulled myself together and prayed for a Blighty or something that would get me out of this misery. I looked at my watch—O God, only five minutes had gone, one-twelfth of my time! I had a kind of panic then and I dashed my head wildly against the trench wall and I bit my lips—I almost enjoyed the pain. I looked through the hole. The tree was steady at first, but it soon began to wobble again. Then I said to myself: 'I don't care, I'll risk it, I won't look out, I'll just keep awake. I don't suppose any Fritzes will come along—I'll just peep through the holes from time to time so as to make sure.' I stamped on the duckboard and kicked the sides of the trench and jerked my rifle up and down just to keep myself awake. It was all right at first and I was beginning to think I would get over it somehow, but my feet soon felt as heavy as lead and my head began to swim until I fell forward once again. Jesus Christ—I didn't know what to do. I thought of looking at my watch, but I hadn't the courage at first. Besides, I felt the seconds would slip by while I was hesitating and so I'd gain at least a little time. I counted the seconds—one, two, three ... four ... five ... six ... my head dropped forward and I nearly fell over. I looked at my watch—fourteen minutes had gone, nearly a quarter of an hour! That wasn't so bad. I felt a little relieved, but drowsiness came on again. I fought against it with all my strength, but with an agony no words can describe I realized that it was too strong for me. I pulled myself together with another despairing effort. I noticed that my clothing felt cold and clammy—I had been sweating all over...."
The theatre orderly burst into the waiting-room and shouted: "Are you all deaf? I've been yelling out 'Next man' the last five minutes, but you won't take no bloody notice. Send us two or three. The Colonel's in the theatre—he'll kick up a hell of a row if you don't get a move on."
We were scared and sent three men across. When they had gone, we asked to hear the end of the story.
"Well, I was absolutely desperate. I kept on looking at my watch, but the minutes crawled along. I believe I must have started crying once, but I don't know for certain, I was so sleepy that I don't remember half of what I did and what I dreamt—I know I did dream, it's funny how you can start dreaming even when you're standing up or moving about. I couldn't keep my eyes open and I kept on dropping off and pulling myself together. Suddenly, there was a terrific crash and a shell burst, it must have been forty or fifty yards off. I thought, bitterly, that there'd be no Blighty for me—no such luck. Then, high up in the air, I saw a big shell-fragment sailing along in a wide curve, spinning and turning. I looked at it—it was coming my way—Jesus Christ, perhaps I'd have some luck after all—and in any case a few more seconds would have passed by. It descended like a flash, I started back in spite of myself and held one hand out in front of my face. I felt a kind of numb pain in my right foot—nothing very bad. I looked down and, oh joy, I saw a big, jagged bit of shell imbedded in my foot. I tried to move it, but the pain was too great. Joy seemed to catch me by the throat, I began to dance, but such a pang shot through my leg that I had to stop. I dropped my rifle and hopped towards the dressing-station. I think it was the happiest moment in my life. I lost the sensation of weariness for the time being. But my foot began to hurt very badly and I got someone to help me along. My wound was dressed. I got on to a stretcher and I didn't know anything more until I was taken out of the motor ambulance here at the C.C.S. Anyhow, I'm all right now and I'm going to try and get across to Blighty and swing the lead as long as I can."