“Where were you hit?”
“Oh, about sixteen places. Like to hear about it?”
“Rather.”
This is how Torrington told his own story: “It was right at the beginning, you know. Second day of the retreat. Our infantry—Buffs—were entrenched on the forward slope of a hill. I was doing F.O.O.;[[5]] and like a fool I tried to observe from the crest. Boches! My hat, you should have seen ’em. Millions of ’em. Like—like gray ants. Stark was with the guns. I got in some topping bursts; must have knocked out hundreds. The Infanteers were simply mowing ’em down. Pity we hadn’t any Emma G’s.[[6]] Then their guns go to work. First shell landed over the trench; got me in the head; killed one of my signallers.”
“What were you using”—asked Peter—“visual or the telephone?”
“Telephone. My other signaller kept on sending down the orders all right. . . . I managed to get the blood out of my eyes and we gave ’em gun-fire. That kept the devils back a bit. Then they spotted me. Turned a machine gun on me. First bullet got me in the calf of the leg. Next one in the shoulder.”
“How long was that after the first shell hit you?”
“Dunno. Must have been about an hour. I should think. . . . Then they got my signaller, and I had to do the telephoning myself. . . . I don’t remember much else; except crawling round and round in a ring. You know—like a rabbit when you shoot too far behind. Then some one started singing ‘God Save the King.’ God, how I cursed that fellow. I remember saying to myself, ‘What’s the bally fool singing for? There’s nothing to sing about.’ ”
He paused a minute, eyes curiously bright, cigarette singeing stubby moustache.
“Just before I went off altogether, I found out who’d been singing. It was myself! Funny, isn’t it? Fancy crawling round and round on one’s elbows, singing ‘God save the King,’ in the middle of a battle.”