Fighting with French: A Tale of the New Army

by Herbert Strang

The road was quite deserted. All coming and going between the trenches and the billets had ceased for the night. But when he had walked for about a quarter of a mile he was conscious of that strange, often unaccountable feeling that sometimes steals upon a solitary pedestrian on a lonely road at night--the feeling that he was not alone. He had heard neither footfall nor whisper; the wind sighed through the still almost bare branches of the trees. His feeling, he thought, was probably due to mere nervousness caused by the knowledge that he was carrying an important despatch. But it became so strong that he sat down by the roadside and slipped off his boots, slinging them round his neck, and walked on heedfully in his stockings, keeping a look-out for holes in the road, and stretching his ears for the slightest unusual sound.

In a moment or two he came to the end of the avenue of poplars; those which had formerly lined the rest of the road had been felled, partly to provide wood for the trenches, partly for the sake of the gunners. On the left, a few yards from the road, was a small plantation. It had been sadly damaged by German shells, but many trees still remained. Just as he came opposite to the plantation his ears caught a sound which, though indistinguishable in the wind, was different from the rustling of branches or foliage. It appeared to come from behind him. He slipped from the road towards the clump of trees; then, as it suddenly occurred to him that some other person might be making for the same place, he reached for a branch just above his head, and swung himself up with the "upstart" of the gymnasium. It was a frail support, but he sat astride the branch near the trunk, and there, among the burgeoning twigs, he waited.

His senses had not deceived him. Three vague shapes moved out of the blackness, and passed almost beneath him. His ears scarcely caught the sound of their movements; yet sound there was, a dull muffled tread as though their feet were blanketed. Who were these nocturnal prowlers? What were they about? Kenneth wished there were no despatch buttoned up in his pocket, so that he were free to follow these stealthy figures. He had not been able to determine whether they wore uniforms. If they were villagers, they had no right to be hereabouts at night.

Peering through the foliage, he was just able to discern that the three men had halted at the edge of the plantation. For a moment or two there was complete silence. He guessed they had stopped to listen. Then they spoke in whispers. A few words were carried on the wind to Kenneth's attentive ears: "Soeben gehört ... ganz nahe ... ja."

"They're after me!" thought Kenneth. He had no doubt that it was he whom they had referred to as "just heard ... quite near." Spies were everywhere, as the staff-officer had said. These men must have learnt in the village that he was carrying a despatch. He wished that he could stalk the stalkers, but he dared do nothing that would endanger his errand. One man he might have tackled; with three the odds were too heavy against him. And while he was still debating the matter with himself the three dark shapes had disappeared as silently as they had come.

He waited a minute or two. They had apparently gone along the road which he himself was to follow. They might suspect that they had outstripped him, and ambush him before he reached the trenches. He must dodge them by making a detour. Dropping lightly to the ground he skirted the northern side of the plantation and struck across the ploughed land at what seemed a safe distance from the road. The soil was sticky; his progress was slow; and he stopped every now and again to listen. For some time he heard nothing but the wind and the crack of distant rifles or the boom of guns. Presently, as he drew nearer to the trenches, there fell faintly on his ear the customary sounds of conversation, laughter, singing. At one moment he believed he heard the tootle of Stoneway's flute. As these sounds increased in loudness, he despaired of recognising the stealthy movements of the spies. He unslung his rifle, resolving, if he caught sight of them, to fire. The shot, even if it failed to dispose of any of them, would probably bring men from the trenches in sufficient numbers to deal with them.

He had to guess his course across the fields, pushing here through a hedge, there descending into a slimy ditch and crawling up the further side. At last he caught sight of a landmark: a ruined shed which stood about two hundred yards in rear of the trenches. To reach the trench in which Colonel Appleton had his quarters he must strike across to the right, and pass between the shed and the road.

There was no sign of the three spies. The fields were quite bare; the shed was the only thing that afforded cover. Instinctively he gave it a wide berth, and was leaving it some paces on his left when he heard a sudden guttural exclamation, and two figures rushed from the shed towards him. There was no time to fire. Uttering a shout he thrust his bayonet towards the assailants. The stock of his rifle was seized from behind. And now, at this critical moment, the years of training on the football field, in the gymnasium, on Mr. Kishimaru's practice lawn, bore fruit in instantaneous decision and rapid action. Releasing his rifle suddenly, the man behind him fell backward to the ground. At the same moment Kenneth stooped, tackled the nearest of the other men, and brought him down. The second man toppled over them. Freeing himself instantly, Kenneth sprang up and sprinted towards the road, hearing in a moment the thud of heavy footsteps behind him.

But there were sounds also in front. His shout had been heard in the trenches, and some of the Rutlands were running to meet him. A word from him sent them at a rush towards the shed. Leaving them to hunt for the spies, he hurried on and delivered his despatch to the colonel, to whom he related his adventure.

It was some time before the men returned.