WHIZZ! Plunk! Bang!
The men in each of the stone shelters gazed at their comrades not in surprise, not in question, but with returning horror at the bursting of the shell; some shuddering, others putting their hands over their faces. And into the midst of the bunch closest the watch came charging young Judson, his face livid, his eyes staring, his mouth limp and jabbering, as one driven insane. He caught the nearest man by the arm and flinging himself on his knees cowered behind Wilson’s legs.
“Another one,” remarked the corporal, “but this is plain shell-shock. Wait till we get the lieutenant here. Tomlinson, you tell him.”
This tall soldier, always erect, ready, precise, who now stood near the door, was more averse than any of the squad, excepting Jennings, to getting under cover. He barely stooped as he left his shelter and passed along to the other one. At its doorway he gave Herbert the message. Then he turned to go, but fell back limp into the lieutenant’s arms. Other hands stretched to assist; as they laid him on the floor only a glance was necessary to learn his fate.
“Men, another! They’re slowly and surely getting us. At this rate our friends won’t be here soon enough. And Judson out of it, too. There are only six of us left here; if they knew that down yonder they’d have us in ten minutes. Come, you fellows, we’ll call this hut the morgue and bring Jennings in here, too; the other must be the hospital. Hands and knees now and carefully!”
Death was solemn enough, but the horror on poor Judson’s face called from the others words of sympathy for the victim and of detestation of the enemy. It was all in the practice of war, of course, but such heart-touching incidents bring the natural hatred of foemen uppermost. Those of the little squad who now remained were none the less eager to hold out and fight.
Then came another shell, striking and exploding outside of the rocks again and had Wilson possessed nerves as sensitive as those of young Judson there would have been another case of shell-shock, for both men had been previously jarred and shaken. It is generally the continued and persistent menace of these horrible spreaders of death and destruction that drive men into a chronic fear that utterly overmasters their strength of will. As it was, splinters of stone and shell flew through the lookout opening and struck the watcher in the head, painfully, though not seriously wounding him. Back he came, crawling and bleeding, as poor Jennings would have said, “like a stuck pig.” Don bound Wilson’s head; then the leader said:
“Men, there is really no alternative for us. We cannot wait longer here. Something has happened to Gill, or he would stop that gun again. We must get out of here by the hilltop and then Wilson will stick up a white rag. Come on!”
The surviving five—Herbert, Don, the corporal, Kelly and Farnham—shook hands with Wilson; then creeping farther into the shadows, gained the dense growth above. At the brow of the hill Herbert again addressed his followers:
“We must make a choice here, boys. Are we to lie low, hide, hoping for the drive to reach us; are we to try to get through the German first line positions, as suggested before, or are we to stay on the job and take it out on those gunners? If you will all join me, let us go for the chaps who have played the Old Scratch with us for the last two hours.”