"Ay. On the Peninsula. Met him there one day," said the youngster. "God's truth! You could have knocked me down dead. 'Harry!' I said. 'Where have I struck you?' he asked me. 'I've kicked some goals against your team,' said I. 'And to meet you here. But wait till we go back again and have another game of football. I'll kick your head off.' 'Not much chance of a boose here,' said Harry, 'might as well be cinder humping in hell.' That was all at the time. He was going up to the front line, but he promised to call round and see me when he came out that night. We were supports. And I waited for old Harry. 'Twas dark when his platoon came out. I went to meet him. 'Where's Harry C——?' I called to the fellows. 'The footballer?' some one asked me. 'Yes, old Harry C——' I told the man. 'He's killed,' said the man, 'blown to pieces.'"
"It's hard when you look back on it," said the tall dark soldier by the stove. "So many...."
At this moment a man rose from a table near the door and commenced to recite a poem. All stopped their various pursuits to listen, for the Australians love poetry, especially when it recalls memories of the land they have left. The game of "Two up" was discontinued and the French soldiers stopped their draughts and dominoes to listen.
The man who stood on the floor spoke his lines in a manner exalted and serious, his hat thrust back on his head and the movement of arms and hands accompanying the recital adding to its force and passion. In the utterance it was impossible to discover anything beyond the deep feeling which he had called up to interpret the spirit of the poem. The verses written long ago had in them a gift of prophecy. They told of a war to be, the war in which the Australian soldier was now taking part.
"All creeds and trades will have soldiers there—give every class its due,
And there'll be many a clerk to spare for the pride of the jackeroo,
They'll fight for honour and fight for love and a few will fight for gold,
For the devil below and for God above as our fathers fought of old,
And some half blind with exultant tears and some stiff-lipped, stern-eyed
For the pride of a thousand after years and the old eternal pride—