I knocked the ash from my cigarette, and put the butt into my mouth. Then I turned to the left hand and hurried along the trench. Almost at once I passed the traverse corner, and the group I had left were lost to sight.
I went at a trot wherever the trench was empty, but this was seldom, as much of the way the men were wide awake and in places they stood to arms. There was anxiety on most faces. Usually I progressed at a fast walk; but there were times when I must elbow the way forward. The fellows talked hard to one another, and those who knew me for an artilleryman called out to know what we were up to. In good truth I was advancing into the danger zone; the roar of the bursting shells was more terrible, and there were frequent marks of damage. All at once I came on a wrecked machine-gun emplacement where a shell had come in. The spot suggested the passage of an earthquake, and drops of blood were spilled about in plenty. Two men dug feverishly into the upheaved earth, and I saw the legs of a buried body sticking out. A dead man lay farther down the trench where he had been carried. He was plastered over with earth, his eyes and mouth were filled up with it. I pushed past the gathering. One of the diggers called after me, “The parapet’s down there, mate. Look slick as you pass the open bit. The snipers are watching it.” I waved a hand to show I heard.
I dodged by the open bit, and true enough two bullets chipped the earth behind me. There seemed no shrapnel falling; but that was of little account, the trenches were deep and safe enough for small stuff. But these big howitzer shells were a different matter. Nothing was proof against them. When one roared down in the neighbourhood, tearing to pieces everything, the heart to fight left a man. It was war more fitting gods. As I went along the pace shortened up my breath. I came on another dead man laid on his back, and had to manœuvre to pass without treading on him. I puffed at the cigarette end, for it was the last of the week’s issue. It tasted what it was—cheap and nasty. As half the journey was done, I heard the scream of a shell right atop of me: there was a thud and then a dull roar which made my ears sing again, and the parapet a few yards distant crashed in. The ground broke into a trembling, and a dead man was thrown face up at my very feet. There came another scream hard atop of the first: another thud, another roar, so that my head buzzed again; the parapet nearer at hand toppled down, and the earth, flooding up, trapped me round the ankles. The ground shook to its centre, and I swear the dead man clapped his hands. I could have called out in sudden terror. I kept my head and kicked myself free, jumped over the dead man, and clambered across the mound of earth. Just then there was a noise of footsteps, and three men with white, twitching faces ran up. I warrant they thought the devil was at their heels. The sight of them pulled me together. I put my arms on either side of the trench and faced them coldly. The leading man was forced to come to a standstill. I said a few things to them, and from the way I spoke they took me for an officer; and in ten seconds I had them scuttling back to their posts like the cowardly hounds they were. I ran on again.
Sands leaned from his funk-hole in a very bored manner. “Message, sir, from the C.O.!” I called out. “Please find out why New Zealand Battery has ceased fire.” Great sadness came into Sands’s face: he nodded his head to himself. “Lake,” he said, “you are too slow to be in time for your own funeral. I got that message two minutes ago over the ’phone.”
I sat down to get back breath. The butt of the cigarette was in my lips, and I spat it out. The whole affair had taken place in the smoking of a cigarette end.
The summer wore on and came to its height. All day long the sun stared from a cloudless sky on to the baked earth. The midday heat was so fierce that the flies died. Dysentery and typhus took hold in earnest of the army. The hours were so many, it seemed the day would never end; the days were so many, it seemed the summer must last for ever. Men woke in the morning with the languor of despair. Even the zest for our evening battle left us: days passed when the enemy went to bed in peace. Instead of fighting, the colonel vanished to the dug-out of a friend, and left me to stare over the desolate debatable land and watch for the flash of guns. A keen haze shivered above the empty spaces, until the sun touched the horizon edge in the form of a crimson ball. That was the signal for the return home.
To be truthful, the nights were kinder than the days, and at sunset an evening breeze moved from the sea. So one gathered energy for the morrow. Often I sat on the balcony of my funk-hole, staring into the eye of the setting sun. Many lovely sunsets have I watched spread over the bay, and have fed on them my starved eyes. Next the sky faded, the sea grew dim and shadowy, and overhead stars came out. The cool of night moved abroad. It was drink to a thirsting man. The valley grew hushed, as now the armies forgot to fire at night. Or may be sudden alarm woke the echoes. Star shells scattered in the sky, a burst of rapid fire broke from the trenches, and sometimes our guns opened their mouths, and sent shells moving through the dark like red-hot Cinders. But more often, as I have said, a hush fell on the valley. Most nights the fellows came over for a visit. It was the hour when men sucked at their pipes and opened their hearts. Many a strange love story was told under the eyes of the waiting stars. You saw the red glow of the cigarettes and pipes, and a face lit up for a moment. And after the stories—as silently as they arrived—the men went off to their dug-outs. It remained for me to unroll blankets and waterproof sheets, to undress and lie down. And sooner or later care was forgotten in sleep.
In the course of time the enemy received considerable reinforcements of big guns and ammunition, and while the papers were declaring Turkey was on the verge of collapse, our trenches were knocked atop of us in right good style.
The last time I saw Sands, he wandered over at sunset to squat down by my dug-out. He had done this same thing once or twice before: the habit was growing on him. May be melancholy had overcome at last his imperturbable spirit. We sat side by side staring at the sea. This evening my visitor was strangely depressed.
“Lake,” he said, “what do you think of it?”