The adjutant raised his eyebrows, nodded, and went away. We became silent again.
Hawkins came back from the valley next, and passed by us. I thought he was staring at Sam, but he never saw him. The doctor spoke at once. “You had better get under cover, Hawkins. They have been dusting things up round here just now.” “Yes, I saw that,” Hawkins said, with a laugh. And he curled up in his dug-out.
Presently the waiting was over. Death had won—the last trench was taken, the final fortress stormed. Captain Lawler got to his feet, and spoke to the orderlies. “Is the stretcher here?”
I looked into Sam’s face and an old thought came back to me. Death is not often beautiful. Here was no heroic end; here was no bold gaze, which told of past duties well done. Nothing of that kind, nothing. But, instead, a silly smile where the mouth dropped, and a little blood upon the palate, and a skin turning yellow and blue. Not heroic, my friends; not beautiful!
I stared down at Sam while they covered him with a blanket. Thoughts I would have put aside at that place and at that hour came to me.
Friend Sam, you were rather “a rotter”—weak and easy to lead. Life owed you more years; but they would have been years without profit. Now you have died at the start of life, and others following will remember your sacrifice and take heart. You could have done no better thing. Methinks you will sleep soundest here, where the cliffs climb up by Sari Bahr.
If you should step it out afar
To the pebbly beach of Sari Bahr,
Full many rude graves you’ll find there are,