We were wide awake this afternoon, and a brisk musketry fire continued. I sat where I was, hearing the noise and yet not hearing it. The sun had stepped another rung down his ladder, a few shadows spread about, and there was even a suggestion of evening cool. I don’t know what I thought of, nothing probably, for the place had power to destroy one mentally and morally. Then without warning there woke again the former interest. “They’re waving the flags,” came down from the right. “There’s something doing! There’s something up!”
I got up with a yawn and went to the parapet, and there poked up the periscope, and interest came with a vengeance. Straight before me was a big white flag charged with a red crescent, moving slowly forwards and backwards over the enemy parapet, and while I watched a second one rose up on our right and at odd intervals appeared other streamers which might have been small flags and might have been rags. Round me all who by hook or by crook could get hold of a periscope were on the platforms finding out what was happening, and this must have taken place over a great deal of the line, as presently the musketry became completely broken up and on the point of cessation.
I had taken stand among the B Battery men, beside their periscope, where the parapet was quite low, and it wanted no effort to look over the top. I fell to debating whether to take the risk and see first hand how matters went, and while yet I stayed uncertain something happened to decide me on the moment. There was a movement in the enemy’s trench beside the largest flag, and a man climbed over the parapet and dropped on to the open ground. He stood still a moment in uneasy fashion, next took into his hands the big white flag with the red crescent, held it overhead, and came forward. I felt like crying out my admiration. Our snipers shot yet in scores, in hundreds may be; and any moment a stray shot or the aimed shot of a fool might tumble him over where he stood. And no one knew the danger better than himself, for he bowed his head and upper body as does a man advancing in the teeth of a great wind, and came forward with deliberate steps, moving his wide flag in wider semicircles. To the devil with caution, said I, and stood right up and looked across the open. “By Jove!” I must exclaim out loud. “By Jove!” Beside me was Mr. Hay, and he looked round to know had I gone mad.
News had travelled everywhere that something special was on hand, for cries went up and down: “Cease fire there! Cease fire!” And the firing did die away, though unwillingly, lessening and returning again in gusts, like an April wind or a woman’s last word in an argument. Even when you might say the musketry had stopped, there was still a splutter and a cracking here and here, for there are ever fools who cannot help themselves.
But all this while the man of peace continued on his way, at the same stride and in the same bent attitude. May be ere starting on the journey he had delivered his soul into Allah’s safekeeping, for no shot touched him, and no quick fear turned him from the path. There was something that moved me deep down as I looked on his unhurried pace and the slow waving of his flag. It plucked my heart strings to see him alone there, his life not worth a smoked-out cigarette. I stood right up, all my upper body above the parapet, so that the countryside was bared before me, and a draught of evening wind born of wide spaces came a-knocking at my nostrils. All my heart cried out to him. “My salute, friend, my salute! Do you hear me over there? It is Gunner Lake who calls. A brave man’s heart is crying out to a brave man! My salute, friend! In all honour I offer my salute!”
When the man of peace had advanced halfway, the musketry fire of both sides was nearly silent, and there was a stir of uncertainty in our ranks. You heard some crying, “Cease fire,” and others calling out against it, shouting there was no order, and what the devil was everyone about. But the firing did not start again, or only in short-lived bursts, and the men hung by the loopholes, waiting what might befall. There was a stir on our side now, near Clayton’s trench it seemed from here, and soon an officer came into the open, with a handkerchief tied on to a stick or a rifle, I did not notice which. At the same time a couple of Turks hopped from their trenches, and another of our men went forward; and it seemed they would hold a parley then and there. While I looked to see, I found the colonel at my shoulder.
“Get the interpreter, Lake,” he said quickly. “Get Bargi and bring him here. He may be wanted.” Over I went to the telephonist and sent down word, then back again I came and told the colonel, and next up I jumped once more to look over the country.
The little company had come together and were in parley. The distance was a matter of hundreds of yards, so there was little enough to see and nothing to be heard. I hoped when Bargi came the colonel would go over there, and I grew eager for his coming. I had become impatient, and cursed him for his fatness, when a second big flag was put up to our right hand, and two men jumped into the open and came towards our trenches, one empty-handed and one bearing with him the standard. The colonel looked round sharply, and made as if to go over there, then of a sudden he turned to me.
“Where’s Bargi, Lake? Where’s Bargi?”