“He’s on the way, sir.”
“Meet him and hurry him up. Say I want him at once!”
I pushed towards the trench mouth as speedily as could be managed, not the least eager for the run down the hill and back again. But at the turn I met Bargi blowing with his exertions, and a look half-pleased, half-scared, on his sweating face. He was a little Italian Jew who spoke and wrote a dozen languages. By trade he had been art photographer, traveller for a firm of jewellers, and one or two other things as best I could make out. War was declared, times grew hard, and he made up his mind to go a-soldiering. But he mistook his trade. He was the most cowardly man in the brigade. “My disposition is very nervous,” he said to me once. “I am too sensitive.” And he shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly. “Sensitive,” thought I. “Good friend, we call it by another name.”
He got on badly with the other men, and I was sorry for him, and on the whole liked him well enough. Now I pulled him up, and he panted and asked what was wanted. “The colonel wants you in a hurry. He is waiting a few yards up the trench.” No more was said. Bargi went on without more speech, and I turned to follow. But Lewis pulled at my sleeve and asked what was happening. He had been Bargi’s guide up here. “There’s a bit of an armistice on,” I called out as I turned. “Have a look for yourself. I have to get after the colonel.” And with no more I left Lewis standing in the middle of the path, his hands in his pockets, and a silly stare on his face. Lewis may have been a pretty fellow to look at; but he was a rank bore.
The couple of seconds’ delay had lost me Bargi; and I did my best to catch him before he met the colonel and both disappeared. Fortune nodding, I saw their heels rounding a traverse, and caught up with them quite soon. The trench was rather empty, and the colonel moved in a great hurry, so that fat little Bargi, who had not found breath, was hard put to it to keep up. We dodged round one turning and then another, nobody speaking all the way. Sometimes Bargi threw timid glances over a shoulder at me, for it was his first trench journey, and truly he was receiving a brusque introduction. Presently the press of men grew again, curbing us to a slower rate; and next we met a crossway, which brought us to a standstill. Someone put us on to the right road, and we started anew to elbow forward. Finally we found our way into a sap, and this ending, we had come as far as was possible. The colonel put up his periscope to find where we were, and I jumped up on to a platform and poked my head over the parapet. You could hear the crack of a rifle now and again, but not often.
We had come to the best spot. The men and the flag were opposite. They were nearer than before, yet they had not come far over, and at this moment still looked before them in an undecided fashion. I do not doubt they cared little for the exposed position. Almost at once Bargi climbed up beside me, and there were the three of us in a row—the colonel looking into the periscope, the Jew standing on tip-toe, peeping over the parapet, and throwing away no chance of protection, and myself at the end of the line. The two Turks continued to delay, in fact went so far as to make a motion of retreat. “Call them, Bargi!” the colonel burst out. “Tell them to come on; say it’s all right!”
The little man looked anxiously about, but pulled himself together and called out something in Turkish. His words failed to carry all the way, so that he clapped hands to his mouth and cried out anew, this time at the top of his voice. At once the Turks were reassured; they scanned eagerly to find the voice, and after exchange of a sentence or two, came forward deliberately, the man with the standard bearing it high above his head. They were entering our half of the debatable country when some fool to the right hand fired, and set a dozen others pulling triggers. The Turks turned about, and made for home at a shambling trot; but with the speed of birth the fire died, and the peacemakers steadied their retreat. Then Bargi called again, in time to reassure, for the runners doubtfully came back, the standard-bearer holding his flag at top height. They drew quite near, near enough for me to see clearly their appearance, when it was plainly discovered they were men of different rank.
The standard-bearer was a cut-throat-looking fellow with a black moustache and a complexion scarce lighter. I doubt if he were a pure-bred Turk. He was small and well shaped; but there was that in his expression which made me fear for any dog of an unbeliever who might pass his way. He was dressed in the green uniform, with their strange pleated cap on his head. Through all the dealings he spoke no word.
The man beside him, the empty-handed man, was quite otherwise. He was dressed as an officer, and proved a doctor. He was a man of manners, a man of civilisation, a gentleman. He came to the parley with French on his lips.