There came down the line word that General Runner parleyed with the other group. I looked across. Several men stood together, but no more could I discover.
No sooner was the fire of both armies well dead than a number of Turks jumped from their trenches and fell with right good energy to filling their arms with the rifles which lay in scores about the field. Speedily men were staggering home loaded to their limit. And a sniper who sniped from an exposed position fell to digging himself in in generous style. The colonel let out a bellow. “Stop those men! Stop them this minute! Bargi, stop those men!” Bargi grasped what was wanted, pointed it out to the flag-bearers, and with lusty shouting the men were recalled. But the manœuvre gained the enemy half a hundred rifles, and methinks the sniper had a more spacious parlour from that hour.
It was our last interruption. It seemed the enemy asked a truce for the burial of their dead. Bargi ran forwards and backwards, swollen with importance. The colonel could do no more than receive the message; but the brigadier was with the other group and would have more power. In course of time word arrived empowering the colonel to announce the enemy might send a staff officer by way of Gaba Tepeh next morning, when the matter would be discussed. Bargi floundered over the explanation, and a big lieutenant of infantry climbed up to help him. The man must have been among the largest in the army. “You’ll be a good advertisement for Australia,” the colonel said. And seeing I was all anxiety to follow, he added, “No, Lake, this is not your stunt.”
It was all over presently. The men of truce agreed to take back the message, and fire would open again in a few minutes. Afresh they saluted, afresh they bowed: and our men came this way, and they turned that. The colonel gathered up glasses and periscope; and we went off to tea. On the way we ran into a party placing in position a trench mortar. And farther on we met men hurrying up with ammunition. We had roared at the Turkish treachery; but who shall say our honour was over-nice? As I sat at tea, the firing broke out again in a great roll.
Their staff officer rode into our lines next morning. He reappeared the morning after also, and the outcome was a truce of half a day. Certain rules were framed. Parties of so many from either side were allowed over so many yards, and neither party might penetrate beyond half-way. We would take their dead to them, and they would bring our dead to us.
The day and the hour came round, and peace fell over the armies. The silence was very strange. About the middle of the morning the colonel set off as usual for the trenches, and we started the rounds as on any other day from the B Battery observing station. No shot was to be heard, and the trenches were emptier of men than I had seen them. Without delay we passed to C Battery on the Pimple, and there joined Colonel Irons, Major Andrews, and Major Green.
Behind C Battery and before A, the five of us climbed from the trenches on to open ground. The sun was out, but the day was cool; and it was pleasant to stand up at ease in the open. A great gathering had come about on the debatable land. It was like a day at the races, with a shabby crowd in attendance. The rule limiting the number of parties was slackly enforced, and anyone tying a white bandage to his arm to denote stretcher-bearer could go where he wanted. In this way there were numbers exploring on their own account, exchanging mementoes with the enemy, and seeing what was to be seen. The camera fiend was at large.
The burial of the dead went forward in harmony if not in love. Our fellows were good willed enough and eager with curiosity; but among the enemy were many glum countenances. Nor do I wonder, for it is but chilly amusement gazing into the faces of your own dead.
There were many strange sights to be found in a few hundred yards’ marching; but I have not time to tell a tenth of them. At one place was a crater in the ground where a shell had burst; and round it, like chickens come to feed at a basin, lay eight dead men. It was the prettiest bit of shooting that you might wish to see. And not so very far away was a gully, maybe twenty yards long, half that wide, and half again that deep. The Turkish stretcher-bearers had gathered dead from everywhere, and tumbled them here—the place was a-choke with bodies. Hundreds were there. They lay a dozen deep. They made me catch my breath. But it was when we turned to go over to A Battery that we passed the scene it will take me longest to forget.