A Lively Bit of the Front: A Tale of the New Zealand Rifles on the Western Front
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CHAPTER XIII
News of Peter
Malcolm's first impressions on landing in Old England were far fromagreeable. A drizzling rain was falling. It was yet early, andbeyond a few dock hands Millbay Pier was deserted. No crowds ofenthusiastic spectators waited to welcome the men who had made aperilous voyage of thousands of miles to take part in the fight forfreedom. In almost complete silence the securing-ropes were madefast and the gangways run out by apathetic workmen, while with theutmost dispatch the disembarkation of men and stores began.
Wearing grey Balaclava helmets instead of their smart uniform hats,and without their accoutrements, the three New Zealanders foundthemselves drawn up in the rear of their Australian comrades.
"Who are these men?" enquired an embarkation Officer of the Anzacmajor who accompanied him.
"Three New Zealanders who missed their transport at Cape Town, sir,"replied the latter.
"What regiment?"
The Australian turned to Fortescue and repeated the question.
The embarkation officer consulted a document.
"Thirty-somethingth reinforcements, eh? Dash it all, you men! You'vearrived before they have. I don't know what to do with them, Major."
He spoke wearily. Dealing with absentees and men who had "gotadrift" had occupied a good part of his time during the last twoyears. It was getting decidedly monotonous.
"Let them entrain with our boys, sir," suggested the kindly Anzacmajor. "I'll be responsible for them as far as Salisbury. They'refor Codford, I suppose?"
"Very well," acceded the embarkation officer, glad to find an easysolution to the difficulty. "You are the senior non-com., Isuppose," he asked, addressing Fortescue. "Here, take this, and whenyou arrive in camp report yourselves."
He handed Fortescue a yellow paper, and hurried off to find shelterfrom the downpour. The entrainment was a slow process. The men werehungry. They wished in vain for the breakfast that the majority hadforgone when the _Pomfret Castle_ sighted land. There were rumoursthat tea and coffee were to be served out at a way-side station, butpromises, Fortescue observed, do not fill an empty stomach.
In vain Malcolm looked for Te Paheka. Already the Maori contingenthad been spirited away--to what immediate destination he knew not.
Handcuffed and under a strong escort, the spy arrested under thename of Pieter Waas was hurried along the slippery quay--the bent,dejected figure of a man who, although uncondemned, knows that hislife is forfeit. Who and what he was yet remained to be proved,unless, like many a nameless spy, he went to his death preferringthat the mystery that surrounded his life should accompany him tothe Great Beyond.
Packed like sardines in a tin, the Anzacs filled the long train tooverflowing. Again under cover, their mercurial spirits rose, andwhen at length the rain ceased, and the train rumbled betwixt thered-earthed, verdant coombes of Devon, bathed in brilliant sunshine,the Anzacs unanimously voted that there were worse places on earththan the Old Country.
It was late in the afternoon when Malcolm and his two chums alightedat Codford station, and, making their way by a roundabout routealong the main street of the village, where old-time cottages andhideous wooden shanties stood cheek by jowl, arrived at the vastarray of tin huts that comprised the camp.
Things turned out better than either of the three chums hadexpected. They were reprimanded, but for the time being they werenot deprived of their stripes. Until the arrival of theThirty-somethingth reinforcements they were given light duties and agenerous amount of leisure time.
"Malcolm Carr, by all that's blue and pink!"
This was the greeting hurled at Malcolm a few hours after hisarrival in camp. At that time there were comparatively few troops atCodford. Heavy drafts had just been sent to Sling Camp, preparatoryto proceeding to France, while the expected reinforcements had notyet put in an appearance. Yet one of the first men young Carr metthat evening was a Christchurch acquaintance who lived but a fewdoors away from Malcolm's parents.
"By Jove, this is great, Tommy!" exclaimed Malcolm. "Never thoughtI'd run against you here. You know Selwyn, of course? This isFortescue, one of the boys--and one of the best. An old Christchurchchum, Tommy Travers."
"When did you blow in?" enquired Travers, as the four made their wayalong a narrow plank gangway between the lines of huts--the onlymeans of preventing men sinking above their ankles in mud.
"Arrived at Plymouth this morning," replied Malcolm. "And you? Beenacross yet?"
Travers touched his coat-sleeve, on which was a faded gold stripe.
"Yes," he answered; "five months of it. I got this buckshie in thatscrap in Delville Wood, when our brigade captured Flers. Shrap," headded laconically. "It was hell let loose, and our boys copped it.Six weeks in hospital, and then I came here. Managed to get droppedwhen the last draft went to Sling, so I suppose I'll be off with thenext crush. Any news Christchurch way?"
"Did you hear that my brother Peter is wounded and missing?" askedMalcolm, after a flow of conversation on strictly personal subjects.
"Yes," replied Travers. "He was sergeant of my platoon. I think Iwas one of the last of our chaps to see him. It was like this: ourbattalion cleared the southern portion of Delville Wood in grandstyle. We fairly put the wind up Fritz. Bombs and bayonets all thetime. We had a lot of casualties, though. When we rushed ourobjective your brother Peter was senior non-com. There were twosubalterns left, but they weren't fit for much. Both hit, but tooplucky to chuck their hands in. Well, we began digging ourselves inon the edge of the wood when the Boches started to pump inhigh-explosive, shrap, and gas shells. There was precious littleleft of the wood. Not a leaf to be seen, and at most a crowd ofcharred tree-trunks, many of 'em still blazing."
"Why Fritz treated us to an extra special dose goodness only knows.The battalion lying on our right barely copped it at all, and theTommy regiment on our left came off lightly until the Huns hadfinished with us. We had little or no cover. The ground waschock-full of big roots, and we hadn't time to remove them. Thetrees were flying in big and little chunks all over the show, andall the cover we could get were a few shell-holes."
"Although it was night, the place was lit up as brightly asanything; a continuous slap-up of bursting shells and streams ofliquid fire. I heard afterwards that our battalion was given ordersto fall back and adjust the line, but certain it was that we neverhad any commands to retire."
"Then I got it properly. Shrap in the left arm and both legs. Wentdown like a felled ox, and lay there until my puttees--which Istarted to unroll but didn't finish--began smouldering. Things werelooking and feeling bit warmer than usual when your brother nippedup. Remember, none of the boys were firing. There was nothing to letrip at. The Boche guns simply let us have it, and theircounter-attack hadn't developed. If they were about tocounter-attack we couldn't see them. The smoke was too thick forthat, although, as I said before, we could see everything withintwenty yards or so. Our only indication of the Huns trying to rushus was when their guns lifted and put up a barrage behind us.".
"Peter never said a word. For one thing, there was such a terrificdin going on that you'd have had to shout close to a fellow's ear tomake him understand; for another, your brother had got it in thejaw. Nothing much, I should say, as buckshies go nowadays, but stillit was enough to look unpleasant."
"He finished unwinding my puttees and threw them away. I can smellthem now, smouldering under my nose. Then he began hauling metowards a shell-hole, when down he went, all of a heap, shot throughthe ankle."
"After a bit he raised himself and pointed towards the crater wewere making for, and we both started to crawl for it. By Jingo,didn't that journey give me gee-up while it lasted! Then, just as wewere close to the shell-hole, a 'crump' burst somewhere close, and Iremembered nothing more until I found myself in the advancedressing-station. Two men of C Company, Pat O'Connor and SandyAnderson--both from Taranaki--brought me in, I was told afterwards,and I met them while I was in hospital at Brockenhurst. They werecertain they never saw Sergea
nt Peter Carr."
"The Germans drove us in with their counter-attack, didn't they?"asked Fortescue.
"Aye, but we ousted them next morning," replied Travers, "and out ofFlers as well. That's when Pat O'Connor copped it; but he swearsthat none of our fellows were left alive during the retirement inthe woods."
"Then you think that Peter was killed?" asked Malcolm.
Travers squared his shoulders.
"Speaking as man to man," he replied, "I don't think there can bethe faintest doubt about it. And Peter Carr was a downright goodsort. . . . How about it, you fellows? Good for a game of a 'hundredup'?"