A Lively Bit of the Front: A Tale of the New Zealand Rifles on the Western Front

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER XXI

  Out of Touch

  After a wait of nearly ten minutes a rope was procured, while otherwilling helpers brought a number of short ladders to the mouth ofthe crater. These, lashed together, were lowered into the hole andallowed to rest upon the steeply sloping sides.

  Down swarmed several men, not New Zealanders, but belonging to anAustralian regiment. Foremost amongst them was Malcolm's Queenslandchum on board the _Pomfret Castle_--big Jack Kennedy.

  "Hallo, Digger!" exclaimed that worthy, recognizing Rifleman Carr inthe candlelight. "What have you been doing? Cleaning out a chimney?You're as black as an aborigine."

  "I hardly thought to run across you again," remarked Malcolm.

  "The world is small," rejoined Kennedy. "We were on your right whenthe attack started. Your fellows have rushed Messines village andare holding all the captured positions. Who are your pals? Begpardon, sir, I didn't know you were an officer!" (This to CaptainNicholson, who, owing to the dirt and grime in which he wassmothered, was hardly distinguishable from the others.) "We'll giveyou a leg up."

  "Hold on," protested Captain Nicholson. "There are two of our menwho have to be brought along. They're rather shaken up. You'll wanta ladder--Carr."

  "Yes, sir," replied Malcolm.

  "Will you show these men the way into the other dug-out?"

  Saluting, Malcolm turned and made his way over the wrecked woodwork,three Australians following in his footsteps. Two of the lattercarried a short ladder.

  "Fortescue with you?" enquired Kennedy, as the men planted theladder on the pile of earth that had fallen from the newly-excavatedtunnel.

  "No," replied Carr. "He got a buckshie in his advance, but Selwyn'sthere. Do you remember Pieter Waas on the old _Pomfret Castle_?"

  "Do I not, the larrikin!" replied Kennedy. "I suppose you know thathe got away soon after he was landed at Plymouth?"

  "Yes, and more," added Malcolm. "He was in our trenches last night,and slipped over the top to the German lines."

  The Australian smiled incredulously.

  "Fact!" persisted his informant. "I spotted him and he spotted me.Before he could be winged he was off in the darkness."

  "Then let's hope he went up in the great bust," said Kennedy. "A bitof a sell that, to bunk from the security of our trenches right ontop of a million pounds of aminol. This the way up? Golly, thistunnel wasn't made for a man of my size!"

  The rescuers found Grouser Joliffe indulging in a particularlystrong burst of grumbling--not at his adventures in the dug-out, notat the hardships he had undergone, nor at the wounds he hadreceived. He had just made the disconcerting discovery that he hadlost a packet of five cigarettes, and, being a frugal man, the lossirritated him exceedingly.

  Dick Selwyn, although stiff and exhausted, was able to walk withassistance, although Malcolm foresaw difficulties when his chum cameto the narrow tunnel and the swaying ladder leading to the otherdug-out.

  "Which of the boys left his coat behind?" enquired Selwyn,indicating a neatly folded bundle on the ground at a few feet fromhim.

  "None," replied Malcolm emphatically.

  "Then what's this?"

  Malcolm examined the clothing. Not only was there a coat, but a NewZealander's complete kit.

  "By Jove," he exclaimed, "I have it! That's the uniform the spyfellow was wearing. He must have come here, knowing that thisdug-out was the Hun brigade head-quarters, and changed into a Bocherig-out. Ten to one he was amongst that lot of staff officers."

  "If so, he's properly done in," added Selwyn.

  The two chums were only partly correct in their surmise. Konrad vonFeldoffer, on realizing that he had been recognized by a couple ofmen who, he thought, belonged to another battalion, had ratherprematurely bolted for the German lines. In the guise of a NewZealander he had been hoping to gather useful and definiteinformation concerning the forthcoming advance. Since most of theDiggers were in ignorance of the mining operations under MessinesRidge, von Feldoffer gained very little information on that point.

  By means of a pre-arranged signal the spy arrived at the Germantrenches without being fired on by his compatriots, despite hiskhaki uniform and British-pattern shrapnel-helmet. Taken to thehead-quarters' dug-out, he made his report to the Hun authorities,changed into German uniform, and left immediately afterwards for anew sphere of activity. So, once more, by the matter of a few hours,Konrad von Feldoffer escaped a well-merited death; while, throughignorance of the terrific preparations made for the blowing up ofMessines Ridge, he had unwittingly done the Allies a good turn; forinstead of withdrawing the troops the Hun commander had concentrateda thousand on the mined ridge in order to repel an infantry attackthat threatened only in the minds of the German staff.

  "What are you fellows doing?" enquired Malcolm of the Australian."Demolishing dug-outs?"

  "Not much," replied Kennedy. "We are not raiding this time. We'rehere to hold what we've got, not to do as much damage as we can andreturn to our own lines. Already our heavies are well up. A batteryof 14-inch guns is in a position just behind the original first-lineBoche trench. The air is positively stiff with aeroplanes--allBritish. The Hun airmen take jolly good care to give us a miss. Theyabsolutely funk it."

  "Don't blame 'em!" added another Anzac. "We're top dog in the airjust now."

  Taking the discarded uniform for identification purposes, Malcolmproceeded to lead the rescue party on their return journey. The twoinjured men gave considerable trouble. Joliffe, whose wounds weregiving him excruciating pain, showed a decided tendency to becomelight-headed, while Selwyn was so badly bruised and shaken that hecould hardly crawl.

  Yet, in spite of their difficulties, the Australians succeeded inbringing both men to the foot of the shaft communicating with theopen air.

  Placed on a stretcher, that was raised by means of a rope runningthrough a block at the end of a hastily constructed derrick, theinjured men were taken up the funnel-like shaft, while the othersascended by means of ladders, Captain Nicholson being the last toquit the dug-out that might have proved to be his grave.

  After receiving medical attention, Selwyn and Joliffe were sent tothe base hospital, while Captain Nicholson and Riflemen Carr,M'Turk, and M'Kane set out to rejoin their battalions at Messinesvillage.

  A steady trickle of Anzac wounded--mostly walking cases--makingtheir way to the advance dressing-stations, gave indications thatthe Diggers were still hotly engaged. Although the British gunsalready in position were pounding away as hard as they could, therewas a heavy fire from the hostile artillery, of which a formidablenumber had been placed in prepared positions behind the shatteredridge. With typical Teutonic thoroughness the Huns had prepared forthe possibility of having Messines wrenched from their hands, and,having lost the ground, they were ready to swamp it withhigh-explosive shells before launching a counter-attack on a largescale.

  Judging by the cheerfulness of the wounded, the New Zealanders wereconfident of being able to hold the captured village. To CaptainNicholson's question every man expressed his opinion that Fritz wasbadly beaten. Some of the pick of the Prussian and Bavarianregiments had already attempted to retrieve the lost ground, but hadgone down against the brave lads of the Antipodes.

  Malcolm found the bulk of his company entrenched on the right of theshell-racked village. A line of captured trenches had beenreorganized and placed in a state of defence against its formermasters. Since the threatened counter-attack had not yetmaterialized, most of the New Zealanders were resting in thedug-outs obligingly constructed by Fritz, who little thought that hewould have to abandon his painstaking work except upon theconclusion of a victorious German peace.

  Apart from an alarm in the early hours of the morning, when a veryhalf-hearted attack was easily repulsed, the New Zealanders spent anundisturbed and comparatively restful night.

  With morning came most reassuring and gratifying reports from thewhole of the Messines Front. English, Scottish, Welsh, Irish,Canadian, and Anzac troops had gained their res
pective objectiveswith comparatively few losses, taking into consideration theimportant results. Once more the prestige of the German army hadsuffered a severe blow, while, in prisoners alone, the Huns lostmore than the total casualties of the successors to the"contemptible little army".

  It was not to be supposed that the High Command of the Hun armieswould suffer the loss of an important position without makingdesperate and determined efforts to turn the scale of victory. Freshdivisions were hurried up to relieve the wornout and demoralizedtroops, whose _moral_ had, been badly shaken by the stupendousexplosion under Messines Ridge, and the fierce infantry attacks thatsucceeded it.

  Across the shell-pitted ground dense masses of field-grey-clad Hunswere hurled, supported by a terrific covering fire from the Germanguns.

  In the hastily-constructed trenches beyond the ruined village theNew Zealanders awaited the assault with a quiet confidence. ToMalcolm Carr the experience was a novel one. During hiscomparatively brief service in the trenches he had been called uponto repel isolated raids, both by day and night; he had taken part inseveral successful excursions over the top to harry the Germantrenches; he had participated in one of the greatest actions on theWestern Front; but, for the first time, he was helping to man acaptured position against a massive hostile counter-attack.

  This was something very different from anything he had previouslyexperienced. The rousing cheer, the surging mass of khaki-cladfigures over the top, and the mad excitement of the headlong rushwere absent. In silence the riflemen manned the firesteps andawaited the assault of Germany's crack "shock troops ".

  Overhead, far above the bursting shells, aeroplanes were swoopinghither and thither. Whether they were friend or foe the Diggershardly troubled to ascertain. As a matter of fact they were both,and high in the air fierce combats were in progress as the Hunairmen sought in vain to drive off the almost too daring Britishfliers.

  One thousand yards--nine hundred--eight hundred.

  Not a shot was fired from the Anzac trenches--although dozens ofMaxims, Lewis guns, and rifles were ready to receive Fritz in thestrictly conventional way--until the foremost of the serriedgrey-clad masses drew within seven hundred yards. Then, like theoutpouring of a dozen concentrated thunderstorms, British guns thathitherto had been silent set up a barrage--so heavy that the Germanfire, furious though it was, seemed negligible in comparison.

  In front and in the rear of the advancing German infantry the hailof shells descended like a giant twin portcullis, while theintervening space was thick with shrapnel. The dense massesdesisted, recoiled, and attempted to flee through the barrage, whiledeath and wounds took heavy toll.

  A whistle sounded; others took up the call. Whether the order toadvance was premeditated, or given on the spur of the moment, few ofthe New Zealanders knew. At any rate, now was the opportunity tosecure another few hundred yards of ground.

  "Up and over, boys!"

  A line of khaki topped the parapet, leapt into the open, and brokeinto a steady double.

  Malcolm, with bayonet fixed and magazine charged, found himselfright-hand man of C Company as the Diggers surged onwards inextended order.

  A few scared and demoralized Huns, who had contrived to dodge thebarrage, came towards them slowly, as if uncertain of theirreception. With hands upraised and cries of "Kamerad" on their lipsthe surrendering men passed between the advancing troops, whosaluted them with ironical advice to "Cut it out, and not so much ofyour Kamerad stunt!"

  Presently the battalion slowed down. The men were treading on theheels of their own barrage. So perfectly were the shells fallingthat there was little fear of one falling short and playing havocwith the khaki boys. With a feeling of complete confidence, akin tothat of a child for its mother, the New Zealanders literally clungto the skirts of the barrage, at the same time adjuring the distantartillerymen to "Push it along and let's get on!"

  In response to a signal from an observing aeroplane the barragesuddenly parted, some of the guns surging round to the right, otherslifting and pounding away at a mass of German reserves. Immediatelyin front of C Company was a gap that would bring men to hand-gripswith the foe.

  Nothing could have kept the Anzacs back. In vain a daring Germanaeroplane swooped down and brought a machine-gun to play withabsolute impartiality upon the combatants, finally to "crash" uponthe corpse-covered ground. With no visible result did the Huns sendup their so-called S.O.S. signals for aid. The retirement became arout, while the New Zealanders pressed hard at the heels of theopponents.

  "Enough of that, boys!" ordered Captain Nicholson, who of all thecompany officers was the senior one unwounded. "Dig yourselves inand stand fast."

  Already the haunting suspicion that C Company had pushed on inadvance of the rest of the line assailed the young officer. Timeswithout number he had been impressed, and had impressed others, withthe need of keeping in touch with the flanking companies. How theline ran, whether the Australian troops of the right were in advanceor to the rear of the New Zealanders, he knew not. Dense clouds oflow-lying smoke hid everything. The Huns were releasing prodigiousquantities of poison gas. Away to the left an advanceammunition-dump went up with a terrific explosion.

  In a slight depression, littered with coils of severed barbed wireand displaced sand-bags, Captain Nicholson got his men in hand. Thedefeated Prussians were being swallowed up in the haze of battle,but dense masses of grey-clad troops were advancing under cover ofthe liberated gas.

  There was no doubt about it, C Company had lost touch. Every manrealized the fact, although none remarked it to his comrade. Theheat of battle over, they set to work to consolidate and hold theposition they had carried at such a cost. Rifle and machine-gunbullets were beginning to spray the ground anew.

  Captain Nicholson scribbled a few lines in his pocket-book, tore outthe leaf, and beckoned to Malcolm, who was engaged in collectingsand-bags.

  "Cut it out, Carr!" he shouted. The order, puzzling to a Tommy, wasplain to the rifleman addressed. Desisting from his task, heapproached his officer and saluted.

  "Find the C.O.," ordered Captain Nicholson. "Give him this--at allcosts."

  Malcolm took the folded paper and thrust it in his pocket, unfixedhis bayonet and returned it to the scabbard, slung his rifle, andstarted off at a run in the direction of the invisible Messinesvillage. According to the ethics of the Great War a dispatch-bearermust walk while under shell-fire, but when exposed to rifle-fire hemay run without loss of dignity or prestige. And, since the matterwas urgent, Malcolm felt glad that he was not to traverse ashell-watered zone.

  Wounded men, both friend and foe, called imploringly as he passed.Beyond a few cheering words to his helpless comrades he could donothing to aid them. His errand was too pressing. There were dead,too, in ghastly heaps, some with their fingers still clutching thethroats of their opponents, others in a naturally recumbent positionthat gave the appearance of having fallen easily to sleep.

  All the while bullets were whizzing overhead, thudding against thedebris that littered the ground, or ricochetting from the hardearth. In his imagination Malcolm felt that he was the target for awhole Prussian division. No wonder, then, that his heart was in hismouth as, bending low, he darted from shell-hole to shell-hole andtook advantage of the slightest shelter afforded by a rise in theterrain.

  A feeling of utter loneliness assailed him. It was different fromadvancing with tried and trusted comrades around him and theinspiring dash that accompanied the rush of men confident ofvictory. Save for the slain and wounded he was alone in the open,not facing bullets, but followed and overlooked by a regular hailcoming from an unseen source.

  "I've got the wind up this time," he muttered. "Hope I'm on theright track. I don't remember passing this----"

  His foot tripped on a strand of wire, the lowermost and only intactpart of an entanglement. Down he crashed heavily, hisshrapnel-helmet rolling down a declivity for a distance of nearlyten yards.

  "Buckshie for me this time," he exclaimed, without making an effort
to rise. "Wonder where I've got it?"

  Gradually he made the discovery that beyond a grazed instep, for oneof the barbs had penetrated his boot, he was unwounded. His anklewas throbbing painfully. In his fall he had sprained it. With aneffort he regained his feet, clenched his teeth as a sharp twingeshot through his frame, and again pushed onwards. Although at ademinished pace he still ran--not from inclination but from a senseof duty.

  A bang and a cloud of white smoke high above his head told Malcolmthat the guns were renewing their activity.

  "Shrap., and I've lost my helmet!" he exclaimed. "I'll lose my headnext, if I haven't done so already. By gum, I'm out of my tracks!"

  He stopped and surveyed his surroundings. He was now quite alone.Even the dead and wounded were no longer in evidence. Smoke limitedhis range of vision to a distance of less than a hundred yards.Beyond, a few gaunt stumps of trees loomed through the pungentvapour like distorted shadows. With the sun completely obscured, hehad no means of ascertaining his direction. For all he knew he mighthave followed a semicircular course. The sound of the guns helpedhim not at all. Which were the hostile and which the Britishartillery was a question he was unable to answer.

  A whiff of nauseating gas drifted across his path. His right handsought his anti-gas mask. It had vanished. Only a portion of one ofthe straps remained; it had been completely severed by a bullet.

  And now another difficulty arose. The deadly gas used by the Huns,having a density greater than air, has a tendency to fill thehollows and leave the high ground comparatively clear. On Malcolm'sfront the ground rose gradually to a height of about twenty feet.While it might afford protection from the noxious vapour, the ridgewas certainly open to rifle-fire. Nor could Carr understand why, ina temporarily-deserted expanse, there should be such a persistenthail of machine-gun fire.

  "Better to risk a bullet than a dose of gas," decided the rifleman,and with this intention he breasted the slope as rapidly as hissprained ankle would allow.

  "Might get a sight of the village, too," he soliloquized as heneared the summit of the ridge.

  Something struck him sharply on the hip. Mechanically he glanceddown. The butt of his slung rifle was splintered, the brassheel-plate curiously twisted. A piece of shell, which otherwisewould have inflicted a dangerous if not mortal wound, had beenintercepted by the rifle.

  "A miss is as good as a mile," he remarked to himself.

  The sensation akin to panic had passed. A kind of blind fatalismgripped him.

  "If I'm booked to be plugged it's no use getting flurried over it,"he continued, talking aloud. His voice seemed strange and distant,but for want of someone with whom to converse it afforded him aslight sense of companionship--an audible indication that he wasstill alive. "On the other hand, if my number isn't up, why worry?All the same, I should like to know how far I'm away from Messines."

  Fifty yards ahead was a zigzag trench, its direction onlydiscernible by interrupted sections of sand-bags and badly-shatteredwire. Subjected earlier in the day to a terrible artillery pounding,it had been abandoned, but whether by Briton or Hun there was noindication except by closer examination. Evidently it was therearmost of an intricate system of field-fortifications, for Malcolmwas on the parados side while beyond, merging into smoke and haze,were other ramifications of the maze of trenches, all silent anddeserted.

  "They are bound to lead somewhere," was Malcolm's surmise. "To theMessines salient most likely. I'll risk it. It's certainly saferthan in the open, so here goes."

  Choosing a gap in the parados, Rifleman Carr cautiously slid on tothe floor of the trench. The effort gave his ankle a wrench thatsent a pain through his leg like the searing of a hot iron.

  "I'll get there if I have to crawl for it," he muttered. "There'sone thing certain, I won't be able to go back."

  The trench was dry and the floor made good going, except in placeswhere the sand-bags had slipped and formed awkward obstacles. Therewere no indications as to who were the owners of the place.Discarded British and German rifles, clips of cartridges, and otherarticles were impartially strewn about.

  Just as Malcolm was approaching the fourth or fifth bay a heavyshell landed about twenty yards from the parapet. With a concussionthat sent sand-bags flying and hurled tons of dirt high in air themissile exploded.

  Bending to avoid the flying fragments that were descending likerain, Malcolm, regardless of his sprained foot, bolted round thetraverse, and before he was fully aware of the fact he had blunderedright into a party of Huns.