Chapter 10 HOT WORK

Kenneth had not omitted to report the signalling from the church tower. The light had not been seen from the trenches of his own battalion, and it was guessed that the receiver of the messages was at some other point behind the long British front. But on the first night of their return to billets it occurred to Harry that the light might possibly be visible from some post of equal height with the tower in which it shone, and he suggested to Kenneth that they should go up into the belfry of the church in their village.

In order to give no excuse for a German bombardment the colonel had refrained from making use of this as an observation post, which some of his officers regarded as an excess of scrupulousness. It would be necessary to get permission now before Harry's suggestion could be acted upon.

Harry put the question to Captain Adams. He saw the colonel, who in view of the fact that the Germans were certainly using a church tower a few miles away gave his consent. Finding, therefore, the sacristan, Harry and Kenneth got him to take them up the belfry at about the same hour as they had seen the Germans' lamp.

Furnished with Captain Adams' field-glasses, they scanned the country in turns. For a long time they had no reward, and they were indeed on the point of quitting the spot when Kenneth caught sight of a twinkle far away to the south-east. It vanished and reappeared at irregular intervals, just as the light from the tower had done.

"We are not getting the full rays here," said Kenneth, after Harry had taken a look. "But it is clear that they are signalling to someone in this direction, more or less."

"Let us go half way down the tower, and see if the light is visible there," suggested Harry.

But they found that only at the foot of the belfry itself could they catch sight of the twinkling light.

"It's very cleverly arranged," Harry remarked. "They are not signalling to this village, that's clear. There's certainly no observer but ourselves here, and no other place is high enough to catch the rays."

"Except Obernai's house," said Kenneth, looking round over the village. Most of the roofs were considerably lower than the spot on which they stood. Only the attics of the Alsatian philanthropist's house rose above that level. That large building in its extensive grounds was about sixty yards to their left. There was a light in one of the lower rooms, where Captain Adams and several other officers were billeted: the rest was dark.

"It's not very likely, after that spy business, that any of Obernai's servants is in German pay," Kenneth continued. "Still I'll tell the captain what we have seen."

He made his report to Captain Adams next morning. Later in the day the captain said to him:

"There's nothing in that matter, Amory. I asked Monsieur Obernai whether his servants were trustworthy, and he assured me that he had had them for years, and could answer for them all. I didn't tell him why I had made the enquiry; it's best to keep these things as quiet as possible; we don't want to make people uneasy. I've no doubt the signals are directed to some place farther away on our left, and the colonel is sending word along the front, asking them to keep a look-out."

Nothing more was heard of the signalling for a long time.

When they returned to the trenches, their position was somewhat altered. The Rutlands were moved a little to the right, and Kennedy's platoon occupied a portion of the trench which had formerly been held by another platoon.

Kenneth was making himself comfortable in a dug-out with Harry and Ginger when he picked up, among the various articles left by its former occupants, a piece of ruled music paper dotted with notes.

"A relic of your friend Stoneway, Ginger," he said with a laugh. "He's the only musician in the company."

"Is he, by George!" cried Harry. "You forget I was in the school choir, old chap."

"So you were! I remember how the mothers used to admire your pretty little cherub face when you let off your songs on the platform. 'Isn't he sweet, mother?' I heard a girl say once. You remember how we rotted you."

"Yes, confound it! I was jolly glad when my voice broke, and I got out of all that. I haven't sung a note since; if I try, my voice is like a nutmeg grater."

"You've lost your cherubic mug too, old man. But look here; whistle over this tune; let's hear what it is."

Harry took the paper, scanned it for a moment or two, then said:

"It's no tune at all. The notes go up and down all anyhow."

He whistled a few notes.

"Oh, for any sake stop it!" implored Ginger. "It's Stoneway's exercises, by the sound of it. Call that music! It's enough to make a cat ill."

"I'll give it back to Stoneway next time I see him," said Harry.

"Tear it up," said Ginger. "If he hasn't got it, perhaps he can't----"

A shout interrupted him.

"Stand to! Here they come!"

They seized their rifles and rushed out into the trench, Harry stuffing the paper into his pocket. The men were posting themselves a yard apart on the banquette, looking excitedly through the loopholes. Across the open ground in front the Germans were advancing in a serried mass. It was a surprise attack, not heralded, in the customary way, by a bombardment. The testing moment had come for the Rutlands at last.

They stood at their posts, tense, quiet with excitement. Ginger's features twitched; Harry's lips were parted. With their fingers at the triggers they awaited breathlessly the order to fire. On came the dense grey lines. The Germans did not fire; with fixed bayonets they swarmed forward rapidly. They came to the wire entanglement; with clock-work precision every man in the first rank plied his nippers, and then, in the trench, Kennedy cried in a hoarse whisper:

"Three rounds, rapid!"

All along the line sounded the crackle of rifles. On the right a machine-gun rattled; on the left another. Three times the rifles spoke. Men were shouting, they knew not what. Other sounds mingled with the din: yells, groans, guttural orders from the German officers; and at the wire entanglement lay a long swathe of fallen men.

But behind them another multitude was dashing on. They leapt over their stricken comrades, only to drop in their turn before the withering volley from their unseen enemy in the trench. Through the gaps poured an unending torrent; the grey-clad men were drawing nearer to the trench. The rifle-fire was now continuous, but it was of no avail to repel this close-packed horde. There was no longer question of taking cover. The Rutlands leapt up to meet the charge. They fired as fast as they could, until their rifles were hot. In spite of their losses the Germans pressed on until sheer weight of numbers carried them to the edge of the trench.

It is not for us to describe the scene of carnage there--the hideous work of the bayonets, the cries of the wounded, the hoarse shouts of defenders and assailants. The Germans fell back. Kennedy's clear voice shouted the order for volley-firing. And now came a fierce reply from the German ranks. Then they fell on their knees and crawled forward again. Again they were driven back. They began to retreat. And then Kennedy leapt on the parapet and gave the command to charge. The men responded with alacrity. Up they scrambled, over the fallen men, and dashed forward with exultant shouts. There was a whizz and boom overhead. The British artillery behind was coming into play. From the front came deafening crashes; columns of earth and smoke rose into the air. The Rutlands lay on the ground until the guns had ceased fire; then dashed on. They plunged into the reek about the German trench; they sprang over the parapet and drove the Germans out; and a storm of cheers acclaimed their victory.

They were preparing to hold the ground they had won when word was brought that strong reinforcements were hurrying up to the Germans from the east. They had no reserve strong enough to hold the new line in face of a superior force. The colonel ordered them to evacuate the trench, after doing as much damage as was possible in the short time available.

The men set to work with their own trenching tools and with those abandoned by the Germans to hack down the walls of the trench. Kenneth caught up a pick, and remembering the pond at the right of the communicating trench, he began to cut a hole through the three or four feet of intervening earth. Ginger joined him. In a few minutes the water burst through in spate, flooding the trenches, and driving the Englishmen out pell-mell.

Laughing, singing, throwing jokes one to another, they returned to their own trenches. They picked up swords, rifles, helmets, and other articles of equipment that were scattered over the ground, threaded their way among the fallen men, stopping here and there to assist wounded comrades. Meanwhile the British artillery was pounding the German lines to discourage a renewed attack, and the Red Cross men moved swiftly and silently over the field.

Kenneth had not seen Harry for some time, and was anxious about him. But the friends met at the edge of their trench. Each ran his eyes rapidly over the other; their set faces cleared when they recognised that neither was hurt.

Settled down once more in their dug-out, the three men talked over their experiences.

"I felt my blood run cold," said Harry, "but I hadn't time to be afraid. I feel worse now. Look at my hand shaking."

Ginger, very pale, was mechanically cleaning his rifle. He flung it down with a curse.

"What have they done to me?" he cried. "What have they done to me? I killed an officer, a nice young chap as might have been your brother. What for? What about his mother? And all those poor chaps yonder: why can't them as make wars let us alone? Men ain't made to kill each other. What's the good of it all? When the war's over, millions dead, millions crippled, millions miserable. It didn't ought to be."

"We're serving our country, Ginger," said Kenneth. "It's not a question of just the present moment. We've got to think of the future. What would life be worth to our people at home if the Germans had their way? You can get nothing good without paying the price, and it will be good if we can teach the Germans and the world that force isn't everything, that people have a right to live their own lives without being bullied. For every man that dies, whether English or German, perhaps thousands may have a better time in days to come. That's worth fighting for, and dying for, if need be. We've all got our little part to play. It's not a thing you can argue about: you feel it. Look at what Sir Edward Grey said: he'd rather cut the old country altogether than be obliged to give up our good English ways and to put up with German tyranny. Don't you feel like that too? Well, that's why we are fighting; we're fighting to call our souls our own, and, please God, we'll win."