The Great Push: An Episode of the Great War. Patrick MacGill

3 ft. wide and 6 ft. deep before dawn, and the work had to be performed with all possible dispatch. Rumour spoke of thrilling days ahead; and men spoke of a big push which was shortly to take place. Between the lines there are no slackers; the safety of a man so often depends upon the dexterous handling of his spade; the deeper a man digs, the better is his shelter from bullet and bomb; the spade is the key to safety.

      The men set to work eagerly, one picked up the earth with a spade and a mate shovelled the loose stuff out over the meadow. The grass, very long now and tapering tall as the props that held the web of wire entanglements in air, shook gently backwards and forwards as the slight breezes caught it. The night was wonderfully calm and peaceful; it seemed as if heaven and earth held no threat for the men who delved in the alleys of war.

      Out ahead lay the German trenches. I could discern their line of sandbags winding over the meadows and losing itself for a moment when it disappeared behind the ruins of a farm-house—a favourite resort of the enemy snipers, until our artillery blew the place to atoms. Silent and full of mystery as it lay there in the moonlight, the place had a strange fascination for me. How interesting it would be to go out there beyond our most advanced outpost and have a peep at the place all by myself. Being a stretcher-bearer there was no necessity for me to dig; my work began when my mates ceased their labours and fell wounded.

      Out in front of me lay a line of barbed wire entanglements.

      "Our wire?" I asked the Engineer.

      "No—the Germans'," he answered.

      I noticed a path through it, and I took my way to the other side. Behind me I could heard the thud of picks and the sharp, rasping sound of shovels digging into the earth, and now and again the whispered words of command passing from lip to lip. The long grass impeded my movements, tripping me as I walked, and lurking shell-holes caught me twice by the foot and flung me to the ground. Twenty yards out from the wire I noticed in front of me something moving on the ground, wriggling, as I thought, towards the enemy's line. I threw myself flat and watched. There was no mistaking it now; it was a man, belly flat on the ground, moving off from our lines. Being a non-combatant I had no rifle, no weapon to defend myself with if attacked. I wriggled back a few yards, then got to my feet, recrossed the line of wires and found a company-sergeant-major speaking to an officer.

      "There's somebody out there lying on the ground," I said. "A man moving off towards the German trenches."

      The three of us went off together and approached the figure on the ground, which had hardly changed its position since I last saw it. It was dressed in khaki, the dark barrel of a rifle stretched out in front. I saw stripes on a khaki sleeve. …

      "One of a covering-party?" asked the sergeant-major.

      "That's right," came the answer from the grass, and a white face looked up at us.

      "Quiet?" asked the S.-M.

      "Nothing doing," said the voice from the ground. "It's cold lying here, though. We've been out for four hours."

      "I did not think that the covering-party was so far out," said the officer, and the two men returned to their company.

      I sat in the long grass with the watcher; he was the sergeant in command of the covering party.

      "Are your party out digging?" he asked.

      "Yes, out behind us," I answered. "Is the covering-party a large one?"

      "About fifty of us," said the sergeant. "They've all got orders to shoot on sight when they see anything suspicious. Do you hear the Germans at work out there?"

      I listened; from the right front came the sound of hammering.

      "They're putting up barbed wire entanglements and digging a sap," said the sergeant. "Both sides are working and none are fighting. I must have another smoke," said the sergeant.

      "But it's dangerous to strike a light here," I said.

      "Not in this way," said the sergeant, drawing a cigarette and a patent flint tinder-lighter from his pocket. Over a hole newly dug in the earth, as if with a bayonet, the sergeant leant, lit the cigarette in its little dug-out, hiding the glow with his hand.

      "Do you smoke?" he asked.

      "Yes, I smoke," and the man gave me a cigarette.

      It was so very quiet lying there. The grasses nodded together, whispering to one another. To speak of the grasses whispering during the day is merely a sweet idea; but God! they do whisper at night. The ancients called the winds the Unseen Multitude; the grasses are long, tapering fingers laid on the lips of the winds. "Hush!" the night whispers. "Hush!" breathes the world. The grasses touch your ears, saying sleepily, "Hush! be quiet!"

      At the end of half an hour I ventured to go nearer the German lines. The sergeant told me to be careful and not to go too close to the enemy's trenches or working parties. "And mind your own covering-party when you're coming in," said the sergeant. "They may slip you a bullet or two if you're unlucky."

      Absurd silvery shadows chased one another up and down the entanglement props. In front, behind the German lines, I could hear sounds of railway wagons being shunted, and the clank of rails being unloaded. The enemy's transports were busy; they clattered along the roads, and now and again the neighing of horses came to my ears. On my right a working party was out; the clank of hammers filled the air. The Germans were strengthening their wire entanglements; the barbs stuck out, I could see them in front of me, waiting to rip our men if ever we dared to charge. I had a feeling of horror for a moment. Then, having one more look round, I went back, got through the line of outposts, and came up to our working party, which was deep in the earth already. Shovels and picks were rising and falling, and long lines of black clay bulked up on either side of the trench.

      I took off my coat, got hold of a mate's idle shovel, and began to work.

      "That my shovel?" said Bill Teake.

      "Yes, I'm going to do a little," I answered. "It would never do much lying on the slope."

      "I suppose it wouldn't," he answered. "Will you keep it goin' for a spell?"

      "I'll do a little bit with it," I answered. "You've got to go to the back of the trenches if you're wanting to smoke."

      "That's where I'm goin'," Bill replied. "'Ave yer got any matches?"

      I handed him a box and bent to my work. It was quite easy to make headway; the clay was crisp and brittle, and the pick went in easily, making very little sound. M'Crone, one of our section, was working three paces ahead, shattering a square foot of earth at every blow of his instrument.

      "It's very quiet here," he said. "I suppose they won't fire on us, having their own party out. By Jove, I'm sweating at this."

      "When does the shift come to an end?" I asked.

      "At dawn," came the reply. He rubbed the perspiration from his brow as he spoke. "The nights are growing longer," he said, "and it will soon be winter again. It will be cold then."

      As he spoke we heard the sound of rifle firing out by the German wires. Half a dozen shots were fired, then followed a long moment of silent suspense.

      "There's something doing," said Pryor, leaning on his pick. "I wonder what it is."

      Five minutes afterwards a sergeant and two men came in from listening patrol and reported to our officer.

      "We've just encountered a strong German patrol between the lines," said the sergeant. "We exchanged shots with them and then withdrew. We have no casualties, but the Germans have one man out of action, shot through the stomach."

      "How do you know it went through his stomach?" asked the officer.

      "In this way," said the sergeant. "When we fired one of the Germans (we were quite close to them) put his hands across his stomach and fell to the ground yellin' 'Mein Gutt! Mein Gutt!'"

      "So it did get 'im in the guts then," said Bill Teake, when he heard of the incident.

      "You fool!" exclaimed Pryor. "It was 'My