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

to——"

      "It doesn't matter a damn whether——"

      "The officer says it will be an easy job. I don't know the——"

      He paused. We understood things half spoken.

      "Champagne?" I hinted.

      "Nothing like champagne," said Bill.

CHAPTER IV

       Before the Charge

       Table of Contents

      Before I joined the Army

      I lived in Donegal,

      Where every night the Fairies,

      Would hold their carnival.

      But now I'm out in Flanders,

      Where men like wheat-ears fall,

      And it's Death and not the Fairies

      Who is holding carnival.

      I poked my head through the upper window of our billet and looked down the street. An ominous calm brooded over the village, the trees which lined the streets stood immovable in the darkness, with lone shadows clinging to the trunks. On my right, across a little rise, was the firing line. In the near distance was the village of Bully-Grenay, roofless and tenantless, and further off was Philosophé, the hamlet with its dark-blue slag-heap bulking large against the horizon. Souchez in the hills was as usual active; a heavy artillery engagement was in progress. White and lurid splashes of flame dabbed at the sky, and the smoke, rising from the ground, paled in the higher air; but the breeze blowing away from me carried the tumult and thunder far from my ears. I looked on a conflict without sound; a furious fight seen but unheard.

      A coal-heap near the village stood, colossal and threatening; an engine shunted a long row of wagons along the railway line which fringed Les Brebis. In a pit by the mine a big gun began to speak loudly, and the echo of its voice palpitated through the room and dislodged a tile from the roof. … My mind was suddenly permeated by a feeling of proximity to the enemy. He whom we were going to attack at dawn seemed to be very close to me. I could almost feel his presence in the room. At dawn I might deprive him of life and he might deprive me of mine. Two beings give life to a man, but one can deprive him of it. Which is the greater mystery? Birth or death? They who are responsible for the first may take pleasure, but who can glory in the second? … To kill a man. … To feel for ever after the deed that you have deprived a fellow being of life!

      "We're beginning to strafe again," said Pryor, coming to my side as a second reverberation shook the house. "It doesn't matter. I've got a bottle of champagne and a box of cigars."

      "I've got a bottle as well," I said.

      "There'll be a hell of a do to-morrow," said Pryor.

      "I suppose there will," I replied. "The officer said that our job will be quite an easy one."

      "H'm!" said Pryor.

      I looked down at the street and saw Bill Teake.

      "There's Bill down there," I remarked. "He's singing a song. Listen."

      "'I like your smile,

      I like your style,

      I like your soft blue dreamy eyes——'"

      "There's passion in that voice," I said. "Has he fallen in love again?"

      A cork went plunk! from a bottle behind me, and Pryor from the shadows of the room answered, "Oh, yes! He's in love again; the girl next door is his fancy now."

      "Oh, so it seems," I said. "She's out at the pump now and Bill is edging up to her as quietly as if he were going to loot a chicken off its perch."

      Bill is a boy for the girls; he finds a new love at every billet. His fresh flame was a squat stump of a Millet girl in short petticoats and stout sabots. Her eyes were a deep black, her teeth very white. She was a comfortable, good-natured girl, "a big 'andful of love," as he said himself, but she was not very good-looking.

      Bill sidled up to her side and fixed an earnest gaze on the water falling from the pump; then he nudged the girl in the hip with a playful hand and ran his fingers over the back of her neck.

      "Allez vous en!" she cried, but otherwise made no attempt to resist Bill's advances.

      "Allez voos ong yerself!" said Bill, and burst into song again.

      "'She's the pretty little girl from Nowhere,

      Nowhere at all.

      She's the——'"

      He was unable to resist the temptation any longer, and he clasped the girl round the waist and planted a kiss on her cheek. The maiden did not relish this familiarity. Stooping down she placed her hand in the pail, raised a handful of water and flung it in Bill's face. The Cockney retired crestfallen and spluttering, and a few minutes afterwards he entered the room.

      "Yes, I think that there are no women on earth to equal them," said Pryor to me, deep in a pre-arranged conversation. "They have a grace of their own and a coyness which I admire. I don't think that any women are like the women of France."

      "'Oo?" asked Bill Teake, sitting down on the floor.

      "Pat and I are talking about the French girls," said Pryor. "They're splendid."

      "H'm!" grunted Bill in a colourless voice.

      "Not much humbug about them," I remarked.

      "I prefer English gals," said Bill. "They can make a joke and take one. As for the French gals, ugh!"

      "But they're not all alike," I said. "Some may resent advances in the street, and show a temper when they're kissed over a pump."

      "The water from the Les Brebis pumps is very cold," said Pryor.

      We could not see Bill's face in the darkness, but we could almost feel our companion squirm.

      "'Ave yer got some champagne, Pryor?" he asked with studied indifference. "My froat's like sandpaper."

      "Plenty of champagne, matey," said Pryor in a repentant voice. "We're all going to get drunk to-night. Are you?"

      "'Course I am," said Bill. "It's very comfy to 'ave a drop of champagne."

      "More comfy than a kiss even," said Pryor.

      As he spoke the door was shoved inwards and our corporal entered. For a moment he stood there without speaking, his long, lank form darkly outlined against the half light.

      "Well, corporal?" said Pryor interrogatively.

      "Why don't you light a candle?" asked the corporal. "I thought that we were going to get one another's addresses."

      "So we were," I said, as if just remembering a decision arrived at a few hours previously. But I had it in my mind all the time.

      Bill lit a candle and placed it on the floor while I covered up the window with a ground sheet. The window looked out on the firing line three kilometres away, and the light, if uncovered, might be seen by the enemy. I glanced down the street and saw boys in khaki strolling aimlessly about, their cigarettes glowing. … The star-shells rose in the sky out behind Bully-Grenay, and again I had that feeling of the enemy's presence which was mine a few moments before.

      Kore, another of our section, returned from a neighbouring café, a thoughtful look in his dark eyes and a certain irresolution in his movements. His delicate nostrils and pale lips quivered nervously, betraying doubt and a little fear of the work ahead at dawn. Under his arm he carried a bottle of champagne which he placed on the floor beside the candle. Sighing a little, he lay down at full length on the floor, not before he brushed the dust aside with a newspaper. Kore was very neat and took great pride in his uniform, which fitted him like an eyelid.

      Felan and M'Crone came in together, arm in arm. The latter was in a state of subdued excitement;