The Penguin Book of First World War Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

knew not what. The sweat was pouring downhis face from the heat of the gas helmet, but still he held the valve between his teeth, breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth as he had been told. It was automatic, involuntary; he couldn’t think, he only remembered certain things by instinct.
    Suddenly a high explosive shell burst near him – quite close: and a mass of earth crashed down on his legs and back, half burying him. He whimpered feebly, and after a while dragged himself free. But the action brought him close to that silent figure, with the ripped-up back…
    â€˜You ought to ’ave a nurse…’ Why? Gawd above – why? Wasn’t he as good a man as that there dead corporal? Wasn’t he one of the regiment too? And now the Corporal couldn’t do anything; but he – well, he hadn’t got no hole torn out of his back. It wasn’t his blood that lay stagnant, filling the little holes at the bottom of the trench…
    Kipling came back to him – feebly, from another world. The dreamer was dreaming once again.
    If your officer’s dead and the sergeants look white,
    Remember it’s ruin to run from a fight. 9
    Run! Who was talking of running? He was going to save the regiment – once he could think clearly again. Everything was hazy just for the moment.
    And wait for supports like a soldier.
    But there weren’t no supports, and the telephone wire was broken – the wire he’d tripped over as he came up. Until it was mended there wouldn’t be any supports – until it was mended – until –
    With a choking cry he lurched to his feet: and staggering, running, falling down, the dreamer crossed the open. A tearing pain through his left arm made him gasp, but he got there – got there and collapsed. He couldn’t see very well, so he tore off his gas helmet, and, peering round, at last saw the wire. And the wire was indeed cut. Why the throbbing brain should haveimagined it would be cut
there
, I know not; perhaps he associated it particularly with the pollard – and after all he was the Company Idiot. But it was cut there, I am glad to say; let us not begrudge him his little triumph. He found one end, and some few feet off he saw the other. With infinite difficulty he dragged himself towards it. Why did he find it so terribly hard to move? He couldn’t see clearly; everything somehow was getting hazy and red. The roar of the shells seemed muffled strangely – faraway, indistinct. He pulled at the wire, and it came towards him; pulled again, and the two ends met. Then he slipped back against the pollard, the two ends grasped in his right hand…
    The regiment was safe at last. The officer would not have to kick the telephone again. The Idiot had made good. And into his heart there came a wonderful peace.
    There was a roaring in his ears; lights danced before his eyes; strange shapes moved in front of him. Then, of a sudden, out of the gathering darkness a great white light seared his senses, a deafening crash overwhelmed him, a sharp stabbing blow struck his head. The roaring ceased, and a limp figure slipped down and lay still, with two ends of wire grasped tight in his hand.
    â€˜They are going to relieve us to-night, Sergeant-Major.’ The two men with tired eyes faced one another in the Major’s dugout. The bombardment was over, and the dying rays of a blood-red sun glinted through the door. ‘I think they took it well.’
    â€˜They did, sir – very well.’
    â€˜What are the casualties? Any idea?’
    â€˜Somewhere about seventy or eighty, sir – but I don’t know the exact numbers.’
    â€˜As soon as it’s dark I’m going back to Headquarters. Captain Standish will take command.’
    â€˜That there Meyrick is reported missing, sir.’
    â€˜Missing! He’ll turn up somewhere – if he hasn’t been