PART THREE 9 страница

Cockshott and the Corporal were on their hands and knees digging with the short-handled shovels that are known as trenching tools. They were on the rear side of the mound.

“We've found im, sir, ” the Corporal said. “Regular buried. Just seed his foot. Dursen't use a shovel. Might cut im in arf! ”

Tietjens said:

“You're probably right. Give me the shovel! ”

Cockshott was a draper's assistant, the Corporal a milkman. Very likely they were not good with shovels.

He had had the advantage of a boyhood crowded with digging of all sorts. Duckett was buried horizontally, running into the side of a conical mound. His feet at least stuck out like that, but you could not tell how the body was disposed. It might turn to either side or upwards. He said:

“Go on with your tools above! But give me room. ”

The toes being to the sky, the trunk could hardly bend downwards. He stood below the feet and aimed terrific blows with the shovel eighteen inches below. He liked digging. This earth was luckily dryish. It ran down the hill conveniently. This man had been buried probably ten minutes. It seemed longer but it was probably less. He ought to have a chance. Probably earth was less suffocating than water. He said to the Corporal:

“Do you know how to apply artificial respiration? ” “To the drowned? ”

Cockshott said:

“I do, sir. I was swimming champion of Islington baths! ” A rather remarkable man, Cockshott. His father had knocked up the arm of a man who had tried to shoot Mr Gladstone in 1866 or thereabouts.

A lot of earth falling away, obligingly, after one withdrawal of the shovel Lance-Corporal Duckett's thin legs appeared to the fork, the knees dropping.

Cockshott said:

“E ain't rubbin' 'is ankles this journey! ”

The Corporal said:

“Company Commander is killed, sir. Bullet clean thru the ed! ”

It annoyed Tietjens that here was another head wound. He could not apparently get away from them. It was silly to be annoyed, because in trenches a majority of wounds had to be head wounds. But Providence might just as well be a little more imaginative. To oblige one. It annoyed him, too, to think that he had strafed that boy just before he was killed. For leaving his shovels about. A strafe leaves a disagreeable impression on young boys for quite half an hour. It was probably the last incident in his life. So he died depressed… Might God be making it up to him!

He said to the Corporal:

“Let me come. ” Duckett's left hand and wrist had appeared, the hand drooping and improbably clean, level with the thigh. It gave the line of the body; you could clear away beside him.

“'E wasn't on'y twenty-two, ” the Corporal said. Cockshott said: “Same age as me. Very particular e was about your rifle pull-throughs. ”

A minute later they pulled Duckett out, by the legs. A stone might have been resting on his face, in that case his face would have been damaged. It wasn't, though you had had to chance it. It was black but asleep… As if Valentine Wannop had been reposing in an ash-bin. Tietjens left Cockshott applying artificial respiration very methodically and efficiently to the prostrate form.

It was to him a certain satisfaction that, at any rate, in that minute affair he hadn't lost one of the men but only an officer. As satisfaction it was not militarily correct, though as it harmed no one there was no harm in it. But for his men he always felt a certain greater responsibility; they seemed to him to be there infinitely less of their own volition. It was akin to the feeling that made him regard cruelty to an animal as a more loathsome crime than cruelty to a human being, other than a child. It was no doubt irrational.

Leaning, in the communication trench, against the corrugated iron that boasted a great whitewashed A, in, a very clean thin Burberry boasting half a bushel of badges of rank—worsted crowns and things! —and in a small tin hat that looked elegant, was a slight figure. How the devil can you make a tin hat look elegant! It carried a hunting switch and wore spurs. An Inspecting General. The General said benevolently:

“Who are you? ” and then with irritation: “Where the devil is the officer commanding this Battalion? Why can't he be found? ” He added: “You're disgustingly dirty. Like a blackamoor. I suppose you've an explanation. ”

Tietjens was being spoken to by General Campion. In a hell of a temper. He stood to attention like a scarecrow. He said:

“I am in command of this Battalion, sir. I am Tietjens, second-in-command. Now in command temporarily. I could not be found because I was buried. Temporarily. ”

The General said:

“You… Good God! ” and fell back a step, his jaw dropping. He said: “I've just come back from London! ” And then: “By God, you don't stop in command of a Battalion of mine a second after I take over! ” He said: “They said this was the smartest battalion in my unit! ” and snorted with passion. He added: “Neither my galloper nor Levin can find you or get you found. And there you come strolling along with your hands in your pockets! ”

In the complete stillness, for, the guns having stopped, the skylarks. too, were taking a spell, Tietjens could hear his heart beat, little dry scraping sounds out of his lungs. The heavy beats were very accelerated. It gave an effect of terror. He said to himself:

“What the devil has his having been in London to do with it? ” And then: “He wants to marry Sylvia! I'll bet he wants to marry Sylvia! ” That was what his having been to London had to do with it. It was an obsession with him: the first thing he said when surprised and passionate.

They always arranged these periods of complete silence for the visits of Inspecting Generals. Perhaps the Great General Staffs of both sides arrange that for each other. More probably our guns had split themselves in the successful attempt to let the Huns know that we wanted them to shut up—that we were firing with what Papists call a special intention. That would be as effective as a telephone message. The Huns would know there was something up. Never put the other side in a temper when you can help it.

He said:

“I've just had a scratch, sir. I was feeling in my pockets for my field-dressing. ”

The General said:

“A fellow like you has no right to be where he can be wounded. Your place is the lines of communication. I was mad when I sent you here. I shall send you back. ”

He added:

“You can fall out. I want neither your assistance nor your information. They said there was a damn smart officer in command here. I wanted to see him… Of the name of… Of the name of… It does not matter. Fall out…”

Tietjens went heavily along the trench. It came into his head to say to himself:

“It is a land of Hope and Glory! ” Then he exclaimed: “By God! I'll take the thing before the Commander-in-Chief. I'll take the thing before the King in Council if necessary. By God I will! ” The old fellow had no business to speak to him like that. It was importing personal enmity into service matters. He stood still reflecting on the terms of his letter to Brigade. The Adjutant Notting came along the trench. He said:

“General Campion wants to see you, sir. He takes over this Army on Monday. ” He added: “You've been in a nasty place, sir. Not hurt, I trust! ” It was a most unusual piece of loquacity for Notting.

Tietjens said to himself:

“Then I've got five days in command of this unit. He can't kick me out before he's in command. ” The Huns would be through them before then. Five days' fighting! Thank God!

He said:

“Thanks. I've seen him. No, I'm all right. Beastly dirty! ” Notting's beady eyes had a tinge of agony in them. He said:

“When they said you had stopped one, sir, I thought I should go mad. We can't get through the work! ”

Tietjens was wondering whether he should write his letter to Brigade before or after the old fellow took over. Notting was saying:

“The doctor says Aranjuez will get through all right. ”

It would be better, if he were going to base his appeal on the grounds of personal prejudice. Notting was saying:

“Of course he will lose his eye. In fact it… it is not practically there. But he'll get through. ”

PART THREE

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