CHAPTER IX

At three o’clock an order came that they were to advance and dig a hole on the far side of the hill. Corporal Williams again set forth with his men. Now there’s only seven souls in the section.

Not a shot was fired as they trudged along through the mud. When they crossed the brow of the hill there was no sign of the enemy anywhere. They marched in silence, slowly, without interest. Now they were too bored to notice where they were going or to look around them. They had become merely figures, that moved when ordered, halted when ordered, lay down when ordered and dug when ordered. The silence was a drug. When they had covered the required distance the Corporal ordered them to halt. He then walked about, choosing the best place to dig. After consultation with Reilly and Shaw he chose a spot and ordered them to dig. They spread out in a line and seized their tools.

But they had no sooner begun to dig than the enemy opened fire on them. It seemed as if the cunning fellow were playing a game with them, enticing them into a trap, firing at them when they came to a spot on which his weapons were trained, and then retiring when he had killed a few of them.

They lay flat on the ground while bullets whizzed over their heads. Then the firing stopped. They waited. Corporal Williams raised his steel hat on a shovel. Nobody fired at it.

“Snipers,” he said. “Come on. Dig.”

“Why not open fire on the bastards?” said Reilly.

“There are orders not to waste ammunition,” said the Corporal. “We may need all we have to-night. Can’t get any up.”

“God! What a life!” said Jennings.

They began to dig rapidly. An enemy machine-gun opened fire on Corporal Wallace’s section, which was digging a hole on the right.

“Why the hell don’t they use their Lewis gun?” said Gunn. “Is this supposed to be a funny joke?”

“Shut your trap,” said the Corporal. “Dig in.”

“This is a funny engagement,” said Jennings. “It should be set to music and produced as a comic opera.”

“Dig in and stop talking,” said the Corporal. “Christ!”

A shower of rifle grenades came whining through the air, almost on top of them. They lay flat while the grenades burst. Nobody was hit.

“He’s out there somewhere,” said Reilly, with his face in the mud. “There’s a nest of them near here somewhere.”

“Come on, lads,” said the Corporal. “Dig in.”

Again they began to dig furiously. Here the ground was firmer. After they had removed the muddy crust of the earth, their tools worked efficiently.

After a few minutes, Jennings ceased to dig, and called out, “Say, Corporal, I have to fall out for a moment.”

“What’s the matter with you? Keep your head down or you’ll lose it.”

“I simply can’t wait another minute,” said Jennings.

Forthwith he unfastened his uniform and crouched like a cat on the little hole he had scraped in the mud.

“Lie down,” said McDonald, who was beside Jennings. “See here, Corporal, he’ll draw fire on us.”

“I simply can’t wait,” whimpered Jennings.

“Knock him down,” cried the Corporal. “What’s your number, Jennings?”

A rifle grenade whizzed and burst right in front of the post. At the same time a machine gun opened fire on them. They lay flat. Jennings fell forward and grunted. The machine-gun stopped firing.

“I say, fellows,” said Jennings, in a strange tone. “I say, you chaps. Look! Do look!”

“What?” cried McDonald, raising his head. “What are you...? Holy jumping son of.... Look at him!”

“Say, Mac.,” said Jennings, holding out his right arm, “Do you think I’m wounded? Am I cut? Do you see any blood?”

He had thrown up his right arm to shield his face when the grenade burst. It was hanging by a strip of skin within the sleeve of his great-coat, shattered below the elbow. The sleeve of his coat had been ripped to the shoulder. His hand hung incongruously downwards as he held up his arm. Blood was pouring from the wound in a full stream. His sleeve was becoming dark as the blood soaked through the cloth. His trousers and underwear had fallen down about his heels. His thighs, as thin and frayed as those of an old man, were spattered with blood. His eyeballs protruded like those of a rabbit, whose neck has been smartly broken. Froth bubbled on his lips as he babbled.

“Lie down, blast you!” cried the Corporal, crawling over on his belly. “Cut that bloody sleeve, Crap. Off with his puttees.”

“Oh! I see,” whimpered Jennings. “I’m really wounded. I do hope it’s not serious. I’m bleeding. By Jove!”

“Bloody artery is cut,” said the Corporal. “Off with his puttees. Something to burn it... quick. Stop talking, blast you!”

They threw Jennings on the ground with violence, as he insisted on trying to stand up. They had no means of treating such a wound properly, so they tied puttees about his arm and lashed it double; but still the blood gushed forth. Jennings began to rave. His face became an extraordinary colour. Already his uninjured hand looked like the hand of a corpse. He could not hold his head steady on his neck. At last, Shaw was detailed to drag him back over the brow of the hill, while McDonald hurried back to call the stretcher-bearers.

“That is three,” said Reilly in a gloomy voice after they had gone. “What did I tell you? Not one of us’ll come out alive.”

“He’s got a blighty one, anyway,” said Lamont. “Wish I had.”

“Shut up, you bloody little ferret,” said the Corporal, wiping Jennings’ blood off his hands on to his great-coat. “Wish you had gone instead of him. You haven’t dug an inch. Get on with your work.”

“That’s not a blighty one,” said Reilly. “He’ll never reach the dressing station alive.”

Drrrrr. The machine spattered its bullets through the air to the left of them.

“The bastard is firing on the wounded,” cried Gunn. “By Christ! somebody is going to pay for this.”

He dug furiously.

“I’m under cover now,” said Reilly. “What about a rest, Corporal?”

“Dig,” said the Corporal. “We’re not digging for cover. We’re making a post.”

They went on digging. After a while, Shaw and McDonald dashed up and threw themselves into the hole, followed by a shower of bullets.

“He got another packet as I was taking him back,” said Shaw. “Right through the heart, I think. He’s gone West.”

“Did you hand him over?” said the Corporal.

“Yes,” said McDonald. “I got the stretcher-bearers. There’s been a lot hit in No. 4 Platoon. It is just like old Jennings. He was always getting taken short at the wrong time. Too much beer.”

“Stop talking,” said the Corporal. “Dig.”

“We’re all for it,” said Reilly, gloomily.

“I wish it hit me instead,” said Lamont, plaintively.

Gunn seized the boy roughly by the arm and whispered in his ear, “If anything happens to you, kid, they can watch out for themselves. I’ll....”

“Stop talking, Gunn,” said the Corporal, “Dig.”

They continued to dig. Now the hole was over three feet deep in places. It began to grow dark. Utterly exhausted, they began to pause for breath, one after the other. The Corporal, himself exhausted, urged them back to work again. Now they could only scoop out a few ounces of clay at a time, and their hands moved with the slowness of snails.

Then Lamont dropped his shovel and lay down.

“Get up and dig,” whispered the Corporal, hoarsely.

Lamont did not move. McDonald lay down. Shaw sighed, sat down and dropped his head on his chest. Reilly swore and fell forward on his pick. The Corporal sat down and dropped his head on his right shoulder, mumbling, “We’ve got to dig down deeper... deeper... we got to... dig.”

He spoke like a drunken man. Gunn laughed aloud, sat down, folded his arms on his chest and began to strike his teeth together. Reilly began to titter.

“What’s the joke?” muttered the Corporal.

Lamont began to snore.

“I’ll bet any man five francs,” said Reilly, “that we’ll be told to move on out of here in a minute. The whole idea is to wander around in this mud, scratching. Nothing to do but scrape up mud. Dig, dig, dig. Scratch, scratch.”

“Ha!” said Gunn, “I see it now.”

“What?” said the Corporal, without looking at him.

Gunn started and wiped his face on his sleeve. He looked at the Corporal. Then he uttered an exclamation and leaned back with outstretched hands, horrified. There was a blur before his eyes and through the blur he saw the Corporal, not in his human shape, but transformed into a hairy brute. He wiped his eyes fiercely and looked again. He stopped breathing with terror. Instead of the Corporal he saw an uncouth animal, like a gorilla, crouching in sleep. He shook Reilly who sat next to him.

“Hey! Hey!” he whispered. “Wake up, Reilly.”

“What is it?” said Reilly, slowly raising his head.

As soon as Reilly spoke, the blur vanished from before Gunn’s eyes, and he saw the Corporal in his human shape. He sighed with relief.

“Eh?” said Reilly. “What did you say, Bill?”

“I said to wake up,” cried Gunn in a loud voice. “Don’t all go to sleep here.”

He was trembling and the soles of his feet itched. Now his head seemed to be a heavy weight that lay on his neck.

McDonald began to snore.

“Wake up there, that man,” mumbled the Corporal. “Who’s that man asleep there? What’s your number?”

They all had their eyes closed now except Gunn, who sat with his hands clasped, rotating his thumbs, whose movements he forced himself to watch in order to prevent himself from....

What? To his horror, he had a suspicion that if he looked anywhere but at his rotating thumbs he would see hordes of hairy brutes wandering about, all watching him with bloodshot eyes as they wandered about, floundering in the mud.

Around and around, his thumbs spun, round and round one another, while his head became heavier and heavier, a ball that spun round and round on his neck.

He breathed ever so gently, lest the brutes might hear him.

Darkness was coming, again hiding the horror of the battlefield within the shroud of its own eternal ugliness. But the gloom only increased Gunn’s distorted vision. The brutes kept springing up all round him, moving about, making strange gestures with their paws, calling on him to join them.

His countenance was assuming the expression of a brute and his body was becoming hard--so he thought--becoming possessed of superhuman strength.

Heavy steps approached. Gunn, thinking they were sounds made by the creatures of his hallucination, took no notice. Then he heard a bored voice say, “What post is this?”

He looked up and saw Lieutenant Bull crouching above the hole. Gunn did not speak, being only faintly impressed and not at all intimidated by the appearance of the officer. The Corporal, on the other hand, at once sprang from his sleep and instinctively tried to bring his fists to his thighs in salute.

“Sir,” he said, “No. 2 bombers.”

The officer’s face was drawn and still more melancholy than on the previous night. Although he looked well nourished and almost quite clean, his countenance was even more repulsive than that of the soldiers because it contained the ghost of intelligence that had died of horror.

He still smelt of whisky and carried his club.

Shaw and Reilly, as soon as they heard his voice, began to dig. Lamont and McDonald still slept. The officer said, “Where are the others?”

“Dead, sir,” said the Corporal.

“I see,” said the officer. “Why are those men asleep?”

He stepped into the hole and whacked the sleepers with his club, saying, “Wake up! Wake up! You can’t sleep here. You mustn’t let your men go to sleep, Corporal. Take their names.”

“Sir,” said the Corporal in a trembling voice. “What’s your number, McDonald?”

McDonald, rubbing his eyes, chattered, “No. 8637 Private Jeremiah McDonald. I lost my--eh--eh... rations, sir, when...”

“You are to move on, Corporal,” said the officer, “and occupy...”

“Sir,” said the Corporal.

The officer, without finishing his sentence, leant on his elbows and looked out towards the enemy. He lay beside Gunn, who was now grinning, twitching his lips and sniffing. A maniacal joy had now taken possession of Gunn.

“Any definite idea where that fire was coming from?” said the officer.

“Yes, sir,” said the Corporal, lying down beside him and pointing. “Just about there. Can’t be far, as they got the range with rifle grenades.”

“Hah!” said the officer. “It’s a machine-gun nest. We must try and capture them. You’ll probably... later... go... just about there, I should think. Probably just the one lot. They keep moving about under cover of that.... You’re to come along. Follow me.”

They picked up their tools and their weapons. They followed the officer, leaving the hole which they had dug with such trouble and where No. 11145 Private Simon Jennings, formerly an officer in the Army Service Corps, received a mortal wound in the right fore-arm.

Now it was freezing. The earth’s surface had already begun to harden. There was dead silence on the battle front. Stooping, they walked about three hundred yards, until they came to a large shell hole, shaped like the sole of a shoe. The officer pointed at the hole with his stick.

“Here you are,” he said. “Occupy this. Corporal Wallace is on your right, over there. If anything happens, get in touch with him. Later... I’ll let you know.... You’ll send a man for rations... later... you’ll be warned. Good luck in the meantime. We may have to send you out to capture...”

Again he drifted away into the gloom.

The men stepped down into the hole and gaped at it. The narrow end of it, the heel of the shoe, was a puddle. The wide part, the thick of the sole, was littered with refuse. It had been occupied recently by the enemy.

“Come on, lads,” said the Corporal. “Dig in.”

Gunn burst out laughing. All looked at Gunn. They could barely see him in the dusk. Now it was almost night. They could only see his figure outlined against the horizon. His head was thrust forward. His shoulders were hunched. He was looking into the distance, laughing. They were so exhausted that they did not comprehend the meaning of his laughter. They themselves were almost insane. But his insane laughter goaded them into an outburst of hysteria.

“What are you laughing at, you fool?” said the Corporal.

Then Reilly, the old soldier, burst out laughing, and cried, “Take his number, Corporal.”

“I have an awful pain in my guts,” said Lamont, dropping his rifle to the bottom of the hole.

“I’ll give you a worse pain, Lamont,” said the Corporal, “if you laugh like that again.”

“I didn’t laugh,” said Lamont.

“Well! Dig, then,” said the Corporal, almost in a scream, although his voice was scarcely audible. “Dig! I say!”

“What’ll we dig?” cried Shaw, striking the side of the hole with a pick. “It’s as hard as iron. Hear it ring as on an anvil.”

“God!” said McDonald. “We’ll freeze here. Oh! Christ! What cold! Oh! My bloody bones!”

“We’ll never come back,” said Reilly.

“Not one of us.”

“Dig,” said the Corporal.

Gunn laughed again, and seizing the pick which Shaw had dropped, he hacked at the side of the hole.

Then stupidly, moving their limbs like figures in a dance, with their eyes almost closed, they began to prod the sides of the hole. The earth rang, as if jeering at their impotent blows.

Then the Corporal cried out, “Blast it! I’m fed up. Sit down lads and have a smoke. It’s no bloody use. Look at this hole. We go from bad to worse. No dug-out. Nowhere to drum up. Nothing. Then they expect us to go out on a bombing raid and capture some ---- Jerries.”

He sat down and folded his arms. They all sat down. The Corporal almost immediately called out angrily, “Hey! Someone has to go on sentry. It’s your turn, Gunn.”

“I’ve just been on sentry,” said Gunn.

“Then it’s your turn, McDonald.”

McDonald grumbled. He got up and laid his rifle over the edge of the hole.

The Corporal lit a cigarette.

“Nobody else has a smoke, Corporal,” said Reilly. “How about dishing us out one each, from that packet, till the rations come up?”

“Who said there were going to be cigarettes in the rations?” said the Corporal. “There might be no rations.”

“The officer said there would,” said McDonald. “I’ll do myself in if there are no rations.”

“All right, Corporal,” said Reilly. “Keep your fags.”

“Here they are,” said the Corporal, with an oath.

He struck Reilly on the face with the packet.

“Don’t do that again,” said Reilly, clutching his rifle. He was panting.

Gunn, grinning, reached over and caught the packet. The Corporal kicked Gunn on the hand.

“Leave that alone,” he growled. “You’ll get none, you bastard.”

Gunn moved back slowly, seized his rifle, clubbed it and then rose, very slowly, breathing loudly.

“Who’s a bastard?” he growled.

Shaw jumped up and stood between them.

“Fall in two men,” gasped the Corporal, struggling to his feet.

“Do you know what you’re doing, Gunn?” cried Shaw.

Still gripping his rifle by the barrel, Gunn stepped back and crouched with his back to the side of the hole, beside Lamont, watching the Corporal like an animal at bay.

“Stay close to me, matey,” he whispered.

“He’s going to attack us,” cried McDonald.

Shaw and Reilly held down the Corporal, who was trying to unfix his bayonet, in order to use it as a dagger.

“Keep your hair on,” they kept saying.

McDonald pointed his bayonet at Gunn.

“Don’t move,” he cried, “or I’ll stab you in the guts.”

“I’m not interfering with you,” said Gunn. “Turn away that bayonet.”

At that moment a shell burst to the rear, quite a distance away. They all ducked, although there was no danger. A machine-gun began to fire still further away. Somebody called out, “Bombers.”

“Here,” said Reilly, standing up. “Who’s that?”

A man ran towards the hole and plunged down into it. He was one of Corporal Wallace’s men.

“One of your men for rations,” he said, panting.

“Eh? What’s that? Rations?”

Food!

Like a wild dog, who, when he sees a strip of raw beef in an intruder’s hand, covers his snarling teeth, thrusts forth his lolling tongue and comes forward with limp tail, smelling, so these men, who had a moment before been snarling at one another like madmen, became transformed at the thought of food. Their faces shone with joy. They uttered excited cries. They gathered around the Lewis gunner, questioning him.

He knew nothing, being as excited as they were and just as stupefied by mud, rain, cold, lice, hunger, terror and long, aimless wandering from hole to hole.

“Hurry up!” he said in answer to their questions. “One of you come along.”

“I’ll go! Corporal,” said McDonald.

“Better send me, Corporal,” said Reilly.

“You go, Shaw,” said the Corporal.

Shaw at once unfixed his bayonet and followed the Lewis gunner out of the hole. They called after him, urging him to hurry. The Corporal rubbed his hands.

“There are only six of us,” he said, “for nine men’s rations. There might be two men to a loaf. I know there’s bread.”

“I don’t care what there is,” said Reilly, “provided there are fags.”

They grew silent, thinking of food.

Gunn’s face now began to work feverishly. The thought of food had disturbed his hatred of the Corporal. It had weakened him, relaxing his muscles, causing a void in his stomach. He could not resist wanting to fawn on the enemy who held the strip of beef.

“Say, Corporal,” he said, “can’t you give a bloke a chance?”

“Eh?” said the Corporal.

There was a heavy silence in the hole. They all peered at Gunn, again aware that they had with them a man who seemed to be going mad.

“What have you against me?” continued Gunn.

Even though he wanted to fawn, his voice was arrogant. The Corporal did not reply, being in doubt as to what he should say. As it were, he had at last been stripped of his Corporal’s stripes and of his authority by exhaustion. He faced Gunn now as man to man and was silent because he was an inferior man. It was a struggle between two brutes, and Gunn was the superior brute.

Lamont tapped Gunn’s arm and tried to whisper something, but Gunn roughly brushed the youth aside.

“I leave it to any of the men here,” said Gunn. “Haven’t I always done my share of soldiering, Reilly?”

“Always found you a good mate,” said Reilly.

“I’ve nothing against you,” said the Corporal. “I’m responsible for discipline in this section, though.”

“When you got wounded at Loos,” said Gunn, “I carried you under heavy fire back to the dressing station. You were whining like a dog. You had only a bloody scratch. First thing you did when you came out of dock was to get me No. 1. I was tied to a bloody tree for seven days.”

“You broke camp and got into a fight with a lot of Froggies in an estaminet,” said the Corporal. “You sold your boots for Vin Blanc.”

“You always had your knife in me,” said Gunn. “Every time I did you a good turn you hated me all the more for it. You might be drowned now with Appleby only for me. You have your knife in my chum because he won’t give you half his parcels. It is no damn good. It seems I won’t be let soldier in this mob. I ain’t the sort of a bloke that gets sour over nothing. I was doing field punishment No. 1 when I got the D.C.M., on the canal bank for capturing six of a Fritzy raiding party single-handed. I’ll fight my share with any man in this mob. I’ve always done my bit. I was one of four out of the whole company that finished the march to Arras standing up. Why can’t I be let alone?”

“I ain’t got nothing against you,” the Corporal repeated.

Reilly, deeply moved by Gunn’s speech, came over and struck Gunn on the back.

“Forget it, mate,” he said. “See?”

“Reilly,” said Gunn, “you’re the only bloody soldier in this mob. I hope you get out of it.”

“That doesn’t worry me,” said Reilly. “I know I’m for it, sooner or later. I know I’m unlucky. I’ve been out since the first shot was fired in nineteen-fourteen without a scratch. So I know I’ll get mine shortly. But that doesn’t worry me. I’ve drunk a nice lot of beer in my time. Had a good few tidy wenches. Something to look back on when I’m dead. But look at it this way. Every good soldier has his grouse, but he never lets it get hold of him.”

“To hell with being a good soldier,” said Gunn. “A good soldier means one thing to you and me, but it means another thing to THEM. To you and me it means a MAN. To them it means a ---- clod.”

“I’ve been through it, mate,” said Reilly. “You needn’t tell me. The only clink I ain’t copped is the Tower. The best place to look for a good soldier is tied to the wheel of the cookhouse cart. A bloke has got to stick it.”

“That’s all right, mate,” said Gunn. “Don’t worry. They’ll never have to crime me again.”

“That’s the ticket, Gunn,” said the Corporal in a friendly tone. “You muck in with me. I muck in with you. Savvy?”

“Why are they so friendly towards me?” thought Gunn. “They are treating me as if I were a child.”

Now he could not remember that there had been anything the matter with him all day, or that he had done, or said, or thought, or seen, anything odd or irregular. He was greatly worried by the soothing manner of Reilly, who was always so cynical and utterly devoid of feeling. He was especially worried by the Corporal’s friendly tone.

Now the four men in the post seemed to have become entirely remote and alien to him; just as when a man is falling asleep under the influence of ether, he hears the voices of the doctors and the nurse as voices heard from afar, entirely inhuman.

This was a great torture, from which he could not save himself. He felt bound, hand and foot by it. He tried to talk to Lamont; but Lamont answered him in the same tone as the others.

The others had now become very quiet. They were whispering to one another. Why were they whispering so quietly? He must talk to them.

“I say, lads,” he said.

“What?” said Reilly.

He could not remember what he wanted to say for nearly a minute. Then he burst forth, “I know now who’s running this show. Up here ye want it.” He tapped his forehead. Then he shuddered and glanced around him furtively, ashamed of what he had said. “Why don’t they let us fight?” he cried. “It’s this crawling around in the ---- mud that’s killing us.”

Nobody answered him. Reilly tipped the Corporal and then walked over to the narrow end of the hole. He began to void his bladder. The Corporal followed, leaned up against the side of the hole and began also to void his bladder.

“Better send him back,” said Reilly. “He’s going mad.”

“Eh?” said the Corporal. “Do you think so?”

He himself was quite sure that Gunn was mad, and he had been thinking for the past few minutes that Gunn should be sent back at once. But now, on being advised by Reilly to let Gunn go back, his hatred of Gunn made him oppose the idea.

He said to himself, “He won’t escape me that way.”

“He’s only malingering,” he whispered. “He and the kid have it made up between them. He knows he’s for it when he gets back for insubordination in the line, so he’s gamming on mad. That’s all.”

“That may be so,” said Reilly, “but I doubt it. I think he’s really going bugs. You remember ’53 Jones, that went daft on the canal. He killed two men before he could be knocked out. He started just that way. He was in the same dug-out as me. Fritz shelled us for twelve hours without a break. He began the same sort of gibberish about the war and everything. I’d send him back, Corporal.”

The Corporal looked towards Gunn, and saw Gunn looking towards him.

“He’ll go back when I go back,” he said, “and not before. I’m not afraid of him.”

“In that case,” said Reilly, shrugging his shoulders, “none of us’ll ever go back. I can see it coming.”

“Talking about me?” cried Gunn, angrily.

They walked back.

“It’s all right,” said Gunn. “I can guess what you were saying.”

“I think I’m poisoned,” said McDonald. “I have an awful pain in my guts. I ate a piece of black Jerry bread I found here.”

“There are worse deaths,” said Reilly, casually. “You’ll die soon anyway, one way or another. I saw a fellow die of eating a feed of dirty straw.”

“Why don’t they let us fight?” cried Gunn.

“You’ll soon get a bellyful of fighting,” said the Corporal.

“When I went on leave,” said McDonald, “I said to myself I’d spend all day and night eating. But ye can’t eat there either. Not enough.”

“That’s right,” cried Gunn, eagerly. “You can’t get away from it. They’ve got you everywhere, in London as well as here. They’ve got everybody, us, Jerries, Froggies, the lousy Russians and those dirty little Belgians. You’ll parade everywhere as well as here, full marching order, housewife and hold-all complete. Hear that, Louis. Don’t hide your bloody head. Face it, kid. You got to fight them. As Reilly says, we’re all for it. Let’s have it then and be done with it.”

A cold sweat was breaking out all over his body. Red stars began to dance before his eyes. Reilly tipped the Corporal. The Corporal growled.

“You can’t work it that way, Gunn,” he said. “Why not try something cleverer than that? Can’t you work a trench foot?”

“Don’t you worry, Corporal,” said Gunn, tapping his forehead. “Up here you want it. I’ve got it now.”

Reilly got to his feet and moved about restlessly.

“Jesus!” said McDonald. “I think I have trench feet. It’s freezing like hell. My guts are freezing too.”

“Go sick, quick,” said Reilly. “Then I’ll have your rations.”

“Christ!” said Gunn. “A General! That’s what I want. A bloody General. Why don’t Generals come into the front line. Them are the blokes I want to talk to. I’ll tell ’em something.”

They all looked at him again in silence. He now spoke in an exalted voice and although they could not see his face in the darkness, they could feel a strange force in his presence. Something alien and terrifying had taken possession of him.

“Something the matter with my kidneys,” said Reilly, again moving over to the puddle.

The icy ground now crackled under his feet.

“Don’t worry, Reilly,” cried Gunn. “You won’t be long now.”

Lamont had not spoken or moved for half an hour. He had surrendered to the cold and lay at the bottom of the hole, with his head fallen on his chest, rapidly losing consciousness. There was a smile on his lips and he was dreaming of his home.

There was now heavy firing on the left. The enemy was firing at the ration party. Several machine-guns were in action. Rifle grenades were bursting. But nobody in the hole took any notice of the firing. Their limbs moved continuously, jerking, twisting about. Their mouths and nostrils twitched. They kept getting to their feet and sitting down again; all except Lamont who sat very still. They could no longer speak.

When they touched one another by chance they started violently. The slightest noise in the hole excited them, the scraping of a boot on the icy earth, the rattle of a gun butt on a stone, a cough.

Now the sky was bright with stars. The enemy began to rake their post intermittently with machine-gun fire. Single shots rang out, like the popping of corks. In the distance there was a heavy roar, like a mountain river pouring through a gorge. On the far left, a corner of the sky was covered with a bright red arc of flame, above which rolling clouds of smoke rose in widening wreaths. Verey lights passed through the sky in beautiful curves and fell in streamers of fire. The earth shone with frost.

The night was very beautiful.

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