Читать книгу Our Casualty, and Other Stories - George A. Birmingham - Страница 4

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There is not in the whole British Isles a more efficient military body than the Ballyhaine Veterans’ Corps. The men look like soldiers when they have their grey uniforms on and their brassards on their sleeves. They talk like soldiers. They have the true military spirit. There is not a man in the company under fifty years of age, but if the Germans attempt a landing on the Ballyhaine beach, by submarine or otherwise, they will be sorry for themselves afterwards—those of them who remain alive.

Ballyhaine is a residential suburb, entirely built over with villas of the better kind. Each villa has its garden. In times of peace we discuss sweet peas or winter spinach or chrysanthemums on our way into town in the morning, travelling, as most of us do, by the 9.45 train, with season tickets, first class.

When our boys went off from us, as they all did early in the war, we felt that it was time for us to do something too. There was not the least difficulty about enrolling the men. We all joined the corps, even poor old Cotter, who must be close on seventy, and who retired from business three years ago. He used to bore us all by talking about his rheumatism, but when the Volunteer Corps was formed he dropped all that, and went about saying that he had never suffered from pain or ache in his life, and could do twenty miles a day without feeling it. We made Cotter a corporal.

Our Commanding Officer is Haines, who plays the best hand at bridge of any man in the club. He held a commission in a line regiment before he went on the Stock Exchange. That was thirty-five years ago, and it is not to be supposed that his knowledge of soldiering is up-to-date, but he is the only one of us who has any knowledge of soldiering at all, so we chose him.

The women were a difficulty at first. They insisted on regarding us as a joke, and used to repeat the absurd witticism of the street boys. I heard Janet say “Methusaleers” one day. She denied it, but I am perfectly certain she did not say “Fusiliers,” My wife fussed about dry socks and wanted me to take my umbrella on a route march one wet Sunday.

Every other member of the corps had similar experiences. It was Tompkins who hit on a way of dealing satisfactorily with the women. Tompkins is our local doctor. He stays in Ballyhaine all day long when the rest of us go up to town, so he naturally knows a good deal about women. He enrolled them in a volunteer ambulance brigade, and after that they were just as keen as any of us. We did the thing handsomely for them. We bought six stretchers, a small motor ambulance waggon, and some miles of bandages. Janet and Cotter’s youngest girl carried one of the stretchers. I should not like to say that my wife actually hoped I should be wounded, but I think she would have liked the chance of bandaging any other man in the corps. The rest of the women felt as she did.

The drawback to Ballyhaine as a centre of military activity is the difficulty of finding a place for practising field manoeuvres. There is the golf links, of course, but we got tired of marching round and round the golf links, and we did not want to dig trenches there. Haines, who does not play golf, drew up a plan of trench digging which would have ruined the golf links for years. But we would not have that. Nor could we dig in each other’s gardens, or practise advancing over open country in skirmishing order when there was no open country. The whole district is a network of high walls with broken glass on top of them, a form of defence rendered necessary by the attacks of small boys on our fruit trees.

Fortunately, we had the sea beach. The strand—there are three miles of it—is one of the glories of Ballyhaine. We did most of our manoeuvring there and dug our trenches there. Haines was opposed to this plan at first.

“If the Germans come at all,” said Cotter, “they’ll come from the sea. They must, this being an island.”

“Of course,” said Haines.

“Then,” said Cotter, “the beach is the place where we shall have to meet them, and the strand is where our trenches ought to be.”

There was no answering that argument. Even Haines gave way.

“With barbed wire entanglements,” said Cotter, “down to the water’s edge.”

The weather round about Christmas-time was extraordinarily severe in Ballyhaine. We came in for a series of gales, accompanied by driving rain, and the days at that time of year are so short that most of our soldiering had to be done in the dark.

I got one cold after another, and so did every other member of the corps. Poor old Cotter limped pitifully on parade, but he did not say a word about rheumatism. The spirit of the men was splendid, and not one of us showed a sign of shirking, though Haines kept us at it with ferocity.

Haines varied the digging by making us practise a horrible manoeuvre called “relieving trenches.” This was always done in the middle of the night, between twelve and one o’clock. Part of the corps went out early—about 10.30 p.m.—and manned the trenches. The rest of us marched forth at midnight and relieved them.

The worst evening we had all winter was December 8th. It was blowing terrifically from the south-east The sea was tumbling in on the beach in enormous waves, fringing the whole line of the shore with a broad stretch of white foam. The rain swept over the country pitilessly. I came out of town by the 5.10 train, and called at the club on my way home. I found a notice posted up:

“Ballyhaine Veterans’ Corps.

“Tonight, December the 8th, trenches will be relieved at 12 midnight. No. 1 and No. 2 Platoons to parade at 10.30, march to north end of the strand, and occupy trenches.”

That meant a six-mile march for those platoons—three there and three back.

“No. 3 and No. 4 Platoons to parade at 11 p.m., march to cliffs, descend rocks, and relieve trenches as soon as possible after midnight.”

I am in No. 3 Platoon, and I confess I shuddered. The rocks at the north end of the beach are abominably slippery. A year ago I should have hesitated about climbing down in broad daylight in the finest weather. My military training had done a good deal for me physically, but I still shrank from those rocks at midnight with a tempest howling round me.

When I reached home I put a good face on the matter. I was not going to admit to my wife or Janet—particularly to Janet—that I was afraid of night operations in any weather.

“Please have my uniform left out for me,” I said, “I shall put it on before dinner.”

“Surely,” said my wife, “you’re not going out to-night? I don’t think you ought to.”

“Duty, my dear,” I said.

“Just fancy,” said Janet, “if the Germans came and father wasn’t there! We might be murdered in our beds!”

I am sometimes not quite sure whether Janet means to scoff or is in serious earnest On this occasion I was inclined to think that she was poking fun at the Veterans’ Corps. I frowned at her.

“You’ll get dreadfully wet,” said my wife.

“Not the least harm in that,” I said cheerily.

“It’ll give you another cold in your head,” said Janet

This time she was certainly sneering. I frowned again.

“Of course,” said my wife, “it won’t matter to you. You’re so strong and healthy. Nothing does you any harm.”

I suspected her of attempting a subtle form of flattery, but what she said was quite true. I am, for a man of fifty-three, extremely hardy.

“I’m thinking,” she said, “of poor old Mr. Cotter. I don’t think he ought to go. Mrs. Cotter was round here this afternoon. She says he’s suffering dreadfully from rheumatism, though he won’t admit it, and if he goes out to-night … But he’s so determined, poor old dear. And she simply can’t stop him.”

“Cotter,” I said, “must stay at home.”

“But he won’t,” said my wife.

“Military ardour is very strong in him,” said Janet.

“I’ll ring up Dr. Tompkins,” I said, “and tell him to forbid Cotter to go out. Tompkins is Medical Officer of the corps, and has a right to give orders of the kind. In fact, it’s his duty to see that the company’s not weakened by ill-health.”

“I’m afraid,” said my wife, “that Dr. Tompkins can do nothing. Mrs. Cotter was with him before she came here. The fact is that Mr. Cotter won’t give in even to the doctor’s orders.”

I rang up Tompkins and put the case very strongly to him.

“It will simply kill Cotter,” I said, “and we can’t have that. He may not be of any very great military value, but he’s a nice old boy, and we don’t want to lose him.”

Tompkins agreed with me thoroughly. He said he’d been thinking the matter over since Mrs. Cotter called on him in the afternoon, and had hit upon a plan which would meet the case.

“If only the C.O. will fall in with it,” he added.

Haines is in some ways a difficult man. He likes to manage things his own way, and resents any suggestions made to him, particularly by men in the ranks. However, Cotter’s life was at stake, so I undertook to tackle Haines, even at the risk of being snubbed. Tompkins explained his plan to me. I rang up Haines, and laid it before him. I put the matter very strongly to him. I even said that the War Office would probably deprive him of his command if it was discovered that he had been wasting the lives of his men unnecessarily.

“The country needs us all,” I said, “even Cotter. After all, Cotter is a non-commissioned officer and a most valuable man. Besides, it’ll do the Ambulance Brigade a lot of good.”

It was this last consideration which weighed most with Haines. He had felt for some time that our ambulance ladies were coming to have too good an opinion of themselves. I had the satisfaction of going back to the drawing-room and telling Janet that the stretcher bearers were to parade at eleven o’clock, and march in the rear of the column—Numbers 3 and 4 Platoons—which went to relieve trenches.

“Rot,” said Janet “We can’t possibly go out on a night like this.”

“C.O.‘s orders,” I said.

“The stretchers will be utterly ruined,” she said, “not to mention our hats.”

“C.O.‘s orders,” I said severely.

“If we must go,” said Janet, “we’ll take the ambulance waggon.

“No, you won’t,” I said. “You’ll take your stretchers and carry them. Yours not to reason why, Janet. And in any case you can’t take the ambulance waggon, because we’re marching along the beach, and you know perfectly well that the strand is simply scored with trenches. We can’t have the ambulance waggon smashed up. It’s the only one we have. If a few girls break their legs it doesn’t much matter. There are too many girls about the place.”

Platoons Numbers 1 and 2 marched off at 10.30 p.m. in a blinding downpour of rain. We watched them go from the porch of the golf pavilion, and promised to relieve them as quickly as we could. We paraded, according to orders, at 11 sharp, and I was glad to see that Janet and the other girls were wet and draggled long before we started.

Haines made us a short speech. He had to shout at the top of his voice because the storm was making a dreadful noise. But we heard what he said. The business of relieving trenches, he told us, would be carried out under strictly war conditions, precisely as if enemy submarines were shelling us from the sea. There would necessarily, supposing the submarines to be actually there, be casualties in our force. Haines told off four men to act as casualties. The first on the list—this was the way Tompkins’ plan worked out—was Corporal Cotter.

“Corporal Cotter,” said Haines, “will drop out of the ranks as the column passes the third bathing-box, numbering from the south end of the beach, Mrs. Tompkins’ bathing-box, which is painted bright green.”

Haines was, very properly, most particular about defining the bathing-box exactly.

“Corporal Cotter and the other casualties,” said Haines, “will take waterproof ground-sheets with them—two waterproof ground-sheets each—and keep as dry as possible. The stretcher bearers will follow the column at a distance of two hundred paces to pick up the casualties, affording first-aid on the spot, and, on reaching the field hospital, will apply restoratives under the directions of the Company’s Medical Officer. For the purposes of these manouvres. Corporal Cotter’s house will be regarded as the Field Hospital.”

The other three casualties, all elderly and rather delicate men, were ordered to drop out of the ranks at places further along the beach. If it was Janet’s luck to reach the furthest casualty she would walk, carrying a stretcher, about a mile and a half altogether. When she got home she would be less inclined to sneer at people who catch cold in the service of their country.

The night was extremely dark. I do not think I have ever experienced a darker night. We could hear the sea roaring on our left, and could see, when we looked back, a dim glow here and there from the windows of our houses; but it was quite impossible to see anything on the beach.

I missed Cotter when we had been stumbling along for about a quarter of an hour, and felt glad that he had done his share. In a minute or so, I hoped, he would be safe on a stretcher, and half an hour later would be drinking whisky and water, hot. That, so Tompkins told me, was the restorative which was to be administered to all the casualties.

We got through the business of relieving the trenches in the end, though we had a tough struggle. The great difficulty was to find them. If Platoons Numbers 1 and 2 could have shouted to us or flashed their electric torches we should have got them much sooner than we did. But noise and light were strictly forbidden. They would, so Haines said, attract the enemy’s fire, and result in our being wiped out by shrapnel.

I got separated at one time from the rest of my platoon, and walked into the sea twice. Afterwards I fell over the Company Sergeant-Major, who was sitting in a pool beside a rock. He said he had sprained his ankle. But that turned out not to be true. He had only twisted it a little, and was able to limp home. In civil life our Company Sergeant-Major is one of the directors of the Corporate Banking Company Ltd., and drives into town in his own motor.

Then I came on Haines, wandering by himself on a sandhill. He was swearing viciously. It was, indeed, the sound of his oaths which led me to him. They were not loud, but they were uttered with an intensity which gave them the power of piercing through the tumult of the storm. He and I and the Company Sergeant-Major stuck together, and at 1 a.m.—we took the time from Haines’ luminous-faced wrist watch—we suddenly tumbled into the trench.

We found the whole four platoons waiting for us; but they would not have waited much longer. The senior Second Lieutenant—a very well-known solicitor—had taken command of the company, assuming, as he said, that Haines had become a casualty accidentally. His idea was to march the men home, and then send the Ambulance Brigade to search for Haines, the Company Sergeant-Major, and me.

“That’s the sort of thing,” he said, “an ambulance is for. The men in the fighting line can’t be expected to do it.”

We marched home in pretty good order, considering that we were all very wet, greatly exhausted, and many of us bruised in various parts of our bodies. Our spirit was quite unbroken, and Haines, writing up the official diary afterwards, said that our moral was excellent. He did us no more than bare justice. There was not a man among us—except perhaps the Company Sergeant-Major, whose ankle was swelling up—who would not have welcomed a German attack.

We got back to the golf pavilion, and found the whole place in an uproar. Women, all of them very wet, were rushing about. Tompkins was giving confused and contradictory orders to the twelve stretcher bearers, who looked cowed and miserable. Mrs. Cotter was sitting on the floor in a corner of the room crying bitterly. We got the explanation out of Tompkins at last.

Three of the casualties had, it appeared, been successfully picked up and carried home. The stretcher bearers had somehow missed Cotter. Search parties had been sent out. Tompkins himself had felt his way round each of the fifteen bathing-boxes. The nursing section of the Ambulance Brigade had waved electric torches and stable lanterns up and down the beach from the edge of the sea to the sandhills. The stretcher bearers, scourged by the remarks Tompkins made about their incompetence, had gone shouting through the storm until they were hoarse and utterly exhausted. Nothing had been seen or heard of Cotter.

Haines took charge of the situation at once. He formed up the four platoons, and marched us all back to the beach. There we assumed open order, and skirmished in a northerly direction. We were told to keep in touch with each other, and to leave no square yard of the sand unexamined. We were to go on skirmishing until we found Cotter, dead or alive. My own idea was that if we found anything it would be his corpse.

I did my best to obey orders, but I almost immediately lost touch with everybody else. The other men, so I learnt afterwards, had the same experience. However, I had the good luck to find Cotter. He came towards me, indeed he ran into me before I saw him. He was in charge of a policeman, who held him firmly but kindly by the arm. The moment Cotter saw me he burst out:

“Tell this infernal fool that I’m not drunk,” he said.

“If you’re acquainted with the gentleman,” said the policeman, “it would be well for you to take him home to his bed. He’s not in a fit state to be out by himself.”

I drove off the policeman with some difficulty, making myself personally responsible for Cotter’s safety. Then I questioned the old gentleman.

“What have you been doing?” I said.

“Waiting for the ambulance. I’d be waiting still if that ass of a policeman hadn’t insisted that I was drunk and dragged me away.”

“Good Lord!” I said, “and they’ve been looking for you for hours.”

“I know that,” said Cotter. “I saw their lights all over the place and heard them shouting.”

“Then why on earth didn’t you shout back and let them know where you were?”

“Casualties don’t shout,” said Cotter. “They can’t. They’re too weak. I groaned occasionally; but I suppose they didn’t hear me.”

“And how long did you mean to lie out in this storm?” I said.

“Till the stretcher bearers found me,” said Cotter. “Those were the C.O.‘s orders.”

I do not know whether any medals will be given to volunteers after the war. Cotter certainly deserves one. I have never heard a finer story of devotion to duty than his. When I had got rid of the policeman he actually wanted to go back and lie down again.