Читать книгу Ardours and Endurances; Also, A Faun's Holiday & Poems and Phantasies - Robert Nichols - Страница 21

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Before, before he was aware

The 'Verey' light had risen … on the air

It hung glistering. …

And he could not stay his hand

From moving to the barbed wire's broken strand.

A rifle cracked.

He fell.

Night waned. He was alone. A heavy shell

Whispered itself passing high, high overhead.

His wound was wet to his hand: for still it bled

On to the glimmering ground.

Then with a slow, vain smile his wound he bound,

Knowing, of course, he'd not see home again—

Home whose thought he put away.

His men

Whispered: "Where's Mister Gates?" "Out on the wire."

"I'll get him," said one. …

Dawn blinked, and the fire

Of the Germans heaved up and down the line.

"Stand to!"

Too late! "I'll get him." "O the swine!

When we might get him in yet safe and whole!"

"Corporal didn't see 'un fall out on patrol,

Or he'd 'a got 'un." "Sssh!"

"No talking there."

A whisper: "'A went down at the last flare."

Meanwhile the Maxims toc-toc-tocked; their swish

Of bullets told death lurked against the wish.

No hope for him!

His corporal, as one shamed,

Vainly and helplessly his ill-luck blamed.

Then Gates slowly saw the morn

Break in a rosy peace through the lone thorn

By which he lay, and felt the dawn-wind pass

Whispering through the pallid, stalky grass

Of No-Man's Land. …

And the tears came

Scaldingly sweet, more lovely than a flame.

He closed his eyes: he thought of home

And grit his teeth. He knew no help could come. …

The silent sun over the earth held sway,

Occasional rifles cracked and far away

A heedless speck, a 'plane, slid on alone,

Like a fly traversing a cliff of stone.

"I must get back," said Gates aloud, and heaved

At his body. But it lay bereaved

Of any power. He could not wait till night. …

And he lay still. Blood swam across his sight.

Then with a groan:

"No luck ever! Well, I must die alone."

Occasional rifles cracked. A cloud that shone,

Gold-rimmed, blackened the sun and then was gone. …

The sun still smiled. The grass sang in its play.

Someone whistled: "Over the hills and far away."

Gates watched silently the swift, swift sun

Burning his life before it was begun. …

Suddenly he heard Corporal Timmins' voice:

"Now then,

'Urry up with that tea."

"Hi Ginger!" "Bill!" His men!

Timmins and Jones and Wilkinson (the 'bard'),

And Hughes and Simpson. It was hard

Not to see them: Wilkinson, stubby, grim,

With his "No, sir," "Yes, sir," and the slim

Simpson: "Indeed, sir?" (while it seemed he winked

Because his smiling left eye always blinked)

And Corporal Timmins, straight and blonde and wise,

With his quiet-scanning, level, hazel eyes;

And all the others … tunics that didn't fit. …

A dozen different sorts of eyes. O it

Was hard to lie there! Yet he must. But no:

"I've got to die. I'll get to them. I'll go."

Inch by inch he fought, breathless and mute,

Dragging his carcase like a famished brute. …

His head was hammering, and his eyes were dim;

A bloody sweat seemed to ooze out of him

And freeze along his spine. … Then he'd lie still

Before another effort of his will

Took him one nearer yard.

The parapet was reached.

He could not rise to it. A lookout screeched:

"Mr. Gates!"

Three figures in one breath

Leaped up. Two figures fell in toppling death;

And Gates was lifted in. "Who's hit?" said he.

"Timmins and Jones." "Why did they that for me?—

I'm gone already!" Gently they laid him prone

And silently watched.

He twitched. They heard him moan

"Why for me?" His eyes roamed round, and none replied.

"I see it was alone I should have died."

They shook their heads. Then, "Is the doctor here?"

"He's coming, sir; he's hurryin', no fear."

"No good. …

Lift me." They lifted him.

He smiled and held his arms out to the dim,

And in a moment passed beyond their ken,

Hearing him whisper, "O my men, my men!"

In Hospital, London,

Autumn, 1915.