The Complete Richard Hannay

by John Buchan

  ‘The whole make should be publicly burned,’ I said, with gloomy recollections.

  ‘I wouldn’t go so far, sir. The old Gladas has surprisin’ merits. On her day there’s nothing like her for pace and climbing-power, and she steers as sweet as a racin’ cutter. The trouble about her is she’s too complicated. She’s like some breeds of car – you want to be a mechanical genius to understand her… If they’d only get her a little simpler and safer, there wouldn’t be her match in the field. I’m about the only man that has patience with her and knows her merits, but she’s often been nearly the death of me. All the same, if I were in for a big fight against some fellow like Lensch, where it was neck or nothing, I’m hanged if I wouldn’t pick the Gladas.’

  Archie laughed apologetically. ‘The subject is banned for me in our mess. I’m the old thing’s only champion, and she’s like a mare I used to hunt that loved me so much she was always tryin’ to chew the arm off me. But I wish I could get her a fair trial from one of the big pilots. I’m only in the second class myself after all.’

  We were running north of St Just when above the rattle of the train rose a curious dull sound. It came from the east, and was like the low growl of a veld thunderstorm, or a steady roll of muffled drums.

  ‘Hark to the guns!’ cried Archie. ‘My aunt, there’s a tidy bombardment goin’ on somewhere.’

  I had been listening on and off to guns for three years. I had been present at the big preparations before Loos and the Somme and Arras, and I had come to accept the racket of artillery as something natural and inevitable like rain or sunshine. But this sound chilled me with its eeriness, I don’t know why. Perhaps it was its unexpectedness, for I was sure that the guns had not been heard in this area since before the Marne. The noise must be travelling down the Oise valley, and I judged there was big fighting somewhere about Chauny or La Fère. That meant that the enemy was pressing hard on a huge front, for here was clearly a great effort on his extreme left wing. Unless it was our counter-attack. But somehow I didn’t think so.

  I let down the window and stuck my head into the night. The fog had crept to the edge of the track, a gossamer mist through which houses and trees and cattle could be seen dim in the moonlight. The noise continued – not a mutter, but a steady rumbling flow as solid as the blare of a trumpet. Presently, as we drew nearer Amiens, we left it behind us, for in all the Somme valley there is some curious configuration which blankets sound. The country-folk call it the ‘Silent Land’, and during the first phase of the Somme battle a man in Amiens could not hear the guns twenty miles off at Albert.

  As I sat down again I found that the company had fallen silent, even the garrulous Archie. Mary’s eyes met mine, and in the indifferent light of the French railway-carriage I could see excitement in them – I knew it was excitement, not fear. She had never heard the noise of a great barrage before. Blenkiron was restless, and Peter was sunk in his own thoughts. I was growing very depressed, for in a little I would have to part from my best friends and the girl I loved. But with the depression was mixed an odd expectation, which was almost pleasant. The guns had brought back my profession to me, I was moving towards their thunder, and God only knew the end of it. The happy dream I had dreamed of the Cotswolds and a home with Mary beside me seemed suddenly to have fallen away to an infinite distance. I felt once again that I was on the razor-edge of life.

  The last part of the journey I was casting back to rake up my knowledge of the countryside. I saw again the stricken belt from Serre to Combles where we had fought in the summer of ’17. I had not been present in the advance of the following spring, but I had been at Cambrai and I knew all the down country from Lagnicourt to St Quentin. I shut my eyes and tried to picture it, and to see the roads running up to the line, and wondered just at what points the big pressure had come. They had told me in Paris that the British were as far south as the Oise, so the bombardment we had heard must be directed to our address. With Passchendaele and Cambrai in my mind, and some notion of the difficulties we had always had in getting drafts, I was puzzled to think where we could have found the troops to man the new front. We must be unholily thin on that long line. And against that awesome bombardment! And the masses and the new tactics that Ivery had bragged of!

  When we ran into the dingy cavern which is Amiens station I seemed to note a new excitement. I felt it in the air rather than deduced it from any special incident, except that the platform was very crowded with civilians, most of them with an extra amount of baggage. I wondered if the place had been bombed the night before.

  ‘We won’t say goodbye yet,’ I told the others. ‘The train doesn’t leave for half an hour. I’m off to try and get news.’

  Accompanied by Archie, I hunted out an R.T.O. of my acquaintance. To my questions he responded cheerfully.

  ‘Oh, we’re doing famously, sir. I heard this afternoon from a man in Operations that G.H.Q. was perfectly satisfied. We’ve killed a lot of Huns and only lost a few kilometres of ground… You’re going to your division? Well, it’s up Peronne way, or was last night. Cheyne and Dunthorpe came back from leave and tried to steal a car to get up to it… Oh, I’m having the deuce of a time. These blighted civilians have got the wind up, and a lot are trying to clear out. The idiots say the Huns will be in Amiens in a week. What’s the phrase? “Pourvu que les civils tiennent.” ’Fraid I must push on, sir.’

  I sent Archie back with these scraps of news and was about to make a rush for the house of one of the Press officers, who would, I thought, be in the way of knowing things, when at the station entrance I ran across Laidlaw. He had been B.G.G.S. in the corps to which my old brigade belonged, and was now on the staff of some army. He was striding towards a car when I grabbed his arm, and he turned on me a very sick face.

  ‘Good Lord, Hannay! Where did you spring from? The news, you say?’ He sank his voice, and drew me into a quiet corner. ‘The news is hellish.’

  ‘They told me we were holding,’ I observed.

  ‘Holding be damned! The Boche is clean through on a broad front. He broke us today at Maissemy and Essigny. Yes, the battle-zone. He’s flinging in division after division like the blows of a hammer. What else could you expect?’ And he clutched my arm fiercely. ‘How in God’s name could eleven divisions hold a front of forty miles? And against four to one in numbers? It isn’t war, it’s naked lunacy.’

  I knew the worst now, and it didn’t shock me, for I had known it was coming. Laidlaw’s nerves were pretty bad, for his face was pale and his eyes bright like a man with a fever.

  ‘Reserves!’ and he laughed bitterly. ‘We have three infantry divisions and two cavalry. They’re into the mill long ago. The French are coming up on our right, but they’ve the devil of a way to go. That’s what I’m down here about. And we’re getting help from Horne and Plumer. But all that takes days, and meantime we’re walking back like we did at Mons. And at this time of day, too… Oh, yes, the whole line’s retreating. Parts of it were pretty comfortable, but they had to get back or be put in the bag. I wish to Heaven I knew where our right divisions have got to. For all I know they’re at Compiègne by now. The Boche was over the canal this morning, and by this time most likely he’s across the Somme.’

  At that I exclaimed. ‘D’you mean to tell me we’re going to lose Peronne?’

  ‘Peronne!’ he cried. ‘We’ll be lucky not to lose Amiens!… And on the top of it all I’ve got some kind of blasted fever. I’ll be raving in an hour.’

  He was rushing off, but I held him.

  ‘What about my old lot?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, damned good, but they’re shot all to bits. Every division did well. It’s a marvel they weren’t all scuppered, and it’ll be a flaming miracle if they find a line they can stand on. Westwater’s got a leg smashed. He was brought down this evening, and you’ll find him in the hospital. Fraser’s killed and Lefroy’s a prisoner – at least, that was my last news. I don’t know who’s got the brigades, but Masterton’s carrying on wi
th the division… You’d better get up the line as fast as you can and take over from him. See the Army Commander. He’ll be in Amiens tomorrow morning for a pow-wow.’

  Laidlaw lay wearily back in his car and disappeared into the night, while I hurried to the train.

  The others had descended to the platform and were grouped round Archie, who was discoursing optimistic nonsense. I got them into the carriage and shut the door.

  ‘It’s pretty bad,’ I said. ‘The front’s pierced in several places and we’re back to the Upper Somme. I’m afraid it isn’t going to stop there. I’m off up the line as soon as I can get my orders. Wake, you’ll come with me, for every man will be wanted. Blenkiron, you’ll see Mary and Peter safe to England. We’re just in time, for tomorrow it mightn’t be easy to get out of Amiens.’

  I can see yet the anxious faces in that ill-lit compartment. We said goodbye after the British style without much to-do. I remember that old Peter gripped my hand as if he would never release it, and that Mary’s face had grown very pale. If I delayed another second I should have howled, for Mary’s lips were trembling and Peter had eyes like a wounded stag. ‘God bless you,’ I said hoarsely, and as I went off I heard Peter’s voice, a little cracked, saying ‘God bless you, my old friend.’

  I spent some weary hours looking for Westwater. He was not in the big clearing station, but I ran him to earth at last in the new hospital which had just been got going in the Ursuline convent. He was the most sterling little man, in ordinary life rather dry and dogmatic, with a trick of taking you up sharply which didn’t make him popular. Now he was lying very stiff and quiet in the hospital bed, and his blue eyes were solemn and pathetic like a sick dog’s.

  ‘There’s nothing much wrong with me,’ he said, in reply to my question. ‘A shell dropped beside me and damaged my foot. They say they’ll have to cut it off… I’ve an easier mind now you’re here, Hannay. Of course you’ll take over from Masterton. He’s a good man but not quite up to his job. Poor Fraser – you’ve heard about Fraser. He was done in at the very start. Yes, a shell. And Lefroy. If he’s alive and not too badly smashed the Hun has got a troublesome prisoner.’

  He was too sick to talk, but he wouldn’t let me go.

  ‘The division was all right. Don’t you believe anyone who says we didn’t fight like heroes. Our outpost line held up the Hun for six hours, and only about a dozen men came back. We could have stuck it out in the battle-zone if both flanks hadn’t been turned. They got through Crabbe’s left and came down the Verey ravine, and a big wave rushed Shropshire Wood… We fought it out yard by yard and didn’t budge till we saw the Plessis dump blazing in our rear. Then it was about time to go… We haven’t many battalion commanders left. Watson, Endicot, Crawshay…’ He stammered out a list of gallant fellows who had gone.

  ‘Get back double quick, Hannay. They want you. I’m not happy about Masterton. He’s too young for the job.’ And then a nurse drove me out, and I left him speaking in the strange forced voice of great weakness.

  At the foot of the staircase stood Mary.

  ‘I saw you go in,’ she said, ‘so I waited for you.’

  ‘Oh, my dear,’ I cried, ‘you should have been in Boulogne by now. What madness brought you here?’

  ‘They know me here and they’ve taken me on. You couldn’t expect me to stay behind. You said yourself everybody was wanted, and I’m in a Service like you. Please don’t be angry, Dick.’

  I wasn’t angry, I wasn’t even extra anxious. The whole thing seemed to have been planned by fate since the creation of the world. The game we had been engaged in wasn’t finished and it was right that we should play it out together. With that feeling came a conviction, too, of ultimate victory. Somehow or sometime we should get to the end of our pilgrimage. But I remembered Mary’s forebodings about the sacrifice required. The best of us. That ruled me out, but what about her?

  I caught her to my arms. ‘Goodbye, my very dearest. Don’t worry about me, for mine’s a soft job and I can look after my skin. But oh! take care of yourself, for you are all the world to me.’

  She kissed me gravely like a wise child.

  ‘I am not afraid for you,’ she said. ‘You are going to stand in the breach, and I know – I know you will win. Remember that there is someone here whose heart is so full of pride of her man that it hasn’t room for fear.’

  As I went out of the convent door I felt that once again I had been given my orders.

  It did not surprise me that, when I sought out my room on an upper floor of the Hôtel de France, I found Blenkiron in the corridor. He was in the best of spirits.

  ‘You can’t keep me out of the show, Dick,’ he said, ‘so you needn’t start arguing. Why, this is the one original chance of a lifetime for John S. Blenkiron. Our little fight at Erzerum was only a side-show, but this is a real high-class Armageddon. I guess I’ll find a way to make myself useful.’

  I had no doubt he would, and I was glad he had stayed behind. But I felt it was hard on Peter to have the job of returning to England alone at such a time, like useless flotsam washed up by a flood.

  ‘You needn’t worry,’ said Blenkiron. ‘Peter’s not making England this trip. To the best of my knowledge he has beat it out of this township by the eastern postern. He had some talk with Sir Archibald Roylance, and presently other gentlemen of the Royal Flying Corps appeared, and the upshot was that Sir Archibald hitched on to Peter’s grip and departed without saying farewell. My notion is that he’s gone to have a few words with his old friends at some flying station. Or he might have the idea of going back to England by aeroplane, and so having one last flutter before he folds his wings. Anyhow, Peter looked a mighty happy man. The last I saw he was smoking his pipe with a batch of young lads in a Flying Corps waggon and heading straight for Germany.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  How an Exile Returned to His Own People

  Next morning I found the Army Commander on his way to Doullens.

  ‘Take over the division?’ he said. ‘Certainly. I’m afraid there isn’t much left of it. I’ll tell Carr to get through to the Corps Headquarters, when he can find them. You’ll have to nurse the remnants, for they can’t be pulled out yet – not for a day or two. Bless me, Hannay, there are parts of our line which we’re holding with a man and a boy. You’ve got to stick it out till the French take over. We’re not hanging on by our eyelids – it’s our eyelashes now.’

  ‘What about positions to fall back on, sir?’ I asked.

  ‘We’re doing our best, but we haven’t enough men to prepare them.’ He plucked open a map. ‘There we’re digging a line – and there. If we can hold that bit for two days we shall have a fair line resting on the river. But we mayn’t have time.’

  Then I told him about Blenkiron, whom of course he had heard of. ‘He was one of the biggest engineers in the States, and he’s got a nailing fine eye for country. He’ll make good somehow if you let him help in the job.’

  ‘The very fellow,’ he said, and he wrote an order. ‘Take this to Jacks and he’ll fix up a temporary commission. Your man can find a uniform somewhere in Amiens.’

  After that I went to the detail camp and found that Ivery had duly arrived.

  ‘The prisoner has given no trouble, sirr,’ Hamilton reported. ‘But he’s a wee thing peevish. They’re saying that the Gairmans is gettin’ on fine, and I was tellin’ him that he should be proud of his ain folk. But he wasn’t verra weel pleased.’

  Three days had wrought a transformation in Ivery. That face, once so cool and capable, was now sharpened like a hunted beast’s. His imagination was preying on him and I could picture its torture. He, who had been always at the top directing the machine, was now only a cog in it. He had never in his life been anything but powerful; now he was impotent. He was in a hard, unfamiliar world, in the grip of something which he feared and didn’t understand, in the charge of men who were in no way amenable to his persuasiveness. It was like a proud and bullying manager suddenly
forced to labour in a squad of navvies, and worse, for there was the gnawing physical fear of what was coming.

  He made an appeal to me.

  ‘Do the English torture their prisoners?’ he asked. ‘You have beaten me. I own it, and I plead for mercy. I will go on my knees if you like. I am not afraid of death – in my own way.’

  ‘Few people are afraid of death – in their own way.’

  ‘Why do you degrade me? I am a gentleman.’

  ‘Not as we define the thing,’ I said.

  His jaw dropped. ‘What are you going to do with me?’ he quavered.

  ‘You have been a soldier,’ I said. ‘You are going to see a little fighting – from the ranks. There will be no brutality, you will be armed if you want to defend yourself, you will have the same chance of survival as the men around you. You may have heard that your countrymen are doing well. It is even possible that they may win the battle. What was your forecast to me? Amiens in two days, Abbeville in three. Well, you are a little behind scheduled time, but still you are prospering. You told me that you were the chief architect of all this, and you are going to be given the chance of seeing it, perhaps of sharing in it – from the other side. Does it not appeal to your sense of justice?’

  He groaned and turned away. I had no more pity for him than I would have had for a black mamba that had killed my friend and was now caught to a cleft tree. Nor, oddly enough, had Wake. If we had shot Ivery outright at St Anton, I am certain that Wake would have called us murderers. Now he was in complete agreement. His passionate hatred of war made him rejoice that a chief contriver of war should be made to share in its terrors.

  ‘He tried to talk me over this morning,’ he told me. ‘Claimed he was on my side and said the kind of thing I used to say last year. It made me rather ashamed of some of my past performances to hear that scoundrel imitating them… By the way, Hannay, what are you going to do with me?’