John Walters

by Sapper

  “The Hun mouthed and sweated, and we waited.

  “‘Let me get it down for you,’ he got out at last. ‘If you could lend me a pair of wire-cutters.’ He paused, and didn’t seem to like meeting anyone’s eye.

  “‘May I ask,’ said the Sapper, in a voice you could keep the fish on all the summer, ‘why you require wire-cutters to take down a helmet hanging on the wall?’

  “‘The helmet is secured to the wall by a wire,’ stuttered the Hun. ‘You will have to cut it, and I thought you might damage it.’

  “‘You know this room, then – and this helmet?’ The Colonel chipped into the conversation, and you know what his orderly-room voice can be like.

  “‘Yes,’ answered the German. ‘When I was here before, I used this room.’

  “‘Indeed!’ remarked the Colonel. ‘Well, since the officer wishes to take down the helmet for us, I see no reason against it.’

  “In perfect silence the Sapper produced some wire-cutters, and handed them to the Boche, who clambered on to a chair and flattened his cheek against the wall exactly as the Sapper had done the day before. And then that worthy winked at us – just once.

  “‘It will help you if I pull the bottom out a bit,’ he said quietly, and we saw him do so. I put it that way because the Hun did not. That helmet only had to move an inch, but during the time it took to do it the Hun moved about ten yards. Head first he dived into the corner – straight off his chair as if it was into water. Only, as it wasn’t water but a good stone floor, he ceased to take any active interest in the proceedings for the next ten minutes.”

  Tremayne lit a cigarette.

  “When he came to again the helmet was lying on the floor beside him, and the wall was blank except for the nail, as it had been the whole time. He opened his eyes and peered round, and from that moment no one of us spoke a word. He saw the helmet – he looked at the wall; then he looked at us, and – understood. For a while he didn’t understand – he thought something had gone wrong with the works; but then suddenly he did. One could tell the moment when it came to him, the certainty that we had known all along; the realisation that we had watched him sweat with terror over his own dud booby-trap, and finally stun himself in the agony of his fear.”

  “Did he say anything?” asked a cavalry man sitting opposite.

  “Not a word. No more did we. We just watched him in silence, and after a bit he got up and tried to pull himself together. Then he went, with the escort behind him, and that was the end of it.”

  Peter Tremayne got up and started to put on his British warm. I remember he paused at the door for a moment before going out.

  “I once saw a man accused of cheating at cards before a lot of people – and the accusation was true. He was a decent fellow, but he was short of cash – and I have never forgotten the look in his eyes. He blew his brains out that night. I once saw a fellow at school – a great hulking blighter – who was caught stealing money red-handed. He came up before us prefects, and I have not forgotten the look in his eyes, either. And if you combine ’em, and multiply ’em by ten, and then do it all over again, you may have a dim idea of the look in that German’s eyes just before he passed out of the picture. So long, boys; hope I’ve not bored you.”

  Chapter 15

  The Passing of the Seasick Cow

  “Good evening, Jonah! And how is life, old top?” The man I was dining with greeted an officer passing our table with a cheery smile. “Come and tear a cutlet with us.”

  The other paused and regarded the speaker coldly. “James,” he remarked, “you forget yourself. I can endure your face in the club at Poperinghe, I can even dally awhile with you in the boot shop at Bethune; but to dine with you in London and listen to your port-laden views of life is a thing which I will not do. My time is too short, James, to waste on such as you.”

  “He has affected that style of conversation,” remarked James sadly, to no one in particular, “ever since he came under the influence of love. Is she here tonight, Jonah, this unfortunate girl of whom you so often babble when you are in your cups?”

  “For what other reason would I have put on my new thirty-shilling suiting? Of course she’s here, old boy; look – there she is coming down the steps. Some girl, Jimmy – what?”

  He moved away to meet her, and with a nod and a grin to us came back past our table on the way to his own. As he said, she was “some” girl, and our eyes followed them both as they threaded their way through the diners.

  “Who’s your pal, James?” I asked him, when the girl had disappeared round the corner. “His views on the suitable companionship at face-feeding times commend themselves to me at first sight.”

  He ignored the implication, and concentrated on the tournedos for a while. Then suddenly he leaned back in his chair, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and contemplated me benignly.

  “Peter,” he remarked, “you are a lucky man. I am going to tell you a story.”

  “Great Scott!” I exclaimed; “not that long one about the girl and the lodging-house? You told me that last time I saw you, and got it wrong.”

  “What a mind you have, Peter; what a mind. No, I am not going to tell you the story of the girl and the lodging-house, brilliantly witty though it is. I am going to tell you a story – a true story – about a Tank.”

  “Human or otherwise,” I remarked pessimistically.

  James looked at me in pained surprise. “I am sorry to disappoint you: but – otherwise. Waiter – another bottle of champagne; the gentleman’s thoughts have liquefied as usual.”

  He thoughtfully drained his own glass and lit a cigarette. “I have no objection to your eating while I smoke,” he remarked kindly; “and a cigarette enables me to collect my thoughts and present to you my story in that well-known style on which my fame as a raconteur is largely based.”

  “Well, just write down the point before you forget it, or–”

  “Once upon a time, Peter,” he commenced, in a withering tone, “the Belgians made Ypres, and the Lord made the country around it. By Jove! there’s little Kitty Drayton. I must go and speak to her afterwards.”

  “Yes, I’d tell her of your monumental discovery if I were you. Your reputation as a conversationalist will be made for life.”

  After a depressing interlude, during which he failed signally to catch the lady’s eye, he again turned his attention to me.

  “At a later period the Hun intervened. I believe you saw much of his earlier endeavours, Peter, around that delectable spot?”

  “I did; moreover, I have since revisited the haunts of my youth. I don’t mind telling you, James, that I had a devilish near squeak–”

  “And if I’m not too bored I might possibly listen – later, but not now; at present, it’s my story, and it’s very rude to interrupt. You may say yes or no, Peter, if your feelings overcome you; otherwise, kindly restrain yourself.”

  He once again endeavoured to catch the wandering optic of fair Kate, with the same result as before; a bad starter at any time is James, but he frequently finishes well.

  “The story which I am going to tell you concerns Wipers, in that it took place there or thereabouts. North-east of it, round about that cheerful little inland health resort, St Julian. A nasty spot, Peter, a nasty spot.”

  “Personally, I confined myself principally to Hooge,” I murmured. “But I accept your words without prejudice.”

  “So much for the locality. The conditions need not detain us. Just one enormous morass of filth and mud and water and shell- hole; just the ordinary sort of country only a bit worse, and everything as damnable as it could be. Ugh, horrible! Let us come to pleasant subjects – to wit, the Seasick Cow – the principal actor in the drama.

  “The Seasick Cow,” he silenced my frivolous interruption with a glance, “was, and for all I know is at the present moment, a Tank. On the other hand, it may quite possibly be scrap-iron, as the position in which it was last seen goes into the air twice hourly. That, however, is immat
erial; what I want to tell you about is her last voyage, which was by way of being a bit of an epic.

  “I suppose you’ve heard of the new Hun pill-boxes. They are nasty contrivances made of reinforced concrete, and are dotted promiscuous-like all over the front. When hit by a shell the entire performance moves back a little farther, and the garrison, having sorted the sausage out of the mix-up, resume their interrupted breakfast two or three feet nearer Berlin. It was up against a little nest of these that the Powers that Be decided to do a bit of a strafe. They told off the Feet who were to be the proud and delighted performers and they gave ’em the Seasick Cow to help ’em. Then they gave them their blessing, and retired to await developments.

  “Now the Cow was apparently the Tank of the Section. The whole crush are most inordinately proud of their machines, and spend hours in titivating up the interior; when I went inside the Cow once, her detachment had fairly spread themselves. The engine shone till you could see your face in it, and a Kirchner picture over the driver’s head helped him to keep his eyes in the boat. Parts of her had been painted blue with a delicate motif of purple, and one only wanted a hat-rack and a bath in the corner to have the ideal weekend cottage.”

  “Your picture,” I murmured, “is most explicit.”

  “All my pictures always are.” James frowned absently at a passing waiter. “Have you ever been inside a Tank, Peter?”

  “Once,” I answered reminiscently, “after a heavy lunch. The Army Council stood outside and applauded, whilst I–”

  “Army Council!” James interrupted me in his most withering tone. “Then it was in England you did the deed?”

  “Where else,” I returned, “would you expect to find the – ? But, hush! We are observed. Yes, it was in England – many moons ago, when I was on leave, that–”

  “I am quite certain the story is immoral, so I won’t trouble you any more. All I wanted to know before I really began was if you knew what the inside of a Tank was like. Apparently you do, so I will continue. A little ’65 brandy, waiter, and a cigar.”

  James settled himself comfortably in his chair, and inspected his liqueur with the eye of a connoisseur. “One can’t get it in France, you know, this stuff. I never can make out why not. However, Peter – having got past your digressions, let us proceed.

  “The line, at the particular spot where this drama of the Seasick Cow was enacted, was in a state of flux. You know the sort of thing I mean: no man knows what his next-door neighbour doeth, but is merely the proud possessor of a shell-hole, water-logged, mark one. In the course of a previous operation we had captured the Green line, or the Blue line, or some bally line – I forget which: and our outposts had consolidated themselves – I don’t think – in the unprepossessing piece of country in front. Which merely meant that A Company – much against its will – sat in slush and great peril one hundred and fifty yards nearer the Hun than anyone else. Now for the Hun.

  “Away in front, three or four hundred yards on A Company’s right, there rose a little mound, and beyond the mound, which was really the end of a sort of small spur, was a small valley. At the other side of the valley was another little hillock with the remnants of a farm on top… All right, Adolphus: my friend will pay for any damage I do to the tablecloth.”

  James shooed away a waiter, who was raising protesting hands to Heaven at the deep gouges in the cloth, by means of which my friend was endeavouring to show me the run of the ground.

  “A valley crossing your front,” I repeated, “screened from view by a small spur. And the principle of defensive war is the counter-attack.”

  “Clever boy!” James beamed upon me. “Why you aren’t Commander-in-Chief has always been one of life’s little mysteries as far as I am concerned. But there was something else, Peter: between the little spur and the hillock with the farm-house, and right at the very entrance to the valley, were a couple of pill-boxes. Do you take the situation?”

  “With exactitude,” I answered. “Process.”

  “This was the little bundle of fun which the Seasick Cow in company with the Feet were detailed to attack, hold, and consolidate.”

  “The answer,” I remarked gently, “being a lemon. I always like to hear of these things after they’ve happened, and the band is playing, and the women are beautiful. If that wretched girl does happen to see you looking like that by any chance, and complains to the man with her, I will not be your second. My sympathies are all with her.”

  James came-to from his third frenzied endeavour on the unconscious Kitty and looked hurt.

  “If there is one thing I loathe,” he said coldly, “it’s jealousy. However,” he went on after a moment, “that was not all they were told to do. It was thought that fresh vistas would open before their delighted gaze, once they were the proud possessors of that valley, and further developments were left to the initiative of all concerned.”

  “Which makes it two lemons.” I looked at James sternly. “Cut the tackle, my lad, and get to the ’osses. It’s closing time here for all officers shortly, and we have foolishly forgotten to come in mufti. No chance of pretending we’re on any important war-work.”

  “True, Peter; true. At times you’re quite bright. I will get down to it. At 3.30 ak emma on a murky morning in August, la belle vache sogged wearily forward. She ploughed through shell-holes, and she squattered over mud, and generally behaved in the manner of all Tanks. She passed through A Company, and A Company waved her on her way rejoicing – they were not the party detailed to go with her; and in a few minutes she had disappeared from view in front. Once or twice her machine guns pattered out their joyful note, as they discovered a wily Boche lurking in a shell-hole; a bomb or two burst viciously in the dawn, but the old Cow sogged gently on. Then some Feet came through A Company – a party of the force detailed to act with the Tank, and from then on the usual confusion prevailed. Moreover, Peter, my story is now largely hearsay – though from much evidence, I can guarantee its truth. I think I will give it to you from the point of view of the crew of the Cow.”

  “Just on time, gentlemen. Any more liqueurs?” A solicitous waiter hovered around our table.

  “Of course,” I answered. “Make them double ones. Knowing this officer, I’m afraid it may be a long business. Now, James, as Tank Commander – carry on.”

  “The first thing the Cow encountered, bar a passing machine-gunner or two, whom they dispatched rapidly to a better, or, at any rate, less muddy world, was a pill-box. That was the one on the near side of the valley just beyond the first spur. Sport poor. The garrison ran like hell, and the light was too bad for good shooting. Only one man was caught for certain, and he slipped in endeavouring to negotiate a shell-hole. He slipped, as I said, and so did the Cow on top of him. A sticky end.” James meditatively sipped his brandy: and we pondered.

  “Then the Cow passed on. The arrangement was that she should make good the pill-boxes, and should then advance up the valley behind the infantry. But, unfortunately, mundane trifles intervened. Halfway between the two pill-boxes she stuck. In the vernacular she got bellied, and her infuriated crew realised that only extensive digging operations from the outside would save the situation. Which was annoying considering the fact that they were well within the German lines, and had so far sent only ten Huns to account for their nefarious past.

  “However, there was nothing for it, and so the crew watched the Feet go past them, and they got out to investigate. And they were still investigating when a couple of hours later the infantry started to come back. Life, so the Tank Commander gathered, had not been all it might, two or three hundred yards farther on; more pill-boxes had appeared, with machine-guns placed in cunning nooks, and altogether the place was too hot for comfort. So, seeing that the operation was only a local one, the infantry officer in charge had decided quite rightly to withdraw, in order to save further useless loss of life.

  “You get the picture, Peter!” James leaned forward with his eyes on me. “Trickling back slowly – the in
fantry; bellied and stuck – the Tank, a quarter of a mile in front of our own lines. Time – 6 a.m. on a summer’s morning.”

  “Pleasant,” I answered. “What was the Hun doing?”

  “At the moment – not much. There was a lot of machine-gunfire in front, but practically no artillery. Then suddenly down came the barrage, and the Tank’s crew hurriedly ceased their investigations and got inside. When they looked out again what was left of the infantry had disappeared.”

  “So,” I said, “if I take the situation correctly, at the period we have got to at present, we have Tanks, one, disabled, with crew, a quarter of a mile odd in front of our outpost line, squatting at the point where a small hidden valley running across our front debouched into the open. Given in addition that the valley was obviously made for the massing of a counter-attack, and that one might reasonably be expected in the near future, we have all the setting for what our old pal Falstaff would have described as ‘indeed a bloody business.’ Don’t interrupt me, James; I know it wasn’t Falstaff, but he might just as easily have said it as anyone else. Question; What did A do – A being the Tank Commander?”

  “When you’ve quite finished, I propose to tell you. And before I begin, what would you have done?”

  “Hopped it like h – er – that is, I should immediately have beaten a strategic retreat, and reported to the man farthest in rear who would listen to me that I had, with deep regret, left the Seasick Cow bellied in the Hun lines, and please might I go on leave?”

  “And no bad judge, either. But not so the Tank wallah, Peter, not so – but far otherwise. It may have seemed to you that up to date I have been speaking with undue flippancy; I’ll cut it now, old man, for what I’m going to tell you is absolutely great. At 8 a.m. then, on a certain morning – the barrage being over – that Tank Commander found himself deserted. In front of him an occasional Hun dodged from shell-hole to shell-hole, but taking it all the way round there was peace. Behind him were his own people, but having bellied in a little fold in the ground, he was out of sight from them. And there was a counter-attack expected. So he called together his warriors and told them the situation; then they sat down and waited. He whose soul lay in the engines continued to polish them mechanically; the paint artist removed dirt from his handiwork and cursed fluently – while the remainder breakfasted on bully. Then they waited again.