Part 13 (2/2)

It contained a curious sort of liquor, apparently home made, which saved their lives that morning. Then the Doctor, after many amusing efforts to clean himself in a bucket, went off to the improvised hospital that had been set up in the village.

The early part of the morning pa.s.sed peacefully enough; but the bombardment was renewed at about seven o'clock, and was followed by a hasty evacuation of the village to reinforce the front line. The Captain's Company, however, and one other, were ordered to stand by in reserve, but to be prepared to move at a moment's notice. The bombardment rolled on as usual for about an hour. Then came a tremendous crash, which made every wall and roof tremble, and gave warning that something worse than ordinary had happened.

Everybody rushed into the street, but there was no longer a square. One of the ”Jack Johnsons” had alighted in the centre of it. The first glance at the scene disclosed the fact that the fountain had been blown sky high, and the cobbles torn up like pebbles, but it was not until afterwards that one realised that there had been men in that square.

None was left alive in it now. One poor fellow had been struck by a piece of sh.e.l.l and had died before his head had crashed against the ground. The colour of the dead face reminded the Subaltern hauntingly of the grey walls of the kitchen. Fortunately, the eyes were closed, but the horror of the thing--the shattered skull, the protruding, blood-smeared brains, bit into the Subaltern's soul. He gazed at it for a moment, spellbound, and then turned in towards the kitchen, feeling broken and humiliated.

”We must get them into better shelter than this,” said the Captain.

”That might happen again.”

The owners of the house came out to meet them. The old man and his wife seemed strangely unperturbed by the noise and the sights around them.

He was a fine old man, with a yellow skin, long, flowing beard, and a bald head. He explained that he was the local Mayor, and there was more natural dignity about him than many a Lord Mayor of a huge city. He told them that underneath his house was a cellar large enough to hide the whole Company, and led the Captain away to see it.

In a few moments they returned.

”Just the very place,” said the Captain; ”we'll get the Company down there right away, before the next big one comes over.”

He led them down a flight of steps, opened a door, and stepped gingerly into pitch darkness. When their eyes became accustomed to the gloom, it was just possible to make out the dimensions of the place, and very gradually the men filed in, and lay down wherever they could. By the time the last man had pushed his way in, there was scarcely an unoccupied foot of room in the whole cellar.

After a time the talk died down, and sounds of slumber filled the darkness. Probably the only men in the whole Company who did not spend the rest of that day in sleep were the ”look-out” men, one posted in the road to intercept messages, and the other at the head of the steps to give warning.

As soon as it was dark they could leave the cellar with perfect safety--a thing they were glad to do, for the atmosphere was not as fresh as it might have been, and the place was very crowded. Only about half of the men, however, availed themselves of the opportunity. The others were too tired and just went on sleeping.

Some time in the middle of the night they were awakened by the Mess Sergeant, who had successfully arrived with rations. The only possible way, it seemed, was to get supplies over the bridges under cover of darkness, as the enemy had got their range to a yard. He left their share of food, and then hurriedly left.

”If I don't get well over by the morning, I don't get over at all,” he explained.

The next day was in every way similar to the previous one. No order to move was received, and sleep was the most popular occupation. Now and then, in intervals between the artillery duels, they would dash up the steps and air themselves as best as they could. In one of his rambles the Subaltern alighted upon a peach tree, which was greatly appreciated.

When the familiar sounds began again, they would troop once more down the steps and fall asleep in the cellar, until peace was restored.

On one occasion, following his men after he had seen them all safely down, a piece of high explosive sh.e.l.l-dust bounced from the wall, and embedded itself in the skin of his temple.

”By Jove!” he said, when he was safely in the cellar; ”this is all very well, but if a big one did happen to drop on this house above here, we shouldn't stand the ghost of a chance. It would be better to be out in the open. We might be buried by the falling bricks.”

Fate was kind. But once, on regaining the open, some one noticed that a weatherc.o.c.k had been struck off one of the gables.

”It just wanted to be twenty feet lower,” said some one speculatively.

The Subaltern enjoyed very much his short stay in Poussey. The old Mayor and his wife were a charming couple, and as usual did everything in their power to make their Allies comfortable. On the other hand, it must be admitted that the British Officers, with their unfailing politeness and good spirits, made no small impression on them. The Subaltern once heard the old lady say to her husband--

”Eh! Mon vieux, quelle difference! Ils sont si gentils, si polis ... et les autres.... Ach! Les cochons!”

”What an impertinence,” he thought, ”to compare us!”

His coat was badly rent in the back, and once, while he was asleep, the old lady took it, and mended it with thick red twine.

Of course they had the inevitable sons or nephews at the front, and they had received no news of them. One had to listen with great attention, and an air of solicitude, and murmur some little consolations.

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