With Haig on the Somme Part 27

His impulse was to lift up a shout of thankfulness at the sight of another iron ladder, obviously leading into the yard below. To make quite certain that the way was clear he ran towards it, and stole cautiously down for a short distance, trying to penetrate the intense blackness in quest of any sign of Von Dussel.

All at once his feet dropped into nothingness, for, unknown to him, an English sh.e.l.l had carried away the rest of the ladder a week before, and, clutching wildly at the last step, he clung there, dangling in s.p.a.ce!

To let go, even had he known the distance between him and the ground, was absolutely unthinkable with his brother helpless and unwarned within the building, and though the explosion of the mine might happen any moment, his one and only effort was to get back by sheer strength of arm and return to Bob's a.s.sistance.

"If we've got to go out to-night we'll go out together," he muttered between his teeth, and he added something of a prayer to the resolve.

The fragment of the ladder vibrated under his weight as he worked himself slowly and cautiously to one edge, and the sharpness of the jagged iron rungs hurt his hands terribly.

"If I can only haul up high enough to get my knee on the first step it'll be all right," he thought, when something scrunched immediately underneath him, and he dangled motionless, as a brilliant star-sh.e.l.l burst directly overhead, making everything around as bright as day.

Caught in the open by the sudden fire of uncountable machine-guns, the 2/12th Battalion of the Royal Reeds.h.i.+res had gone down like gra.s.s before the scythe. Another fifty yards, and they would have reached the uncut wire in front of that ruined building with the broken chimney shaft.

So close were they that the word was already given to divide and sweep round the flank of the obstacle when cruel Fate said no; and as he lay with three bullets through him, tears of rage and anger had dimmed the keen eyes of their C.O. as he groped for his whistle and blew the retire.

They had made a fine rush by successive waves across the open, taking advantage of the tumbled ground to get close up to that seemingly deserted brewery which had shown no sign of occupation, and from which no shot had been fired. And then that thing had happened, and he blamed himself as he sent the brave remnant scurrying back to the trench they had captured, knowing that he should have rested content with his capture and not been greedy for more.

He did not realise that he was badly wounded, and he did not care. It was his own fault, and the tears in his eyes were for those khaki heaps that lay to right and left of him. He even resisted three of the survivors who ran to his help. They only grinned when he threatened them with pains and penalties; and, picking him up, they had carried him in under a murderous rain of bullets.

The battalion was barely half its strength when it reached the trench, and it had all happened just as the dusk drew down on the land.

When they called the roll the voices of the company sergeants were hoa.r.s.e and shook with an odd quiver.

"Abbot, Anstey, Ashwell?" No answer. "Bellingham?"--"Here."

"Burton?"--"Just died, sergeant," somebody else replied. And so it went on alphabetically from A to Z, and of the A's there were very few, and of the Z's there were none.

A senior captain took over command, and word was sent back to the brigadier.

"It's bad enough as it is, sergeant-major," said the senior captain.

"He'd better not be told just now that both his sons are among the missing."

Later on there came to the young lieutenant, who was the only officer left in A company, two dusty, fierce-eyed little men who had gone through the burden and heat of the day without a scratch, although their bayonets were red enough.

And they had begged leave to go and search for Captain Dashwood and Dennis, and the young lieutenant had choked audibly as he refused the permission.

"Yes, I know, Hawke," he had replied to their earnestly repeated entreaties. "But I'm acting under strict orders. Not a man is to cross the parapet on any consideration whatever. If we're counter-attacked before reinforcements arrive, Heaven help us!"

Then the two fierce-eyed little men had gone away, having apparently accepted the inevitable, and neither had said a word until they reached the far end of the trench.

"Tiddler?"

"I should bloomin' well think so, 'Arry!"

That was all, but it was enough; and that was how Harry Hawke and his bosom pal came to be wandering under the eastern wall of the deserted brewery after a fruitless search among those khaki heaps that lay so still in front of the German wire.

For three hours they had crawled backwards and forwards, questioning the wounded and giving a hand where they could with the field dressing, but always receiving the same reply.

At length one man told them that the German stretcher-bearers had come out and carried some bodies away, but they had been recalled before they reached him, and there had been a great skedaddling from the building in front. He had heard them removing machine-guns; he could swear to that.

"Come on, Tid!" said Harry Hawke. "We may find them in there. It is our last chance."

They were working their way very carefully along the wall when a star-sh.e.l.l of unusual brilliancy burst, and Hawke jumped forward, gripping his rifle.

"Swop my goodness! Tiddler!" he cried, with a fierce chuckle, "here's a bloomin' Allemong trying to escape! You've left it a bit too late, sonny!" And he lunged upwards at the dangling figure in the light of the star-sh.e.l.l!

CHAPTER XXI

Von Dussel's Revenge

It was not a moment in which to mince matters, and Dennis drew up his legs with a yell.

"Don't play the giddy ox, Hawke. Where are your eyes?" he shouted, as the point of the bayonet grazed his brown gaiter; and then, in spite of the terrible danger overhanging them all, Dennis laughed oddly as his sworn admirer recovered his weapon, and the star-sh.e.l.l went out.

"You don't mean to say it's you, Mr. Dashwood!" came up a tremulous voice very unlike Hawke's own. "Drop, sir, your toes ain't above seven feet from the ground. Tiddler and me's been looking for you and the Captain for the last three hours."

"Well, you've found us," said Dennis, still clinging where he was; "and I hope you're in time. My brother should be up in the building by now, but he can only hobble on one leg, and the whole caboodle may be blown up any minute. What's to be done?"

Harry Hawke did not hesitate, but, slipping off his pack, handed his rifle to Tiddler, who stood speechless with amazement.

"Give us a back, c.o.c.kie," said Hawke. "Can you hold on, sir, if I climb up yer? Will the ladder bear?"

"It'll bear, and I can stick it if you're not too long," replied Dennis, twining his fingers tighter round the ironwork and bracing his arms for the strain.

The German sh.e.l.ls had ceased to hum past the eastern end of the brewery, although they were falling rapidly about the captured trench, where the Reeds.h.i.+res were ensconced five hundred yards to the south.

"For Heaven's sake look sharp, man!" urged Dennis, and then he felt Hawke grasp his knees, pa.s.s a hand over his shoulder, hang there a moment, and grab at the broken step overhead.

"Sorry if I 'urt you, sir," muttered the Pride of Sh.o.r.editch, planting his hobnailed boot where his hand had been the moment before; and, active as a cat, he gained the iron ladder which had so nearly meant a broken neck for Dennis Dashwood.

"Now, sir!" panted Harry Hawke, seizing his officer's right wrist, "let go yer 'old while I give yer a 'aul. Up we come!"

Dennis gave a spring at the same time, and his fingers clutched the banister that supported the rail. The rest was easy, and between them he scrambled to his feet as a curious stumping made the iron gallery ring above them, and Bob's voice was heard calling, "Where have you got to, Den?"

They helped him down the broken ladder, Dennis explaining the position as he hopped between them.

"Can't say I fancy that drop you speak of, with this gammy leg of mine,"

said Bob ruefully; "but I must chance it. I suppose you haven't got a coil of rope concealed about your valuable person, Hawke?"

"Not arf, I 'aven't, sir," grinned the practical one, unfastening one end of the Mauser sling and tying the other round the last rung. "I reckon this'll do us."

"Bravo, Hawke," said Dennis gratefully. "Now then, Bob."