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Page 40
From down the table came a quick murmur of voices. I saw more than one
glance halt at the crutch on the back of the soldier's chair.
"Thank you. I'd really like to tell about this man. It's interesting,
psychologically to me," he went on, smiling contentedly. He is a lovable
chap, my cousin Robert Thornton. "The lad whom I speak of, a
French-Canadian from Quebec Province, was my servant, my batman, as the
Indian army called them and as we refer to them often now. He was so
brainless that I just missed firing him the first day I had him. But
John Dudley, my brother-in-law and lieutenant, wanted me to give him a
chance, and also there was something in his manner when I gave him
orders which attracted me. He appeared to have a pleasure in serving,
and an ideal of duty. Dudley had used him as a guide, and the man had a
dog-like devotion to 'the lieutenant' which counted with me. Also he
didn't talk. I think he knew only four words. I flung orders at him and
there would be first a shock of excitement, then a second of tense
anxiety, then a radiant smile and the four words: '_C'est bien, Mon
Capitaine_.' I was captain then."
At that point I dropped my knife and fork and stared at my cousin. He
went on.
"'_C'est bien, Mon Capitaine_.' That was the slogan. And when the
process was accomplished, off he would trot, eager to do my will. He was
powerful and well-built, but he had the oddest manner of locomotion ever
I saw, a trot like--like a Ford car. I discovered pretty soon that the
poor wretch was a born coward. I've seen him start at the distant sound
of guns long before we got near the front, and he was nervous at going
out alone at night about the camp. The men ragged him, but he was such
a friendly rascal and so willing to take over others' work that he got
along with a fraction of the persecution most of his sort would have
had. I wondered sometimes what would happen to the poor little devil
when actual fighting came. Would it be '_C'est bien, Mon Capitaine_,' at
the order to go over the top, or would the terrible force of fear be too
much for him and land him at last with his back to a wall and a firing
squad in front--a deserter? Meantime he improved and I got dependent on
his radiant good will. Being John Dudley's brother-in-law sanctified me
with him, and nothing was too much trouble if I'd give him a chance
sometimes to clean John's boots. I have a man now who shows no ecstacy
at being ordered to do my jobs, and I don't like him.
"We were moved up towards the front, and, though Mr. Winston Churchill
has made a row about the O.S.--the officers' servants who are removed
from the firing line, I know that a large proportion of them do their
share in the trenches. I saw to it that mine did.
"One night there was a digging expedition. An advance trench was to be
made in No Man's Land about a hundred and fifty yards from the Germans.
I was in command of the covering party of thirty-five men; I was a
captain. We, of course, went out ahead. Beauram� was in the party. It
was his first fighting. We had rifles, with bayonets, and bombs, and a
couple of Lewis guns. We came up to the trenches by a road, then went
into the zigzag communication trenches up to the front, the fire-trench.
Then, very cautiously, over the top into No Man's Land. It was nervous
work, for at any second they might discover us and open fire. It suited
us all to be as quiet as human men could be, and when once in a while a
star-shell, a Very light, was sent up from the German lines we froze in
our tracks till the white glare died out.
"The party had been digging for perhaps an hour when hell broke loose.
They'd seen us. All about was a storm of machine-gun and rifle bullets,
and we dropped on our faces, the diggers in their trench--pretty shallow
it was. As for the covering party, we simply took our medicine. And
then the shrapnel joined the music. Word was passed to get back to the
trenches, and we started promptly. We stooped low as we ran over No
Man's Land, but there were plenty of casualties. I got mine in the foot,
but not the wound which rung in this--" Thornton nodded his head at the
crutches with a smile. "It was from a bit of shrapnel just as I made the
trench, and as I fell in I caught at the sand bags and whirled about
facing out over No Man's Land; as I whirled I saw, close by, Beauram�'s
face in a shaft of light. I don't know why I made conversation at that
moment--I did. I said:
"When did you get back?"
And his answer came as if clicked on a typewriter. "Me, I stayed, _Mon
Capitaine_. It had an air too dangerous, out there."
I stared in a white rage. You'll imagine--one of my men to dare tell me
that! And at that second, simultaneously, came the flare of a shell star
and a shout of a man struck down, and I knew the voice--John Dudley. He
was out there, the tail end of the party, wounded. I saw him as he
fell, on the farther side of the new trench. Of course, one's instinct
was to dash back and bring him in, and I started. And I found my foot
gone--I couldn't walk. Quicker than I can tell it I turned to Beauram�,
the coward, who'd been afraid to go over the top, and I said in French,
because, though I hadn't time to think it out, I yet realized that it
would get to him faster so--I said:
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