TOLD IN A DUG-OUT

Dominion, Volume 11, Issue 201, 14 May 1918, Page 6

TOLD IN A DUG-OUT

PRIVATE CHUDLEIGH'S RETURN

"GOTT STRAFE ENGLAND!"

(By "A.A.M.," tho well-known contributor to London "I'liuch.")

(Published by authority of the War Office, per favour of the Ro.val Colonial Institute.) No. 12,922 Private Arthur Chudleigh told mo this story. He swore it was true. Thero is no doubt that ho was reported "missing," and (lie adventure as he tells it may well have happened to him. On tho other hand, his companions in the dug-out assured me that Private Ghudleigh had been an auctioneer's clerk before the war, to whom the (piling of fair/ tales was a matter rf business. So I don't know what to believe. Anyway here is the story. Private Arthur Cliudleigh went over with the first wave, full of fight. How mnnv Germans ho actually Killed with his own hand is a matter, of dispute. He says one hundred .and seventeen; other observers say three. Probably tho truth was somewhere iu between—four, say. But behind the "brown line,' the second objective of tho Fusiliers, his career came to an end. The butt of a German ride took him on the side of the head, and he toppled down into a shell-hole and staved there. Tho fight went on over hilii, it swayed back again. When night came Private Chunleigh was still in his shell-hole but he was now behind the German line. ~111 4. He woko up with a bad headache at dawn to find that he was not alone. A dead Bocho shared his retreat.- Cliudloigli crawled cautiously to the top ot the hole to take his bearings. He heard voices and ducked down again. But he had seen enough and heard enough to make a pretty .good guess at his position. He was in the territory of his enemies. He joined his companion below, and gazing moodily at the prospect in front of him, decided that something would have to be done about it. No. 12,922 Private Arthur Chudleigh never had a very good memory, and, such as it was, a blow from a rifle butt on the side of the head did nothing to improve it. It is not to bo wondered at, then, that he forgets just how many days ho spent in tho company of that dead , Boche, a modern Eobinson Crusoe. He forgeta still mow each timo lie tells tho story. It was not as long n> from lions to the Battle of Cambrai, but it is working up that way. Thirteen weeks, he told me, but as ho had railed it seven weekf to his previous audience, he may have been exaggerating. Anyhow it was (•omo days. Two days, perhaps; perhaps a week.* And then, growing tired of his company, he decided to leave his German friend and get back to tho British lines. Ho thought it out carefully. There wore two parts 1o the problem-Part I: Approaching and .Jetting Uirongh the 'Gertnan line without being takeii for an Englishman and shot. Part II: Ap preaching the British line without being taken for a German and shot. He would do it in the dark, of course, but accidents might happen; and he didn t want an accident. ... . Thinking over these things, and lookin" contemplatively at .the Hill, dead Boche, an idea came to him. Lord, I'm a brainy one," ho chuckled to himself. "And I'm a blighted fool he added more candidly, "Why didn t I think of it before? Still, it hasii t been bo bad here, and old frit/, doesn t worry you with talk. Quiet sort cf beggar, lie lay down and slept again, for it was II warm afternoon. The tact that the British guns wero as busy as ever tint* worry him, for he had a farm conviction that no two shells could all in the same place, and one shell certainly had been hero. ~ ~ , • With the night came action. Over hie own tunic uid breeches he put those, of the dead German. If he were seen approaching the German lino ho might pass without notice. Once in No Man s Laud he could discard the German unitorm and appear before his own hues as the Englishman which he was. It seemed to give him the best chance. I need not recount at length the story of Private Chudleigh's wanderings on that night. It was dark, but uot excessively dark, and fitful firing from the British batteries showed him vaguely his direction. He moved very slowly, and had many unnecessary panics which, sent him -flat to earth and kept luni there with heart thumping at his ribs; and one way and another he wasted a good deal of time. And then, having decided -ecklessly to take his chaiico and go straight ahead, he bumped suddenly into another night wanderer. They stood and looked at each other. Private Chudleigh had met many Germans (it closo quarters before, but never, ho. swore to linuselt, was there such an out-and-out, unutterable degrad, unshaven, and altogether beastly Hun as this. But his mind worked quickly. Somotlnng had to be done, somo word in Gorman spoken to remove suspicion. Bitterly did Clmdleigh curse his schoolmasters who had unaccountably neglected to put a little German into him. Arithmetic? les; but what, I ask you, is the good of arithmetic at a crisis like this? Now the merest smattering of Geruvin-a guttural word or two in German—it was all ho banted. Suddenly he remembered. He. cleared his throat, wished immediately that he hadn't, seeing that ho wanted to be as guttural as passible, aud growled: "Gott strafe England." He waited breathlessly, and then gave a great gulp of relief, "Gott strafe England," said the other figure. Chudleigh hoped that that would finish the conversation, but the other man still waited. Desperately Chudleigh racked his brains, and desperately , lie said again: "Ur-Gott strafe England." He tried to piit more with it this time—the passion and yearning of yenrs of life in dear old Berlin, the vigour and scorn of one who had, toasted "Tho Day" in countless mugs of beer at Munich, and a hint, or more than a hint, that the, Hpvnker. besides feeling all this, was also in tho dicksiß of n, hurry lit the moment, much as ho would have liked a chat at any other time. "Gott strafe England," said the other. But still neither made a move. Chudleigh, whoso brain was working moro rapidly than ever beJore, had 11 sudden inspiration that he "nad heard somebody say "SprekkKii-i' doitch," or something of tho sort, iviiich meant "Do you speak German?" It f.pimieJ a silly question to put to a German, hoivevcr—really tho last thing you would want to ask him. What was that thing about tho natch on the Rhine"? It would come in rather handy if he could remember it. Ho couldn't. And so heroically, and ivith an air this time of absolute finality, he said for >.he third lime: ""Gott strafe England." And for die third time the other answered: "Gott strafe England;' And simultaneously they turned away and went on their separate journeys, and were lost (o each otlier in ihe night. _ Chudleigh hurried on rejoicing. "Upr, he said to himself, "it isn't half easy, to talk to 11 Hun .in his own blooming language. Funny beggars, though. Men of one idea, as you might say." Dawn nad not yet come, but was matin" ready. In a" shell-hole between the German "and the British lines Private Chudleigh was making ready, too. Ho was removing what was left of his (iermnn trousers after the German wire iiad done what it could for them. He had a curious feeling that he was not nlune, that sonifiMy else was shariu" his dressing-room. Could lie have goTie through the Gorman wire twice and now be bank in his old shell-hole, with tho dead Boche lying thero still, andho shook tho thought out of his mind. "I shall be j-uing dotty directly," he 6aid to himself. ■'Been through too much." And thon,.more strongly than ever, he felt that there was somebody within ft. f<'«' Yaw's of him-snmebody alive. Chiidloigh sat there—half Gorman, half Irtish-holding his breath, wailing. And grnduallv through tho darkness another figurn became visible. Help! It was the man from whom he had purled two hours ago. The unmitigated Hun—but now hnlf-Brif Uli. _ For he also was employing the shoil-lioie as a 'dressing-room, and npiiiirenlly for tho same purpose ns Chiidlpieh. But with what very diflerent motives! Climllpte'i's f|«ii'k mind lenpt to it at once. This other w.v comiii" into the .British lines disguised a? a British soldier, and ho would tell much tho same

story as Chutllcigh. Private Arthur Chudleigh saw ifiijle plainly what to do. There was a D.C.M. at the otlier end of this. Only ho was quite resolved about one thins; ho would not curry on another conversation in Gorman. "You talk English, of course?" he whispered. "lea, ,, said the other. "Talk English now, in case we're heard. You're on the 6ame job as me— spying ?'■ "Yes. Where did you learn English?' "In .1 Soho restaurant," said Cliudleigh. "So did I." "At least," said Chudleigh hastily, fearing that the other might wish to talk about Soho lestaurants, "Ideally learnt it properly at Manchester." "All, I waa at .Liverpool." "Thank God," raid Chndleigli under his breath. "What are you pretending you're in?" he wont on aloud. "I'm,/going to say the Fusiliers. They'll be out of the line now, I sxpoct."

"Yes. Wo hammered them so badly, fiiore'll be none left."

"We did," said Cliudleigh grimly; "You wait, my boy," ho added to himself. "You'll know all about hammering when I've finished with you." "I'm the Warwick's," said the other, "Shall we come now?"

They had finished their urilet. They crept out—tiro British soldiers.

Safety at last! They fell into the British tr'enoh all anyhow, a sontry of the Lincolns looking on with a grin of welcome, ii sergeant regarding them more doubtfully. Were they what they had professed' to be, or were they—the sontry caught his eye and was. ready for emergencies. It was just as well. Tho new arrivals jumped to their feet' together. Together they addressed the sergeant, but keeping each one a steady eye on the "ther.

"Sergeant," sai'd the Warwick. "Arrest that man. eaid the HSisilier. "He's a. German, ,1 said the Warwick. "A blooming spy," said the Fusilier. "Whnt the blazes are you talking abon.t?" thev added to each other. "What's nil this?" said tho sergeant.

But the other two know

."Well,, I'm damned," (hey said, and they held mil; a hand to each other. They grinned broadly, and a.s they shook hands added. "Gott strafe England!" Arm in arm, as happy γ-s could bo, they were marched b.v the perplexed sergeant to his company commander's dugout. And there wo may leave them. I understand that tho Warwick tells much the same story. He is particularly emphatic on one point. Never, he says, did ho 6co such tin oul-nnd-out, unutterable, degraded,, unshaven, and _ altogether boaatlv Hun as Private Chudleigh looked.