LOOS

Taranaki Daily News, 9 November 1916, Page 6

LOOS

A CHAPTER FROM PATRICK MACGILL'S THRILLING 1)001$ The dead men lay on the cellar stair, Toll of the bomb that found thtm there; In the streets men fell as a bullock drops, Sniped from the fringe of Hulltrch copse. And stiff in Khaki the hoys were laid— Food of the bullet and hand-grenade— This we saw when the charge was done, And the East grew pale to the rising sun In the town of Loos in the morning.

A rim of grey clouds clustered thick

on the horizon, as if hiding pome wonderful secret from the eyes of men. Above my head the stars were twinkling, a soft breeze swung over the open, "and moists gusts caught me in the face as I picked my Way carefully through the still figures in brown and grey that lay all over the stony face of the level lands.

A spinny on the right was wrapped in shadow, and when, for a moment. I stood 10 listen, vague whispers and secret rustlings could be heard all a'-ound. The hour before the dawn was full of wonder, the world in which I moved was pregnant with mystery. "Who are these?' I asked myself as T looked at the still figures in khaki. "Where is the life, the vitality of yesterday's dawn; the'fire of eager eyes, the mad pulsing of roving blood, and the great heart of young ad" venture? Has the roving, the vitality and the fire come to this; gone out like sparks from a star-shell falling in the pond? What are these tilings here? What am I? What is the purpose served by all this demolition and waste? Like a child in the dark I put myself tlie question, but there was no answer. The stars wheel on their courses over the dance of .death and the feast of joy. ever the same.

I walked up to the church of tlie

trench through the giaveyard whom tlio wliite bonps stuck out t.!iiv.i">h the parapet. A pale mist gathered round the broken headstones and civpt along the bu=hcs of the fence. The Twin Towers stood in the air—moody, apathetic, regardless of the shrapnel incense that the guns wafted against the. lean girders. Sparrows twittered in the S .■ld.'' and a crow broke clumsily away from the branches in the spinny. A limber jolted along the road near me creaking and rumbling. On! driver, on! Ot to L«* Rredis before the dawn, and luck be with vnn! If the enemy sees you! On! on! 1 knew that he hurried; that one eye was -n the east where the sky was flushing •i faint crimson, and the other on the road in front where the dead mules giw more distinct and where the faces of the dead men showed more clearly. At that moment the enemy began to shell the road and the trench running parallel to it. T slipped into the shelter and waited. The transnort came nearer, rolling and rumbling; the shrapnel burst violently. T cowered close to the parapet and I had a vivid mental picture of the driver leaning forward on the neck of his mule, his teeth set, his breath coming in short, sudden gasps. "Christ, am I going to get out of it?" he must have said. "Will dawn find lue at Lcs Brebis?"

Something shot clumsily through the air and went plop! against the parados. "Heavens! it's all up with me!" I said, and waited for the explosion. But there was none. I looked round and saw a hg on the floor of the trench, the log of the transport driver, with its leg-iron shining like silver. The man's boot was almost worn through in the sole, and the upper was gashed as if with a knife. I'm sure it must have let in the wet. And the man was alive a moment ago! The mule was still clattering along, I could hear the rumble of the waggon. . The firing ceased, and I went out in the open again.

I walked on the rim of the parapet and gazed into the dark streak of trench where the shadows clustered round traverse and dug-out door. In one hay a brazier was burning, and a bent figure of a man leant over a mess-tin of bubbling tea. All at once he looked up at me. "Pat Mac-Gill?" he queried. "A good guess," I answered. "You're making breakfast early." "A drop of tea on a cold morning goes down well," he answered. ."Will you have .1 drop? I've milk and a sultana cake."

"How did you come by that'" I asked. "In a dead man's paek," he told me, as he emptied part of the contents into a* tin mug and handed it up. The tea was excellent. A breeze swept over the parapet and ushered in the dawn. My heart fluttered liVe a bird; it was so happy, so wonderful to be alive, drinking tea from a sooty mess tin on the parapet of the trench' held by the enemy yesterday. "It is quiet at present," I said. "It'll soon not be quiet," said the man in the trench, busy now with a rasher of bacon which he was frying on his messtin lid. "Where have you come from?"

"I've boon all over the place," I said. "Maroe, and along that way. i T ou should see the road to Maroc. Muck to the knees: limbers, carts, waggons, "uns, stretchers, and Rod knows what! going up and down. Dead and dying mules; barelegged Jocks flat in the mud and wheels going across them. I'll never forget it." "Nobody that has been through this will ever forget it," said the man in the trench. "I've seen more sights than enough. But nothing disturbs me now. I remember a year ago if I saw a man getting knocked down I'd run a mile; I never saw a dead person till I camehere. Will you have a bit of bacon and fried bread?"

"Thanks," I answered, reaching down for the food. "It's very good of yon,"

"Don't mention it, Pat," Jie 'said, blushing as if ashamed of his kindness. "Maybe it'll be my turn to come to you next time T'm hungry. Any word of when we're getting relieved?" "I don't hear anything," I said. "Shortly, I hope. Many of your mates killed 1" I asked.

"Many of them, indeed," lie replied. "Old L. went west the moment lie crossed the top. He had only one kick at the ball. A bullet caught him in tie belly. I heard him say 'A foul; a blurry foul!' as he went all in a heap. He was a sticker! Did you see him out there?" He pointed a thumb to the field in rear. "There are so many," I replied. "I did not come across him." "And then 8., D. and R. went," said the man in the trench. "B. with a petrol bomb, D. with shrapnel, and R, with a bayonet wound. Some of the Bavarians made a damned good fight for it." Round the traverse a voice rose in song, a trembling, resonant voice, and we guessed that sleep was still heavy Id the eyes of the singer,

There's a silver lining through the dark clouds shining, We'll turn the dark clouds inside out till the boys eome home. "All! it will oe a glad day and a sorrowful day when the boys eome home,'-' said the man in the trench, hand, ing me u piece of sultana cake. ''The children will be cheering, the men will be cheering, the women—some of them. One woman will say: 'There's my boy, doesn't lie look well in uniform';' Then another will say: 'Two boys I had, they're not here '"

1 saw a tear glisten on the cheek of the boy below me, and something seemed to have caught in his throat His mood craved privacy, I could tell tint by the dumb appeal in his eyes. "Good luck, matey," I mumbled, and walked away The singer loosed up as I was passing.

"Mornin/, Pat," he said. "How <- o es it?" °

"Not at all oad," I answered. "Have you seen W.?" asked the singer. "I've been talking with him for the last twenty minutes," I said. "He has given me half his breakfast." "I suppose he couldn't steep last night," said the singer, cutting splinters of wood for the morning fire ' "You're heard that his brother was killed yesterday morning?"

. "Oh!" I muttered. "No, I heard noth ing about it until now."

The dawn glowed crimson, streaks of red shot through the clouds to eastwards and touched the bowl of sky overhead with fingers of flame. From the dugouts came the sound of sleepy voices, and a soldier out in open trench was cleaning his bayonet. A thin white fo* lay close to the ground, and through it I could see the dead boys in khaki clinging, as it were, to the earth. I could see a long way round. Behind was the village where the wounded were dressedhow blurred it looked with its shellscarred chimneys in all like the fingers of a wounded hand held up to a doctor. The chimneys, dun-tinted and lonely stood silent above the mist, and here and there a tree which seemed to have been ejected from the brotherhood of its kind stood out in thfe open all alon I he smoke of many fires curled over the ine of trenches. Behind the parapets lay many dead; they had fallen in the trench and their comrades had flung them out into the open. It was sad to see them there; yesterday or the day before their supple legs were stron" for a long march; to-day A shell burst dangerously near, and I went into the trench; the Germans were fumbling for their objective. Our artillery, as yet quiet, was making preparations for an anticipated German counter-attack, and back from our trench to Les Bcebis, every spinny concealed a battery, every tree a gun, and every broken wall an ammunition depot. The dawning sun'showed the terror of

war quiet j„ g ft y disguise; the blue-grey lons-nosed guns hidden in orchards where the applies lingered late, the howitzers under golden-fringed leaves, the metallic glint on the weapon's muzzles; the "miners asleep in adjacent dug-outs, their blankets tied tightly around'their bodies, their heads resting on heavy shells, fit pillows for the men whose 'work dealt in death and destruction. The sleepers husbanded their energy for trying labor the shells seemed to be saving their fury for more sure destruction. All our men were looking forward to a henvv days' work. * ■'" I wont back to the dressing-station at Loos. The street outside, pitted with shell-holes, showed a sullen face to the leaden sky. The dead lay in the gutters, on the pavement, at the door-steps; the quick in the trenches were now consolidating oiii' position, strengthening the trench which we had taken fronf the Hermans. Two soldiers on guard stood at the door of the dressing station. 1 dressed a few wounds and lit a cigarette. "What's up with that fool?" said a voice at the door, and I turned to the man who spoke.

"Who?" I enquired. "Come and see," said the man at the door. I looked up the street and saw one of the boys standing in the roadway and the smoke of a concussion shell coiling round his body. It was Bill Teake. He looked round, noticed us, and I could see a smile flower broadly on bis face. He made a step towards us, halted, and said something that sounded '.ike "Yook! yook!" Then he took another step forward and shot out his hand as if playing bowls.

"He's going mad!" I muttered. "Bill, what are you doing?" I cried to him. "Yook! yook!" he answered in a coaxing voice.

"A bullet will give yon yook! yook! directly," I cried. "Get under cover, and don't be a fool."

"Yook' yook!

Then a shell took a neighboring chimney away and a truckful or brick-3 assorted itself on the roadway in Bill's neighborhood. Out of the smother of dust and lime a fowl, a long-necked black hen, fluttered into the air and flevi towards our shelter. On. the road in front it alighted and wobbled its hean from one side to another in a enrnory inspection of its position. Bill Teake came racing down the road. "Don't frighten it away!" he yelled. "Don't shout. I want that 'en. It's my own 'en. I discovered it. Yook! yook! yook!" He threw a crumb to the fowl. The hen picked it up, swallowed it, and hopped off for a little distance. Then it drew one leg up under its wing and assumed a look of philosophic calm. "Clever hen!" I said.

"Damned ungrateful fraud!" said Bill angrily. "I've given it 'arf my iron rations. If it wasn't that 1 might miss it I'd fling a bully-beef tin at it." "Where's your rifle?" I enquired. "Left it in the trench," Bill replied. "I just came out to look for sooveneers. This is the only sooveneer I seen. Yook! yook! I" sooveneer yer, yer swine. Don't yer understand yer own lan°"ua<Te?"

Tlio hen made a noise like a chuckling frog. "Yes, yer may uck! uck!" cried Bill, apostrophising the fowl. "I'll soon stop yer uck! uck! yer one-legged Von Kluck! Where's a rifle to spare?" I handed him a spare rifle which belonged to a man who had been shot outside a door that morning.

"Loaded?" asked Bill.. "Loaded," I lied. The Cockney laid down on the roadway, stretched the rifle out in front, took steady aim, and pulled the trigger. A slight click was the only response. "That's a dirty trick," he growled, as we roared with laughter. "A bloomin' AHeymong wouldn't do' a thing like that." So saying he pulled the bolt back, jerked a cartridge from the magazine, shoved a round into the breach and fired. The fowl fluttered in agony for a moment, then fell in a heap on the Iroadwa}'. Bill handed the rifle back to me. "I'll cook that 'en to-night." he said, with, studied slowness. It'll make a fine feed. 'En well cooked can't be beaten, and I'm damned if you'll get one bone to pick!" "Billl" I protested.