Surgeon In Arms — Ch 3 Overland; Ch 4 Kelly

CHAPTER III OVERLAND

The normal position of man on the earth is on its surface.

Generally speaking, when he is under the surface he is in his wine cellar, or he is dead.

But at the front all this is altered.

Both the enemy and ourselves have reverted to the cave age, for if we wish safety in the lines--comparative safety, that is--we pass our time in caves or cellars, dugouts or trenches.

Not that living underground would be taken as a matter of choice in the piping times of peace.

For the mud and dirt of the trenches and dugouts cannot, by any stretch of the imagination, be said to be comfortable or pleasant.

The fact that your only chance against a hidden enemy is also to hide makes your desires subservient to necessity.

In fact, both the enemy and ourselves are continually burrowing deeper and deeper in each other's direction.

At the end of the burrow or tunnel we place charges of dynamite to blow each other out into the open.

The fear that your enemy may succeed in doing it to you first, and that some fine day you may awaken to find yourself sailing about in the heavens with no support but the explosion which sent you there, makes many a man on a dark night hear imaginary tappings, causing him to report that he fears the enemy are mining underneath us.

More than once out of the pitch darkness has come into my dugout some lonely sentry to tell me that he has heard mysterious hammering underfoot, and only when we had located the real cause as something other than he thought, did his--and perhaps our--nervousness disappear.

On one occasion a non-commissioned officer came hurrying into the H. Q.

dugout of a certain Canadian battalion.

With hair standing on end he reported that an augur had actually come through the bottom of the trench in which he had been standing.

The colonel insisted on investigating this himself, and found that a mole had bored his way through the ground.

These fears may have an unconscious effect in making everyone wish to get out of the semi-darkness of the trenches into the bright sunlight which dispels clammy feelings and fears as if they were mists of the morning.

But the real reason for traveling overland is that at all ages and in every clime the forbidden or dangerous has its attractions.

Thus it is that out there both officers and men, contrary to orders and upon the flimsiest of pretexts, climb out of the trenches and in more or less plain view of enemy snipers or observation posts walk again like ordinary human beings on the face of the earth.

This practice is very common where the trenches are muddy, or knee or hip-deep in water.

It is the recognized custom after dark when working parties are carrying up ammunition or rations.

Not rarely some of the men of these parties are hit by bullets put across from fixed machine-guns.

It is a weird sight on a dark night to go overland and, in the dim light of the flares or star shells, to discern long rows of men trudging along with packs of supplies.

They loom up suddenly before you; or, perchance, a column of the ever-useful packmules pass, patiently carrying their burdens overland.

And often by day one comes across the body of a mule that was given rest from its weary toil by a German bullet, at which times one cannot but wonder if in a happier land the patient, plodding, much-abused packmule is given his just meed of appreciation and kindness.

When someone pays the price of his recklessness in going overland, the price is most often exacted by a bullet.

What insidious little things bullets are!

They sneak in and hit you without forewarning you in any way, and they may hit so hard that you do not know you are hit even then.

Most men out there have more respect for them than for shells, for often you have time to "duck" against the side of a trench and so partly dodge a heavy shell.

But you can't dodge a bullet.

It gives you a most uncanny feeling to be taking a short cut overland, and suddenly to hear a "ping-thud" just beside you, thus learning that some German is trying to pot you as you potted an innocent red deer on your last hunting trip.

Or you may be walking quietly through apparently safe trenches, maybe dreaming of your loved ones at home, when a bullet thuds into the trench wall a few feet from your head, insolently spattering mud into your face.

Then you know you are alive only by the grace of God and the poor aim of the German.

But, despite these risks, all take the chance of going overland to lessen a quarter-mile trip by one hundred yards, or to miss a particularly muddy bit of trench.

Any day you choose when you are five or six hundred yards from the front line you may see scattered parties of men crossing in the open.

The regimental aid post of the ---- Canadian Battalion in October, 1916, when they were doing their tour in the lines, could be reached in two ways--one by trench, a roundabout route of over a mile; the other one-half mile by trench and one-quarter overland.

The former route was never employed, except on regular relief days, officers and men passing daily the one-quarter mile overland, only about six hundred yards from the enemy front line.

The field ambulance stretcher bearers made the trip twice daily, and one day when I was crossing over with their sergeant I asked him why the German snipers did not hit us.

"Oh, 'Heiny' is too busy keeping himself out of sight to notice us," was the careless reply.

But at times those crossing this space heard a bullet whistling nearby, or ping-thudding into the ground close to their feet!

After a raid by our troops one early winter's morning when I had been attending the wounded for some time I came up to take a breath of air.

A trench led from this cellar of mine some two thousand yards to a village of reasonable safety, but the road cut off two or three hundred yards of that distance.

This road was in plain sight of the Germans, yet some of our wounded Tommies, walking cases, were leading a crowd of five or six wounded Huns by the road, the party altogether numbering ten or twelve.

As we watched them, suddenly, within a few yards of them, burst two shells.

All the men broke into a double and jumped into a trench beside the road while a few more shells fell about.

It is an ironical truth that the only members of the party hit were three of the Germans.

On a certain relief day when food was scarce a medical officer started for a Y.

M. C. A.

canteen in Neuville St. Vaast for some chocolate, taking a short cut overland, as he could save one hundred yards by this route.

Meeting a soldier he stopped to inquire as to direction, and this saved the life of the officer, for a shell struck the ground a few feet ahead on the spot where he would have been had he not stopped.

As he and the Tommy hugged a tree nearby two more shells struck the same spot, sprinkling them with earth.

They turned and ran in the direction from which the doctor had come, amidst the roars of laughter of some soldiers in a trench at the sight of the rather corpulent form of the medical officer on the double; so little is thought out there of narrow escapes!

And when the officer made the same trip in the dusk of evening he found that the canteen had run out of chocolate!

In what had once been a little village, but was now a mass of ruins, the trenches ran through the streets.

Our mess was situated in the cellar of a house to which we could get either in a roundabout way by trench, or by crossing a road overland.

No one ever dreamed of going any other route than the overland, despite the fact that the road was in plain view of the Germans who had fixed on it a machine-gun with which they now and then swept it from end to end.

I admit frankly that I never crossed that road without a sigh of relief when I reached the other side.

It was on a Christmas day.

I started out to make an inspection of my lines with my sanitary sergeant and a runner who knew the best routes.

Arriving at a support trench, and wishing to go to the firing line, the guide started over the parapet.

On being asked the purpose he said that it was a much shorter way, but, to my relief, the sergeant told him to go by trench, for often one would rather go through a dangerous zone than appear afraid of it in the presence of his men.

However, we made the examination of the lines.

After we had finished the firing line and were returning, we found ourselves crossing overland by the route over which he had attempted to take us to the front.

He had led us up a gradually ascending communication trench, and so unknown to us had reached this overland trail.

Nothing happened, nothing was said about it, but I certainly felt relieved when I was once again in a trench without having a German bullet sneaking between my ribs.

How little Tommy cares about risking his life if it lessens his task!

In passing, it may be mentioned that on this Christmas day none of that fraternizing took place which had taken place the previous Christmas.

In fact, early on the Christmas morning the battalion on our left, after a severe bombardment, put on a raid, and Christmas night the enemy retaliated with heavy stuff of all kinds.

Probably this is as it should be, for while it may look well in print to read of our troops and the Germans exchanging cigarettes and eatables in No Man's Land, it is detrimental to discipline, and injurious to the best fighting spirit.

It would be much more repugnant to the Anglo-Saxon at any rate to kill men with whom he had just passed a pleasant social half hour.

This may appear heartless, but war is a heartless game, and fraternizing may very well be left until after the peace articles are signed.

CHAPTER IV KELLY

Kelly is my batman or personal servant.

His name tells his nationality.

His philosophy, especially as regards the war, is usually interesting and always instructive.

Yesterday he accompanied me to headquarters out in front of the railway line at Vimy.

We had to cross a few hundred yards in the open, where the Huns had an annoying habit of dropping shells at irregular moments.

Suddenly we heard the horrible shriek of an approaching whizz-bang.

It passed over our heads and banged into the earth twenty feet or so beyond us.

Knowing that others would probably follow it, and that they might have twenty feet less of a range, we jumped into a four-foot-deep shell hole which happily was beside us.

We hugged affectionately the German side of the hole to take advantage of whatever protection it afforded.

One after another, in rapid succession, three more of these shells shrieked toward us.

Fortunately our unuttered prayer that they would not come to see us in our hole was answered, for they followed the first and struck twenty or twenty-five feet past us, just close enough to sprinkle us well with mud.

While we waited a few more minutes to see if any more were coming, I turned over and faced Kelly.

"Don't you think, Kelly," I asked seriously, "that lying in a shellhole like this is rather an undignified position for two proud Anglo-Saxons?"

"No doubt it is, sor, but it's a good dale safer than stayin' where we wor.

An' if there's one sound, Cap'n, that I've larned to rispict more than another in this war, it's the shriek of an oncomin' shell, whin it sames to be comin' in yer direction.

Now, duds (shells that fail to explode) is different.

D'ye remember, sor, the day we come in to relave the 28th Battalion here, as the colonel, the adjutant, and yersilf were comin' over the crest of the ridge, an' I bringin' up the rear with that luggage of yours?"

He looked at me reproachfully, for, though looking after my luggage was part of his duties, he never pretended to like it.

"A dud landed just besoide us.

The sound of a dud thuddin' into the earth nearboy one is swater to me than ever was the gurglin' of a brook on a June day down the banks of the Lakes of Killarney."

Kelly's advice is often worth taking, for he has been out there well into his second year, and, while he has not yet been wounded, no one ever accused him of lack of courage.

He occasionally does things with a slight, almost imperceptible, grimace of pained surprise.

But he always does them--when ordered.

In my early days I was prone at times to take a peep over the front line parapet at the always interesting No Man's Land.

"Oi wouldn't do too much of that if Oi was you, docthor," he said respectfully, though at the time I thought there was also a trace of pity in his brogue, "fer out here it's not considered healthy.

Me poor ould father, Lord have mercy on him, always tould me to curb me curiosity.

An' a padre who had been here a long toime tould me whin first Oi come that his one bit of advoice to me was, don't be curious."

I always encouraged him to carry on with his philosophizing, except when the dull look in his eye and his exaggerated stand-at-attention told me that he had somehow obtained my rum ration as well as his own.

"Oi notice, sor, that thim that are here longest peep the laist; that's why they are here longest."

"Do you dodge when you hear a shell coming, Kelly?"

"It's always woise to duck, sor, fer with very big shells, which come slower, ye may be quick enough to get aginst the soide of the trinch and have the pieces miss ye; an', whin it's a whizz-bang er bullet, if ye're able to duck ye know ye're not hit!"

Just at dusk of a warm spring evening as we crossed an open field, we had the misfortune to find ourselves bracketed by German gas shells.

That is, some of the shells were falling just short of us, and others were passing a little over us.

We recognized that they were gas shells by the whirring noise they make going through the air and by the soft thudding sound of their explosion.

But, had we had any doubt, that sweetish, though well hated, pineapple odor of the gas was reaching our nostrils.

The previous evening we had had for some hours a heavy gas shelling about our aid post, during much of which we were either strangling from the gas fumes, which made some of the men dreadfully ill, or we were smothering to death with our gas masks on, doing dressings for wounded men.

So, taking all this into consideration, we had no desire for a repetition of the dose.

The shells were thudding into the earth about seventy or eighty yards on either side of us, and our dangers were two: a straight hit by one of the shells, the result of which would be mutilation or death; or the bursting of one at our feet, as the inhalation by us of such concentrated fumes might mean a little wooden cross above us.

Behind the lines the gas masks or respirators are worn flung over the shoulder.

In the lines the rule is to wear them in the "alert" position, that is, on the front of the chest with the flap open, ready for instant use.

We had them in this position and were carrying the apparatus in our hands, so as to be able to insert the tube into the mouth rapidly if need be.

Had we adjusted them at once we should have found it difficult to avoid falling into the numerous shellholes, for seeing through the goggles on a dusky evening is most unsatisfactory.

My companion's practiced eye noted that the shells, while bracketing us, were falling much more thickly on our right than on our left.

After he had drawn my attention to this we turned quickly to the left, and we had the good fortune soon to be well away from the explosions--it need hardly be remarked, to our intense relief.

"That was a happy observation of yours, Kelly," I remarked when we were out of danger, and were literally breathing easily again.

"Dunno but what it was, sor.

Course a man shouldn't need a wall to fall on him to know that somethin's comin' his way."

I could almost see his sly squint in my direction.

He dearly loved to display his hard-earned knowledge, and, as he was too valuable a man to get angry with except for good reason, his remarks were generally accepted good naturedly.

Kelly is a strict disciplinarian, at least so far as others are concerned.

While he takes liberties in passing his own opinions to me, he resents any other private doing likewise.

In his presence one day at a sick parade a soldier who had been marked by me, M & D--medicine and duty, that is, given medicine but fit for duty--muttered something to the effect that one never gets a fair deal from a military doctor anyway.

Before I could reprimand him Kelly hustled him out of the room, saying angrily: "Begobs, ye may have been exposed to discipline, but it niver took."

In his insistence on everyone else's carrying out all the laws of military discipline, while breaking most of them himself, he is the equal of almost any officer.

On a delightful spring day after the Battle of Arras, our battalion was holding the front line out beyond Thelus.

My aid post was on a sunken road near Willerval, one of the many sunken roads which are talked about by anyone who has ever been at the front.

The wounded had to be brought to us by stretcher bearers at night, as the whole front here was a huge salient with the Huns pumping lead forget-me-nots from three sides by day on the least exposure of our men.

So our work was all night work, and I lay lazily on a stretcher in an abandoned German gunpit, taking a sun bath.

There originally had been a roof over this gunpit.

It was made up of one-inch boards laid carelessly across steel supports, and in the remains of this roof two little swallows were gaily chirping, love-making, and nest-building for their family-to-be, ignoring entirely man's inhumanity to man.

Kelly was sitting on his haunches, his gray head held on one side, thoughtfully watching these happy little birds.

"Well, Kelly," I demanded, "of what are you dreaming?"

"I was jest thinkin', docthor," he answered, without turning his head, "what a puny sinse of humor man has in comparison with thim swallows yonder."

"Have swallows a sense of humor, Kelly?"

"Have they a sinse of humor?

Whoy, they're laughin' at ye this very minute"; I turned my head a trifle sharply in his direction; "an' at me, an' the rist of humanity.

Listen to thim laugh.

An' whoy shouldn't they laugh, whin they think what a gay world they live in, with room fer all of thim an' all of us; an' yet whoile they live, an' love, an' have their young, an' doie in peace, we min, wid the brains of gods, so we say, spind our toime invintin' new manes of killin' aich other?

An' fer whoy?

For a few acres of bog land, fer the privilege of christianizin' an' chatin' the haithin by givin' him some glass beads in exchange fer his iv'ry, an' his indy rubber, an' his spoices.

Take a look yander at that skoylark.

Wouldn't he do yer heart good?"

And he pointed to where one of those joy-giving birds was soaring "higher still and higher," and lavishly pouring out upon an ungrateful world his flood of harmony divine.

"What about liberty as opposed to this cursed German militarism?"

"Oh, yis, Oi'll admit there's a bit o' truth in that, but at bottom it's mostly commerce that causes war.

Yis, Oi shouldn't loike to have the Prushin military heel on moy neck.

God knows the Englishman in his toime has left a heel mark or two on the Oirishman's neck, but at that Oi'd rather have him, especially of late years, than that cursed Hun, fer he wears nails in his boots.

An' Oi've hated the Englishman all me loife----" "What the devil did you come out here for anyway, Kelly?"

"Ye're the first person that's ever hinted t'me that there's anythin' proivate about this f oight.

Ain't the Russhin, an' the Prushin, an' the Frinch, an' the Eyetalian, an' aven the Turk in this foight?

Is there any just raisin whoy an Oirishman shouldn't butt in, too?"

he asked in an injured tone.

"But ye've intherrupted me strain of thought."

"Beg pardon."

"Don't mintion it.

Oi was goin' to say that, though Oi've hated the Englishman all me loife, Oi'd be afeard to live in his counthry, fer Oi'd get to love him.

He's got such a dape sinse of humor.

Whoy he praises ye Canadians till he actially makes ye belaive ye're winnin' the war, wid yer two or three hundred thousand min, whoile he's got a couple of million in the field."

"Who took Vimy Ridge, Kelly?"

"We did, sor, we Canadians, wid fifty to sixty percint of British born loike mesilf.

An' a damn foine bit o' fightin' it was, too.

Sure, truly, sor, Oi wouldn't belittle it fer anythin'.

But Vimy Ridge is on'y a couple o' miles long, an' British troops are defindin' somethin' loike a hundred and fifty moiles, an' most o' that is held boy English troops, wid a scatthering of the hated Oirish and Scotch.

Look at the casialty lists over a period an' ye'll foind who it is that's doyin' fer liberty.

It's mostly the English and the Frinch as fer as Oi kin see.

The Canadians have done nobly, sor, no one could denoy it, but they mustn't think they're winnin' the war all boy thimselves.

"The las' toime Oi was in Lon'on, the funniest comedy Oi seen was a couple of young Canadian officers on a bus tellin' an edicated Englishman how the Empire should be run.

An' the Englishman listened without aven crackin' a smoile, whoile they criticoized Lon'on fer not havin' a straight street, an' fer havin' old-fashioned busses; an' Lide George fer his lack of firmness wid Oireland; an' so on, an' so on.

An' the Englishman listened as if they were the woise min o' the aist, bowin' his assint to all their talk; an' at last he said, wid a long face: "'There's no doubt you young gintlemen are roight.

If we had a few more min loike the Hon, Mr. Hughes of Australia an' Sir Sam Hughes of Canada, we'd be in better shape now.

Oi'm very happy to have met yez'.

"An' he shook their hands an' left, whoile they swallied what he said, bait, hook, loine, an' all.

So Oi slips up to thim, an' salutin', Oi says: "'Beggin' yer pardon, sors,' says Oi, 'but Oi happin to know who that man was.

It was Lord Rothchoild, the great international banker.'

It may have bin the Imperor of Choina, fer all Oi know.

But they swallied that, too, an' ignorin' me, one says, 'An' he shook hands wid us!'

an' on their faces was a bland smoile of choild-loike satisfaction.

"Oh, ye Canadians are great snobs, so ye are.

Whoy Oi've heard yersilf laud to the skoies the noble part taken in the war be the blue-bloods of England.

Sure ye're just as big a snob as any of the others.

Er--Oi--Oi beg per pardon, sor, Oi'm sorry fer sayin' it."

"How about _thinking_ it?"

"The on'y thing Oi kin call me own since Oi jined the army are me thoughts.

But Oi wouldn't think it aginst yer wishes fer the world, sor," and he smiled slyly.

"Oi agree that the blue-bloods have fought well, but no better than the rist of us.

An' they have somethin' to foight fer, whoile Oi'd like to ask ye what has a poor divil loike me to foight fer?

Who'd support moy childer if Oi was kilt?"

"Your children!

I didn't know you were married."

"Who said Oi was married?"

"Oh!"

"All classes out here foight well.

Oi agree wid that writer who said that all min are aloike except fer their close.

Now, except fer our close, Oi don't suppose anyone would be able to tell which was the cap'n, an' which his servant";

with another sly grin.

"Probably not, except for the whiskey you drink."

"Oi may drink a slightly greater amount than ye, sor, but Oi notice we drink the same brand."

"Yes, I've noticed that, too, Kelly.

That's why there's never any to offer any of my friends when they call."

"Oi assure ye, docthor, there's none of it wasted."

"Probably not, from your standpoint.

Now, Kelly, I'd like some tea.

And see if you can put a little less candle, currants, and sand in it than you did this morning."

"If ye'd lave the last half inch in the bottom of yer cup, sor, ye'd never know there was any thin' but tea in it"; and he left to prepare as good a cup of tea as one could desire, except for these extras which a paternal quartermaster always inserts into the various articles of diet.

Of course, the fact that the tea and sugar come in sandbags, and the candles are put into the sugar to prevent breaking them, adds to this complication.

Kelly is a good cook, and no mean philosopher.

He continually emphasizes the importance of what he calls, "a sinse of humor."

One night when he had taken too much of what he called at various times, "the crather," "humor producer," "potheen," or "honey dew," I heard him say to a companion: "As me frind, Lord Norfolk, says, there remain these three, faith, hope, and charity, and the greatest of these is a sinse of humor."

A day came when Kelly, going for water with two old gasoline cans slung over his shoulder, was struck by a shell.

He was some seven hundred yards from my aid post at the time.

Fortunately some stretcher bearers nearby went to his aid.

Though the shortest way out was rearward, and well he knew it, he insisted on being carried back "to explain his absince to the docthor."

I saw them bringing him in, and ran to him for, in spite of any faults, his never-failing loyalty and his good-humored and faithful service had endeared him to me.

He had been covered by a coat of a stretcher bearer, so I could not see at once what his injuries were.

"Where have you been hit, Kelly?"

I demanded anxiously, for his face was pale.

"Do ye mane, sor, anatomically, or jayographically?"

and a wan smile lit up the pallid face, as his quick-witted humor got the better of his suffering.

But I had taken the coat away, and I saw that the wound was fatal.

Keeping my head low so that he could not see the expression on my face, or the tears in my eyes, I gently dressed the wound.

He bore the handling without flinching.

As I finished he said bravely: "Well, docthor, they've done fer me this toime.

Oh, ye naydent throy to hoide it from me; Oi know; an' Oi'd not care to have on'y half of me hoppin' about, anyway."

"Oh, we'll pull you through, Kelly, old man.

You promised to be my chauffeur after the war; but I know you never did like working for me and now you're trying to dodge," and I tried to smile, but he saw the tears running down my cheeks.

"None o' yer jokes, now, docthor.

Oi know it's all over wid me.

And, raly, it don't matther, fer there's no one that cares," and, as I looked at him reproachfully, "except you, sor.

An' God knows whoy ye do, fer I've been but an impident servant to ye.

But, docthor," looking at me imploringly, "ye forgive me now, don't ye, fer it was on'y taisin' Oi was?"

"Dear old Kelly," I said, as I pressed his cold hand, "what have I to forgive?

You're the best friend I have in all France."

A lump in my throat prevented me from saying more.

His hand returned the pressure, but there was no strength in it.

Then to cheer me up, he said: "Ye know, cap'n, Oi always did respict the cross, in the abshtract, of course, since Oi knelt at the knees of me poor ould mother, rest her soul; but Oi niver had any great desire to look up at one of thim little wooden crosses through six fate of earth," and the paling face lit up with its whimsical smile.

"What's worryin' me though, is who'll look after yersilf.

Ye're such a crank about how yer bacon's cooked, an' the sand in the tay, an'----" but just at that moment the padre came in from a neighboring battalion headquarters.

He had made me promise that if ever anything should happen to the wayward Kelly who should have been, but wasn't, a regular attendant at his church parades, I should send at once for him.

I had done so as soon as I saw that poor Kelly was hard hit.

I laid Kelly's hand gently down and slipped away.

I was called hurriedly back a few minutes later by the padre.

"He wants you, doctor," he said briefly.

Kelly's eyes met mine.

His were getting dim.

As I took his hand, his fingers feebly gripped mine.

I bent my head to catch the whispered words that issued from his lips: "Good-by, docthor; Oi'm lavin' fer the great beyant.

There's no use grumblin' an' Oi don't, fer Oi've had a full loife--me frinds often said too full, but sure they didn't know," with the faint smile.

"But since that day whin ye showed me the picture ye carry over yer heart of yer three foine little byes--God bliss thim--Oi've wanted, whin the war was over, to go back wid ye and see thim.

Will ye do me a favor, docthor, boy?"

His voice was growing feeble.

The tears were flowing unheeded down my cheeks.

I

could not speak, so I squeezed his hand in assent.

"Will ye talk to thim sometimes of Kelly?

An' tell thim that wid all me faults Oi loved their daddy an' troied to sarve him well;

an' that if Oi was sure me death would cause ye to be taken safely back to thim, Oi'd doie happy an' contint.

God bless ye an' thim an'----" His voice died away, his dim eyes closed, and his soul passed into "that undiscovered bourne from which no traveler returns."

That night the padre and I buried him in a shellhole, erecting over his grave a little wooden cross on which we wrote: PRIVATE JAMES KELLY

NUMBER A59000,

--st CANADIAN BATTALION.

A LOYAL, GENEROUS, FAITHFUL,

SOLDIER AND FRIEND

CHAPTER V