No More Parades - Ford Madox Ford (the gingerbread man read aloud .TXT) 📗

no sleep the night before because of his, Cowley’s, infirmity, mostly, so he couldn’t do less than give up a day and a half of his leave to taking the draft. Besides, he was going home for the duration and he would not mind getting a look at the old places they’d seen in ’fourteen, for the last time as a Cook’s tourist⁠ ⁠…

Tietjens, who was looking noticeably white, said:

“Do you remember O Nine Morgan at Noircourt?”

Cowley said:

“No⁠ ⁠… Was ’e there? In your company, I suppose?⁠ ⁠… The man you mean that was killed yesterday. Died in your arms owing to my oversight. I ought to have been there.” He said to Sylvia with the gloating idea N.C.O.s had that wives liked to hear of their husband’s near escapes: “Killed within a foot of the captain, ’e was. An ’orrible shock it must ’ave been for the captain.” A horrible mess⁠ ⁠… The captain held him in his arms while he died⁠ ⁠… As if he’d been a baby. Wonderful tender, the captain was! Well, you’re apt to be when it’s one of your own men⁠ ⁠… No rank then! “Do you know the only time the King must salute a private soldier and the private takes no notice?⁠ ⁠… When ’e’s dead⁠ ⁠…”

Both Sylvia and Tietjens were silent⁠—and silvery white in the greenish light from the lamp. Tietjens indeed had shut his eyes. The old N.C.O. went on rejoicing to have the floor to himself. He had got on his feet preparatory to going up to camp, and he swayed a little⁠ ⁠…

“No,” he said and he waved his cigar gloriously. “I don’t remember O Nine Morgan at Noircourt⁠ ⁠… But I remember⁠ ⁠…”

Tietjens, with his eyes still shut, said:

“I only thought he might have been a man⁠ ⁠…”

“No,” the old fellow went on imperiously, “I don’t remember ’im⁠ ⁠… But, Lord, I remember what happened to you!” He looked down gloriously upon Sylvia: “The captain caught ’is foot in⁠ ⁠… You’d never believe what ’e caught ’is foot in! Never!⁠ ⁠… A pretty quiet affair it was, with a bit of moonlight⁠ ⁠… Nothing much in the way of artillery⁠ ⁠… Perhaps we surprised the ’Uns proper, perhaps they were wanting to give up their front-line trenches for a purpose⁠ ⁠… There was next to no one in ’em⁠ ⁠… I know it made me nervous⁠ ⁠… My heart was fair in my boots, because there was so little doing!⁠ ⁠… It was when there was little doing that the ’Uns could be expected to do their worst⁠ ⁠… Of course there was some machine-gunning⁠ ⁠… There was one in particular away to the right of us⁠ ⁠… And the moon, it was shining in the early morning. Wonderful peaceful. And a little mist⁠ ⁠… And frozen hard⁠ ⁠… Hard as you wouldn’t believe⁠ ⁠… Enough to make the shells dangerous.”

Sylvia said:

“It’s not always mud, then?” and Tietjens, to her: “He’ll stop if you don’t like it.” She said monotonously: “No⁠ ⁠… I want to hear.”

Cowley drew himself up for his considerable effect:

“Mud!” he said. “Not then⁠ ⁠… Not by half⁠ ⁠… I tell you, ma’am, we trod on the frozen faces of dead Germans as we doubled⁠ ⁠… A terrible lot of Germans we’d killed a day or so before⁠ ⁠… That was no doubt the reason they give up the trenches so easy: difficult to attack from, they was⁠ ⁠… Anyhow, they left the dead for us to bury, knowing probably they were going, with a better ’eart!⁠ ⁠… But it fair put the wind up me anyhow to think of what their counterattack was going to be⁠ ⁠… The counterattack is always ten times as bad as the preliminary resistance. They ’as you with the rear of their trenches⁠—the ‘parados,’ we call it⁠—as your front to boot. So I was precious glad when the moppers-up and supports come and went through us⁠ ⁠… Laughing, they was⁠ ⁠… Wiltshires⁠ ⁠… My missus comes from that country⁠ ⁠… Mrs. Cowley, I mean⁠ ⁠… So I’d seen the captain go down earlier on and I’d said: ‘There’s another of the best stopped one⁠ ⁠…’ ” He dropped his voice a little: he was one of the noted yarners of the regiment: “Caught ’is foot, ’e ’ad, between two ’ands⁠ ⁠… Sticking up out of the frozen ground⁠ ⁠… As it might be in prayer⁠ ⁠… Like this!” He elevated his two hands, the cigar between the fingers, the wrists close together and the fingers slightly curled inwards: “Sticking up in the moonlight⁠ ⁠… Poor devil!”

Tietjens said:

“I thought perhaps it was O Nine Morgan I saw that night⁠ ⁠… Naturally I looked dead⁠ ⁠… I hadn’t a breath in my body⁠ ⁠… And I saw a Tommy put his rifle to his pal’s upper arm and fire⁠ ⁠… As I lay on the ground⁠ ⁠…”

Cowley said:

“Ah, you saw that⁠ ⁠… I heard the men talking of it⁠ ⁠… But they naturally did not say who and where!”

Tietjens said with a negligence that did not ring true:

“The wounded man’s name was Stilicho⁠ ⁠… A queer name⁠ ⁠… I suppose it’s Cornish⁠ ⁠… It was B Company in front of us.”

“You didn’t bring ’em to a court martial?” Cowley asked. Tietjens said: No. He could not be quite certain. Though he was certain. But he had been worrying about a private matter. He had been worrying about it while he lay on the ground and that rather obscured his sense of what he saw. Besides, he said faintly, an officer must use his judgement. He had judged it better in this case not to have seen the⁠ ⁠… His voice had nearly faded away: it was clear to Sylvia that he was coming to a climax of some mental torture. Suddenly he exclaimed to Cowley:

“Supposing I let him off one life to get him killed two years after. My God! That would be too beastly!”

Cowley snuffled in Tietjens’ ear something that Sylvia did not catch⁠—consolatory and affectionate. That intimacy was more than she could bear. She adopted her most negligent tone to ask:

“I suppose the one man had been trifling with the other’s girl. Or wife!”

Cowley exploded: “God bless you, no! They’d agreed upon it between them. To get one of them sent ’ome and the