Pushed and the Return PushNichols, George Herbert Fosdike
History
Pushed and the Return Push
Nichols, George Herbert Fosdike
World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, English
"I left the battery about half an hour ago because some one was
shouting outside in the dark," went on Stenson. "I found a major
sitting in a shell-hole; he had lost his way trying to get back to the
railway. I managed to put him right--now I can't find the battery."
Another voice came from the far side of the trench, and we peered at
the newcomer. It was one of the Brigade orderlies, who also had lost
his way trying to find an infantry battalion headquarters. I examined
him on his sense of direction, but all I got from him was that if he
could reach the road and see the fifth telegraph pole from the wood, he
would know that Brigade Headquarters lay on a line due north.
More shells dropped near, and I began to think of Minnie, our patient
mess-cart mare. We must get her and the cart out of the way as soon as
possible. Close by stood a big Nissen hut, sunk half-way below ground.
After consulting with Wilde, I told the servants to unload the cart and
carry the stuff into the hut. The cart having gone, we went inside;
and, lighting a candle, discovered the usual empty bottles and
scattered German illustrated periodicals that indicate a not too
hurried Boche evacuation. After a ten minutes' wait, during which the
Boche shelling increased in intensity, Stenson, the orderly, and myself
went forth with my torch, bent upon trying all the tracks within reach
until we found the right one. And though we twice followed ways that
disappointed us, and turned and searched with a bitter sense of
bafflement, our final path led in the direction to which I had first
pointed. We found ourselves close to the shell-stricken hut where I had
met Beale of A Battery earlier in the evening. "I know where we are
now," I shouted hilariously.
"Who's that?" called some one sharply. I turned my torch on to the
owner of the voice. It was Kelly of D Battery, yet another lost soul.
"I'm hanged if I know where I am," he explained angrily. "I can't find
the battery. I was going to lie down inside here until it got light,
... but I have no matches, and I put my hand on a clammy dead Boche."
"Get away with you!" I laughed. "That's a dead horse. I saw it this
afternoon."
Sure of my ground now, I walked comfortably towards the dug-out where
Major Mallaby-Kelby and the adjutant were waiting. It was 11.15 P.M.
now. Tired and hungry and without candles, they had fallen asleep.
"By Gad! you're back," ejaculated the major when I touched him....
"Have you brought my white wine?"
"It is coming, sir, before very long," I responded soothingly.
I stood outside, flashed my torch, and yelled for Wilde. An answering
shout was succeeded by Wilde himself. "Why, we were quite close all the
time," he said in surprise.
"Now you go back with the orderly and bring Meddings over with
something to eat," I went on, "every one's famished." Soon Meddings
arrived, striding across shell-holes and treacherous ground with a
heavy mess-box balanced on his head.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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