As I watched the captain's retreating form, I shook my head.

'I can't help it. Have you noticed his eyes? There now, put your diary in your pocket, and don't forget what you've promised.'

'One thing is certain,' I said to myself, as I was driven along to the station that afternoon, 'my suspicions about George St. Mabyn are groundless. What a fool a man is when he lets his imagination run away with him! Here was I, building up all sorts of mad theories, and then I meet a man who knows nothing about my thoughts, but who destroys my theories in half a dozen sentences. Whoever Paul Edgec.u.mbe is, it is certain he is not Maurice St. Mabyn.'

Several months pa.s.sed, and still I heard nothing of Paul Edgec.u.mbe. I made all sorts of inquiries, and did my best to find him, all without success, until I came to the conclusion that the man had not joined the Army at all. Then, suddenly, I ceased thinking about him. My recruiting work came to an end, and I was pitchforked into the active work of the Army. As I have said, I knew practically nothing about soldiering, and the little I had learnt was wellnigh useless, because, being merely an officer in the old Volunteers, my knowledge was largely out of date. Still, there it was. New schemes for obtaining soldiers were on foot, and as a commission had been given to me, and there being no need for me at the University, I became a soldier, not only in name, but in actuality. I suppose I was not altogether a failure as a battalion officer; indeed, I was told I picked up my duties with remarkable ease. Anyhow, I worked very hard. And then, before I had time to realize what had happened to me, I was ordered to the front.

Some one has described life at the front as two weeks of monotony and one week of h.e.l.l. I do not say it is quite like that, although it certainly gives a hint of the truth. When one is in the trenches, it is often a very ghastly business, so ghastly that I will not attempt to describe it. On the other hand, life behind the lines is dreadfully monotonous, especially in the winter months, when the whole of our battle-line is a sea of mud and the quintessence of discomfort. Still, I did not fare badly. I was engaged in two small skirmishes, from which my battalion came out well, and although, during the winter of 1915-1916, things could not be described as lively, a great deal of useful work was done.

Then something took place which bade fair to put an end to my activities for the duration of the war, and which calamity was averted in what I cannot help describing now as a miraculous way. I need not go into the matter at length; it was a little affair as far as I was concerned, but was intended as a preliminary to something far more serious, but of which I had no knowledge. It was on a dark night, I remember, and my work was to raid a bit of the Boches' trenches, and do all the damage possible. Preparations had been carefully made, and as far as we could gather, everything promised success. I had twenty men under my command, and early in the morning, about an hour before daylight, we set out to do it. Everything seemed favourable to our enterprise. The German searchlights were not at work, and the bit of No Man's Land which we had to cross did not seem to be under enemy observation.

I was given to understand that my little stunt was only one of several others which was to take place, and so, although naturally our nerves were a bit strung up when we crawled over the parapets, we did not antic.i.p.ate a difficult job.

As a matter of fact, however, the Boches had evidently been warned of our intentions, and had made their plans accordingly. We were allowed to cross the No Man's Land, which at this spot was about three hundred yards wide, and were nearing the place from which we could commence operations, when, without warning, a number of the enemy attacked us.

The odds were against us at the very start; they had double our numbers, and were able to take advantage of a situation strongly in their favour.

Evidently some one on our side had either conveyed information to them, or their Intelligence Department was better served than we imagined.

Anyhow, there it was. Instead of entering their trenches, and taking a number of prisoners, we had the worst of it. Still, we made a good fight, and I imagine their losses were greater than ours, in spite of their superiority of numbers. Most of our fellows managed to get away, but I was not so fortunate. Just at the first streak of dawn, I found myself a prisoner; while four of the men whom I had brought suffered a similar fate.

It was no use my trying to do anything, they out-numbered us several times over, and I was led away to what I suppose they regarded as a place of safety, until reports could be made concerning us.

I knew German fairly well, although I spoke it badly, and I tried to get some information as to the plans concerning me; but I could get no definite reply. It was bitterly cold, and in spite of all the Boches had done to make their condition comfortable, it was no picnic. Mud and slush abounded, and I heard the German soldiers complain one to another that it was ten hours since they had tasted any food.

Then, suddenly, there was a tremendous boom, followed by a terrific explosion, and although I was not wounded, I was wellnigh stunned. A British sh.e.l.l had fallen close to where we were, and, as far as I could judge, several Boches had been accounted for. A few seconds later, there was a regular tornado.

As I have said our work that night was intended to be preparatory to a big bombardment, and I had the misfortune to learn from the German trenches what a British bombardment meant.

'_Gott in Himmel!_' said one of my captors, 'let's get away from this.'

Whereupon I was hurried on to what I supposed to be a safer place. A few minutes later, I was descending what seemed to me a concrete stairway, until I came to what struck me as a great cave, capable of holding two or three hundred men.

As I entered, a German officer looked up from some papers he had been examining, and saw us.

'What have you here?' he asked.

'English prisoners, sir.'

'Prisoners! what use have we for prisoners? Better put a bullet into their brains. They will mean only so many more mouths to feed.'

'One is an officer, sir,' and the soldier nodded toward me.

'Ah well, he may be useful. But I have no time to deal with him now.

_Himmel!_ what's that?'

It was the noise of a tremendous explosion, and the whole place shook as though there were an earthquake.

The captain gave some rapid instructions which I did not hear, and then hurried away.

CHAPTER V

HOW A MAN WORKED A MIRACLE

Since then, I have been under some terrific bombardments, but up to that time I had never experienced anything so terrible. Evidently our big guns were turned on, and they had located the German trenches to a nicety. Moreover, I judged that something serious was on hand, for it continued hour after hour. Before long all lights went out, and I knew by the hoa.r.s.e cries which the Germans were making that they were in a state of panic.

The bombardment had lasted perhaps an hour, when part of the roof of the cave fell in with a tremendous crash, and I imagined that several men were buried.

'We'll get out of this,' said the lieutenant who had been left in charge; 'there's a safer place further down.'

'Yes, sir,' replied the soldier, evidently glad of the order, 'but what about the prisoners?'

The young officer seemed in doubt about us, and then grumbled something about his captain's orders.

'Our numbers are up, sergeant,' I said, for Sergeant Smith and I were the only two who were left alive. 'Either we shall be killed by our own guns, or else we shall suffer worse than death at the hands of these fellows.'

'Never say die, sir,' replied Sergeant Smith, who was noted for his optimistic temperament; 'anyhow, these chaps are all in a blue funk.'

'There can be no doubt about that,' was my reply. 'If we live through it, and if this bombardment is but the preliminary to an attack, there's a sporting chance that we may get away.'

'About a hundred to one, sir.'

After this, I have no clear recollection as to what took place. I remember that we moved along a tunnel until we came to another dug-out,--after that everything became a blank to me. Either I had been stunned by my captors, or I had been hurt by falling _debris_.

When I came to my senses again, the guns were still booming, although they seemed at a greater distance, and I judged that our captors regarded us as in a safer place. Then, suddenly, I heard a voice which set my nerves tingling. It was an English voice, too, although he spoke in German.

'You chaps are in an awful hole,' I heard some one say, in quiet matter-of-fact tones, as though the situation were of a most ordinary nature. 'Do you know what I think of you? You are a lot of idiots.'

'We're better off than you, anyhow,' and this time it was a German who spoke. 'If we come alive out of this, we shall be all right; but you are our prisoners.'

'Prisoners if you like, my dear fellow, but what's the good of that to you?'

'Every English prisoner taken is one step nearer to German victory,'

replied the soldier sententiously.

'Nonsense! There'll never be a German victory, and you know it.

You've never been behind the British lines, have you? Why, man, there are mountains of guns and ammunition--every day is adding to the stock, and soon, mark you, very soon, all these places of yours will become so many death-traps.'

The German laughed incredulously.

'Do you know what'll happen soon?' went on the English voice, 'there will be bombing parties along here; you may be safe for the moment, but you can't get out,--not one of you dare try. If you did, it would be all up with you.'

'What are you getting at?' snarled the German. 'You are our prisoner, anyhow, and if we are killed, so will you be!'

'Just so. But then I don't want to get killed, neither do you.'