"But, Sergeant Matthews," thundered the major, "your orders were to go to the very end of the trench. You know this battalion never goes out leaving its wounded behind."

"We had a full load, sir," said the sergeant, leaning against the wall.

"Well, you will have to go back," said the major, "and complete the job.

Can you carry on?"

"Yes, sir, I think so, sir."

As he spoke Sergeant Matthews swayed along the wall and collapsed onto a bench.

"Give him a shot of rum," said the major curtly to a runner.

"Let me go, major. I'll take the party," said Barry eagerly. "The sergeant is all in. I've had an hour's sleep and a feed and I feel quite fit."

"Oh, nonsense, the sergeant will be all right soon," said the major impatiently.

"But, major, I should like to go. The sergeant is played out and I am perfectly fit. We can't take the risk of leaving wounded men up there in that trench. Besides, there's little danger now. The strong point is blown up, so the general told me before I left."

"No, Barry, I won't allow it. I won't take the chance," said the major.

"My God, man! there are only five officers left. I have lost every friend I have got in the battalion, except Neil here and you. I'm damned if I'm going to let you go out over No Man's Land."

"Steady, now, major," said Barry. "I'm going to take a walk to the end of that trench, just in case one of the boys should be there. Don't say no. It must be done and done carefully."

"All right, Barry," said the major, suddenly yielding. "Better take the sergeant with you. He knows the way, and I guess he's all right now."

The major and Captain Neil followed the party up the stairs and out into the trench. It was a beautiful starry night, and all was quiet now along the front.

"I don't like it," said the major, as he and Captain Neil stood together watching the party away. "I feel queer about it, Neil. I tell you I wish I hadn't let him go, but he is so darned stubborn about what he thinks is his duty."

"By Jove! Major, he always bucks me up somehow," said Captain Neil.

"Bucks us all up," said the major, and he turned to take up again the heavy burden of responsibility so suddenly and so terribly laid upon him. The relief had been completed, and the last N. C. O. had just reported "all clear." The Headquarters Company, now reduced to a poor half dozen, were standing ready to move, when the telephone rang.

"Yes, doctor," said the major, answering it. "Oh, my God! My God! Not that, doctor! Oh, God help us all! I'll be right down. It's the Pilot, Neil," he said, turning to his friend. "Just take charge, will you please. I must run."

Breathless he arrived at the R. A. P.

"Any chance, doctor?" he asked of the M. O. who was standing awaiting him at the door.

"Not the very least, major, and he only has a few minutes. He wants you."

"Now, may God help me," said the major standing quite still a moment or two. "How did he get it?" he asked of a stretcher bearer. "Do you know?"

"Yes, sir, we had just picked up the last man. Sergeant Matthews got a wound in the leg, and we had to carry him. Just as we started, they got to shelling pretty bad and we dropped into a hole. I looked over my shoulder and there was the Pilot, the chaplain, sir, I mean, with his body spread over Sergeant Matthews, to keep off the shrapnel. It was there he got it."

"Damn Sergeant Matthews," exclaimed the major, and passed on.

Barry was lying on a stretcher, very white and very still, but the smile with which he welcomed the major was very bright.

"Awfully sorry--for you,--old chap," he whispered. "Couldn't really--help--it--you know--we--got--them all--I'm--awfully--glad--to see you--just a minute--before--before--"

The major, by this time, was weeping quietly.

"You have--been--a good friend--to me--major--. We--have had--a good--time--together--. Say--goodbye--to--the boys--for--me--and----to to--Neil."

"Oh, Barry, boy," said the major, brokenly. "It's hard to have you go.

You have helped us all."

Barry fumbled with weak fingers at his breast. The major opened his tunic thinking that he needed air.

"My--my--let-ter--" he whispered.

The major took the letter from his breast pocket, and put it in his hand. Barry held it a moment, then carried it to his lips.

"Now--that's--all--major," he whispered.

"Tell--her--I--thank--God--for--her--and--for--the--other.

Major--tell--the boys--that--God--is good--. Never--to be--afraid--but to--carry on--"

It was his last word, and there could be no better. "God is good. Never be afraid but carry on."

CHAPTER XX

"CARRY ON"

The next day but one they carried the Pilot to his grave in the little plot outside the walled cemetery on the outskirts of the city of Albert.

It had been arranged that only a small guard should follow to the grave.

But this plan was changed. Sergeant Mackay, who was the only sergeant left after consulting "the boys," came to Major Bayne.

"The boys feel bad, sir," he said, "that they can't go with the Pilot, excuse me, sir, the chaplain."

"Do they?" said the major. "We want to avoid congestion in the streets, and besides we don't want to expose the men. They are still shelling the city, you know."

"I know, sir," replied the sergeant. "The boys have heard the shells before, sir. And there's not so many of them that they will crowd the streets much."

"Let them go, sergeant," said the major, and Sergeant Mackay went back with the word to the men. "And I want you to look like soldiers," said the sergeant, "for remember we are following a soldier to his grave."

And look like soldiers they did with every button and bayonet shining, as they had never shone for battalion inspection.

They had passed through an experience which had left them dazed; they had marched deliberately into the mouth of hell and had come back stunned by what they had seen and heard, incapable of emotion. So they thought, till they learned that the Pilot had been killed. Then they knew that grief was still possible to them. With their grief mingled a kind of inexplicable wrath at the manner of his death.

"If it had been the O. C. now, or any one else but Fatty Matthews," said Sergeant Mackay in disgust, expressing the general opinion. "It is an awful waste."

Under the figure of the Virgin and Child, leaning out in pity and appeal over the shattered city, through marching battalions "going in" and "coming out," the little pitiful remnant made its way, the band leading, the Brigade and Divisional Headquarters Staffs bringing up in the rear.

The service was brief and simple, a brother chaplain reading at the major's suggestion the Psalm which Barry had read at his last Parade Service with the battalion.