White Lies [130]
glass of water, came to this open space just as a puff of white smoke burst from the bastion. Instead of instantly seeking shelter till the shot had struck, he, in his inexperience, thought the shot must have struck, and all danger be over. He stayed there mooning instead of pelting under cover: the shot (eighteen-pound) struck him right on the breast, knocked him into spilikins, and sent the mutton cutlets flying.
The human fragments lay quiet, ten yards off. But a soldier that was eating his dinner kicked it over, and jumped up at the side of "Death's Alley" (as it was christened next minute), and danced and yelled with pain.
"Haw! haw! haw!" roared a soldier from the other side of the alley.
"What is that?" cried Sergeant La Croix. "What do you laugh at, Private Cadel?" said he sternly, for, though he was too far in the trench to see, he had heard that horrible sound a soldier knows from every other, the "thud" of a round shot striking man or horse.
"Sergeant," said Cadel, respectfully, "I laugh to see Private Dard, that got the wind of the shot, dance and sing, when the man that got the shot itself does not say a word."
"The wind of the shot, you rascal!" roared Private Dard: "look here!" and he showed the blood running down his face.
The shot had actually driven a splinter of bone out of the sutler into Dard's temple.
"I am the unluckiest fellow in the army," remonstrated Dard: and he stamped in a circle.
"Seems to me you are only the second unluckiest this time," said a young soldier with his mouth full; and, with a certain dry humor, he pointed vaguely over his shoulder with the fork towards the corpse.
The trenches laughed and assented.
This want of sympathy and justice irritated Dard. "You cursed fools!" cried he. "He is gone where we must all go--without any trouble. But look at me. I am always getting barked. Dogs of Prussians! they pick me out among a thousand. I shall have a headache all the afternoon, you see else."
Some of our heads would never have ached again: but Dard had a good thick skull.
Dard pulled out his spilikin savagely.
"I'll wrap it up in paper for Jacintha," said he. "Then that will learn her what a poor soldier has to go through."
Even this consolation was denied Private Dard.
Corporal Coriolanus Gand, a bit of an infidel from Lyons, who sometimes amused himself with the Breton's superstition, told him with a grave face, that the splinter belonged not to him, but to the sutler, and, though so small, was doubtless a necessary part of his frame.
"If you keep that, it will be a bone of contention between you two,"
said he; "especially at midnight. HE WILL BE ALWAYS COMING BACK TO YOU FOR IT."
"There, take it away!" said the Breton hastily, "and bury it with the poor fellow."
Sergeant La Croix presented himself before the colonel with a rueful face and saluted him and said, "Colonel, I beg a thousand pardons; your dinner has been spilt--a shot from the bastion."
"No matter," said the colonel. "Give me a piece of bread instead."
La Croix went for it himself, and on his return found Cadel sitting on one side of Death's Alley, and Dard with his head bound up on the other. They had got a bottle which each put up in turn wherever he fancied the next round shot would strike, and they were betting their afternoon rations which would get the Prussians to hit the bottle first.
La Croix pulled both their ears playfully.
"Time is up for playing marbles," said he. "Be off, and play at duty," and he bundled them into the battery.
It was an hour past midnight: a cloudy night. The moon was up, but seen only by fitful gleams. A calm, peaceful silence reigned.
Dard was sentinel in the battery.
An officer going his rounds found the said sentinel flat instead of vertical. He stirred him with his scabbard, and up jumped Dard.
"It's all right, sergeant. O Lord! it's the colonel. I wasn't asleep, colonel."
"I have not accused you. But you will explain what you were doing."
"Colonel," said Dard, all in a flutter,
The human fragments lay quiet, ten yards off. But a soldier that was eating his dinner kicked it over, and jumped up at the side of "Death's Alley" (as it was christened next minute), and danced and yelled with pain.
"Haw! haw! haw!" roared a soldier from the other side of the alley.
"What is that?" cried Sergeant La Croix. "What do you laugh at, Private Cadel?" said he sternly, for, though he was too far in the trench to see, he had heard that horrible sound a soldier knows from every other, the "thud" of a round shot striking man or horse.
"Sergeant," said Cadel, respectfully, "I laugh to see Private Dard, that got the wind of the shot, dance and sing, when the man that got the shot itself does not say a word."
"The wind of the shot, you rascal!" roared Private Dard: "look here!" and he showed the blood running down his face.
The shot had actually driven a splinter of bone out of the sutler into Dard's temple.
"I am the unluckiest fellow in the army," remonstrated Dard: and he stamped in a circle.
"Seems to me you are only the second unluckiest this time," said a young soldier with his mouth full; and, with a certain dry humor, he pointed vaguely over his shoulder with the fork towards the corpse.
The trenches laughed and assented.
This want of sympathy and justice irritated Dard. "You cursed fools!" cried he. "He is gone where we must all go--without any trouble. But look at me. I am always getting barked. Dogs of Prussians! they pick me out among a thousand. I shall have a headache all the afternoon, you see else."
Some of our heads would never have ached again: but Dard had a good thick skull.
Dard pulled out his spilikin savagely.
"I'll wrap it up in paper for Jacintha," said he. "Then that will learn her what a poor soldier has to go through."
Even this consolation was denied Private Dard.
Corporal Coriolanus Gand, a bit of an infidel from Lyons, who sometimes amused himself with the Breton's superstition, told him with a grave face, that the splinter belonged not to him, but to the sutler, and, though so small, was doubtless a necessary part of his frame.
"If you keep that, it will be a bone of contention between you two,"
said he; "especially at midnight. HE WILL BE ALWAYS COMING BACK TO YOU FOR IT."
"There, take it away!" said the Breton hastily, "and bury it with the poor fellow."
Sergeant La Croix presented himself before the colonel with a rueful face and saluted him and said, "Colonel, I beg a thousand pardons; your dinner has been spilt--a shot from the bastion."
"No matter," said the colonel. "Give me a piece of bread instead."
La Croix went for it himself, and on his return found Cadel sitting on one side of Death's Alley, and Dard with his head bound up on the other. They had got a bottle which each put up in turn wherever he fancied the next round shot would strike, and they were betting their afternoon rations which would get the Prussians to hit the bottle first.
La Croix pulled both their ears playfully.
"Time is up for playing marbles," said he. "Be off, and play at duty," and he bundled them into the battery.
It was an hour past midnight: a cloudy night. The moon was up, but seen only by fitful gleams. A calm, peaceful silence reigned.
Dard was sentinel in the battery.
An officer going his rounds found the said sentinel flat instead of vertical. He stirred him with his scabbard, and up jumped Dard.
"It's all right, sergeant. O Lord! it's the colonel. I wasn't asleep, colonel."
"I have not accused you. But you will explain what you were doing."
"Colonel," said Dard, all in a flutter,