NO. 2 Gun's Crew had been relieved from the front line and were in rest billets in the little French village of S——, about ten kilos from the front line trench.
The crew were sitting on the ground in a circle around their machine-gun, while a Sergeant, newly returned from a special course at St. Omer, was expounding the theory of scientific machine-gunnery. He himself had never actually been under fire with a machine-gun, but, from the theoretical point, he sure could throw out the book stuff. His flow of eloquence passed over his listeners' heads like a Zeppelin, and there was an uneasy squirming among them.
Happy, who was sitting next to Yank, leaned over, and with his eye on the Sergeant, whispered in his ear:
"Blime me, Yank, isn't it arful the w'y 'e chucks 'is weight about?"
Yank agreed with Happy.
Across from Yank sat Ikey, with their mascot, a scrawny little cur, in his lap. Every now and then the cur would take his hind leg and furiously scratch at a spot behind his ear. Ikey, noticing this action, would reach under his armpit, and also scratch.
Sailor Bill was intently watching the mascot and Ikey. He, too, started scratching.
In a minute or so, Hungry started on a cootie hunt; and Yank had an irresistible desire to lean his back against the barrel-casing of the gun and scratch, too.
It was one of the chief indoor sports of the Western Front, especially during a monotonous lecture by some officer or non-com, for one of the fed-up listeners to start scratching himself. This generally caused the whole gang to do the same, the instructor included. It was just like a minister in the midst of a very dry sermon, suddenly stopping, stretching himself, and yawning, this action causing the rest of the congregation to do likewise.
As the whole circle scratched, the Sergeant-Instructor commenced to shift his weight from one foot to the other in an uneasy manner. They all gazed at him intently, and each began to scratch furiously. Sure enough, the Sergeant gave in and started unbuttoning the front of his tunic to get at some real or imaginary cootie. A nudge went the rounds of the circle. They had accomplished their purpose. The Sergeant's mind took an awful drop from the science of machine-gunnery to that of catching that particular cootie.
The gun's crew glanced at their wrist watches. Fifteen minutes more and the lesson would be over. The Sergeant was becoming confused, and was trying to flounder through the rest of his talk. They had no mercy on him, but kept up the scratching. At last, in desperation, he said:
"You men have actually been under fire with machine-guns several times. Can't one of you relate some incident of how, through some ruse, you put it over on the Boches?"
Ikey, grasping this golden opportunity to break up the lecture, and slyly winking at us, started in and told how a certain gun's crew located and put out of action a German machine-gunner by playing a tune on their gun; the German tried to imitate it, thereby indicating to them by sound the exact location of the German gun, which was later put out of action by concentrated fire from their section.
Of course, the whole circle listened very intently, but it was an old story to them; they were the gun's crew which had accomplished the feat that Ikey was describing. Still, anything was better than listening to that sing-song droning of book knowledge which the Sergeant had been pumping into them for the last hour and a half.
The Sergeant glanced at his watch, and dismissed them. They dismounted their gun, put it in its box and stored it away in their billet.
Then, reassembled under an apple-tree in the orchard, and while the rest of them indulged in a shirt hunt, Hungry went after their ration of tea. Hungry was sure on the job when it came to eating. Pretty soon he returned with a dixie a quarter full of tea, two tins of jam, a loaf of bread, a large piece of cheese, and a tin of apricots which he had bought at a nearby French estaminet.
He dished out the rations, not forgetting a generous share for himself. After they had finished, out came the inevitable fags, a few puffs from each man, and the ball of conversation started rolling:
Curly cleared his throat and started in:
"Remember that village we passed through on our march up the line about two weeks ago; you know, the one where that big church with all the shell-holes in it was right on the corner where we turned to the left to take the road to St. A——?"
They all remembered it, and turned inquiring glances in Curly's direction. "Well, this morning, when I went down to the 'Quarter' (Quartermaster-Sergeant), to draw coal, I met a fellow at Divisional Headquarters who told me a mighty interesting story of how he and another fellow rounded up a couple of spies.
"This bloke, I suppose, through modesty, and to cover up his own good work, tried to make me believe that it was only through a lucky chance that they stumbled over the clue which led to the spies' arrest, but it's my opinion, and I know you'll all agree with me, that it was not so much luck as it was clever thinking. I'm not much at telling a story, but I'm going to try and give it, as far as I can remember, just the way he handed it out to me.
"It seems that this fellow, who told me the story, and another chap, had been detailed to the Divisional Intelligence Department, and were hanging around Division Headquarters waiting for something to happen.
"Now here's the story as he reeled it off to me: "'About three kilos behind Divisional Headquarters was the old French village of B——. One of our important roads ran through it. This road was greatly used by our troops for bringing up supplies and ammunition for the front line. It was also used by large numbers of troops when relieving batteries in the fire sector.
"'Of course, on account of this road being in range of the German guns, it could only be used at night; otherwise, the enemy airmen and observation balloons would get wise and it would only be a short time before the road would be shelled, causing many casualties.
"'For the last ten days, reports had been received at Divisional Headquarters that every time troops passed a certain point on this road, marked by an old church, they were sure to click heavy shell-fire from the Boches. On nights when no troops passed through, on the other hand, there would be very little shelling, if any.
"'Upon the first two or three of these reports, we put it down as a strange coincidence, but when the fifth report of this nature reached us, it was evident to us that a spy was at work, and that in some mysterious way the information of the movement of our troops was communicated by him to the enemy.
"'Myself and another fellow, who had been working with me for the last two weeks, were assigned to the task of discovering and apprehending this spy. To us it seemed an impossible job, as there were no clues to work upon. As is usual, our General, Old Pepper, called us in, and said:
"'"There is a spy working in the village of B——; go get him."
"'Foolishly I butted in and asked for further information. I got it, all right. With a lowering look which made me tremble, he roared:
"'"Go and dig up your own clues. What are you with the Intelligence Department for? Intelligence Department! It ought to be called Brainless Department, if you two are a sample of the rest."
"'Somehow or other we didn't stop to argue with Old Pepper.'"
At this point, Sailor Bill butted in:
"Blime me, he's just like an Admiral we had in our Navy, this old boy."
A chorus of, "Oh, shut up, you're in the Army now," cut off Bill's story. They knew Sailor Bill. With an indignant glance around the circle, he relapsed into silence.
Curly exclaimed, "To hell with your Admiral; do you want to hear this story? If you do, shut up and let me tell it."
"Go on, Curly, never mind; he's harmless," ejaculated Happy.
Curly carried on with:
"'Getting our packs and drawing three days' rations, we started hiking it for the village of B——. We arrived there about four in the afternoon, and after putting our packs and rations in an old barn, which we intended to use as our billet during our stay in the village, we left on a general tour of inspection.
"'There were about three hundred civilians in the place who preferred to brave the dangers of shell-fire, as there was a rich harvest to be reaped from the sale of farm produce, beer and wine to the troops billeted all around. Two estaminets were still open, and did a thriving business.
"'Occasionally a shell would burst in the village, but the civilians did not seem to mind it; just carried on with their farming and business as usual.
"'We decided to make a thorough search of all houses, barns and buildings for concealed wires. We did so, but with barren results. Nothing suspicious was found. This search wasted five days, and we were in desperation. Watch and wish as we would, not a single clue came to light.
"'During this time two large bodies of troops had passed through and each time they were heavily shelled with dire results.
"'On the sixth night of our assignment, utterly disgusted, I, being in charge, had decided to chuck up the whole business and report back to Old Pepper that we had made a mess out of the investigation. My partner pleaded with me to stick it out a couple of days more, and after he gave me a vivid description of what Old Pepper would hand out to us, I decided to stick it out for six months, if necessary.
"'To celebrate this decision, my side-kicker offered to blow to several rounds of drinks. Now, this fellow had never, during my acquaintance with him, offered to spend a ha'penny, so I quickly accepted his offer and we went to the nearest estaminet.
"'Sitting around a long table, drinking French beer and smoking cigarettes, was a crowd of soldiers, laughing, joking, arguing and telling stories.
"'We sat down at the end of the table, and in low tones, tried to work impossible theories as to how the spy, if there was one, and by this time we were getting doubtful, could get the information back to the German batteries.
"'Right across from us were two soldiers arguing about farming. Suddenly my side-kicker pinched me on the knee and whispered:
"'"Listen to what those two fellows across the table from us are saying. It sounds good."
"'I listened for about a minute and then paid no further attention. At that time farming in no way interested me. I wanted to catch that spy, and started devising impossible theories as to the ways and means of doing so. At last I gave up in disgust. My partner was still attentively listening to the two across the table from us. Another poke in the knee from my partner, and I was all attention.
"'One of the fellows across the way was talking.
"'"Well, I don't see why this French blighter should change horses in his plow every afternoon. I've watched him for several days. Now, in the morning he uses two greys, and then about two in the afternoon he either hooks up two blacks or a grey and a black. French ways may be different, but this frog-eater is very partial to the colors of his team. Figure it out for yourself. He starts work with the two greys about six o'clock in the morning; works the two beggars up till noon. That's six hours straight. Then he sticks them in the stable, lays off for two hours, and in the afternoon about two o'clock the new relay of animals come on and work up till four. Now, anybody with any brains in their nappers knows that that is no way to keep horses in condition, working one team over six hours and the other team only two hours. I know because we have been farmers in our family back in Blighty for generations."
"'I was all excitement, and a great hope surged through me that at last we had fallen on the clue that we were looking for. Restraining my eagerness as much as possible, I addressed the fellow who had just spoken:
"'"Well, mate, I don't like to intrude into your conversation, but I've also been a farmer all my life, and I don't see anything so queer in the actions of this French farmer."
"'He answered, "Well, blime me, there might be a reason for this blighter doing this, but I can't figure it out at all. If you can explain it, go ahead."
"'I answered, "Well, perhaps if you can give a little more details about it, it would be easy enough to explain. Who is this farmer, and where is his farm located?"
"'He swallowed the bait all right, and informed me that the farmer was plowing a field on a hill about five hundred yards west of the church at the point where our troops were being shelled.
"'Buying a round of drinks, I nudged my partner and he came in on the conversation. The two of us, by adroit questioning, got the exact location of the field, and a description of the farmer.
"'I pretended to be sleepy, and, yawning, got up from the table saying that I was going to turn in, and left. My partner soon followed me. Upon reaching our billet we outlined our plan. We decided that next morning we would get up at daybreak, and scout around the field to see if there was a hiding-place.
"'Sure enough, along one edge of the field ran a thick hedge. We secreted ourselves in this, and waited for developments.
"'At about six in the morning, the farmer appeared, driving two greys, which he hooked to the plow, and carried on with his work. To us there appeared nothing suspicious in his actions. We watched him all morning. At noon he unhooked the horses and went home. We remained in hiding, afraid to leave, because we wanted to take no chances of being seen by the farmer. We had forgotten to bring rations with us, so it was a miserable wait until two o'clock, at which time the farmer reappeared, driving two blacks, which he hitched to the plow, and carried on until four o'clock, and then knocked off for the day. That night troops came through as usual, and were shelled.
"'Next morning, at daybreak, we again took our stations in the hedge, this time bringing rations with us. The farmer used the same greys in the morning, but in the afternoon he appeared with a black and a grey, and again knocked off around four o'clock. No troops came through that night, and there was no shelling.
"'Next day, the farmer repeated the previous day's actions,—two greys in the morning, and a black and a grey in the afternoon,—no troops, no shelling.
"'We were pretty sure that we had him, but this arresting a spy on slim evidence is a ticklish matter. We didn't want to make a mess of the affair, or perhaps send an innocent man to his death, so the following day we again took up our stations. Sure enough, it was two greys in the morning, but in the afternoon he used two blacks. That night troops came through and were shelled. We had solved the problem. Two greys in the morning meant nothing. The actual signal to the enemy was the change of horses in the afternoon; two blacks meaning "troops coming through tonight, shell the road"; a grey and a black, "no troops expected, do not shell."
"'When it got dark, and it was safe to leave the hedge, we immediately reported the whole affair to the Town Major (an English officer detailed in charge of a French village or town occupied by English troops), who, accompanied by us and a detail of six men with fixed bayonets, went to the farmer's house that night and arrested him. He protested his innocence, but we took him to Military Police Headquarters, where, after a gruelling questioning, he confessed.
"'It was a mystery to us how this farmer knew that troops were coming through, because he never made a mistake in his schedule. After further questioning, he explained to us that if we searched in his cellar and raised up an old flag-stone with a ring in it, we would find a telephone set. The other end of this set was established in an estaminet in a little French village eleven kilos distant. His confederate was the proprietor of this estaminet, which was so situated on the road that troops coming into the village had to pass the door. As troops only march at night while in the fire sector, his confederate could safely figure out that the passing troops would be quartered in his village until the next night, when, under cover of darkness, they would start for the next village, and would have to pass the point in the road by the old church. He would immediately telephone this information to the farmer, who would change his horses accordingly. The hill on which he did his plowing could be easily observed from an observation balloon in the German lines, and thus the signal was given to the German artillery.
"'We still carried on with our third degree, and got further valuable information from him.
"'If, in the plowing, two grey horses were used on two consecutive afternoons, it meant that the use of the road had been indefinitely discontinued for troops and supplies.
"'Under a strong guard, which concealed itself in the hedge, the farmer was made to use two greys for two afternoons. The scheme worked. For weeks afterwards that road was only occasionally shelled, and our troops and supply trains used it at will. The spy at the other end was rounded up and both were taken to the base and shot.
"'We reported back to Old Pepper, expecting to be highly commended for our work, and we were—I don't think. All the blooming blighter said was:
"'"Well, you certainly took long enough to do it. I have a damn good mind to send you back to your units for incompetency and inefficiency."
"'We saluted and left.
"'You see, we didn't deserve any great credit because it was only through a lucky chance that we stumbled over the clue. So I guess Old Pepper was right after all.'"
After Curly had finished, everyone agreed with Happy's comment:
"Pretty nifty work, I call it, pretty nifty!”