Late the night before, the remnants of his battalion6 had been brought in from the Gheluvelt trenches7 to billets in Ypres. That last week he had gone clean off his sleep. He had not been[Pg 302] dry for a fortnight, his puttees had rotted away, his greatcoat had disappeared in a mud-hole, and he had had no stomach for what food could be got. He had seen half his battalion die before his eyes, and day and night the shells had burst round him till the place looked like the ironworks at Motherwell on a foggy night. The worst of it was that he had never come to grips with the Boches, which he had long decided8 was the one pleasure left to him in life. He had got far beyond cursing, though he had once had a talent that way. His mind was as sodden9 as his body, and his thoughts had been focussed on the penetrating10 power of a bayonet when directed against a plump Teutonic chest. There had been a German barber in Motherwell called Schultz, and he imagined the enemy as a million Schultzes—large, round men who talked with the back of their throat.
In billets he had scraped off the worst part of the mud, and drunk half a bottle of wine which a woman had given him. It tasted like red ink, but anything liquid was better than food. Sleep was what he longed for, but he could not get it. The Boches were shelling the town, and the room he shared with six others seemed as noisy as the Gallowgate on a Saturday night. He[Pg 303] wanted to get deep down into the earth where there was no sound; so, while the others snored, he started out to look for a cellar. In the black darkness, while the house rocked to the shell reverberations, he had groped his way down the stairs, found a door which led to another flight, and, slipping and stumbling, had come to a narrow, stuffy11 chamber12 which smelt13 of potatoes. There he had lain down on some sacks and fallen into a frowsty slumber14.
His head was spinning, but the hours of sleep had done him good. He felt a slight appetite for breakfast, as well as an intolerable thirst. He groped his way up the stairs, and came out in a dilapidated hall lit by a dim November morning.
There was no sign of the packs which had been stacked there the night before. He looked for a Boche's helmet which he had brought in as a souvenir, but that was gone. Then he found the room where he had been billeted. It was empty, and only the stale smell of tobacco told of its occupants.
Lonely, disconsolate16, and oppressed with thoughts of future punishment, he moved towards the street door. Suddenly the door of a side room opened and a man came out, a furtive[Pg 304] figure with a large, pasty face. His pockets bulged17, and in one hand was a silver candlestick. At the sight of Galbraith he jumped back and held up a pistol.
"Pit it down, man, and tell's what's come ower this place?" said the soldier. For answer, a bullet sang past his ear and shivered a plaster Venus.
Galbraith gave his enemy the butt18 of his rifle and laid him out. From his pockets he shook out a mixed collection of loot. He took possession of his pistol, and kicked him with some vehemence19 into a cupboard.
"That yin's a thief," was his spoken reflection. "There's something michty wrong wi' Wipers the day."
His head was clearing, and he was getting very wroth. His battalion had gone off and left him in a cellar, and miscreants22 were abroad. It was time for a respectable man to be up and doing. Besides, he wanted his breakfast. He fixed23 his bayonet, put the pistol in his pocket, and emerged into the November drizzle24.
The streets suddenly were curiously25 still. The occasional shell-fire came to his ears as if through layers of cotton-wool. He put this down to dizziness from lack of food, and made[Pg 305] his way to what looked like an estaminet. The place was full of riotous26 people who were helping27 themselves to drinks, while a distracted landlord wrung28 his hands. He flew to Galbraith, the tears running down his cheeks, and implored29 him in broken words.
"Vere ze Engleesh?" he cried. "Ze méchants rob me. Zere is une émeute. Vere ze officers?"
"That's what I'm wantin' to ken21 mysel'," said Galbraith.
"Zey are gone," wailed31 the innkeeper. "Zere is no gendarme32 or anyzing, and I am rob."
"Where's the polis? Get the Provost, man. D'ye tell me there's no polis left?"
"I am rob," the wail30 continued. "Ze méchants rob ze magasins and ve vill be assassinés."
Light was dawning upon Private Galbraith. The British troops had left Ypres for some reason which he could not fathom33, and there was no law or order in the little city. At other times he had hated the law as much as any man, and his relations with the police had often been strained. Now he realised that he had done them an injustice34. Disorder35 suddenly seemed to him the one thing intolerable. Here had he been undergoing a stiff discipline for weeks, and if that was his fate no civilian36 should be allowed[Pg 306] on the loose. He was a British soldier—marooned here by no fault of his own—and it was his business to keep up the end of the British Army and impose the King's peace upon the unruly. His temper was getting hot, but he was curiously happy. He marched into the estaminet. "Oot o' here, ye scum!" he bellowed37. "Sortez, ye cochons!"
The revellers were silent before the apparition38. Then one, drunker than the rest, flung a bottle which grazed his right ear. That put the finishing touch to his temper. Roaring like a bull, he was among them, prodding39 their hinder parts with his bayonet, and now and then reversing his rifle to crack a head. He had not played centre-forward in the old days at Celtic Park for nothing. The place emptied in a twinkling—all but one man whose legs could not support him. Him Private Galbraith seized by the scruff and the slack of his trousers, and tossed into the street.
"Now I'll hae my breakfast," he said to the trembling landlord.
Private Galbraith, much the better for his exercise, made a hearty40 meal of bread and cold ham, and quenched41 his thirst with two bottles of Hazebrouck beer. He had also a little brandy,[Pg 307] and pocketed the flask42, for which the landlord refused all payment. Then, feeling a giant refreshed, he sallied into the street.
"I'm off to look for your Provost," he said. "If ye have ony mair trouble, ye'll find me at the Toun Hall."
A shell had plumped into the middle of the causeway, and the place was empty. Private Galbraith, despising shells, swaggered up the open, his disreputable kilt swinging about his putteeless legs, the remnant of a bonnet43 set well on the side of his shaggy red head, and the light of battle in his eyes. For once he was arrayed on the side of the angels, and the thought encouraged him mightily44. The brandy had fired his imagination.
Adventure faced him at the next corner. A woman was struggling with two men—a slim pale girl with dark hair. No sound came from her lips, but her eyes were bright with terror. Galbraith started to run, shouting sound British oaths. The men let the woman go, and turned to face him. One had a pistol, and for the second time that day a bullet just missed its mark. An instant later a clean bayonet thrust had ended the mortal career of the marksman, and the other had taken to his heels.
"I'll learn thae lads to be sae free wi' their popguns," said the irate45 soldier. "Haud up, Mem. It's a' by wi' noo. Losh! The wumman's fentit!"
Private Galbraith was as shy of women as of his Commanding Officer, and he had not bargained for this duty. She was clearly a lady from her dress and appearance, and this did not make it easier. He supported her manfully, addressing to her the kind of encouragements which a groom46 gives to a horse. "Canny47 now, Mem. Haud up! Ye've no cause to be feared."
Then he remembered the brandy in his pocket, and with much awkwardness managed to force some drops between her lips. To his vast relief she began to come to. Her eyes opened and stared uncomprehendingly at her preserver. Then she found her voice.
"Thank God, the British have come back!" she said in excellent English.
"No, Mem; not yet. It's just me, Private Galbraith, 'C' Company, 3rd Battalion, Lennox Highlanders. Ye keep some bad lots in this toun."
"Alas48! what can we do? The place is full of spies, and they will stir up the dregs of the people and make Ypres a hell. Oh, why did the[Pg 309] British go? Our good men are all with the army, and there are only old folk and wastrels49 left."
"Rely upon me, Mem," said Galbraith stoutly50. "I was just settin' off to find your Provost."
She puzzled at the word, and then understood.
"He has gone!" she cried. "The Maire went to Dunkirk a week ago, and there is no authority in Ypres."
"Then we'll make yin. Here's the minister. We'll speir at him."
An old priest, with a lean, grave face, had come up.
"Ah, Mam'selle Omèrine," he cried, "the devil in our city is unchained. Who is this soldier?"
The two talked in French, while Galbraith whistled and looked at the sky. A shrapnel shell was bursting behind the cathedral, making a splash of colour in the November fog. Then the priest spoke20 in careful and constrained52 English.
"There is yet a chance for a strong man. But he must be very strong. Mam'selle will summon her father, Monsieur le Procureur, and we will meet at the Mairie. I will guide you there, mon brave."
The Grande Place was deserted53, and in the[Pg 310] middle there was a new gaping54 shell-hole. At the door of a great building, which Galbraith assumed to be the Town Hall, a feeble old porter was struggling with a man. Galbraith scragged the latter and pitched him into the shell-hole. There was a riot going on in a café on the far side which he itched55 to have a hand in, but he postponed56 that pleasure to a more convenient season.
Twenty minutes later, in a noble room with frescoed57 and tapestried58 walls, there was a strange conference. The priest was there, and Galbraith, and Mam'selle Omèrine, and her father, M. St Marais. There was a doctor too, and three elderly citizens, and an old warrior59 who had left an arm on the Yser. Galbraith took charge, with Mam'selle as his interpreter, and in half an hour had constituted a Committee of Public Safety. He had nervous folk to deal with.
"The Germans may enter at any moment, and then we will all be hanged," said one.
"Nae doot," said Galbraith; "but ye needna get your throats cut afore they come."
"The city is full of the ill-disposed," said another. "The Boches have their spies in every alley60. We who are so few cannot control them."
"If it's spies," said Galbraith firmly, "I'll take on the job my lone15. D'ye think a terrier dowg's feared of a wheen rottens?"[5]
In the end he had his way, with Mam'selle's help, and had put some confidence into civic61 breasts. It took him the best part of the afternoon to collect his posse. He got every wounded Belgian that had the use of his legs, some well-grown boys, one or two ancients, and several dozen robust62 women. There was no lack of weapons, and he armed the lot with a strange collection of French and English rifles, giving pistols to the section leaders. With the help of the Procureur, he divided the city into beats and gave his followers63 instructions. They were drastic orders, for the situation craved64 for violence.
He spent the evening of his life. So far as he remembered afterwards, he was in seventeen different scraps65. Strayed revellers were leniently66 dealt with—the canal was a cooling experience. Looters were rounded up, and, if they showed fight, summarily disposed of. One band of bullies67 made a stout51 resistance, killed two of his guards, and lost half a dozen dead. He got a black eye, a pistol-bullet through his sleeve, a[Pg 312] wipe on the cheek from a carving-knife, and he lost the remnants of his bonnet. Fifty-two prisoners spent the night in the cellars of the Mairie.
About midnight he found himself in the tapestried chamber. "We'll hae to get a Proclamation," he had announced; "a gude strong yin, for we maun conduct this job according to the rules." So the Procureur had a document drawn68 up bidding all inhabitants of Ypres keep indoors except between the hours of 10 a. m. and noon, and 3 and 5 p. m.; forbidding the sale of alcohol in all forms; and making theft and violence and the carrying of arms punishable by death. There was a host of other provisions which Galbraith imperfectly understood, but when the thing was translated to him he approved its spirit. He signed the document in his large sprawling69 hand—"Peter Galbraith, 1473, Pte., 3rd Lennox Highlanders, Acting70 Provost of Wipers."
"Get that prentit," he said, "and pit up copies at every street corner and on a' the public-hooses. And see that the doors o' the publics are boardit up. That'll do for the day. I'm feelin' verra like my bed."
Mam'selle Omèrine watched him with a[Pg 313] smile. She caught his eye and dropped him a curtsey.
"Monsieur le Roi d'Ypres," she said.
He blushed hotly.
For the next few days Private Galbraith worked harder than ever before in his existence. For the first time he knew responsibility, and that toil71 which brings honour with it. He tasted the sweets of office; and he, whose aim in life had been to scrape through with the minimum of exertion72, now found himself the inspirer of the maximum in others.
At first he scorned advice, being shy and nervous. Gradually, as he felt his feet, he became glad of other people's wisdom. Especially he leaned on two, Mam'selle Omèrine and her father. Likewise the priest, whom he called the minister.
By the second day the order in Ypres was remarkable73. By the third day it was phenomenal; and by the fourth a tyranny. The little city for the first time for seven hundred years fell under the sway of a despot. A citizen had to be on his best behaviour, for the Acting Provost's eye was on him. Never was seen so sober a place. Three permits for alcohol and no more were issued,[Pg 314] and then only on the plea of medical necessity. Peter handed over to the doctor the flask of brandy he had carried off from the estaminet—Provosts must set an example.
The Draconian74 code promulgated75 the first night was not adhered to. Looters and violent fellows went to gaol76 instead of the gallows77. But three spies were taken and shot after a full trial. That trial was the master effort of Private Galbraith—based on his own regimental experience and memories of a Sheriff Court in Lanarkshire, where he had twice appeared for poaching. He was extraordinarily78 punctilious79 about forms, and the three criminals—their guilt81 was clear, and they were the scum of creation—had something more than justice. The Acting Provost pronounced sentence, which the priest translated, and a file of mutilés in the yard did the rest.
"If the Boches get in here we'll pay for this day's work," said the judge cheerfully; "but I'll gang easier to the grave for havin' got rid o' thae swine."
On the fourth day he had a sudden sense of dignity. He examined his apparel, and found it very bad. He needed a new bonnet, a new kilt, and puttees, and he would be the better of a new shirt. Being aware that commandeering[Pg 315] for personal use ill suited with his office, he put the case before the Procureur, and a Commission de Ravitaillement was appointed. Shirts and puttees were easily got, but the kilt and bonnet were difficulties. But next morning Mam'selle Omèrine brought a gift. It was a bonnet with such a dicing82 round the rim80 as no Jock ever wore, and a skirt—it is the truest word—of that pattern which graces the persons of small girls in France. It was not the Lennox tartan, it was not any kind of tartan, but Private Galbraith did not laugh. He accepted the garments with a stammer83 of thanks—"They're awfu' braw, and I'm much obliged, Mem"—and, what is more, he put them on. The Ypriotes saw his splendour with approval. It was a proof of his new frame of mind that he did not even trouble to reflect what his comrades would think of his costume, and that he kissed the bonnet affectionately before he went to bed.
That night he had evil dreams. He suddenly saw the upshot of it all—himself degraded and shot as a deserter, and his brief glory pricked84 like a bubble. Grim forebodings of court-martials assailed85 him. What would Mam'selle think of him when he was led away in disgrace—he who for a little had been a king? He walked[Pg 316] about the floor in a frenzy86 of disquiet87, and stood long at the window peering over the Place, lit by a sudden blink of moonlight. It could never be, he decided. Something desperate would happen first. The crash of a shell a quarter of a mile off reminded him that he was in the midst of war—war with all its chances of cutting knots.
Next morning no Procureur appeared. Then came the priest with a sad face and a sadder tale. Mam'selle had been out late the night before on an errand of mercy, and a shell, crashing through a gable, had sent an avalanche88 of masonry89 into the street. She was dead, without pain, said the priest, and in the sure hope of Heaven.
The others wept, but Private Galbraith strode from the room, and in a very little time was at the house of the Procureur. He saw his little colleague laid out for death after the fashion of her Church, and his head suddenly grew very clear and his heart hotter than fire.
"I maun resign this job," he told the Committee of Public Safety. "I've been forgettin' that I'm a sodger and no a Provost. It's my duty to get a nick at thae Boches."
They tried to dissuade90 him, but he was [Pg 317]adamant. His rule was over, and he was going back to serve.
But he was not allowed to resign. For that afternoon, after a week's absence, the British troops came again into Ypres.
They found a decorous little city, and many people who spoke of "le Roi"—which they assumed to signify the good King Albert. Also, in a corner of the cathedral yard, sitting disconsolately91 on the edge of a fallen monument, Company Sergeant-Major Macvittie of the 3rd Lennox Highlanders found Private Peter Galbraith.
"Ma God, Galbraith, ye've done it this time! You'll catch it in the neck! Absent for a week wi'out leave, and gettin' yoursel' up to look like Harry92 Lauder! You come along wi' me!"
"I'll come quiet," said Galbraith with strange meekness93. He was wondering how to spell Omèrine St Marais in case he wanted to write it in his Bible.
The events of the next week were confusing to a plain man. Galbraith was very silent, and made no reply to the chaff94 with which at first he was greeted. Soon his fellows forbore to chaff him, regarding him as a doomed95 man who[Pg 318] had come well within the pale of the ultimate penalties.
He was examined by his Commanding Officer, and interviewed by still more exalted96 personages. The story he told was so bare as to be unintelligible97. He asked for no mercy, and gave no explanations. But there were other witnesses besides him—the priest, for example, and Monsieur St Marais, in a sober suit of black and very dark under the eyes.
By-and-by the court gave its verdict. Private Peter Galbraith was found guilty of riding roughshod over the King's Regulations; he had absented himself from his battalion without permission; he had neglected his own duties and usurped98 without authority a number of superior functions; he had been the cause of the death or maltreatment of various persons who, whatever their moral deficiencies, must be regarded for the purposes of the case as civilian Allies. The Court, however, taking into consideration the exceptional circumstances in which Private Galbraith had been placed, inflicted99 no penalty and summarily discharged the prisoner.
Privately100, his Commanding Officer and the still more exalted personages shook hands with[Pg 319] him, and told him that he was a devilish good fellow and a credit to the British Army.
But Peter Galbraith cared for none of these things. As he sat again in the trenches at St Eloi in six inches of water and a foot of mud, he asked his neighbour how many Germans were opposite them.
"I was hearin' that there was maybe fifty thoosand," was the answer.
Private Galbraith was content. He thought that the whole fifty thousand would scarcely atone101 for the death of one slim, dark-eyed girl.
The End
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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puddler
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| n.捣泥者，搅拌器，混凝器 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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penetrating
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stuffy
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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slumber
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lone
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disconsolate
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bulged
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butt
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vehemence
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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ken
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miscreants
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fixed
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drizzle
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curiously
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riotous
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helping
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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implored
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wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gendarme
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fathom
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injustice
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disorder
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civilian
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bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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apparition
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prodding
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| v.刺，戳( prod的现在分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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irate
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| adj.发怒的，生气 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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canny
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| adj.谨慎的，节俭的 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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wastrels
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| n.无用的人，废物( wastrel的名词复数 )；浪子 | |
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stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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itched
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| v.发痒( itch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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57
frescoed
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| 壁画( fresco的名词复数 )； 温壁画技法，湿壁画 | |
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tapestried
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| adj.饰挂绣帷的，织在绣帷上的v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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leniently
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| 温和地，仁慈地 | |
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bullies
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| n.欺凌弱小者, 开球 vt.恐吓, 威胁, 欺负 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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draconian
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| adj.严苛的；苛刻的；严酷的；龙一样的 | |
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promulgated
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| v.宣扬（某事物）( promulgate的过去式和过去分词 )；传播；公布；颁布（法令、新法律等） | |
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76
gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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punctilious
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| adj.谨慎的，谨小慎微的 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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81
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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82
dicing
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| n.掷骰子，（皮革上的）菱形装饰v.将…切成小方块，切成丁（ dice的现在分词 ） | |
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83
stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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84
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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86
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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disquiet
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| n.担心，焦虑 | |
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88
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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89
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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90
dissuade
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| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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91
disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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92
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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93
meekness
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| n.温顺，柔和 | |
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94
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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95
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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96
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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97
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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98
usurped
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| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
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99
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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101
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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