May 15, 1915 
LAND AND WATER 
A GLIMPSE OF WAR 
A LA BAYONETTE 
By W. L. GEORGE 
THE word went round. It was shouted, and yet in 
the storm of sound was as a whisper. Private 
Denny just nodded ; his neighbour bellowed into 
his ear and handed on to the right the news 
they all guessed, though they knew it not yet. 
A very little his heart began to beat with an excitement in 
■which there was haste, lust, and a little fear. As he filled 
his magazine he smiled. It was a broad smile, a smile of 
memory, for as he secured the bayonet more firmly he noticed 
a long black streak upon the stock which had dried there in 
the night and stained the wood dark. For this was not the 
first time he had used the bayonet, and he looked at it fondly, 
trying the point. He thought of the French who called it 
La Rosalie. " Sentimental tosh ! " he thought, and then 
softly caressed the blade. Readiness increased : his neigh- 
bour on the left cast away his overcoat ; another felt nervously 
at his puttees. They looked knowing, they laughed a little 
nervously ; they did not try to speak, for the broken roar of 
the guns which it seemed could not increase . . . yet 
increased. 
Already the sun had risen in the pale morning, gay with 
laughter, balmy with soft airs. Private Denny's cheek was 
caressed by a wind tenderer than any woman's hand. He 
breathed of that air full of the sweet scents of new grass, 
breathed deep as if to gain strength from earth. But aU the 
time he was conscious of the things which passed over his head, 
invisible and yet present in movement and in sound, Uttle 
«ighteen-pound shells, ghttering no doubt in the sun for the 
angels to see, not presences but half hisses, half screems, 
little things that burst not far away, hardly a hundred yards, 
in a fume of green smoke and a spatter of stars . . . and 
bigger things, too, of which he was just conscious by the 
Tushing of their wind, things that fell just ahead there, in the 
German trench, fell wetly and dully, raising a piUar of smoke 
and earth. He knew, and he knew, and still his heart was 
beating. As if with ears not his he heard the sergeant at the 
periscope who watched the fall of the explosive shells : 
■" That's got 'em ! Good ! Got 'em again ! Half a dozen 
more Uke that. . . . Steady boys ! Steady ! It won't be 
a minute before. ..." 
He did not hear the voice any more, for his body was 
filled by the sound of the whistle. It came, sudden, im- 
perative. So shrill that it burst through the dullness of 
heavier sounds just like, thought Private Denny, a 
bayonet. . . 
The whistling did not last a second and it lasted hours, 
for it was born in a wilderness, an earth on which all other 
sounds had died. For quite suddenly the little shrapnel 
and the big shells that swung overhead, as the ghosts of birds, 
flew no more, and in the emptiness was nothing now but the 
needle sting of the whistle. Private Denny did not know 
how it happened : perhaps the whistle had jerked him to his 
feet, seized him by the neck, with all those others of his 
battalion, hurled him out of the trench upon that soil in front, 
so oddly pock-marked everywhere with holes. 
He was running in the silence. He was separate from 
his body, and hardly knew what he did ; his feet registered 
a crumbling of the earth all torn with shell, rose up painfully 
from steel shards. The light sun was in his eyes and he was 
all aglow as he ran on stumbling, by instinct rather than 
intent maintaining his place. There were men to the right 
and left, brown shadows, ordinary men who played billiards 
and went to church, and got drunk, just like Private Denny ; 
but here they were, running on, rather bent, hardly thinking 
of the wheezing sound the bullets made as they buried them- 
selves at their feet. A man fell in front of him . . he 
stepped over and forgot him. It seemed so far, so k)ng, 
though only twenty seconds, and he ran on as if bound for a 
paradise, anxious to see, to feel something other than this soft 
air. 
And then, at his feet, so near that he almost fell, he saw 
the German trench. Its trim edges torn like a saw, its roofs 
of timber and turf fallen in, the timbers, shuffled and knotted 
together like ropes, a ruin of black holes full of water, mounds 
of earth shored up into incredible pillars. He leapt. With 
all those other brown shapes he struggled as in a dream, lost 
among the walls that hung over him ready to fall, angry 
because here was nothing for him in this place, pricked every- 
where with bullets, laid bare to its very entrails by explosive 
shell. He stepped forward, he recognised a difference of 
ground. He understood, he had trampled a body that lay 
there, and before him was another. Driven on, without 
knowing why or how, he made for the traverse. He tottered 
in this lake of water and earth where many grey coated things 
lay still or rolled uneasily, broken, blood-soaked, unlike men. 
An order came to him ; he seized his spade to begin repairing 
his section of the parapet. He stuck it into a mound of earth 
at his feet to clear it away. He started back, for half the 
mound fell away, and there came out a grey-clad arm with a 
hand that, straight-fingered, clutched at the air. 
But he did not dig, for from the left he heard the crackle 
of rifles. He obeyed an order that he half understood. A 
trap then ! The trench not whoUy dominated ! A spurt of 
rage filled his heart and a sudden heat filmed his eyes. 
They could not get into the traverse this way, for the 
earth had fallen in. The sound of musketry in his ears, 
Private Denny found himself following his sergeant, cautiously 
crawUng cJong the ground towards the traverse on the left. 
It seemed so long, and stones and steel shards hurt his hands, 
tried to stab him in the breast. But nearer and nearer they 
came, silently. His heart leapt, for here was the edge of the 
traverse ... he saw the long line of spiked helmets a little 
below. 
There was a cry, a shout, and Private Denny had joined 
in it, felt it come out of him, solid and sonorous as stricken 
brass. And now with the others he had flung himself into 
the traverse. It was narrow, he fell almost against his enemy, 
so close that he could not use his bayonet ; he had a confused 
sense of rifle fire suddenly dying away, of a new atmosphere 
that was all heat and effort, hand to hand. He could hardly 
see anything because he saw too much, flying shapes, things 
that struck at him, things at which he struck. He was 
conscious only of movements and of feelings, of being thrust 
against a wall, of striking back at some heavy phantom and 
hearing the crunch of bone against the butt of his rifle. They 
were adl about him, grey shapes and brown shapes. A bullet 
hissed past his ear. He struck out savagely into space, and 
his bayonet entered the wall of the trench ... he swore. 
There were things about his feet too, soft things that struggled 
and moved . . . then the air seemed to clear, and, quite 
suddenly, as if he had taken a section of the battle, he was 
alone with a single enemy. An extraordinary clarity came 
into his mind, and for an interminable second the long English- 
man with the hard mouth, and the Bavarian, much shorter, 
much heavier, gazed into each other's eyes. They were 
watchful, they were nimble, they were like cats about to 
spring. Private Denny felt himself dodge from right foot to 
left foot as if he were sparring. 
The Bavarian struck straight out. Denny got the 
bayonet upon the barrel of his rifle, and it fled aside past him, 
incredibly fast and brilliant, Uke a pike in a stream. And 
automatically he lunged back, straight towards the thick grey 
body that stooped. He failed as the other leapt aside . . . 
he cried out, for carried away he had fallen right against his 
antagonist, so near that he could see the different colours 
in his eyes, feel the heavy warm weight of him. For a second 
they remained gripped and swaying. Jaws locked, with eye- 
brows knotted, they sprang apart, still watchful, feinting 
with their weapons, heads down. They struck again, and 
the rattle of the rifle barrels was as that of castanets. Private 
Denny gave a little growl, for suddenly the Bavarian, lunging 
on, pierced his sleeve, and he felt the sharp sting of the bayonet 
along his skin. He was not sparring now, but as the other 
half-feU, carried away by his rush. Private Denny stepped 
aside and, raising his weapon, brought it down straight against 
the fleeting grey side. . . . 
He was thrilled with an excitement that held hardly any 
horror as the speared body resisted. He thrust on, deeper 
and deeper, desiring only one thing, to drive in the steel yet 
deeper. . . . and for a second he held him pinned, all his 
body shaking with the quiver that ran through from his 
stricken foe up the knife and along into his arms. He 
was taut, wanted to hold the thing so pinned for ever. His 
lungs quite narrow, his hands rigid as dry bones in the 
intensity of his clutch, he so remained for a second. Then 
suddenly lax and shivering, he withdrew the bayonet. 
105 
