Leaning, in the communication trench, against the corrugated iron that boasted a great whitewashed A, in a very clean thin Burberry boasting half a bushel of badges of rank—worsted crowns and things!—and in a small tin hat that looked elegant, was a slight figure. How the devil can you make a tin hat look elegant! It carried a hunting switch and wore spurs. An Inspecting General. The General said benevolently:
“Who are you?” and then with irritation: “Where the devil is the officer commanding this Battalion? Why can’t he be found?” He added: “You’re disgustingly dirty. Like a blackamoor. I suppose you’ve an explanation.”
Tietjens was being spoken to by General Campion. In a hell of a temper. He stood to attention like a scarecrow.
He said:
“I am in command of this Battalion, sir. I am Tietjens, second-in-command. Now in command temporarily. I could not be found because I was buried. Temporarily.”
The General said:
“You. … Good God!” and fell back a step, his jaw dropping. He said: “I’ve just come from London!” And then: “By God, you don’t stop in command of a Battalion of mine a second after I take over!” He said: “They said this was the smartest battalion in my unit!” and snorted with passion. He added: “Neither my galloper nor Levin can find you or get you found. And there you come strolling along with your hands in your pockets!”
In the complete stillness, for, the guns having stopped, the skylarks, too, were taking a spell, Tietjens could hear his heart beat, little dry scraping sounds out of his lungs. The heavy beats were very accelerated. It gave an effect of terror. He said to himself:
“What the devil has his having been in London to do with it?” And then: “He wants to marry Sylvia! I’ll bet he wants to marry Sylvia!” That was what his having been to London had to do with it. It was an obsession with him: the first thing he said when surprised and passionate.
They always arranged these periods of complete silence for the visits of Inspecting Generals. Perhaps the Great General Staffs of both sides arrange that for each other. More probably our guns had split themselves in the successful attempt to let the Huns know that we wanted them to shut up—that we were firing with what Papists call a special intention. That would be as effective as a telephone message. The Huns would know there was something up. Never put the other side in a temper when you can help it.
He said:
“I’ve just had a scratch, sir. I was feeling in my pockets for my field-dressing.”
The General said:
“A fellow like you has no right to be where he can be wounded. Your place is the lines of communication. I was mad when I sent you here. I shall send you back.”
He added:
“You can fall out. I want neither your assistance nor your information. They said there was a damn smart officer in command here. I wanted to see him. … Of the name of … Of the name of … It does not matter. Fall out. …”
Tietjens went heavily along the trench. It came into his head to say to himself:
“It is a land of Hope and Glory!” Then he exclaimed: “By God! I’ll take the thing before the Commander-in-Chief. I’ll take the thing before the King in Council if necessary. By God I will!” The old fellow had no business to speak to him like that. It was importing personal enmity into service matters. He stood still reflecting on the terms of his letter to Brigade. The Adjutant Notting came along the trench. He said:
“General Campion wants to see you, sir. He takes over this Army on Monday.” He added: “You’ve been in a nasty place, sir. Not hurt, I trust!” It was a most unusual piece of loquacity for Notting.
Tietjens said to himself:
“Then I’ve got five days in command of this unit. He can’t kick me out before he’s in command.” The Huns would be through them before then. Five days’ fighting! Thank God!
He said:
“Thanks. I’ve seen him. No, I’m all right. Beastly dirty!”
Notting’s beady eyes had a tinge of agony in them. He said:
“When they said you had stopped one, sir, I thought I should go mad. We can’t get through the work!”
Tietjens was wondering whether he should write his letter to Brigade before or after the old fellow took over. Notting was saying:
“The doctor says Aranjuez will get through all right.”
It would be better, if he were going to base his appeal on the grounds of personal prejudice. Notting was saying:
“Of course he will lose his eye. In fact it … it is not practically there. But he’ll get through.”
Part III
I
Coming into the Square was like being suddenly dead, it was so silent and so still to one so lately jostled by the innumerable crowd and deafened by unceasing shouts. The shouting had continued for so long that it had assumed the appearance of being a solid and unvarying thing: like life. So the silence appeared like Death; and now she had death in her heart. She was going to confront a madman in a stripped house. And the empty house stood in an empty square all of whose houses were so eighteenth century and silver-grey and rigid and serene that they ought all to be empty too and contain dead, mad men. And was this the errand? For today when all the world was
