134
The Ypres Times.
Pitiablethat was it
Soon after that Hewitt fell asleep, snoring calmly. I envied him vaguely. Wondered
how he could sleep, and soon after that I fell into a slumber too.
It must have been about three o'clock when I woke up. Through the empty
window socket I could see the moon riding calmly in the night, but fierce wisps of cloud
were drifting across her face and a bit of a wind was playing a woeful tune in the holes
about the roof and walls.
I shifted my position, found I was cold and stiff and got up to stamp my feet and
flap my arms about. I noticed that Hewitt's blankets were empty, huddled on the floor,
thrown aside.
Thinking my companion had gone out for a stroll, being ünable to sleep, I was about
to cross to the doorway that glimmered, an oblong square of silver light in the dark wall,
when I heard a click that brought me to a standstill.
It was exactly the noise that an ammunition drum makes as one snaps it home on a
Lewis gun.
I looked round quickly and there, in a patch of brilliant moonlight that lay spilled
upon the floor beneath the dishevelled roof, was Hewitt.
I could scarcely believe my eyes, for the man had set up the heavy theodolite
tripod in front of a crack in the .wall and was crouching, tense, silent, staring out into
the shattered country-side.
HewittI saidthen louder, HewittMan, what on earth
Suddenly he began to speak, still fixedly staring through the gaping wall.
Come on, you swine said Hewitt. Gently he spoke, under his breath, grimly
yet almost with an affectionate tone. And then he began to say it over and over again,
Come on, you swine Come on, you swine Come louder and louder until his
voice rose to a shriek, a shrill, eager cry.
Then I saw that his right hand was closed beneath the head of the tripod with the
first finger cocked forward, curled about an imaginary trigger.
What in hell are you playing at, you fool
My voice barked harshly across the barn, but the maniac took no noticehe crouched
there, tense as ever. And then in a moment he had leaped to his feet.
No more rounds he cried.
Then, laughing hysterically, he gripped the tripod, closed the legs and swung the whole
thing on to his shoulder. He bent backwards, staggered under the weight of the gun that
wasn't there tottered, was about to fall.
I rush forward now. I must stop the fool before he does himself some injury.
Ah now he sees me.
Come on he cries, come on come on come on He swings the
tripod round his head, pouring with perspiration, and is about to deliver a blow at me,
when he falls, collapses into a broken heap in the moonlight with the tripod clattering
about him. v*
I was shaken up, terrified, but I got him back to his blankets, tried to bring him
round, gave him brandy, rubbed his forehead with it.
I couldn't stir him. I would have thought he was dead but that his breathing was
sweet and gentle as that of a tired child.
I crouched there beside him all the rest of the night and about seven o'clock this
.morning he stirred, woke up, and surveyed me out of one drowsy eye.
Hello he said, what's up You look as though you'd seen a ghost
Quick as thought I decided to see what he remembered.
So I have," I said, the ghost of a demented Lewis gunner."
His expression changed to a frank grin.
