CHAPTERX

chapterx

earlyinthemorningoffebruary23dtherewasaclearskywithaglintofsuninit,andairplaneswerealoftasthoughitwouldbeagoodflying-day.butbeforemiddaytheskydarkenedandsnowbegantofall,andthenitsnowedsteadilyforhours,sothatallthefieldsofflanderswerewhite.

therewasastrange,newbeautyinthewarzonewhichhadchangedallthepicturesofwarbyawhiteenchantment.thevillageswhereoursoldierswerebilletedlookedasthoughtheywereexpectingavisitfromsantaclaus.thesnowlaythickonthethatchandinsoft,downyridgesonthered-tiledroofs.itcovered,withitspurity,therubbishheapsinflemishfarmyardsandtheoldoakbeamsofbarnsandshedswherebritishsoldiersmadetheirbedsofstraw.awayoverthelonelycountrywhichledtothetrenches,everyfurrowinthefieldswasathinwhiteridge,andthetrees,whichwerejustshowingashimmerofgreen,stoodink-blackagainstthedriftingsnow-clouds,withalongwhitestreakdowneachtalltrunkonthesidenearesttothewind.theoldwindmillsofflanderswhichlookeddownuponthebattlefieldshadbeentouchedbythesoftlyfallingflakes,sothateachriboftheirsailsandeachrungoftheirladdersandeachplankoftheirancienttimberswasoutlinedlikeafrostycobweb.

alongtheroadsofwaroursoldierstrampedthroughtheblizzardwitherminemantlesovertheirmackintoshcapes,andmountedmenwiththeirheadsbenttothestormwerelikewhiteknightsridingthroughawhitewilderness.thelongcolumnsofmotor-lorries,thegun—limbersdrawnupbytheirbatteries,thefieldambulancesbytheclearinghospitals,wereallcloakedinsnow,andthetrampandtrafficofanarmywerehushedinthegreatquietude.

inthetrenchesthesnowfellthicklyandmadewhitepillowsofthepiledsand-bagsandsnow-menofsentriesstandingintheshelterofthetraverses.thetarpaulinroofsandtimbereddoorwaysofdugoutsweresochangedbythesnowflakesthattheyseemedthedwelling-placesoffairyfolksor,atleast,ofpierrotandcolumbineinachristmashiding-place,andnotofsoldiersstampingtheirfeetandblowingontheirfingersandkeepingtheirriflesdry.

initsfirstglamourofwhitethesnowgaveabeautyeventonoman'sland,makingalace-workpatternofbarbedwire,andlyingverysoftlyoverthetumbledgroundofmine-fields,sothatalltheuglinessofdestructionanddeathwashiddenunderthiscanopy.thesnowflakesfluttereduponstarkbodiesthere,andshroudedthemtenderly.itwasasthoughallthedovesofpeacewereflyingdowntofoldtheirwingsabovetheobscenethingsofwar.

foralittlewhilethesnowbroughtsomethinglikepeace.thegunswerequieter,forartilleryobservationwasimpossible.therecouldbenosniping,forthescurryingflakesputaveilbetweenthetrenches.theairplaneswhichwentupinthemorningcamedownquicklytothepowderedfieldsandtookshelterintheirsheds.agreathushwasoverthewarzone,buttherewassomethinggrim,estiveoftragicdrama,inthissilentcountryside,sowhiteeveninthedarkness,wheremillionsofmenwerewaitingtokilloneanother.

behindthelinesthejokeofthesnowwasseenbysoldiers,whowerequicktoseeachanceoffun.menwhohadbeenhurlingbombsintheypressalientbombardedoneanotherwithhand-grenades,whichburstnoiselesslyexceptfortheshoutsoflaughterthatsignaledagoodhit.

frenchsoldierswereatthesamegameinonevillageipassed,wherethesnow-fightwasfastandfurious,andsomeofourofficersledanattackuponoldcomradeswiththecraftoftrappersandanexpertknowledgeofenfiladefire.thewhitepeacedidnotlastlong.theerminemantleonthebattlefieldwasstainedbyscarletpatchesassoonasmencouldseetofightagain.