Mr Rhys told them they might smoke, and stayed to talk with them for a little while. They all liked him, in spite of the erratic and hasty temper which left them a little uncertain as to what to make of him. From time to time, without putting aside anything of his prestige and authority over them, he would try to get into touch with them, and learn what they were thinking. Only a very great man can talk on equal terms with those in the lower ranks of life. He was neither sufficiently imaginative, nor sufficiently flexible in character, to succeed. He would unpack a mind rich in a curious lumber of chivalrous commonplaces, and give an air of unreality to values which for him, and for them all in varying measure, had the strength, if not altogether the substance, of fact. They did not really pause to weigh the truth or falsity of his opinions, which were simply without meaning for them. They only reflected that gentlefolk lived in circumstances very different from their own, and could afford strange luxuries. Probably only one thing he said interested them; and that was a casual remark, to the effect that, if the bad weather continued, the attack might have to be abandoned. At that, the face of Weeper Smart became suddenly illumined by an ecstasy of hope.

When at last Mr Rhys left them, they relaxed into ease with a sigh. Major Shadwell and Captain Malet they could understand, because each was what every private soldier is, a man in arms against a world, a man fighting desperately for himself, and conscious that, in the last resort, he stood alone; for such self-reliance lies at the very heart of comradeship. In so far as Mr Rhys had something of the same character, they respected him; but when he spoke to them of patriotism, sacrifice, and duty, he merely clouded and confused their vision.

‘Chaps,’ said Weeper, suddenly, ‘for Christ’s sake let’s pray for rain!’

‘What good would that do?’ said Pacey, reasonably. ‘If they don’t send us over the top here, they’ll send us over somewhere else. It ’as got to be, an’ if it ’as got to be, the sooner it’s over an’ done wi’ the better. If we die, we die, an’ it won’t trouble nobody, leastways not for long it won’t; an’ if we don’t die now, we’d ’ave to die some other time.’

‘What d’you want to talk about dyin’ for?’ said Martlow, resentfully. ‘I’d rather kill some other fucker first. I want to have my fling before I die, I do.’

‘If you want to pray, you ’ad better pray for the war to stop,’ continued Pacey, ‘so as we can all go back to our own ’omes in peace. I’m a married man wi’ two children, an’ I don’t say I’m any better’n the next man, but I’ve a bit o’ religion in me still, an’ I don’t hold wi’ sayin’ such things in jest.’