The Red Horizon

The Red Horizon, by Patrick MacGill

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Title: The Red Horizon
Author: Patrick MacGill
Release Date: November 4, 2006 [EBook #19710]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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Produced by Sigal Alon, Christine P. Travers and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)

[Transcriber's note: Obvious printer's errors have been corrected. The original spelling has been retained.
Page 17: "some with faces turned upwards," the word "turned" was crossed Page 234: Added a round bracket. (A bullet whistles by on the right of Bill's head.)]

THE RED HORIZON

BY THE SAME AUTHOR
CHILDREN OF THE DEAD END. The Autobiography of a Navvy. Ten Thousand Printed within Ten Days of Publication.
THE RAT-PIT. Third Edition.
THE AMATEUR ARMY. The Experiences of a Soldier in the Making.
THE GREAT PUSH.

THE RED HORIZON
BY
PATRICK MACGILL
WITH A FOREWORD BY VISCOUNT ESHER G. C. B.

TORONTO McCLELLAND, GOODCHILD & STEWART, LIMITED
LONDON HERBERT JENKINS, LIMITED 1916

THE ANCHOR PRESS, LTD., TIPTREE, ESSEX.

TO THE LONDON IRISH TO THE SPIRIT OF THOSE WHO FIGHT AND TO THE MEMORY OF THOSE WHO HAVE PASSED AWAY THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED

FOREWORD
To PATRICK MACGILL, Rifleman No. 3008, London Irish.
DEAR PATRICK MACGILL,
There is open in France a wonderful exhibition of the work of the many gallant artists who have been serving in the French trenches through the long months of the War.
There is not a young writer, painter, or sculptor of French blood, who is not risking his life for his country. Can we make the same proud boast?
When I recruited you into the London Irish--one of those splendid regiments that London has sent to Sir John French, himself an Irishman--it was with gratitude and pride.
You had much to give us. The rare experiences of your boyhood, your talents, your brilliant hopes for the future. Upon all these the Western hills and loughs of your native Donegal seemed to have a prior claim. But you gave them to London and to our London Territorials. It was an example and a symbol.
The London Irish will be proud of their young artist in words, and he will for ever be proud of the London Irish Regiment, its deeds and valour, to which he has dedicated such great gifts. May God preserve you.
Yours sincerely,
ESHER.
President County of London
Callander. Territorial Association.
16th September, 1915.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE PASSING OF THE REGIMENT 13
II. SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE 19
III. OUR FRENCH BILLETS 30
IV. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE TRENCHES 43
V. FIRST BLOOD 49
VI. IN THE TRENCHES 69
VII. BLOOD AND IRON--AND DEATH 88
VIII. TERRORS OF THE NIGHT 110
IX. THE DUG-OUT BANQUET 116
X. A NOCTURNAL ADVENTURE 130
XI. THE MAN WITH THE ROSARY 138
XII. THE SHELLING OF THE KEEP 149
XIII. A NIGHT OF HORROR 175
XIV. A FIELD OF BATTLE 200
XV. THE REACTION 209
XVI. PEACE AND WAR 216
XVII. EVERYDAY LIFE AT THE FRONT 228
XVIII. THE COVERING PARTY 249
XIX. SOUVENIR HUNTERS 264
XX. THE WOMEN OF FRANCE 279
XXI. IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT 292
XXII. ROMANCE 300

THE RED HORIZON (p. 013)
CHAPTER 1
THE PASSING OF THE REGIMENT
I wish the sea were not so wide That parts me from my love; I wish the things men do below Were known to God above.
I wish that I were back again In the glens of Donegal; They'll call me coward if I return, But a hero if I fall.
"Is it better to be a living coward, Or thrice a hero dead?" "It's better to go to sleep, my lad," The Colour Sergeant said.
Night, a grey troubled sky without moon or stars. The shadows lay on the surface of the sea, and the waves moaned beneath the keel of the troopship that was bearing us away on the most momentous journey of our lives. The hour was about ten. Southampton lay astern; by dawn we should be in France, and a day nearer the war for which we had trained so long in the cathedral city of St. Albans.
I had never realized my mission as a rifleman so acutely before. (p. 014)
"To the war! to the war!" I said under my breath. "Out to France and the fighting!" The thought raised a certain expectancy in my mind. "Did I think three years ago that I should ever be a soldier?" I asked myself. "Now that I am, can I kill a man; run a bayonet through his body; right through, so that the point, blood red and cruelly keen, comes out at the back? I'll not think of it."
But the thoughts could not be chased away. The month was March, and the night was bitterly cold